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chocosvt · 3 months ago

Text

HER | part five.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that!

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

“And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’ Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

“Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze.

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!”

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,” she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so… pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place? But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.”

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

“Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions.

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.”

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. “He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,” you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #svt fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen smut

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seoulzie · 4 months ago

Text

neighbour antics

WHEREIN: a playful exchange of notes with the boy next door turns into a connection

彡 pairing: hyuka x gn!reader 彡 genre: fluff 彡 warnings: none :)

༘˚🌻⋆ read the whole collection here!

moving into the neighborhood at the beginning of summer felt like a fresh start. the air was fragrant with blooming flowers, and the sun bathed everything in a warm glow. your new house had a cozy, inviting feel, with a large window in your room overlooking the street. as you unpacked your belongings, you heard the sound of laughter from outside. curious, you peeked out the window and saw a boy about your age playing basketball in the driveway next door. his smile was infectious, and you couldn't help but watch him for a while. suddenly, he looked up and caught your eye. you quickly ducked out of sight, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

the next day, as you were settling into your new home, you heard a knock on the door. opening it, you were greeted by the boy from next door, holding a plate of freshly baked cookies. "hi, i'm huening kai. my family and i live next door. we wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood," he said with a warm smile.

you introduced yourself and accepted the cookies, feeling a flutter in your chest at his kindness. over the next few days, you noticed kai often playing outside or helping his parents with chores. you exchanged shy waves and smiles, but neither of you made a move to talk further. one lazy afternoon, as you were reading by your window, you noticed kai's window was directly opposite yours. an idea sparked in your mind, and you grabbed a whiteboard and marker. writing a quick message, you held it up to your window: "hi, neighbor!"

kai looked up from his desk and broke into a grin. he rummaged around his room before holding up his own whiteboard: "hi there! what's up?" and so it began – the start of your unique window messages. every morning, you would wake up to see a new message from kai, and you would reply with your own. it became a cherished routine, one that made you look forward to each day.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

as weeks turned into months, your conversations grew longer and more personal. you shared stories, secrets, and dreams through your window. kai's sweet and thoughtful nature shone through in every message, and you found yourself drawn to him more and more. one evening, as the sun set, you heard a soft tapping on your window. you looked up to see kai holding up a sign: "want to go for a walk?"

your heart skipped a beat as you grabbed your whiteboard and wrote back, "yes!" minutes later, you found yourself outside, walking side by side with kai under the starry night sky. the air was cool and crisp, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead. the stars twinkled above, creating a magical backdrop for your stroll.

"i really enjoy our little notes," kai said, his voice soft. "but i think i like spending time with you even more."

you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "me too, kai."

as you walked, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing. you shared your favorite memories from childhood, your dreams for the future, and the little things that made you happy. kai listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours.

after a while, you reached a small park and decided to sit on a bench under a large oak tree. the park was quiet, with only the sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. you leaned back, taking in the serene surroundings, and glanced at kai.

"isn't this technically a date?" you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

kai's eyes widened in surprise, and a blush spread across his cheeks. "i... i guess it is," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "i didn't really think about it that way, but... yeah, it does feel like one."

you giggled, finding his flustered reaction adorable. "well, if it is a date, it's a pretty good one," you said, giving him a reassuring smile.

kai's eyes softened, and he relaxed a little. "i'm glad you think so," he replied, his voice warm. "i wanted to spend time with you, just the two of us."

you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. kai's presence was calming, and you felt a sense of contentment wash over you. as the night grew colder, kai noticed you shivering slightly and draped his jacket over your shoulders.

"here, this should help," he said, his voice full of concern.

"thanks, kai," you replied, pulling the jacket tighter around you. the gesture warmed your heart, and you couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness.

as you walked back home, you felt a sense of happiness and anticipation. this night had brought you closer to kai, and you couldn't wait to see what the future held for the two of you. kai's gestures of kindness were endless – he always made sure you were comfortable, always knew how to make you smile.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

life with kai was simple yet filled with heartfelt moments. as you watched the raindrops race down your window, you saw kai holding up a sign: "want to play in the rain?" you laughed and nodded, grabbing your raincoat and boots. soon, you were both outside, the rain soaking you almost immediately.

kai took your hand and pulled you towards the backyard. the rain fell steadily, creating little rivers along the sidewalks and puddles in the grass. the sound of the raindrops hitting the leaves and the ground was like a soothing melody, and you couldn't help but smile at the refreshing feeling of the rain on your skin.

kai's laughter was infectious as he splashed through the puddles, his boyish grin lighting up his face. "come on!" he shouted, kicking up water as he ran ahead. you chased after him, giggling as you both darted through the yard, the cool rain invigorating and freeing.

at one point, you slipped on the wet grass, and kai was there in an instant, helping you up with a concerned look in his eyes. "are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

you laughed, brushing off the mud from your clothes. "i'm fine, kai. this is so much fun!"

relieved, he grinned and pulled you into a spontaneous dance, spinning you around as the rain continued to fall. the world around you seemed to blur, the only thing in focus was kai's joyful face and the warmth of his hand in yours.

as you twirled together, you realized how magical this moment was. the rain, the laughter, and the simple act of playing together made everything else fade away. it was just you and kai, sharing a perfect moment in the rain.

after a while, you both started to feel the chill, and kai suggested, "how about we go inside and dry off? i'll make us some hot chocolate."

you nodded, and hand in hand, you both made your way back to the house, dripping wet but filled with happiness.

another time, you were studying for an important exam and feeling incredibly stressed. your notes were scattered around you, and your head was pounding from hours of trying to cram information. just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, you heard a knock on your door.

opening it, you found kai standing there with a container in his hands. "hey," he said with a warm smile, holding up the container. "we had some leftovers, and i know how much you like my mom’s baking, so i thought you might need a break."

your heart melted at his thoughtfulness. "thank you, kai. you have no idea how much i needed this."

he handed you the container, and the familiar aroma of your favorite pastry filled the room. "i figured you'd be tired of studying, so i hope this helps."

you sat down together, and as you ate, the delicious food and kai's company eased your stress. "this is amazing," you said, savoring each bite. "you always know just how to make things better."

kai's eyes twinkled with affection. "i'm glad. just remember to take breaks, okay? you've got this!"

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

one evening, as the winter chill seeped into the air, you and kai found yourselves once again cuddled up on the couch, watching another movie. the snow outside was falling in thick, fluffy flakes, creating a serene scene beyond the window. the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting a cozy glow around the room.

as the movie reached its emotional climax, you noticed kai fidgeting slightly beside you. his usual calm demeanor seemed a bit off, and you couldn't help but wonder what was on his mind. when the credits began to roll, he turned to you, his eyes full of a mix of determination and nervousness.

"hey," he began softly, his voice a bit shaky. "there's something i need to tell you."

you looked at him, concern and curiosity in your eyes. "what is it, kai?"

he took a deep breath, clearly gathering his courage. "we've been spending a lot of time together, and i... i really enjoy it. more than anything, really."

you smiled, your heart swelling at his words. "i do too, kai."

he nodded, his expression serious. "and, well, i can't stop thinking about you. you're always on my mind, and i realize that... i want us to be more than just friends."

your heart began to race as you understood where he was going with this. "kai..."

he held up a hand, stopping you gently. "wait, let me finish. i... i really like you, and i want to be with you. so, um..." he paused, his cheeks flushing with a deep blush as he stumbled over his words. "can i be your girlfriend? wait, no! i mean, can i be your boyfriend? i mean... will you be my girlfriend?"

you couldn't help but laugh at his adorable mix-up, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. his earnestness and vulnerability were incredibly endearing.

"kai," you said, reaching out to take his hand. "of course, i'll be your girlfriend."

relief and joy flooded his face, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "really?"

"really," you confirmed, squeezing his hand gently. "i like you too, kai. i've been hoping you felt the same way."

his eyes lit up with pure happiness, and he moved closer to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "i'm so glad," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to back away if you wanted to. but you didn't. you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tender kiss. it was sweet and innocent, filled with all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you for so long.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were smiling, your foreheads resting against each other. "i promise i'll do my best to make you happy," kai said softly.

"i know you will," you said, your heart overflowing with affection. "you already do."

as you settled back into the warmth of the couch, kai wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. you snuggled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. the world outside continued to be a wintry wonderland, but inside, everything felt perfect. with kai by your side and the promise of a beautiful relationship ahead, you knew that this was just the beginning of something truly special.

⋆˚࿔ taglist! @flowzel , @izzyy-stuff , @inkigayocamman , @vicurious28

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sluttywonwoo · 1 year ago

Note

randomly gifting seungcheol like a photobook basically of pictures of you that are all suggestive (some way more than others) but it starts out with nice and cute pictures of you guys for the first few pages

since it’s his birthday… (edit: since it was his birthday)

“baby.” seungcheol pouts up at you from where he’s sitting on the bed, hands smoothing over the cover of the book he’d just unwrapped.

on the cover is a picture of the both of you, taken by dk on a night you were all out together. you’re sitting on seungcheol’s lap on a park bench underneath a big oak tree adorned with twinkling lights. he has his arms around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder. it’s your favorite photo of the two of you and you’ve been wanting to get it framed for a while so putting it on the cover of your boyfriend’s birthday present seemed like an obvious choice.

“i know it’s kind of cheesy…” you say shyly.

“no, it’s perfect. i love it.” he reaches out for one of your hands to squeeze. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome.”

you spend the next few seconds looking at each other like lovesick idiots before your impatience gets the better of you and you ask, “well, are you going to open it or what?”

he clicks his tongue. “just give me a second!”

“you’ve had several seconds! just look through it already!”

your boyfriend chuckles but gives in, making a big show of flipping open the cover. there’s a sweet note on the inside that had been photocopied to match your handwriting. seungcheol reads it to himself and then flips the page. he takes his time looking at every photo, likely letting the memory of each wash over him like you had when you picked them out.

there are pictures from dates— to the museum, to local restaurants, to bars… pictures of trips you took together, pictures from when you moved in together… your first apartment and all the ones after that.

you can tell seungcheol is trying not to cry which makes you start to second guess the other half of the book because it isn’t as… wholesome.

maybe you should have gotten two books.

you can tell when he gets to the middle when he furrows his eyebrows. you’d tried to ease the transition from sweet to spicy with a picture of you both in bed. you’re under the covers but you can tell you’re naked from your bare shoulders peeking out. you figured it was just suggestive enough to not give your boyfriend a heart attack when he got to what’s next.

“what…” his eyes get wide. “oh.”

flip.

“oh my god… baby,” he murmurs.

flip.

“are the rest of them… like this?”

“why don’t you find out for yourself?”

“maybe i want to save them for later.”

“later? why?”

“because the first three pages of this section were just you in lingerie and i’m already getting hard and we have dinner reservations in thirty minutes.”

you smirk. “you can’t handle a few provocative photos?”

“i can, but knowing you these pictures are going to turn into full on porn by the end of this book. tell me i’m wrong.”

you purse your lips and clasp your hands behind your back. “i can’t do that.”

“so fucking predictable,” seungcheol muses.

“but i want you to look at the rest!”

“baby, i just told you what would happen! these pants are already tight enough.”

“maybe i could help with that,” you suggest, quirking an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

“what do you mean?”

instead of answering with words, you sink to your knees in front of him.

“keep looking at your present,” you insist as you unbuckle his belt. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

#answered #anon #seventeen smut #svt smut #s.coups smut #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut

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baby-tini · 3 months ago

Note

Fyodor with a pianist wife? I just love the idea.

This idea is so beautiful!!! Scenario under the cut.

-Your love for the piano was something that made his interest deepen for you, as someone who loves music, specifically classical music, he's glad that his partner also has a love for melodic instruments, it gives him another thing too conversate about with you, that he actually enjoys.

-He loves playing the cello as you play the piano, it's one of his favorite stress relievers, it's a way for him too destress for the day, he can just sit back and relax and let his fingers work as his thoughts are drowned out by the beautiful synchronized melodies.

-His favorite thing about you being a pianist is that, the piano is a dual instrument, meaning he can play along with you. Now, if you're someone who's played for a while and you don't need sheet music, that's great for him because you two can just relax as your hands move together. If you do need sheet music though, that's fine. He's a very patient man and he also doesn't mind the reminder of notes, he doesn't need them but if it's a new piece that your playing, he'll read the sheet with you.

It was quiet as his feet followed the music, softly pushing open the large oak door as deep amethyst eyes glow as they watch your delicate fingers move around the piano, his pupils following the smallest twitch of your fingers. As slow, calculated steps quietly slip towards you while his large pale hands slip around your shoulders. There's a slight tense in your shoulders as he leans down towards your ear but they quickly relax when he murmurs in your ear about how beautiful you look moving your hands like that. The little glow in your eyes is eccentric as your fingers make the prettiest sounding music he's ever heard, bringing him to a tranquility of sorts, his full body going lax in peace as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. The moon giving your skin an ethereal glow, as your hair lays on your shoulders, almost as loose as if it had been fresh-fallen. His hands are cold as encase your shoulders, smoothly rubbing the skin underneath as he watches your fingers dance over the black and white keys. It's a little while before Fyodor himself, sits on the bench, alongside you, you're hands gliding over as he starts too play along with you, a perfect harmony as your hands dance together in sync. It takes you a moment too realise that he's intending too play Dark Für Elise by Lucas King. His fingers starting he intro as your fingers follow in suite. It's a beautiful dance of melodies as your hands move together, the moon the only piece of lighting in the room as you take a deep breath, the music coming out in a rush towards your ears as his fingers fasten for the chorus. You watch as his pale fingers beautifully dance on the piano, not even lifting as his eyes are shut, he's going off memory of the piano and sheet, you don't even realize you've stopped playing until his eyes open, gleaming that perfect violet and his deep eyes hold an expectance of sorts, your eyes glancing down as you realise that your hands have stopped the synchronized dance. With a quick, but quiet, apology, your hands start moving again. It continues like that for a while until the beautiful piece is finished, Fyodor's shoulders lax as he breathes in, his chest rising and falling calmly as he looks at you, his eyes holding quiet appreciation as he stands and ushers you up and out of the large, spacious room and towards your shared bedroom. It's all routine too play together in the midst of the night before you two lay in peace in the soft bed, it's one of his favorite ways too end off the clear dark nights.

#baby-tini #anon ask #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor x y/n #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fedya dolokhov #bsd x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fanart #bsd headcanons #fyodor (bsd)#fyodor fluff #bsd fedya

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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 11 months ago

Text

╔═════ •┈• “I Hear You.” •┈• ═════╗

A Toge Inumaki x Fem!Deaf!Reader || Fluff + SMUT || ˚. ୭ ˚◦˚.

Contents ; Mind reading (reader has cursed hearing), Toge has PTSD, soft touches, hesitant fingering, face-riding, mind control (Toge uses his speech curse), squirting, soft dom Toge, public sex, cock-warming, and a cumshot in reader’s panties.

A/N ; Hi, so I just wanted to explain a little bit of background on this since reader’s curse might be hard to understand for some right away. But, basically, reader is partially deaf from a horrible accident involving a curse that had consumed one of Sukuna’s fingers. It left her with a cursed ability to where she can listen into someone’s thoughts for a limited amount of time at random. However, it has its drawbacks which you will see in the story. Now, that’s all! Hopefully that clarifies some confusion if there is any.

Dynamic ; Best Friends to Lovers

Sexual Dynamic ; Soft Dom!Toge | Bottom!Fem!Reader

P.O.V ; First

Age range ; 18+

Music Suggestion ;

{Y/N’s P.O.V :}

I sat on an oak polished bench with a heavy sigh, facing toward the buildings of Jujutsu High, hundreds of Ginkgo trees shrouding certain parts of their rooftops in a pretty spiral. The same ones lining the path that I walked on to get to our usual hang-out spot.

Their orange leaves danced around my head and landed at my black Mary Jane’s, my glossy lips quirking up into a smile at the perfect shape of the leaf before lifting my Canon camera to take a picture. As soon as my finger hovered over the snap button, it flew away.

Wind being the culprit. A shudder ran down my spine when the gust blew through my {H/C} hair and ruined another shot, making me huff in frustration.

I’ve been dealing with this annoying weather all day. Finally, the day I’m off of studying and training. Left alone to fulfill any hobbies I want for as long as I want with no one calling me on a mission to exorcise curses. And it just had to be windy.

However, I couldn’t complain. Being able to get dressed for the day, something I hadn’t been able to do in a long time— was more than exciting. There was even time for myself to do my makeup and having hours like that as a Jujutsu student would be considered lucky.

Reminding myself of him, I smiled. The memories of his horrible attempts at being on time flashed in my mind and brought a small giggle out of me. Oh, that’s right. How could I forget the example himself? For the boy I was waiting on, getting out of work was non-existent.

The feeling of a warm hand placing itself on my shoulder made me jump out of my seat, twisting around to stand in a fighting position with a little scream. When I saw the recognizable white parted hair and tired, doe eyes of Toge, I clasped both of my hands together and puckered my lips out of embarrassment.

He was quick to be apologetic, repeating the same weird ingredients he usually said over and over again, “Sujiko… Takana..?” But, by now, I somewhat understood what he meant. Takana was used as a form of asking if I was okay. Sujiko… That, I could only guess meant an expression like, ‘Oh gosh.’ Or I liked to imagine it was.

Hanging out with the cursed speech user outside of missions had benefits when it came to understanding his way of talking. Although, that was funny to mention because the way we had come about to regularly seeing each other was far from willing. Or maybe it wasn’t on my end. But, if I could take those doubts back, I would.

Thinking of that dredged up a flashback of how it all started.

•···· ‘ First Meeting Him . . . ’ ····•

My feet slipped while trying to hop onto the next stone in the middle of a river I was crossing, almost taking a tumble into the cold water before I saved myself by stretching out my arms. I regained my balance and breathed heavily, cursing underneath a couple of them.

Then I went for the fifth one, regaining momentum and skipping across each of them until I landed on my toes into the bed of pebbles near the water. Surprisingly, I had yet to cut them on a sharp object sticking through the dirt.

I turned my head from staring down at my legs and white skirt to looking at my reflection in the clear stream.

{E/C} eyes peered back at me, filled with happiness from the moment of quiet, and appreciation for the fact I didn’t have to stress my attention span on anyone. Or that’s what I thought.

Before I could get further with that thought, a headache began to form on the right side of my temple and I placed a hand up to it; worry rising as I knew what was happening when I heard ringing after the throbbing. My curse. It was coming.

I couldn’t understand how it was. A person had to be beside me in order for me to connect to their inner consciousness and they’d have to be in an extremely weak mindset which would take hours for me to perfect in battle.

So, what this was and what this meant was far beyond anything I’ve experienced with my curse. Right up until this very point.

Crouching down to my knees, I started to hold both sides of my head now. The pain and ringing worsening by the minute. I rocked back and forth to try to ease myself. Why was it so hard to connect to them? It was like they were poisoning my brain the more I tried to.

Whoever it was took me forever to process before I could hear the faint sound of mumbling, such a soft and sweet voice.

“What do I do? What do I do? I can’t have her knowing that I stopped to watch her… Even worse, she could think I followed,” I managed to make out what they were saying, the masculine tone rambling on and on, as if the boy had some form of hyperactivity disorder.

Thankfully, the migraine stopped once I was successful in linking. So I was able to stand up straight again. Looking around for the responsible one of my misery.

I figured I’d tell them I knew they were here to lure them out of their hiding, shouting with a lag on any words I couldn’t hear I was pronouncing right, “Who’s out there?! You can show yourself! I won’t be upset with you!” Hope I said that correctly.

The voice paused and no longer spoke a word, a silence enveloping the atmosphere and leaving me to barely confirm that they were still present by checking if my cursed energy was still being used. When I did, I called out a second time, “I promise! I won’t think anything bad of you! I can hear your thoughts! My curse is working with you as of now!”

My attempts at getting them to come out seemed futile and I was about to give up before I heard rustling in the bushes to my left. I turned my head to see who it was and to my surprise, it was that cursed first grade sorcerer. What was his name? Inumaki?

His chin was lowered but his eyes were wide and fixated on mine, like he was in shock. He was nervous from what I could tell in his body language: hesitant in his footsteps, jagged breathing, and small pupils. I could see a shake in how he walked too. Whatever it was that was scaring him about me, it was definitely due to underlying trauma.

And once I heard what he started to think about, I pieced together why, “Okaka, okaka, okaka, okaka.” He continuously repeated the Japanese word for ‘Fish Flakes’ in a panicked tone, his hand moving up to his forehead to press against it. Toge was forcing himself to not think anything because he was worried his curse would affect me.

The poor boy proceeded to break down in front of me, landing onto his knees in the grass while pulling at his hair as slips of actual words were coming into his sentences, “Okaka, I can’t, no! Stop thinking, Ikura, just Ikura! No, no, no, OKAKA!”

I could feel his torment. Having access to someone’s mind wasn’t a gift like people assume it is, this was why. You get to see what they see, feel how they feel, and physically align yourself to the point where it could be labeled as scientifically combining one’s spirit with another. That means I can see all of his past and present. I can understand every single thing Inumaki was trying to do for me in that moment. And it was to save. Save me from him. Only save me from him. That was what he was really trying to say.

There wasn’t enough time left of my ability for me to convince him to calm down and see that nothing was wrong. I was cut off before I could say a word of affirmation and from the look of dull surprise on Toge’s face, he sensed that it was over.

I don’t think I’ll be able to forget that look of sadness in his purple eyes when he came to the realization that everything was fine. That none of his words had hurt or done the things he had saw in his head. It’s what led me to tug his sleeve as he tried to leave.

Inumaki didn’t look at me, but he stopped. Like he was waiting for me to say what I had to say. So, I hurriedly proposed an idea I wouldn’t have blurted out had I not felt rushed, “Can I see you again?”

Admitting this now, I adored seeing that smile curving up his cheeks, as melancholy as it was. It’s what made me start to crush on the boy. He nodded his head and gave me a thumbs up, his eyes squinting into crescent-shaped moons while he remarked, “Shake.”

That was the beginning of our unspoken friendship.

•···· ‘ End of Flashback. . . ’ ····•

I blinked rapidly when coming back from the small memory trip, realizing that I had been staring at Toge the entire time I was lost in it. A blush creeped onto my face, I could feel the warmth scattering my cheeks and I lifted my hands to cover it; leaving my eyes open to keep eye contact with him.

That wasn’t a smart idea. He was bound to know that I was flustered. Inumaki had such an odd increased sense of observation because of his inability to have conversations. I could see it from how he looked at me. It always felt like he was reading into my soul, gently peeping behind the curtains of my brain, and looking at the scripture of my bones whenever he held his gaze on me like he was currently.

A hum left me and I laughed it off, brushing the sleeves of my brown cardigan on my cheeks, stepping toward him, “Pardon that, it’s so cold… Do you think we could go somewhere warmer?”

Toge lingered the stare for a minute before he gave me a break and answered, “Tsuna Tsuna.” I distinctly recall that to mean, ‘Look’ in his vocabulary. Confirming it when he grabbed me by my wrist and pulled me closer, bringing me into a hug.

At first, I thought he was trying to warm me up with his own body temperature but then I felt him taking off his jacket and that made me pull away. The stupid blush on my face wouldn’t ever go if he kept this up. I apologized and waved a hand at the action, “No, no! Thank you for the kindness.. But, you need that too.”

He continued to take it off and walked back to where he was in front of me, throwing the jacket over my shoulders and holding it there with the arm holes wide open.

I stared up at him, his face closer than before, and the details in it enough to make my face burn brighter; like a tomato. Then I slowly slid my arms through the warm piece of clothing, letting it mold into my body, giving him a small smile of comfort and gratitude.

Toge looked me up and down, holding two thumbs up with an exclamation of the word he uses for praise, “Mentaiko!” His eyes smiling at me once again.

Why did he have to be so sweet? I was lost in thought about my crush on the boy for what felt like the millionth time. Tired of stressing my feelings on it but I wasn’t able to say a word about it to him. I didn’t want to ruin a friendship that seemed so fragile by acting on something that’d be so selfish. He wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, he was looking for a friend. Someone he could finally have a connection with outside of his stressors. Not another load to bear.

Shunning myself from having anymore thoughts on the matter, I went to sitting on the bench from earlier again, Inumaki following behind and plopping down next to me.

We sat in silence and watched the scenery like I had been before, helping me calm myself so no more unnecessary romance made me avoid the white-haired boy. I closed my eyes and burrowed most of myself into the jacket to keep some heat maintained, the smell of rice and red mungbean paste wafting from it.

Glancing at Toge, I noticed that he was leaned and fixated on scribbling something on a paper resting in his lap. Seemingly to have got it from the backpack he carried here.

I watched as he jotted down the last of what he needed to write. He shoved the pencil back into one of the pockets of his bag and folded the paper up into a square; handing it to me the moment he was finished. My expression changed into a surprised stare, digging my fingers into the corners of it until I undid the folds one by one.

There was no way I would expect to see what I read on that paper, but I did. Stumbling over the words he wrote with shock.

‘Please, try to connect to me again?’

Looking over at him, my wide eyes met with his purple, calm orbs. Like he was trying to tell me it was okay. Inumaki outstretched his hand and placed it facing up on my thigh for me to hold it, peacefully smirking at me as if he was letting me know that he was ready to talk.

My breathing increased and my eyelashes fluttered, trying to process everything without getting too overjoyed, but that was really hard. He wanted to speak to me. Would I be the first person he’s talked to? Would I be the first to experience a conversation with a cursed speech user?

None of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting to experience the connection again and after having so much time to regain control over this cursed energy I had, I was more than prepared to pull it together.

My eyelids shut and I focused every single bit of my attention on Toge’s presence, pinpointing the exact spots of his soul and reaching out a hand to place it on his forehead. Sweeping hair out of the way for my palm.

A buzz of power vibrated through my entire arm and I could hear the sounds of almost thousands of student’s thoughts for a fraction of a second, my head spinning until a snap was heard. And then quiet. I could picture a thin white line in my head, the sound of soft, running water making me giggle. His soul was so gentle and pretty. It was exactly what I thought it would be like.

I opened my eyes to look at his handsome face once more, giving him a nod to let him know that I succeeded in the connection. My heart picking up pace and thumping against my chest as I waited to hear that voice of his.

Quiet but kind, he murmured to me, “Can you… hear this?” I eagerly nodded, a wide grin accidentally peeping from my lips as I said, “Yes! Yes, I can!” His eyebrows raised and he appeared starstruck, choking out in his mind, “You can… And nothing is happening to you? You can talk to me?”

Tears formed in the corners of his ducts out of being overwhelmed, threatening to spill while I continued to shake my head up and down, confirming the one thing he had been wanting almost his whole life.

He scoffed, thinking out loud with more confidence, “I didn’t think something like this was possible for me…” I had never heard him speak so clearly before. Last time he was so hard to hear that I had to listen to each syllable for a clue on what he was saying. Now, he spoke directly into his head.

But, pushing everything to the side, I was curious about his reasoning. Why was he suddenly okay with this? So, I asked him, “What made you want to connect?”

Toge bit his lip at the question and a random look of nervousness crossed his face, his directness failing him as he gave himself away instantly, “I was trying to ask if you would be willing to cross the boundaries of friends and into something more…?” My jaw dropped at what he just said, looking at him like he was insane before coughing a reply, “Wow! I wouldn’t have thought this was what you were going to say! Um…!”

Tilting my head to the ground, I tucked my knees together and sheepishly took the hand that he kept there from earlier. Interlocking my fingers with his and squeaking out, “I think I would really enjoy that…”

This was happening. He was confessing feelings for me I believed didn’t exist a moment ago and telling me he wanted me to be his girlfriend. Holy, shit. Mind my language, but seriously! HOLY, SHIT!

Inumaki squeezed my hand and reached over to grab my chin with his other one, turning me to face him so he could get closer. Observing how I was responding to the situation with a tiny smirk. Was he being cocky? The Toge Inumaki?

He touched noses with me, asking as he barely hovered his lips on mine, “I don’t know why… but I really want to…Is it okay if I kiss you, {Y/N}?” My breath caught in my throat and I froze, responding through my own thought, “Yes.”

There was no hesitation after, our lips locking in a tight hold as he brushed his hand to the back of my neck, tugging me into him to where we were smushed against one other. A small bit of desperation in the pull, causing the both of us to stay in the kiss until we needed a break for oxygen.

I panted once apart, Toge moving his arm from holding my hand to pushing his fingers to my lower stomach, hesitating right around there. He murmured, “Can I go all the way?” Struggling from holding back by the way he was dragging down. I dug my teeth into my tongue and contemplated over the ask, secretly accepting it as soon as he mentioned it. Fuck, I felt like such a bad influence.

“Do it,” I quickly whispered into his ear, nuzzling down into the crook of his neck to hide there afterward. What were we doing? What if someone saw?

Me and Toge were exchanging kisses on an outside bench. We were cuddled up until the white-haired boy laid me down on the wooden planks, his lips dipping for my neck and sucking on parts that were exposed. I gasped, wrapping my arms around him to plant my nails deep into his back. I didn’t mean to hurt him, I was just overstimulated by the rushes of dopamine from every single touch he gave.

It was so soft. Even as he pushed his fingers underneath my skirt and in between my thighs, it tickled me from how delicate he was. This was weird. Who knew I would like someone touching me like this?

Inumaki hovered above my underwear once he got around to them, swallowing nervously while he confirmed with me for a second time, “I can go ahead? You want this?” He was so adorable in the way he quirked his head like a puppy as he asked, his messy hair making me want to squeal. But I refrained.

I decided to vocally express it now, “Yes, I want you to.” Hopefully that would get it through to him. His face almost innocent for that brief moment he asked right until he got the message. A darkness shading over his face before he hooked his fingers on the fabric that covered me. Pushing them to the side and making me hold my breath.

He was doing this to me. He was really going to do this with me. Out in public. My head turned to stare out at the falling leaves with a churning anxiety in my stomach now. Letting the boy above me feel the wetness between my legs with his fingertips, pushing down to my entrance and slowly sliding one third of it in.

If my grip was bad then, I couldn’t imagine how it was once he started. It felt like he was trying to tease me for the first half of it, constantly taking his fingers out, pushing an entire digit inside, then half of another, and proceed to completely abandon the whole thing. Like he was experimenting with me and figuring out which made me feel the best. Eventually, I had to plead, “Toge, Toge…! Can you please… just keep them in?” That was awfully embarrassing.

The purple-eyed boy raised his brows, gushing out an apology and pulling completely away instead, “Oh..! Sorry… You feel really.. nice. I hope this is okay…” Before he went to kiss from my neck down to my chest, all the way to my hips. Looking up at me through those white eyelashes of his as he went for it, wrapping his mouth on my sensitive bud and dipping his tongue to my entrance.

He lapped in and out of me, my legs tensing and squeezing around him on accident while he dragged me into sitting on top of his face. Peering at his eyes that stared straight up at me, the other half of him covered by my thighs and lower half. I humped a tiny bit from how good I was feeling. Unable to stop myself from getting out of hand because he was driving me nuts with his pace.

I couldn’t keep it in for longer if he kept pressing the tip of his tongue on those sweet spots inside. Or if he kept sucking on the right places. Anything. I would unwind. And I didn’t want to make a mess on him.

Without me saying a word about it, it was like he knew I was close because of how fast he got all of a sudden. Thrusting his tongue until my legs were shaking. I cried out, reaching for and tugging on his hair. Toge groaned on me, sounding like he was annoyed, “Cum already.”

Those were real. He actually said that. And I couldn’t respond to it because my first instant reaction was to scream, collapsing forward onto the arm of the bench to hold tight as I rocked my hips.

All of my juices fell out of me and anything that couldn’t be caught by him dripped down the sides of his cheeks onto the floor. I twitched and lifted myself off, my shoes thudding on the concrete as I tried to regain my balance. Jesus, fuck, I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe WE did that. I was so dizzy from it, I didn’t know how I was awake. My hand reached up to rub my forehead.

Although, I had no idea that Inumaki had different plans. The sound of another command from him frightening me to my core, “Take them off.” I didn’t even know what he was telling me to take off but I went for his pants anyway, guessing that he could mean something and I would still do it despite not knowing. His ability was something else. And to say that I’m not freaked out about what he was telling me to do was an understatement.

Toge was making me hook up with him. Not like I wasn’t going to in the first place, I’m only confirming this because he was going down this route and I shamefully liked it. Well, loved it…

After taking his cargo pants off of him and resting them at his knees, he helped take off his boxers next, making me cover my eyes out of sheer inexperience. I’ve never seen one in real life. And here I was about to see Toge’s. This was my first time. He seemed to get how I was feeling because he patted my head for reassurance, cooing at me in thought, “Take your time… Sorry that I’m so eager. I hope you aren’t minding, {Y/N}..”

Oh no, I was far from minding. I snickered at myself and dropped my hands from my face, excusing my behavior, “Crap…! I don’t mean to act like a kid! I haven’t done this and it’s so nerve-wracking!” Red was covering my cheeks once again as I glanced over to see his exposed erection, becoming a flustered heaping pile of mush.

Toge huffed, “That’s why I was saying uh… those commands.. If I keep doing it, will that help?” Sounding so sexually frustrated that I was starting to feel bad for holding out. But, he was suggesting an actual solution that had been working. It made sense.

So, I agreed, “Yeah… actually.” And he cleared his throat with a squint to his eyes, quickly adjusting himself. It was crazy seeing the words really leaving his mouth, “Ride me.” That could go for what he was telling me to do as well.

Feeling my body go on autopilot, both of my legs straddled the sides of Inumaki’s hips, and I began lowering myself until his tip was prodding around my inner thigh. My hand grabbed the base once I struggled for a minute, aligning it against my entrance to ease his shaft into me.

A gasp escaped my lungs, moans cascading afterward while I shakily grabbed onto both of his shoulders, his arms wrapping around my waist to hold and guide me on him. Fucking into me as I bounced lightly. I could feel how small I was for him from his dick refusing to slide out at some points. Like my body was trying to keep him inside.

We groaned in unison, syncing with each other’s movements, my voice pitching when he brushed into a spot that he abused earlier. He memorized where it was and aimed directly for it, his eyebrows knitting together as sweat dripped down from his forehead. It was so good. He felt so good. And he had a look to his face that I would never forget.

After fifteen minutes of doing it out in the open, someone was finally about to walk past and I sensed them barely seconds before they could see us. Pretending to have fell asleep on Toge once the person arrived. His jacket placed over our lower halves.

“What’s up Inumaki? Aaaaannnnd… {Y/N}…” the sound of Maki’s voice made me internally cringe as she seemed like she was getting closer. Making me pray that she wouldn’t get any ideas about what was going on. If she found out, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.

He gave his usual greeting, “Konbu..” Playing it off surprisingly well with the tone of his speech, no stutters whatsoever. Even though I could feel his dick throbbing inside of me and that was not helping my case in fighting against the demand he gave.

I tried to steady my breathing into the soft breaths like I do when I’m about to fall asleep, panicking in my mind, forgetting that Toge can hear, “I want to so badly.! I need to! I need to!” In my defense, I really couldn’t help it. He told me to do it in cursed speech. Every part of my body was screaming at me to, pain coursing through my skin when I denied the action.

Maki’s voice lowered, sounding like she was getting suspicious which terrified me, “What is she doing lying on you like that, Inumaki?” But, I couldn’t think of anything from the burn of the speech curse and it seemed like he knew that. Because even as she was right there and asking him, he began to subtly roll his hips into me, helping relieve it.

The way he said the ingredients in response were getting a bit butchered, “Nntsuna m-mayo..” And his swear word kept slipping when he pushed himself deeper into me, “Ikura…” I held my breath as I tried not to make a single noise. Too hard. Way too hard. This was such a dangerous game to play. But, why did I love it so much?

It seemed like Maki knew something was up from the way she responded, although she didn’t know what, “Ooookay… Well, I’m not going to get any information out of you any time soon.” Keeping it at that, I could make out her energy walking away from us to the other side. A huge wave of relief washed over me as I arched back into a sitting position on him, spreading my legs so he could move more freely. We were right back into it with our lust at an all time high.

Toge did most of the work when it came to it, but he didn’t seem to care. His dedication in making me feel amazing nothing short. Fingers slipping down to play with my bud after I became labored in my moans, edging me closer and closer into cumming again. My walls tightened around him before more of my liquids rushed out onto his lap, becoming a huge mess.

I wanted to apologize for ruining the bottom half of his shirt, but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me, continuously ramming into me until he was approaching his own end. There were several actual curses from him inside of his head as he neared it, no longer those innocent food items he loved, “Fuck.. How does it feel so.. tight? Fuck, that feels too good..! Y/N}… I think I’m going to… I need to..!”

Then he pulled out at the very last moment to cum around my lower back, most of it landing on my underwear and sabotaging them like I had with his clothing.

I was exhausted, both of us panting and taking a break by resting on the bench. Pulling up my panties as dirty as that was. I liked to think it was like a finishing touch. I gave him a small peck on the cheek, muttering weakly, “I like you… Toge…” Too shy to say the word ‘Love’ despite what we did just now.

Using the last of my strength, I kept up the connection of our brains to hear him reply back, not hearing a hesitation to his voice in the slightest, “I love you, {Y/N}.” Then I passed out on him quickly after, ironically fulfilling what we feigned earlier.

#jjk smut #smut #smut prompts #jjk toge #jjk toge inumaki #jjk x fem!reader #toge inumaki x reader #toge inumaki #inumaki toge #toge inumaki x reader smut #toge inumaki fluff #fluff #toge inumaki x fem!reader #reader has a hearing curse #deaf reader

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sorrowsofsilence · 5 months ago

Text

echo of my shadow • ns

pairing: noah sebastian!ghost x fem!reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: implied death, not necessarily 18+ but implied smut (fem!masturbation w/ mention of orgasm), mention of afterlife / paranormal existence

summary: his soul was lost, bound to find yours again in this life…and in every lifetime to come.

authors note: one of my fav movies is Just Like Heaven, and this was kinda inspired by that- and by auroras song Echo of My Shadow. I’d have to say this is probably one of my most emotional pieces other than “desolate love”, and I’m so proud of how it turned out. The “cover” pic is inspired by @veronicaphoenix s layout! (I adore how you present your work!)

“If I stay here any longer, I will stay here forever And the echo of my world will fade Will the edge of my sorrow be gone in the morning?”

Seasons changed and the years moved on, yet he remained the same.

Noah never knew why he stayed. Perhaps it was heartbreak, the loss of his love that restrained him; years dedicated to the mourning of his first and only devotion.

And as he wandered the earth he never knew what he was meant to find, until he saw you, the oak bench you sat upon withered with age.

At that moment his world stilled as his feet stopped carrying him across the gravel, the air around him stagnant as though the clock finally stopped, after all this time.

The sun was warm against your skin as the pencil scribbled across the page of your notebook. The dream was always the same, and reality faded as thoughts floated to the scene that had bothered you for months.

You sat along the river, waiting, and once his eyes met your own, the smile he gifted you made everything disappear- everything except him.

You swore he was a stranger, someone you never met before; but with each subconscious greeting he felt familiar, like a blanket being wrapped around you as you basked by a window, enthralled with the nostalgia of a thunderstorm.

It was as if his memories were being woven into an intricate tapestry, placed in your mind for his narrative to shine, ready to entangle with your own.

His voice was the only whisper evident in your realm of sleep.

As time passed the memories began to consume you, blurring the lines between reality and fiction; the image of him surrounding you even when awake.

These dreams carried on for months, and everything felt like it led up to this moment as you finally sat in the place that beckoned your name.

If he wasn’t here, perhaps you lived in a world of delusion, fated to fall into an abyss of lost vitality.

How would one mourn the loss of a dream?

As your pencil took over you let yourself rewrite his stories, the presence of him stronger with each stroke.

Noah stood further ahead on the path, a slight breeze inviting him closer, causing his long brunette hair to sway as his heart raced, knowing that pieces of himself were amongst the words you wrote.

He tried not to smile as you jot down the remembrance of him from your subconscious, watching as your leg bounced in concentration, fingers rising to tuck your hair behind your ear.

After all these years he thought you were gone. That his eyes would never find yours again.

With each step his soul yearned harder for yours, legs carrying him down the path.

He then stopped, mind rushing: what if you didn’t want him? What if you didn’t love him the way he had always loved you?

And as he stood there, vulnerable and afraid, you closed the notebook.

Shivers ran down your spine despite the sun that graced your skin, and your heart began to pound. His presence engulfed you as you pulled the book to your chest.

There was no one else in this world that could make you this nervous, it had to be him.

So, was he real?

Noah’s ears echoed as he watched you suck in a breath, leg bouncing faster as seconds passed.

Should he say something? Should he just walk away?

But then your head turned and your gaze met him, his October eyes staring into your spirit with longing.

He had been a soul with no home until he found you.

As he smiled with awe you couldn’t help but let one fall upon your lips in mimicry, the anxiety you once had leaving, replaced by the manifestation of him.

“If my life is just a moment and this world is ancient Then the light through my window will fade Young mountains, old rivers, I let them become me Right now”

Your skin grew cold as he stepped closer, and he hesitated to sit beside you for a moment before joining you on the bench.

Your eyes never left his, afraid he would disappear if you looked away.

He smiled again, and you melted, immersed in the world he had to offer.

Noah’s gaze was fixated as his eyes danced across your face, entranced, “You’re here.”

He knew you were in a different body, but you were the same soul that once encaptured his own; his very being devoted to you in every single life, until the day he perishes completely.

And although he was bound to this earth, the mere idea of you existing once again eased his racing mind, memories of the past leaving him something he hadn’t felt in a long time…hope.

“You’re not just a figment of my imagination,” You laughed quietly, almost reassuring yourself as it took everything in him to not reach for your hand, afraid to scare you away.

Noah shook his head and you studied his brunette locks, immersed in how they flowed and caressed the sides of his face. Your eyes trailed across his tattoos which had faded due to time, and somehow in the back of your mind, you remembered the stories of what each one meant.

You relaxed as he lingered next to you, his presence innately familiar and comforting. You recognized the way his hands rested on his thighs and the way his inked fingers brushed his hair away from his cheeks.

Your eyebrows narrowed in contemplation as if you’ve lived this moment before, not just in a dream. The Deja Vu made you feel like you’ve known this man for years- as if you’ve spent countless hours with him.

“Stay right here, stay in the light, my dear Until the love you crave falls in your arms, ooh I know your mind moves like a wave sometimes If you can't rise for us, do it for love”

You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around his torso, head pressed against his chest while he whispered delicate words into your ear.

It was the soul’s recognition of past connection.

“I’ve spent years searching for you,” Noah whispered, leaning toward you for a moment before pulling himself away, hesitating.

His words warmed your heart, the intimacy behind them a testimonial memoir to what once was.

“What makes me so special?” You asked, harboured by doubts at the stranger’s confession. How did he know you this whole time?

How have you not known him?

“You won’t remember,” He said thoughtfully, turning his gaze away from you for just a moment, staring at the water ahead, “Until I show you.”

The two of you watched the river carve through the sediment, years of memories washing along the path it created. Its song mirrored the echo of your love, entranced in the shadows your body created against the soil beneath you.

“I’ve dreamed of you,” the soft words left your lips as you pulled the notebook from your chest, resting its pages on your lap. Your thumb brushed along the suede cover, tempted to expose its secrets to the man next to you; but he already knew what was written.

“I know,” He replied, turning to watch you with admiration, “You called me here.”

Shaking your head you laughed, “But how? You were the one haunting my mind.”

“Your soul was finally ready.”

Noah was radiant, his skin almost glowing from the sun that shone above. He was here, and every other worry and thought left your mind, captivated by him.

You opened the notebook, showing him the pages of your words.

“You’re Noah,” You breathed, and he bit back a smile, beaming as his name fell off your tongue with an elegance no one but you could muster.

“And you’re Y/N,” he whispered, another cool breeze running down your neck as he breathed your name into the air.

⊹˚.

They were inseparable, as Noah got to know who she was in this life. He learned everything about her new being, who she became, and who she will continue to become.

But as the clock continued, the world was ready to let go of him.

He knew it would be time to go.

She stood in the mirror, her lover standing behind her. And when her soul begged for the stories of their past, he grew the courage to finally touch her, arms wrapping around in armoured protection.

Her body cooled, hands reaching up to hold his apparition as his touch passed the memories of them into her heart.

She loved him, then and now; always and forever.

How will she spend the rest of this lifetime without him?

“Promise me you won’t disappear,” She cried, staring at their reflection with the sorrows of silence embellishing her.

He leaned into her, caressing her earthly body as tears for him fell.

“If I stay here any longer, I will stay here forever Till the echo of my shadow is gone”

Noah promised her he would love her again. He would search for her in every world and every spec of existence he is to be in, just as he had finally done now.

As they laid upon her satin sheets she closed her eyes, his lips ghosting against hers in fated promises. His body sunk further into hers, possessing her being with his eulogy of confession.

Tenderness as sweet as honey, passion as strong as his dedication to her. Everything.

Her fingers danced down her skin, guided by his shadow as she pleasured herself. The breath of his touch against her desire made bumps adorn her skin, the chill from his distant lips gravitating their love.

Noah whispered to her that he would find her when this life came to an end.

“There are heroes within us, there are lovers around us They will be here forever, I know I know, I know”

She reached for him as her body clenched from intimacy, climax approaching as her chest heaved from his memory.

And as he began to fade away she smiled at him: a smile of pain and grief; of fortune and faith.

He would be there, waiting for her on the other side when the time came for them to live together once again.

Tags:

@spicywhenspeaking @calleyx13 @blackveilomens @thatchickwiththecamera @thefallennightmare

@xserenax-13 @xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch

@blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @reyadawn @silentglassbreak @lma1986

@darkmxgician @philomenie @amberrndall @sammyjoeee

@dsireland86 @whenthesummerdies

if you want to join my tag list you can join here, and if you would like off it pls just let me know :) some tags are reused from previous fics!

#noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian oneshot #noah sebastian smut #bad omens band

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paisleypens · 4 months ago

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farmers market spencer agnew

sweet summer air | spencer agnew x reader

literally exactly the request

~~~

The first thing you heard in the morning was the chirp of the birds outside your window. You stretched, feeling the excitement of the day bubbling inside you. Today was the day you and Spencer had planned a trip to the farmer’s market, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

You quickly got dressed, opting for a casual yet cute look. You hummed joyfully doing your morning rituals and just as you were about to grab your bag, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Spencer.

“Morning!!! Ready for a farmer's market adventure :) ??”

You smiled and texted back, “good morning! so ready! see you in a bit.”

Spencer arrived right on time, greeting you with a warm hug and a kiss on the forehead. His joy was contagious, and you both couldn’t stop smiling as you made your way to the market.

The market was bustling with its stalls lined with colorful fruits, vegetables, and flowers. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms and berries making the day smell sweeter.

“Where should we start?” Spencer asked, looking around with wide eyes.

“How about the fruit stalls?” you suggested, pointing towards a stall overflowing with ripe berries and peaches.

As you approached the stall, Spencer picked up a strawberry and held it out to you. “These are gorgeous.”

“Sounds like something we could bake with!” you exclaimed, grabbing a basket to fill with strawberries, blueberries, and peaches. Spencer giggled before joining in, picking the best ones he could find.

With your basket full of fruits, you moved on to the flower stalls. Spencer gently picked up a bunch of sunflowers, their bright yellow petals shining extra for the sunny day. “These would look perfect on your dining table,” he said, handing them to you.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” you replied, touched by his thoughtfulness. You added a few more flowers to the bunch, creating a perfect bouquet to be your centerpiece.

Next, you wandered over to the trinket stalls, where various knick-knacks were on display. Spencer’s eyes lit up when he saw a small, intricately designed ceramic cat. “This looks just like Squishy,” he said, picking it up with a chuckle.

“It’s adorable,” you agreed. “You should get it.”

He did, and you continued to browse, finding little treasures and laughing together at some of the more “out-there” items. Spencer found a tiny, carved wooden heart and handed it to you. “A little keepsake from today.”

You held the heart close, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Thank you, Spencer. This day has been perfect.”

“It’s not over yet,” he said, taking your hand. “Let’s get some fresh lemonade and find a spot to sit.”

With lemonade in hand, you found a cozy bench under a large oak tree. The two of you sat close, sipping your drinks and people watching. Spencer leaned in, his arm around your shoulders, and you rested your head on his chest.

“I could get used to this,” you murmured, feeling utterly content.

“Me too,” he replied softly, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Me too.”

As the morning became afternoon, you knew that this day would be one of your favorite memories with Spence.

#smosh #spencer agnew #smosh fanfiction #smosh x reader #spencer agnew x reader #paisleypens

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eunseoksimp · 2 months ago

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Care For You; Song Eunseok

a/n: posting a lot of my old throwaways because i haven’t had the time to sit down and write anything new yet :(

Pairings: Ex Boyfriend! Eunseok x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff at the end

Description: in the quiet of a fading evening, two souls meet where it all began. emotions simmer beneath the surface, caught between what was and what could be. in the silence, a fragile hope lingers.

Warnings: none

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the sun was setting over the city, casting long shadows across the park where you and eunseok had first met. the memory of that day was a bittersweet ghost, lingering at the edge of your mind as you walked towards the bench where he was waiting.

eunseok sat with his back to you by the old oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the dusky sky, his silhouette dark against the vibrant hues of the sky. his broad shoulders were hunched, a sign of the turmoil brewing inside him. the park was unusually quiet this evening, the usual chatter of children and joggers replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city.

as you approached him, the tension between you two was almost palpable, like a storm about to break. he turned as the sound of your footsteps neared, his eyes catching the dying light and reflecting a myriad of emotions—anger, regret, a hint of longing. you both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your past hanging between the two of you like an unspoken promise. his gaze was fixed on the ground, his brow furrowed in thought and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind, struggling to reconcile the torrent of emotions within him.

‘you really came,’ he said, his voice flat yet loaded with unspoken words.

‘i had to,’ you replied, your own voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. ‘we need to talk.’

eunseok’s laugh was bitter, a sharp contrast to the soft murmurs of the evening breeze. ‘talk? what’s left to talk about? we’ve said it all, haven’t we?’

taking a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs with a clarity you desperately needed, you fight the urge to back down from his sharp gaze. ‘maybe we have. but we never really understood, did we?’

he stood up abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets, his face easily betraying his emotions, of someone who was ready to walk away. ‘understand what, exactly? that we’re stuck in this endless loop of hurting each other? that every time i see you, i feel like I’m drowning in memories I can’t escape? i just want it to be over, to be over you.’

the rawness in his voice struck you like a physical blow, its pain manifesting all the same as it spread through your chest and causing a lump to form in your throat. you understood why he was speaking the way he was, but it still hurt you, to hear that the one you loved wanted nothing to do with you.

‘eunseok,’ you began softly,treading carefully as you watched his chest rise and fall. ‘hate and love, they’re not so different, you know. they’re both deep feelings, and they both show that we care. the real opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference.’

his eyes flashed with a mixture of defiance and pain, like he didn’t accept what you were saying. so what are you saying? that because i hate you, it means i still love you?’

you stepped closer, close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the chill in the air.

‘yes,’ you answered quietly. ‘it means you still care. and that means there’s something left worth saving.’

eunseok shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

“you always were the optimist, always the person to look on the bright side,’ he muttered, half speaking to himself, but you still heard what he said.

‘have you ever thought that maybe caring isn’t enough? what if we’re just fooling ourselves?”

you reached out, hesitating for a moment before touching his arm, wanting to feel something from him. ‘maybe we are. but I’d rather fight with you and feel something, anything, than walk away and feel nothing. i know we can fix this eunseok.’

for a moment, the silence between you was thick and oppressive, weighed down with anxious thoughts and unspoken words, as if eunseok was sifting through a labyrinth of emotions, desperately searching for the right words to express the turmoil within him. then, slowly, his expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost vulnerable.

‘i don’t know if i can do this again,’ he whispered, his voice barely audible, and in the moment you wanted nothing more than to gently hold him in your arms, to caress his hair as you always did as you comforted him.

‘i thought the same way,’ you admit, your own voice cracking. ‘but i want to try. because even in our worst moments, i never felt indifferent. and that has to mean something.’

eunseok sighed, the sound heavy with years of accumulated sorrow. ‘do you remember the night i left?’ his voice was a whisper, filled with a pain that had never quite healed. ‘you begged me to stay, and i walked away. i told myself it was for the best, that we were toxic together.’

you nod, feeling the ache of that night as if it were yesterday. ‘i remember. i remember the way the door closed behind you, the way my heart shattered into pieces i thought i’d never be able to put back together.’

he looked away, the shadows deepening around you. ‘i thought about you every day. i wanted to call, to come back, but I couldn’t. my pride, my anger, it wouldn’t let me. i hated you for making me feel so weak, so vulnerable.’

‘i hated you too,’ you confessed, voice breaking. ‘for leaving me, for making me doubt everything we had. but the hate was always mixed with love, always tangled up in the memories of the good times.’

eunseok turned back to you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘we hurt each other so much. yet here we are. maybe that means something.’

‘maybe it does,’ you said, heart pounding in your chest. ‘maybe it means we’re not done yet. maybe it means we still have a chance to make things right.’

he took a step closer, closing the distance between you. ‘i’m scared,’ he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘i’m scared of failing again, of losing you all over again.’

you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. ‘we might fail. but we might succeed. and we’ll never know unless we try.’

eunseok’s eyes searched yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of hope. it was fragile, like the first buds of spring after a long, harsh winter, but it was there.

‘okay,’ he said finally, his voice steadying. ‘let’s try.’

you both sat down on the bench, the same one where your journey had begun, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you talked. really talked.

you shared your fears, your hopes, your dreams, and your regrets. there were moments of laughter and moments of tears, but through it all, there was an undeniable connection—a reminder of the bond that had brought you together in the first place.

as the hours passed and the night deepened, you found yourselves leaning into each other, the barriers that had kept you apart slowly crumbling. there was no need for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. it was enough to simply be there, side by side, facing the unknown together.

eunseok’s voice was soft, almost reverent, as he spoke. ‘do you remember the night we danced under the stars? we had no music, just the sound of the wind and our own laughter.’

you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. ‘how could i forget? it was one of the happiest nights of my life.’

he stood up, holding out his hand. ‘dance with me, then. no music, just us.’

you hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. you moved slowly, swaying to an imaginary melody, your bodies fitting together as if they had never been apart. the world around you faded, leaving only the rhythm of your hearts and the gentle whisper of the wind.

in that moment, you realised that love and hate were indeed intertwined, two sides of the same coin. and as long as you cared enough to fight, to try, to hope, there was always a chance for redemption.

he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. ‘one day at a time,’ he murmured, echoing your earlier words.

‘one day at a time,’ you agreed, your voice steady with newfound resolve.

as you stood there, wrapped in the darkness of the night, you felt a fragile hope blossom within you. it wasn’t a promise of an easy road or a perfect ending, but it was a start. and sometimes, a start was all you needed.

#riize imagines #riize #riize x reader #riize imagine #riize scenarios #riize x imagine #riize sungchan #riize smut #riize angst #riize eunseok #song eunseok smut #song eunseok #eunseok angst #eunseok imagines #eunseok x reader #eunseok

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n0cturn4 · 12 days ago

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Series In every universe - 4 . Tim Drake

Character: Tim Drake x Reader Summary: "When did you realize you liked me?" Word Count: 421

It was a gentle afternoon in Gotham, when the last rays of sun painted the sky in gold and pink, casting dancing shadows on the walls of Central Park. The leaves of the trees, already tinged with orange and red, whispered secrets to the wind, and the scent of autumn filled the air with an intoxicating sweetness. You and Tim , your best friend and confidant, were sitting on a bench under the warm shade of a great oak tree.

The conversation flowed like a crystal-clear stream, filled with laughter and shared memories, when suddenly, a pause enveloped the atmosphere. The silence was heavy with unspoken feelings, as if the world around you was waiting for a moment that felt inevitable.

Tim turned to you, his eyes shining with an intensity that made your heart race. "When did you realize you liked me?" The question floated between you, light and full of expectation, like a bird about to take flight.

You hesitated for a moment, recalling all the times you spent together: the adventures, the laughter, and even the tears. And then, with a shy smile, you replied, "When I realized that any place with you was where I wanted to be."

The sincerity in your words was like a beam of light, illuminating what was hidden in the shadows of your heart. Tim's eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and joy, and a smile formed on his lips, as if he had found an answer he had always sought.

"So, you really feel that way?" he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper, as if he feared to break the magic of that moment.

"I do, Tim. Since our paths crossed, you've become my safe place" The words came out with a sincerity that made your heart vibrate.

He leaned a little closer, the gentle breeze wrapping you both in a bubble of intimacy. "I feel it too, and with every moment we spend together, that certainty only grows."

Time seemed to slow as you and Tim looked into each other's eyes, recognizing the depth of a love that had always been there, hidden beneath the layer of friendship. In that instant, between the sunlight and the rustling leaves, the world felt perfect, and every beat of your heart resonated in harmony with his.

The afternoon stretched out before you, filled with promises and possibilities. What had once been a simple meeting in the park was now becoming a landmark in your lives, where love bloomed, as vibrant as the autumn colors surrounding you.

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classicmemorialbenches · 1 year ago

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What are the best types of wood to use for an outdoor table or bench top?

When oak is allowed to weather naturally, it develops a stunning silver-grey patina, which many people find highly desirable. A wooden memorial bench generally acquires a silver hue as it ages, but oak, in particular, takes on a bright and striking silver color when kept clean. This appearance complements both the charm of a sprawling country garden and the sturdiness of stone-built architectural settings.

To preserve the silvered look and protect the oak, a straightforward maintenance routine is all that's needed. For further information on this, please refer to our aftercare page

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starry-eyes-love · 5 months ago

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Farewell Ballad- One-shot

Masterlist Joel Masterlist

Summary | Joel takes one final walk in the park before his spirit passes on. Written from Joel’s point of view.

Pairing | Husband Joel Miller x Wife F!Reader- AU, No Outbreak, One-Shot

Warnings: Death of a major character (no descriptions of how he died), Joel speaking about moving on to the afterlife, battle with pancreatic cancer for Joel, Joel’s point of view, heavy angst.

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: This came from a deep, soulful place in my heart. I needed to work through some major things in my personal life, and this was my therapy. Grab your tissues; this one hurts.

“I have so much I need to say,” you whispered, trying to choke back your sobs behind your hand. “I know, baby, I know,” he said.

Joel’s steps were slow and deliberate as he walked down the narrow pathway, winding himself through the park. It was a cold, crisp October morning as he hugged his jacket to his body, letting light coughs out of his lungs. His breaths were shallow, uneven gasps as the cool, crisp air stung his lungs.

Joel pulled his worn construction coat tighter around his frail body to ward off the chill that was settling deep within his bones. He always loved this park; it’s where he met you 18 years ago. Joel had a million memories here. He remembered the days he’d run along these paths for exercise, the sunny afternoons he’d toss his daughter, Sarah, high up in the air as she laughed. And the times he’d kiss you softly and passionately underneath the old, worn Oak tree. But those days felt like a distant dream now, a memory. Once, the vibrant green trees were now skeletal, matching the look that Joel felt within himself as he continued along his path.

Dr. Johnston had informed Joel, a man who was 42 years old, that he had stage IV pancreatic cancer. The horrible prognosis came back in May, five months prior. His doctor had informed Joel that treatments wouldn’t work and that his cancer was too aggressive.

“Joel, treatments won’t work for you; your cancer’s too aggressive. My advice, just live life the best you can with the limited time you have left.”

Now Joel could feel the cancer eating away his bones. His once strong, muscular self was no more. Now, he was frail, feeling like just a husk of the man he once was. Joel’s strength was no longer there, and his days were slowly becoming numbered before him.

As Joel continued to walk, he felt himself having to pause by a bench and rest his body. When he lowered himself down onto the cold wood, he found himself letting out a hiss at the pain he felt deep in his abdomen. When Joel closed his eyes, he felt all his memories wash over him: Sarah's laughter as they played in the grass and your hand's gentle touch as you walked together. Each memory he saw was a fleeting moment of light in the growing darkness of his current reality.

When Joel opened his eyes again, he looked around, and as he did, he felt a tear slowly slip down his face. The park was quiet in the early morning; no one was around, and the only sound heard was from the leaves rustling in the breeze. Joel couldn’t voice it, but he felt an overwhelming sense of isolation, as if the world had already moved on without him, leaving him in a cocoon of sorrow and regret. He had known this day was coming for a long time; the doctors had been very clear about that. But knowing that hadn’t made any of this easier.

As Joel sat, he thought about the days he had wasted, of his petty arguments with Tommy, Sarah, and you over dumb things. He thought about all the dreams he had yet to fulfill, of how his life and time were ending prematurely. Joel’s regret gnawed at him, a constant reminder of missed choices and failed opportunities that existed. How he’d never see Sarah get married and have a family. How the life he had promised you, his wife, would now be cut short. All the places he wanted to travel to, visit, and experience were now all taken from him and gone. Joel had always believed that there would be more time, that he’d have more chances to make things right, to experience new things. But now, as he sat alone on this bench, he realized how precious life was and how wrong he had been.

The weight of Joel’s impending death weighed down on him, suffocating him with fear and despair. He was never a religious man, but now he found himself praying for a miracle, for some way to hold on just a little longer, if not for himself, for you. Joel selfishly wanted to see his grandchildren grow up and feel the warmth of your embrace again. He tried to find inner peace within himself before it was too late, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t.

Joel continued to sit silently as he suddenly felt a single tear roll down his cheek, followed by another. Eventually, he let out a deep sob that had escaped his mouth in a cry of desperation—a man who didn’t want to die.

“I don’t want to go; I don’t want to die. I can’t leave them,” Joel yelled, sobbing into his hand as all of his pent-up emotions flowed freely. The once strong man felt himself breaking into a million pieces. As the tears continued to escape his eyes, Joel found his hand trembling as he gently wiped them away. He knew he didn’t have much time left.

With another shaky breath, Joel wiped a hand down his face, mumbling “fuck” to himself, knowing that he only had moments left before his soul would start the journey to the beyond. As he stood on wobbly legs, he forced himself forward for one last walk around, wanting to commit every detail of his life to memory. With each step forward, he felt a flashback of a memory that made him smile and one that gave him a sense of calm.

When Joel finally found himself at the end of the park’s path, it was at that moment he took one last steadying breath, trying to savor the scent of the Earth, and the smell of the leaves one last time. As he turned away, he felt his footsteps become weightless; it was time. Joel slowly left his physical form with each stride, freeing his soul and the heavy burdens that he had carried for a lifetime.

The longer he walked, the more his surroundings blurred and faded away, colors and shapes melding into a soft, hazy glow. Joel glanced down at his hands and saw them shimmering, becoming less of a physical form. He felt a lightness start to take over in his chest, a calmness, erasing all fear and regret plaguing his human form, dissipating like mist.

As Joel continued forward, he felt another gentle pull within him, something unresolved, something that he needed to accomplish before he could cross the threshold between life and death itself. Joel knew he was leaving this world, that his journey was not ending but was transforming. And with one final glance back, he felt himself change entirely to his spirit form. Joel was no longer bound by the physical limitations of his sick, frail body. He felt whole, complete, and for once at peace. And it was at that moment that he saw you.

“Joel!” you yelled, running towards him, tears streaming down your face.

“I know,” Joel whispered, standing before you, knowing you couldn’t see him anymore as he was now a spirit on this Earth.

“I have so much I need to say,” you whispered, trying to choke back your sobs behind your hand.

“I know, baby, I know,” he said, standing before you, trying to find a way to comfort the heartbreak you were feeling at losing your soulmate so suddenly.

As you stood there, tears streaming down your face at the sorrow and heartache you felt of losing him, of losing your Joel. Sensing your struggle, Joel slowly reached out and cupped your cheek with his spirit hand. He gently leaned forward and kissed your forehead, whispering, “I love you now and forever, my darling. But you have to live, baby, live for me. I’ll see you again soon. I promise,” and he gave you one final kiss.

You couldn’t see Joel standing before you but could feel his presence around you, holding you tight one final time. “I love you,” you whispered for him to hear.

“I know, baby; I love you too,” he whispered in return.

As Joel turned, he saw those who had passed on before him holding their hands out for him to take. As he did, he felt himself leave behind all of life's pain and sorrow, all of the regrets and missed opportunities. Joel found the strength and courage he once longed for in this new existence. As he continued walking, he felt himself, his spirit, finally being free. At that moment, after feeling Joel’s presence leave, your knees buckled, and you screamed in agony at the loss of your soulmate, who had finally crossed over. Joel had finally left this Earth to go to his final resting place without you, leaving you behind with the feeling of being utterly alone.

The End

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hunterscabin · 2 years ago

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Our Spot

Summary: Dean and the reader create a new memory at their favorite spot.

Request: Car sex with Dean. Passion, pleasure, over the top sex. @hawaiianohana15

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, male receiving, female receiving, face riding, car sex, fluff.

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: This is my first time smutting; please be as loving and generous to me as Dean is to the reader!

“Where are we going?” you asked, relaxing into the passenger seat of the Impala.

It had been three days since anyone left the bunker. There were no hunts to be found, and the weather was less than ideal for outdoor excursions. You and Sam were able to pass the time easily with research and conversation, but Dean’s daring spirit was starved without adventure, and he was beginning to reach the breaking point of his restlessness. He needed no convincing to agree on a late night drive, and it wasn’t long before you were speeding down Route 36.

“You’ll see.” Dean smirked, reaching across Baby’s bench seat to grab your hand.

Several miles and half of a Bob Seger album later, Dean veered toward a familiar exit. He turned down a tree-lined road, and as the car came to a stop, you inched closer to him.

“Our spot.” you sighed contentedly, resting your head on his broad shoulder.

Through a small clearing, you watched the rain dance across the water of Lovewell Reservoir. The picture before you was the backdrop of many meaningful moments, and a serene exhale floated past your lips as you traced them in your mind. Picnics shared under the tall oak trees, peaceful retreats to the lake after particularly bad hunts, Dean asking you to move into the bunker with him and Sam.

“So many good memories.” you whispered.

Dean kissed your temple in agreement, reminiscing over the same highlight reel.

“Except one.” he added, his voice gruff and suggestive.

Your gaze remained steady on the horizon, but your brow furrowed. You were lost in trying to place Dean’s meaning when you felt a strong hand dragging slowly up your thigh.

You looked to Dean, finding clarity in the mischievous grin spreading across his face, and your heart skipped a beat. Eagerly, you threw one leg across his lap, straddling him where he sat in the driver’s seat.

“It’s hard to believe we’ve never christened our spot.” you remarked coyly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You teased him, hovering your lips over his, just before the point of contact. Dean’s hot breath mingled with yours until the tension was too much to bear. Your lips met in a passionate kiss. Dean’s tongue spilled over yours, and you grew increasingly desperate for more of him. Chasing the sensation forming between your legs, you rolled your hips over his lap, feeling his cock harden beneath you.

“Baby.” Dean hummed, easing his hands under your shirt. His fingertips caressed your soft skin, ghosting over your sides, across your back, and around your breasts.

“You know, I love the names you have for me,” you admitted, kissing his shoulder, “but when you say ‘baby’ in this context,” you paused, fluttering your lips along his jaw, “I honestly don’t know if you’re referring to me or the car.”

Dean breathed a low laugh over your neck, taking your face in his hands.

“Tonight is all about you.” he promised.

With that, Dean lifted your shirt over your head and expertly unclasped your bra. You let the fabric fall until your breasts were fully exposed.

“So beautiful.” Dean licked his bottom lip at the sight of you, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth.

He bowed to your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth. His tongue teased your delicate skin, and the sensation sent shock waves to your already aching core. The more he toyed with your chest, the faster you rocked against him.

Caught in another kiss, your hand drifted to unfasten Dean’s belt. You pulled down his pants and boxers, allowing his swollen cock to spring free. You let out a lustful whimper before dismounting the hunter to stretch across the front seat.

Resting on your elbows, you took Dean’s impressive length in your warm hand and began to pump. Your mouth fell open, and you unconsciously licked your lips.

“Hungry for me, baby?”

You answered by glancing up at Dean with a wanting expression and drawing your tongue up the length of his shaft, not once breaking eye contact. Lapping at the tip, you swirled your tongue around the head, feeling Dean tense beneath you. You shifted forward, taking all of him in your mouth, sucking rhythmically as your head bobbed over his lap.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Dean’s hand combed through your hair, settling on the back of your head. He pulled gently at first, but the harder and faster you sucked, the tighter his grip became. “So good, baby.”

Dean’s palm slid down the curve of your body to grip your ass. His firm grasp spurred you on, and you hollowed your cheeks. You massaged the base of his cock, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. Dean began to writhe beneath you, and your steady rhythm broke as he came undone, spilling into you. You swallowed around his pulsating cock, easing him through his climax.

You kissed your way up Dean’s body until your eyes met his. Glistening with the evidence of his satisfaction, Dean gently wiped your chin before pressing his lips to yours.

“Shall we move this to the bedroom?” you quipped, climbing toward the rear of the car.

You paused after mounting the bench seat, and a wicked smile played on your lips. Leaning forward, your right hand disappeared under the collar of Dean’s shirt, bracing on his firm chest. Your left hand reached above you to splay against Baby’s hood. Eyeing Dean, you began to drag your throbbing core across the supple leather. Your chest heaved as the friction teased you through your jeans.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Dean growled, watching your body glide back and forth. “I want you to ride my face like that, baby.”

You mewled at Dean’s confession, and he deftly advanced toward the back, pulling you with him. He ripped off his shirt before attending to you. Dean’s eyes were ravenous as he unbuttoned your pants and removed your underwear. He laid flat beneath your naked form, and you kneeled on either side of his hips.

“I want to taste you, Y/N.” Dean’s voice was full of need as he hooked his hands behind your knees, pulling you toward him.

He nipped at your thighs as you eased yourself onto his lips. Dean’s tongue welcomed you, drawing through your folds. His movements were tortuously light, and you twitched with every graze.

“Dean.” you purred.

At the sound of his name, the depth and pressure of his tongue increased. You rocked your hips as he waved up and down your velvety core. He licked into you with fervor, stopping only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked vigorously, and your back arched in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck. Right there, baby.” Your hands moved to massage your breasts, and Dean moaned at the sight of you. The extra sensation of his vibrating lips pushed you over the edge. Your entire body trembled as he worked you through your orgasm.

Dean shifted beneath you, sitting up so that you were face to face. He cradled your head while trailing kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone. His touch was electric, and you were already craving more.

“Make love to me, Dean.”

At your request, a needy groan rumbled in his chest. Dean slipped an arm around your waist, gently lowering you onto your back. Already hard from eating you out, he required no preparation. Green eyes bore longingly into yours as Dean lined himself up with your entrance. He dragged his cock between your folds before pushing into you. Your walls stretched to accept him, and you relished in the sweet burn as he bottomed out inside you. Dean stayed this way as he leaned down to kiss you. He hadn’t even moved, and the feeling inside you was already starting to build.

“Dean.” you begged through the kiss, and he took his queue.

He thrust into you, and the slow drag of his cock was exquisite. Your legs quivered as his body moved with yours in a way only mastered after years of exploration.

“God, Y/N. You feel so good.”

Dean had memorized every inch of you, and he used his expertise to draw you closer to the edge. His hands moved between your breasts, kneading your chest and rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck!” Your euphoric cry excited the hunter, and his thrusts became more precise. Dean’s cock found the sweet spot inside you, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. He held his position, increasing his pace until you were screaming his name.

“Come for me, baby.” Dean commanded, his voice impossibly low.

Dean’s thumb rubbed your clit, quickly circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing you to reach your brink. A second orgasm erupted through you, and as your walls clenched around him, Dean willfully succumbed to his own climax.

His heart racing, Dean fell down beside you, breathless. He pulled you onto his chest, and you melted into him, caught in a dreamy haze. His cheek pressed gently to your forehead, and you craned your neck to gaze up at him. He dipped his head to capture your lips, kissing you sweetly. Your head fell back into the crook of Dean’s neck, and you breathed in his familiar, intoxicating scent.

You stayed like this for some time, completely relaxed in the comfort of each other’s arms, listening to the rain fall on the hood of Dean’s 67 Chevy.

Original tags: @81mysteriouslyme, @hawaiianohana15, @that67chevyimpala

Masterlist

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #spn fanfic #spn smut #supernatural fanfic #supernatural smut

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slytherheign · 2 years ago

Text

CONNECTING ARTS | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: photographer!tasm!peter parker x painter!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

SUMMARY: peter is slowly losing hope for his love of photography when he finds himself at a loss of inspiration. to give his passion a last chance to prove it’s worth holding on, he decides to do one last project: to capture a stranger’s life for 1 week. unbeknownst to him, with every click of his camera, he’ll slowly fall in love. unbeknownst to you, with every stroke of your paintbrush, you’ll realize your lives are more connected than you both initially thought.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, cursing/swearing, parent's negligence, reader being an orphan, anxiety, depression, inaccuracies (?) there may be some because i’m not a photographer nor a painter. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is angsty towards the end but it’s hurt/comfort and there are more fluff moments so the destination is sweet street instead of angst avenue. this took so long to write but it’s only bc i added a little bit of mystery here about the person in the reader’s painting and their pasts. i hope y’all forgive me. enjoy reading!

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS CONNECTING ARTS (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

It’s truly terrifying how a person could suddenly lose interest in something they have spent their whole life yearning for.

This was Peter’s greatest fear—to watch the once-ignited flame of passion within him get slowly extinguished. Photography was supposed to be his lifeline. How could he let himself get drained of something that was his escapism?

Was it his surroundings, his personal life, or just life in general that made him uninterested in his hobby? He had no answer. He truly, certainly, absolutely did not know.

He stared at the camera that was atop the center table, and as he did so, flashbacks of the joyous moments he spent capturing people and places struck him. He had held that camera for years—garnering both little and grand memories that were far too special and memorable to forget. He couldn’t just let it go.

One more chance, he thought.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he said to himself. “One last time.”

So he grabbed his camera and went to the nearest place he thought would spark even just a pinch of inspiration—the park.

The busy yet calm buzz of people's chatter met him as the wind blew softly against his skin. He walked a few yards until he saw a bench which he sat on almost immediately. He raised the camera close to his eyes, adjusting the lens as he took pictures every now and then while scanning the surroundings.

A couple on a bench that was turned back from him and facing the city bay. The guy had his arm around the girl’s shoulders while her head rested on his.

Click.

A mother gently pushing her child that was giggling so hard at the swing.

Click.

A lovely couple walking the grounds, holding each other’s hands without an ounce of care in a world that judged them because they were both women.

Click.

A large oak tree from which the outline beautifully clashed with the slow setting of the sun.

Click.

Suddenly, his hands seemingly moved on their own as the camera panned over downwards without him even noticing.

A girl underneath an oak tree, gracefully sitting on a paint-covered cream blanket. Art supplies were messily scattered over the soft blanket while the girl was drawing something on a canvas in front of her.

Click.

He zoomed in, focusing on her face. He couldn’t help it, she was mesmerizing. The girl must’ve felt it because she looked straight at the camera, piercing his eye that was behind the lens.

He put down the camera instantly, mouthing an apology towards you as he realized he probably distracted you from your drawing. You shook your head, letting a small smile form on your lips. You gestured for him to come over, and without hesitation, he did.

You quickly but carefully moved some of your things to give him space on the blanket to sit on. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

“Someone,” you replied, showing him the canvas. There wasn’t much on it at the moment, just the initial sketch of a person’s body and a white fence in the background. The person did not have a face yet.

Click.

Peter captured the canvas with his camera. As he looked up, he saw your puzzled face staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I haven’t asked for your permission to take pictures of you and your work. I can delete it if you want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “I’m just curious, do you take pictures of everything?”

“No, usually just the interesting stuff,” he chuckled at your question.

“So you think I’m interesting?” you winked playfully.

“I…” he started to say, but then stopped before smiling. “Yeah, I do. The most interesting, actually.”

He noticed your cheeks redden, but before you could think of a reply, Peter’s eyes slightly widened as an idea dawned upon him.

“Can I ask something crazy?” he asked.

“I love crazy,” you beamed with excitement, putting down your canvas to face him. “Go ahead.”

“I was thinking… if maybe I could capture the process of you completing your artwork? Like… capture your life for a week?”

He noticed the slight skepticism in your eyes. “I know this is kinda weird considering we just met but I–I just think you’re really cool a-and awesome and I’m really fascinated by you.”

“You know, usually I don’t entertain strangers much more let them stay in my apartment… but I have a good feeling about you,” you admitted. “So…” you nodded.

“Okay, just so we’re clear, you are agreeing for me to capture and document your life for a week?”

“Yes.”

Perfect. This was the exact thing he needed. A good and worthy ending for his slowly dying passion.

“I feel like shit,” he said suddenly. “I haven’t even asked your name. I’m Peter,” he offered his hand.

You chuckled as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How do you want this to work?” he didn’t want to decide by himself since it’s your life he would be documenting in the first place.

“Uhh–here,” you ripped a piece from a sketchbook you weren’t using. With a pencil you pulled from the back of your ear, you wrote your address on the piece of paper. “That’s um–where I live. Come by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

Peter smiled on his way home.

He was ready for his very last project.

DAY 1.

You awoke from the same ray of sunshine that visited you every morning through your large window. You wasted no time as you made your bed and took a shower quickly. Normally, you wouldn’t even bother to leave your bed for at least half an hour after waking up but today was different. You had a visitor and for some reason, you wanted to impress him. After all, he was the first person to ever visit your place.

The place that you called home was a studio apartment with a loft bedroom. You had no usual living room because you turned it into a painting studio. The only places where paint—with exception of white—didn’t reach the wall or the floor were the small kitchen area and the loft bedroom where you sleep every night. But above all things, your favorite part of your apartment was the large window that occupied the entire wall facing the first floor and the loft floor.

After dressing yourself in a white shirt and brown overalls, you decided to put your hair up in a ponytail. The moment you started to heat water for your morning coffee, you heard a knock on your door.

“Hi,” Peter greeted.

“Hello,” you smiled in return, opening the door wider for him to enter your humble abode.

Peter’s mouth slightly parted from the aesthetic of your apartment. His eyes scanned the place like a child in a candy store. He saw the canvases on the floor that were both empty and painted on, and the large wooden table in the middle of the room that had art supplies and an unreal amount of colorful paints scattered on top of it.

Click.

And from that moment on, he knew your place was something else.

“This place is amazing,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” you said, a proud grin presenting on your lips. “Coffee?”

“Thanks,” he smiled, accepting your offer. “How long have you had this place?”

“Since I was 19. A year after I moved out from the orph–uh from my old home.” Thankfully, Peter was too busy admiring the place to even notice you almost slipping out.

No one gets to know your past. That was your life rule. The present and the future were what mattered.

“Here,” you placed the mug atop the side table near the entrance. There was a small couch—noticeably thrifted—beside it where Peter sat. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warned him as he tried to hold the mug and drink while still being distracted by your paintings.

You sat beside him, sipping your coffee as well. “How did you get into photography?” you asked.

“I think I’ve always been interested in the art of photography since I was a kid. I’ve always loved taking photos back then and I think it’s really cool that memories can be captured in the form of pictures forever.”

You agreed, nodding your head. “Same goes with painting. Sometimes, I paint my surroundings, mostly people that I see around me; sometimes, I have pictures as my reference; sometimes, I like storing memories in my head and then painting them when I get my hands on a canvas. But the best thing about it though is that I can paint not what I see but what I want to see.”

The last line you said seemed to get his full attention. “What do you mean by that?” his face showed an intrigued expression.

“It means that I can paint whatever I want. I can paint the past, the present, and the future. And sometimes, you hate the past and the present, so you just change them in your paintings. And then when you start hating the future too, you just paint what you want the future to be. Basically, what I’m saying is, you can manipulate life through a painting. Reality and imagination share a room, and there’s really no limit.”

There was something about the words you said that made Peter realize just how deep of a person you are. It wasn’t just your paintings he was mesmerized by anymore, but also you. He would love to get to know you more.

DAY 2.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good morning,” he greeted you once you opened the door. You let him in, excited for the day because you planned on teaching him how to paint. It wasn’t your idea, he asked you yesterday if he could be the first person you teach how to paint and you accepted the challenge. You didn’t consider yourself a good teacher, but oh well, you weren’t going to back down from a challenge.

“Coffee?” you offered.

“Oh no. You promised to teach me how to paint and I would very much like to start learning now,” he had a huge excited grin plastered on his face.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you smirked proudly.

“How do you know which canvas to use? There are so many sizes,” he asked, standing over the piles of empty canvases on the floor.

“It depends on what you’re going to paint. Do you have something on your mind?”

“I-uh… no? I thought the idea would come naturally honestly.”

“That’s fine! Sometimes, it comes naturally. Sometimes, it doesn’t and you have to push yourself until it eventually comes.”

“Why would you push yourself if it doesn't come naturally? Wouldn’t you just take a break and wait?”

“I could wait, But I prefer not to. I push myself because I want to paint and the lack of ideas won’t hinder me from painting. This is my passion, I want to do this forever. If I took a pause every time I had no idea what to paint, most of my paintings wouldn’t exist and I would’ve given up this passion years ago.”

“What about rest? Do you even take a rest?” he asked as you handed him a small-sized canvas. You thought it was the best for beginners.

You chuckled lightly. “I’m human, Peter. Of course, I rest. But not when I know I’m getting uninterested in painting. When I get over that phase and I’m inspired again, that’s when I rest. I don’t go to bed until I have that fire in me again that dances with the art of painting.”

Now, that was something that hit Peter all the way to his core. How could you even manage to do it? To answer the question he didn’t even know he had in his heart so effortlessly and precisely?

He now knew his mistake—he let the lack of inspiration slowly extinguish the fire in him whenever he was feeling uninspired. He realized now that he didn’t push hard enough. But that would change, starting now.

“I think I know what to paint now. And this size is just perfect, thank you.”

You watched him put his canvas on an easel. He looked at you, his eyes asking a question about what to do next.

“You can draw first, sketch what would be the outline of your painting, and then let it guide you when you start painting. Or you could proceed to paint immediately. But if you ask me, I would recommend sketching first so you won’t make a lot of mistakes later when you actually start painting.”

“Okay. I’ll sketch first. Thank you,” he said as you handed him a pencil. He started drawing lines, and then curves, and then came the shapes.

“That’s really good. Damn, didn’t know you were good at drawing,” you complimented. He laughed lightly. “Thanks, I think I got the genes from my mother. My aunt always told me she was a really good artist.”

Once he was close to finishing his drawing, it dawned on you that he was drawing a sunrise. You wouldn’t tell him, but it reminded you of one of your paintings. It wasn’t a sunrise, but it was similar. Maybe you’d show it to him when he finishes his painting.

“I’m done!” he announced proudly. “Nice!” you replied. “Are you ready to paint?”

“Oh no no no… please, I think that’s enough for me today,” he laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, but that little drawing took a lot of work. I’d like to go back to my camera now.”

DAY 3.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Good mo–”

“Morning!” you cut him off as you opened the door. He laughed seeing your proud face. “Come in.”

“Coffee?”

“Actually–yeah. I’d like a coffee,” he answered, yawning.

“Had trouble sleeping?” you asked.

He nodded. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He felt how the silence almost swallowed the room and how your eyes never left his. Only then did he realize what he said.

“I–uh-I m-mean ab-about the things… y-yeah about the things you said yesterday w-when you talked about painting an-and your passion and your–uh… like making sure the fire that dances within you stays lit,” he was rambling.

You let out a giggle. Deep inside, you were struggling not to blush. “I understand. You know, if you want me to stop saying deep things about life and other stuff, just tell me.”

He was quick to raise his hand, as if stopping you from doing something idiotic. “Oh no. Please, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop saying things that are so deep that it makes other people unable to sleep just thinking about them.”

“You make it sound like you don’t like it,” you chuckled as you turned your back on him to prepare his morning drink.

He shook his head. “Oh, I like it. I like it when you say things like that. It makes me double-think my life or just life in general. For the better.”

“Thanks. I don’t really have a lot of people to talk to so I can understand if you think I’m being too much.”

“You’re not being too much, I assure you that. You’re just wise… and I love that about you.”

You almost dropped the mug by turning almost instantly to face him. No one has appreciated you like that before, and it certainly felt good. You couldn’t stop—and didn’t want to stop—the smile that formed on your lips.

Click.

You were out of words if you were being honest so you instead chose to ask why he took a picture of you just then. “What was that for? The picture? I wasn’t even painting.”

“It’s for memories… beautiful ones,” he winked and you swore you felt something in your stomach that you never felt before. Oh, this can’t be happening.

“Um–anyway, here’s your coffee,” you said as you handed him the drink. You quickly changed the topic. “I was thinking maybe we should continue doing our paintings? You continue yours and I continue mine. If you need my help or you have any questions, just tell me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

This was harder than Peter expected it to be. There were so many colors to choose from. How could he know what were the right colors to use? This was his first painting and he was being mentored by an incredible painter. He wanted this to be good. He wanted to impress you.

“You could always start with orange or yellow,” you said as you noticed him struggling.

“I feel like I need a reference just to know where the orange starts to blend with yellow.”

“Okay,” you agreed with him. “The internet has a lot of pictures of the sunrise.”

“I know, but I kinda want my own?” he shrugged. “Those pictures are the sunrise from other people’s eyes that they took from their cameras. I want to know the color of the sunrise from my perspective, you know? It’s just that I just realized I’m doing a sunrise painting and I haven’t even seen the sun actually rise… I want to see it for myself and then take my own pictures of it while it happens. Maybe then I could connect more with my painting.”

You stopped painting as you stared at him, feeling extremely proud that you couldn’t help but grin. “You want to connect more with your painting?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it. Tomorrow, let’s meet up at the park early in the morning just before the sun rises. I’ll take you to my secret spot.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m excited,” he smiled and you reciprocated it. He then picked up his camera again to take pictures of you.

By now, the background of your painting was finished. A white picket fence, on the back of it was a brick-walled house. A figure was in front, but it was yet to be painted on. The outline of the man was the only blank surface left on your canvas.

Click.

You were glad Peter still hadn't asked any questions about your painting.

DAY 4.

Different time, different place, different day.

You immediately saw Peter the moment you were close to the park. It wasn’t hard to spot him since it was early and not a lot of people roamed the place just yet—only the ones who jog there every day.

You didn’t notice him click his camera when you rushed towards him.

“Good morning!” Of course, he couldn’t forget about his daily greeting. In response, you greeted him back.

“And before you offer me coffee, I’d like to take you to my favorite coffee shop later. My treat. That is, of course, if you only want to.”

“I’d love to,” you smiled. “Let’s go.”

You held his hand and Peter swore he felt some kind of electric shock. A shock that was so addicting he was willing to get electrocuted if it meant getting to hold you much longer.

“We’re here,” you announced and Peter was suddenly brought back to earth. The ‘secret spot’ you mentioned was a little hill that was just a mile hike away from the park. The pathway entrance was covered with trees so it was concealed from most people. The view from up there was insanely breathtaking. He could clearly see the city bay and he was sure the sun would rise from where the city bay ended. You still held his hand and he assumed you just forgot you were holding it in the first place. There was no way you would hold his hand for this long.

You absolutely did not forget. But you didn’t do it on purpose either. See, the thing in your stomach that you felt yesterday always visited you whenever he was in your presence. For some reason, there was a need for your body to touch his, and as much as you tried to control it, there was no containing it. That was what happened. Your hand acted on its own and it didn’t want to let his hand go. It was kind of embarrassing and you just wished he didn’t mind it.

Oh, he didn’t mind it, that’s for sure. In fact, he was enjoying it. Although it was taking everything in him not to wrap his arm around your shoulders and keep you close.

“Look,” you pointed at the sun that was starting to peek from where the bay ended in your perspective. And there it was, the sun slowly and magnificently rising above the waters. As much as Peter didn’t want to let go of your hand, he needed both of his hands to capture the moment. You glanced at him as you wanted to watch his reaction to his first time witnessing the sunrise. And while his face was covered by his camera as he took a picture of the scene, you saw his lips form a peaceful smile. You found yourself looking back at the sun with the same peaceful smile on your lips.

You knew he was done taking pictures when the once-darkened place was brightened up by the star that was the sun. It was evident since he lowered the camera from his face and adjusted the strap to let it hang by his neck comfortably. What you didn’t know, though, was that before he put his camera down, he sneakily took a photo of your face joined by the hues of the sun.

“This is our secret spot now,” said Peter.

“Yup,” you laughed. “So, coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, offering his hand for you to take.

Peter brought you to a little cafe not far from the park, it was located near a library which you reminded yourself you would visit some other time in the future.

You were taking your last sip of coffee when you heard the familiar click of his camera. This time you actually posed a peace sign for the picture. Peter chuckled at this, and in return, it made you laugh as well. He seized the opportunity to take another picture.

Click.

“It's nice here… the staff, the view, the ambiance, the food, and of course, the coffee,” you commented.

“So, now you get why this is my favorite coffee shop?”

“Correction. This is our favorite coffee shop now.”

DAY 5.

The next day, you met up back at your studio apartment. After your usual morning greetings and coffees, both of you were busy doing your own paintings. You looked over at Peter, seeing him so focused on his painting. You suddenly had an idea.

After one last stroke to complete the body of the faceless person you were painting, you stopped. You stood up and went to the table where Peter put his camera on. He didn’t notice you, he was too busy to even notice you standing. You carefully and quietly put the strap over your head and adjusted it to your comfort. You walked little steps towards him, positioning yourself just behind him where you could see his back as he worked on his painting on one of your easels. You adjusted your eye to the viewfinder and just when you found the perfect view, you clicked its shutter.

Click.

The familiar click of his camera forced his eyes to look away from his painting. He looked quizzically at you. When he realized what you were doing, he smiled widely as he carefully put his paintbrush in a brush holder.

“What are you doing?” he laughed. God, you loved his face when he laughed. You couldn’t resist clicking the shutter for the second time.

“Nothing,” you chuckled. “Just continue what you’re doing. You’ll be the painter and I’ll be the photographer for today.”

Moments later, you probably had circled around Peter just to make sure you could capture every angle of him painting. He was smiling for most of them.

“Am I even doing this right?” he asked, gesturing for you to look at his painting.

You stood beside the stool he was sitting on. “You’re doing great. But I think you should blend this area a little bit more,” you said, moving closer as you pointed out the area you were talking about. “And you might want to go softer on your brush.”

“Have I told you how attractive you are when you teach me these things?” he said suddenly.

That caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do so you just looked at him with an awkward smile. Peter didn’t know where his confidence came from, but all of a sudden, he dipped his pointer finger into the orange paint on his palette and smeared it on your cheek. Your mouth widened with shock but you immediately did the same thing to him. And so, you two had a full-on fight which ended up with both your clothes and faces covered with colorful paints.

“Oh, I have to take pictures of this,” he stated before running to the sink and washing his hands so he could hold his camera and not worry about smearing paint on it.

He got back quickly, asking you to do silly poses as he took your pictures. You did the same to him, instructing him to do ridiculously funny poses when you took his pictures. After a while, he set the camera down on a table facing the two of you and set it on a timer so he could take photos of both of you together. You two were having so much fun that none of you even cared or noticed that some of the poses you did were both of you being too close to each other’s bodies.

That was how the day went for the two of you. Covered with paint and indelible memories with each other.

And maybe even growing feelings towards one another.

DAY 6.

Same time, same place, different day.

“Your painting fully dried overnight,” you said excitedly as you opened the door for him. “Would you like to see it?”

“Well–good morning to you too,” he giggled. “Actually, can I go to the bathroom first? I really need to pee.”

“Oh-yes, of course,” you smiled, letting him inside. “It’s up there in the loft beside the bed. It’s the only bathroom so it’s not hard to find.”

As Peter went to pee, you decided to find a painting of yours similar to his sunrise. You were thrilled to show it to him.

You held your painting behind your back as Peter exited the bathroom and went to see his finished painting. “You can touch it,” you reminded him when you saw how his fingers hesitated to touch the canvas in fear of ruining what he’d done. He finally touched it, picking it up with his hand and stroking the piece of art with the other as he admired it. He did this. With his hands.

“It’s beautiful,” you commented. “You seem to be a natural. It doesn’t look like it was your first time. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, I had the best mentor, so…” he smirked. “But in all honesty, thank you so much. For introducing me to painting, for teaching me how to paint, for your wise words—everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said before remembering the piece of art behind your back. “I have something I want to show you. But I’m getting tired just standing, so let’s sit on the couch.”

Once you both settled on the couch, you showed him your painting of the sunset. You put it side by side with his sunrise and it created a perfect contrast together. The same sun, taken from the same secret spot on top of that little hill, but at different times of the day.

“Unbelievable. They’re almost the same,” he whispered, wonder-struck. “May I ask why you painted a sunset?”

“I painted this during one of the hardest days in my life. Why a sunset? A sunset because it reminds me that even though the day is hard, there is an end to the day. A sunset… because it represents the opportunity to rest. It reminds me that if the sun can rest after a tiring day, then there is nothing wrong with closing your eyes for even just a moment.”

He looked at you with deep understanding. “Why did you paint a sunrise?” you asked.

“I’ve always known that a sunrise meant the start of another day. But only when I started to paint it and connect with it did I realize that there is more to that. Why a sunrise? A sunrise because it reminds me that another day isn’t only another ‘day’. It’s also another chance to live and take risks. A sunrise… because it represents the opportunity to start again. It reminds me that if the sun could come back up after a long dark night, then I can too.”

Your eyes glistened with tears as he said those words but you didn’t let him see it. Art really was a voice that spoke beyond thoughts and words. Those paintings weren’t just paintings, they were experiences. Your sunset was a symbol of rest—what you have always wanted to have after all those years. His sunrise was a symbol of hope—what he was searching for for the longest time.

You ended up framing the paintings and hanging them on your wall beside each other. Together, they created the most beautiful contrasting artwork. The two paintings became one—it was like they were always meant to be beside each other.

Click.

“You know, I went through the photos you took while I was painting. They’re really good. The angles? they’re perfect. If you ever want to change careers, just tell me,” he joked.

“I think I’ll stick to painting,” you chuckled. “But thank you, I mean, I had a great mentor so that’s probably why the photos turned out good.”

“You mean me? I didn’t even teach you as far as I can remember.”

“Well, not literally. But when you take pictures, I observe you and the ways you hold the camera. So, I definitely got my ‘skill’ from you,” you admitted.

“You observe me?”

You noticed his lips slowly form a smirk and only then did you realize what you just revealed. “Uhh-let’s not m-make it a big d-deal,” you nervously laughed, feeling the anxiety creep up on you. You never knew how to deal with social situations like this. When things went awkward or you didn’t know what to say, you ran. Hence why you never had a long-time friend. Peter was the only one you lasted this long with.

“I was just teasing you,” he smiled, stroking your arms with his hands to calm you down. You didn’t know how he knew you were slightly panicking on the inside. But somehow, he did. And then he smiled at you with the softest and most caring smile you’d ever seen and suddenly the anxiety and the panic shifted into a feeling of comfort.

You had never felt like this before.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and almost in an instant, the once bright day outside your windows turned into a dark night.

Time really did fly when you were with someone you loved.

Loved.

None of you would admit it yet, but it was definitely there.

“It’s time for me to go…” he announced.

Before he could fully stand up and start to make his way to the door, you held his wrist to stop him. He looked at you with confusion, but the glint in his eyes said a lot more—he hoped you would ask him to stay.

And that you did.

“You can stay here tonight…” you whispered. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Do you want me to stay?” he softly asked, glancing at your hand that held his wrist before looking at you again.

“Yes.”

DAY 7.

Different time, same place, different day.

Peter woke up earlier than usual and yet he felt that the sleep he had taken was the most satisfying he ever had. Why? Well, it was because he slept next to you.

Let’s take a few steps back…

Yesterday night when Peter was about to leave, you insisted on letting him stay. He offered to take the couch but you felt guilty that you were about to sleep on a soft mattress while he would sleep on an old couch downstairs so you told him that it was fine if he slept next to you on your bed. He was hesitant because he respected your boundaries but eventually you were able to come to an agreement to put a pillow in between both of you to not make things awkward. None of you knew how it happened, but when you woke up, the pillow was moved to the floor and your hand and his were almost touching. It seemed like your bodies naturally gravitated towards each other—but of course, none of you would admit that. At least not yet.

He quietly made his way down to where you were painting, careful not to disturb you. He grabbed the camera along the way. He would never get tired of capturing photos of you while painting—you were a master of arts in one of their truest forms. You were sitting on a stool with an easel in front.

He pulled the camera close to his face, aligning his good eye with the viewfinder. He adjusted the lens, zooming it in your hand that held a really old—it seemed to be your favorite—paintbrush. But before he could click the shutter, he noticed how your hands were shaking as you stared at the painting. He immediately put down his camera and stared at it as well and only then did he realize that you haven’t made any progress on your painting today. The painting was almost complete, the only thing missing was the face of the man in the middle. Up until now, he was still faceless.

“You know, this is the longest it’s taken me to paint a person,” you said, feeling his presence behind you. “It’s just a face. Why is it so hard?” you sighed with shaking lips. You were battling the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes.

For the first time ever, he didn’t know how to reply.

“No–don’t answer that,” you let out a breathy laugh, but there was pain underneath. “That was a rhetorical question. Of course, I know why it’s so hard.”

With shaking hands that you tried so hard to steady, you started coloring the face with a skin tone color that matched the rest of the man’s body.

One stroke.

He didn’t know what to say, but hopefully, he knew what to do. Peter moved beside you, intertwining his right hand with your left as you painted with your right.

Two strokes.

You felt him squeeze your hand, doing his best to comfort you.

Three strokes.

Painting the structure of the face was done. Now onto the details of the face.

You closed your eyes, trying to dig up the memories you had with this man. But it was hard since the man you were painting only stayed for a little while in your life.

You opened your eyes, picking out a thin paintbrush that was perfect for little details. You started with the lips.

One stroke.

Peter’s presence was giving you not only comfort but courage as well.

Two strokes.

And then another.

The pinkish-red lips stared at you from the painting. You let out a breath. Next was the nose.

You picked up your pencil to draw some lines for a little bit. You only did some to serve as your guide. Next, you cleaned the thin paintbrush before dipping it in another color—black.

One stroke.

You followed the lines you drew. But they were just lines, you have to paint the details to actually make the nose specific from the rest.

Two strokes.

And then you did some shadows with the outlines to blend them with the skin. It was done.

“I think I’ll continue later,” you sighed sadly, squeezing his hand. “I need to take a breather. S-sorry this is hard for me.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, squeezing your hand back. “Do you want me to join you?” he softly asked.

“No-I want to be alone for a moment,” you smiled to show him you appreciated his concern.

He watched you leave and was alone for a moment. He glared at the painting, wondering what this person could have done to hurt you this much. How could someone even hurt the most precious person to ever walk on earth?

He heard the door open loudly, making him turn immediately. You were at the other side of the door, looking up at him with your eyes red evidently from crying. He walked past everything—the table and the clutter on the floor—hastily just so he could hug you.

He carefully closed the door as you leaned into him. Your body was weak due to repressed emotions now releasing all at once. He noticed your knees slowly giving up and he guided both of you to sit on the floor.

The camera, the photos, the paintbrush, the painting—all were forgotten the moment he wrapped his arms around you. He cradled your face with his hands, brushing your cheek and wiping your tears.

“I’m a mess,” you said, sniffing.

“You’re beautiful,” he responded, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” he cooed.

“Will it help?”

“I think so. But it’s still up to you,” he replied honestly.

You nodded. “I know you have questions, ask them.”

“Who’s the man in the painting?”

“My father. Or at least what I remember of him.”

His back was resting on the wall as you leaned into his side, his arm was still wrapped around you.

“And the house in the background, is that your family’s house?”

“It’s the orphanage. I spent my whole childhood there. That’s where I grew up.”

“Did he visit you there?”

“No,” you laughed painfully. “Remember what I told you before? That the best thing about painting is that I can paint whatever I want to see or happen? That painting is one of them.”

He was listening intently. He didn’t want to say anything because he knew that you didn’t want any advice at the moment, you just wanted a listener.

“I never met my mother. The caregivers at the orphanage told me she died when she birthed me. When I asked them how I got there they told me about my father. He took care of me for 4 months, and then I think his heart broke whenever he saw my face because I looked a lot like my mother. It came to a point where he couldn’t look at me or care for me anymore so he put me in that orphanage. I guess the heartbreak was bigger than the joy that I brought.

“I always imagined him visiting me, getting me out of that place, and bringing me home. But that didn’t happen. So I coped with drawing and painting. Until now, I still wonder what could’ve happened if he came back for me… hence why I’m doing the painting.”

“Do you have any pictures of him?” he asked.

“I only had one. It was a picture of my parents at their wedding. I used to stare at it every day until I lost it and I would never forgive myself for being so careless back then. The last time I held that picture and stared at it was when I was 7. It’s been too long and I can’t seem to remember his face that much.”

“Is that why it’s so hard for you to paint his face?”

“Yes. But also because of the realization that my wishes only come true in my paintings. I wanted him to come back for me or at least visit me. I didn’t get that visit, so I’m getting it in the painting.”

“Have you tried looking for him?”

You nodded. “Of course. But you can’t find who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Did you at least have any people who cared for you like a parent?” he asked, sympathy evident in his expression.

“I had this one particular caregiver who made me experience what it was like to have a mother. She was the one who gave me my first paintbrush and painting set. She was the one who made me discover that I had a talent for drawing and painting.

“But she didn’t stay for long because she had to leave the orphanage permanently to take care of her own family. She told me something happened and she had to take care of a little boy.”

Peter’s face furrowed from the familiarity of that exact situation, but he let it slide eventually. This was your story, this wasn’t about him.

“I have some questions for you too,” you chuckled. Tears were no longer falling on your face. Peter was right again. Indeed, talking about your past helped.

“Shit. Do I have to get nervous?” he joked.

“It depends on what your answers are gonna be,” you joked back. “How did you get your camera? Did you buy it or is it from someone you look up to?”

“The answer is the latter. I had a teacher once in high school, he wasn’t a professional photographer but we shared the same interests. I remember the first time he stepped into the room to teach English but instead of focusing on him the first thing I noticed was his DSLR camera. It was kept and hidden in a bag but I know a camera bag when I see one. I think, over time, he noticed I was always glancing at his camera that one day he called me to stay after his class and gave it to me. He told me that I needed it more.”

“Were you two close?” you asked.

“We were, yeah.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died a year ago. He’s gone now but I still treasure every lesson he’s taught me.”

“And your parents?”

“They died when I was 4 from a plane crash. Since then, I stayed with my aunt before she was gone too.”

“I’m sorry, Pete. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine. I feel comfortable around you—the heavy things don’t feel as heavy anymore.”

Silence surrounded the apartment, calming the two of you as you held each other. No one needed to speak at the moment, just you in his arms were enough.

Day almost turned into night and you finally stood up.

“You don’t have to finish it today,” he said as he noticed you staring at the painting anxiously.

“I know. But I want to.”

“Okay,” he smiled. “Then I’ll be there with you.”

He walked towards you and intertwined his hand with yours.

“Thank you.”

Together, you walked until you were in front of the easel again. He picked up the paintbrush and held it in front of you. He gave you an encouraging look and you smiled as you took the brush with courage.

“Here we go.”

You did the eyebrows first, it didn’t take you as long as you did when you did the nose and lips.

The eyes.

The hardest part because the eyes were what looked into the soul.

One stroke.

Two strokes.

Three strokes.

You weren’t shaking anymore.

Four strokes.

Five strokes.

“You can do it,” Peter encouraged.

Six strokes.

Seven Strokes.

“You’re doing great,” his hand held yours tighter.

The last stroke.

You did it. You painted your father. You remembered his face. And above all, you painted him in front of the orphanage, coming back to get you.

You smiled.

Peter stiffened beside you. His eyes widened as he looked at your father in the painting.

“Peter?” you called his name.

He stayed unmoving.

“Pete? Are you okay?”

“That’s him…” he pointed at your father.

You were confused. “Who?”

“My teacher in high school. The one I told you about. The one who gave me my camera,” he collected his camera from the table. “The one who gave me this.”

You were speechless and shocked to the core. “Are you sure?”

“It makes sense now,” he continued. “He once told me in our conversations that the greatest mistake he’d ever made was leaving something he loved because he was so scared he would never be deserving of it.”

You didn’t know what to feel.

“But now I realize, he wasn’t talking about a ‘thing’, he was talking about someone. You.”

“Did he try to come back for me?” you asked, curious but you weren’t hopeful.

“I-I don’t know… I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s okay,” you sniffed, wiping your cheeks. Funny, you weren’t even sure when the tears started to cascade down on them.

“You mentioned your teacher died last year, right? That means he’s…”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he softly spoke, even his eyes couldn’t help but tear up slightly.

“It’s not your fault. Besides, he wasn’t even there for me for most of my life. It’s fine,” you reasoned, telling him it was all good but another tear still slipped from your eye.

He hugged your side and stayed like that for a good while as he tried to think of another subject to talk about to keep you from hurting any longer. His eyes caught the brush holder and focused on an old paintbrush that you use almost every time. It seemed to be your favorite. The marks on the wooden handle told him the age of the brush; the bristles that were still intact and usable told him just how much you take care of your art supplies.

“That paintbrush… you use it every time, is that your favorite?” he already knew the answer but he still asked just to distract you.

You didn’t need to follow where his eyes were looking or ask him anything, you already knew the brush he was talking about. “Yes, it is my favorite. Remember when I told you I had this caregiver in the orphanage that gave me my first painting set and paintbrush?” you said before picking up the brush. “This is the paintbrush.”

“You must’ve taken good care of it all these years,” he commented.

“I did. It’s special and it holds a lot of good memories.”

“What’s your favorite memory?” he asked, interested.

“Me as a little kid doing my first painting with my caregiver. She was encouraging me every step of the way.”

“What’s her name?”

“May.”

His eyes widened with realization. He remembered asking his aunt what her job was before she took him in after the incident that killed his parents. She had told him she was a caregiver at an orphanage. But the city is wide and big, it never occurred to him that that orphanage was the same one you were from.

“May Parker,” he breathed out.

You looked at him. “Yes! That’s her–I forgot her last name but that’s her. Do you know her?”

“She’s my aunt.”

Now everything made sense and all the why’s were answered. No wonder why you felt a sense of familiarity the first time he put his camera down and you saw his face. No wonder why your heart jumped when you learned his name. May Parker… Peter Parker… holy shit. How come you didn’t notice that before?

“You’re the little boy she always talked about. Her little nephew who loved taking pictures so much,” you said, eyes once again starting to tear up.

“And you’re the little painter girl she always mentioned,” he smiled. “She promised me she would introduce me to you but life got busy and that never happened.”

“But look at us now. I guess fate still found its way to introduce us to each other,” you stated softly.

Peter once again cradled your face with his hands, slowly stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“That day I met you at the park, I was at my ending point with photography. That day, I was determined to find the last project worthy of my dying passion. Then I met you. And in just a matter of days, I knew you, and it changed my life,” he started.

“You taught me lessons about art and life. You gave me something I’ve been trying to get back for a long time—hope.

“Above all, you made me remember why I even started taking pictures. You made me realize my purpose. I know now that I never lost the flame, the candle just stopped burning. But you… you rekindled it and suddenly it was back again… and it’s stronger and hotter than ever.

“Now, I can admit, to anyone and myself, I love photography. This is my passion. It’s not just the flame… but the fire within me that sways with the wind.”

He felt your hands gently wrap around his wrists as he continued caressing your face. “Oh, Peter…” you whispered.

“T-there is something beyond words that I feel for you. I-I don't know how to properly say it but I’m still gonna try,” he whispered back. “You’re not just the muse of my favorite pictures, you are my camera. Without you, I’m unable to reach my full potential. You’re the perfect angle I’ve always wanted to find. And now that I’ve found you… everything makes sense. The blank spaces in my heart and in my life aren’t blank anymore because your name is now written all over them.”

You moved closer so your forehead could touch his. “And you, Peter… are the colors that I paint on my canvases. The sunrise to my sunset. Ever since you came, the meaningless life I had before became meaningful.”

Silence surrounded you for a moment. Your foreheads were still touching while both your eyes were closed. Tears stained both your cheeks as the two of you couldn’t stop crying out of adoration and love for each other.

“All the ones who guided us are gone now,” you breathed out.

He placed a long kiss on your forehead before speaking.

“From now on, it’s only you and I.”

After uncovering the past and embracing the present, you were looking forward to the future.

It truly was amazing how art could connect people together.

The hopeless photographer was once again hopeful;

The restless painter wasn’t exhausted anymore.

And soon the two of you would realize that the love you shared was a testament of…

Interlacing fates,

Intertwining lines,

and

Connecting arts.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog

me, as the author, connecting with the story through writing is further proof of how art connects us all together. i can only hope that i wrote this well so that you can connect with it too through reading. thank you all for being patient, this is for all of you.

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