#Please leave comments because i love reading them

[okwonyo]

PEARLS&DIAMONDS ✶ RICHBOYS ( 日语 )

𝖠𝖫𝖳 ㅤ𓈒 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅.

【 BANK 】 3OOO ─── enhypen x fem!rea ♥︎ fluff non idol au ⸝⸝ skinship flirting reader is a meanie 「 … 」 req’ ！

じ��� please support this guys TT it was so challenging to write ! i never wrote so much for a reaction >< enjoy 🎀

rbs ⟡​ comments please + daily

LEE HEESEUNG 又は ─── THE MILLION DOLLAR BABY

“hey, princess!” you hear as you walk in the streets. the voice is loud and reaches you white well, given the fact that it is almost midnight. it is not like you were at a party, no— you were, contrary to popular belief. working

you don’t stop your parade, you would rather die. “c’mon, baby,” he says again, his car following you while you walk, “don’t act like you didn’t see me!”

still not stopping, you turn your head towards him. “you know, it can be qualified as harassment,” he dramatically gasps. you huff, “what do you want, heeseung.”

the man grins, “you told me you didn’t have a car last night,” he tells you. it is true, you told him that. you still don’t know how it correlates with the current situation. “so i bought one for you.”

you stop in your track when his last words reach your brain. the car mirrors your mouvement.

it is clean and spacious. the burgandy shines under the moonlight. the aston martin logo on the front is simple yet could leave anyone breathless.

“a vintage 007,” you hum as he comes stand next to you. you cross your arms under your chest, meeting his eyes, “good choice.”

“you know what car it is?” he groans, and you roll your eyes while you hit his chest. he smiles and bites his lip before adding, “you keep getting more perfect, baby.”

you smile at the compliment but you don’t thank him. you admit it is a beautiful car, beyond it even. and the fact that he bought it for you is lovely.

however, you leave again. heeseung follows you immediately, “where are you going?” he calls behind you.

“home,” you can feel it stop walking when you tell him that, you imagine the shock on his face then the rising confusion. he quickly reaches you after a while— grabbing your arm to turn you around when you are already where you wanted to be.

“princess,” he murmurs, holding both of your upper arms gently.“you know i won’t let you walk home alone.” he drags his eyes on your form, staring at your thighs revealed by your dress, “let me take you home.”

you smile at his words, “nice offer,” you remark. “i told you i didn’t have a car,” you continue, slowly getting out of his grip. your eyes slide from his to the big car next to the both of you, “because, i got a chauffeur.”

his mouth falls open. a man in a neat suit gets out of the car and opens the door for you. heeseung stays still, even after you get in and the door shuts. he watches the widow roll down to show your beautiful face. god, you are perfect.

“and my dad already has a vintage 007,” you smile before sending him a flying kiss.

𝖬𝖮𝖭𝖤𝖸𝖬𝖮𝖭𝖤𝖸𝖬𝖮𝖭𝖤𝖸

PARK JAY 又は ─── THE CEO’S SON

turning your head to you room’s door, you smile at your maid as she enters you space. she holds a bouquet of flowers in her hand. “for you, miss.” she announces as she hands it to you.

you can’t help the fond sound that leaves your mouth when you admire the adorable flowers, “thank you so much!” you tell her and she laughs. “what is this for?”

the lady shakes her head, all soft and nice, like always, “no, no, it isn’t from me,” she admits and you whisper a soft ‘oh’ before examining the flowers—you don’t know if you are hallucinating them—and finding a card in them. “it’s from you friend,” she continues while you read. it’s written in beautiful calligraphy, from—“park jongseong.”

you sigh, of course it comes from him.

as soon as his name is mentioned, your phone starts to ring on your night table. your maid sends you an apologetic yet amused glance before giving your phone to you— you playfully roll your eyes at her before answering the call.

“saffron crocus,” you smile without being able to control your face. “i knew no one in their right mind would give the annoying kid they should take care of those.”

the woman still in the room wants to protest but you wink at her, a sign to tell her that you are joking.

“and you haven’t seen your backyard yet,” jay laughs from the other side. you get up from your chair and goes to your balcony, you nice maid opens it for you before you can even ask her.

the sight is beautiful, a thousand, or more, of roses everywhere. put in beautiful bouquets held by hundred different people. this plus the bunch of luxurious flowers he gave you—three thousand each— leave you speechless. not because of the price, but because of the effort.

your smile gets wider, but you can’t let him know it. although he can hear it through the phone as you whisper, “how much do i own you?” you question the man in lieu of thanking him.

“nothing,” he immediately argued. “nothing but your precious time, sweets.” your stomach does a flip. “how about a date tomorrow?”

you hum, looking at the flowers you hold in your free arm before looking at the roses under your balcony. “i’ll consider,” you declare and you can practically see his victorious grin. “maybe try gold of kinabalu next.”

“anything you want, sweets,” and you hang up.

SIM JAKE 又は ─── THE SPOILED ROTTEN FLIRT

the sound of your name echoes all the way to you while you walk towards the stairs. “there is a visitor for you!” the housekeeper exclaims. you frown, wondering who would even visit you here.

nonetheless, you change your usual trajectory to go to the door, when you arrive, you see your housekeeper standing in front of someone you cannot recognize just yet.

“who is it? i don’t know anyone—” the so called visitor is revealed before you get the chance to finish your sentence. the end of it dies in your throat as soon as your eyes meet, you halt in your movements.

“you haven’t replied to my calls,” jake accuses instead of a proper greeting. “and i’ve been craving your attention.”

you go to him, “so what? you decided to come all the way to greece? just to bother me?”

the brunette shrugs, looking down at you and your pink robe. you study him back, him and his posture— hands in his pockets, well dressed, straight back.

the situation seems to amuse him, he bites his lower lip as he always does before leaning towards you and swearing, “i missed you,”

you ignore the rising heat in your body and grimace before turning around and leaving. you speed to the stair and he insists loudly behind you, “you sent all the gifts i gave you back, what was i supposed to do?”

you are not nice enough to give him an answer, and you know he is going to follow you whether you say anything back or not.

“i literally came from korea just because i wanted to see you,” he whines as he follows you close, climbing the stairs like he is obligated to. “you can’t act like im not here.”

you don’t stop or turn around or even give him a quick glance. “nobody asked you to do that,” you huff, almost at the end of the almost-impossible-to-finish stairs.

“i didn’t ask for your flowers, nor your designer bags nor your luxury pieces of clothes nor your jewelries,” you list, almost arriving at your rooms door and you turn around abruptly. he halts immediately and your are so close that he blushes a little. “i don’t need any of these, i can buy my own.”

“darling, trust me, i know,” he responds with a smile. “i just wanted to spoil you a little bit.”

you put an hand on your door’s handle, “right, i’m sure there are plenty of girls that you want that would love to be spoiled.”

jake’s jaw goes slack— but not in a way that is utterly shocked by the accusation but shocked of you showing something. jealousy. you mentally slaps yourself, closing your eyes.

he leans against the wall next to him, “don’t be like that,” he grins, voice low and soft. “i only want you, you know it.”

there is a silence that sets itself between the two of you. if you could, you would wipe his growing smirk of his face. but you can’t.

you get inside your room and he follows you. you kick him out one minute after.

PARK SUNGHOON 又は ─── THE IT BOY

“this event is boring,” whispered the man as soon as he sits down. his lips dangerously close to your neck, you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “leave with me tonight.”

you turn your head to his direction slightly. his smirk is evident from your peripheral vision, “and why would i do that?”

he doesn’t respond right away and during the time he looks for an answer, your eyes wander on the view in front of you.

it is a beautiful event, you admit. the decorations are elegant and shiny, everyone is dressed in luxury dresses and suits, they dance and they eat.

however, you do admit that you went to funnier ones— you don’t know anyone and the part you were hosting is over. well, there is always sunghoon.

“this event is boring,” he repeats. he is right, you don’t tell him that though. but you do sigh. “and, if you leave with me, i’ll take you to my house.”

you admit that he is quite bold. his relaxed demeanor and the way he says this sort of things so naturally always leaves you speechless for a few seconds.

you face him completely, your lips close to each other, so much that you breathe the same air. he pulls back immediately— he might be bold but he is still a loser.

you smile, totally making fun of him. then you ask, “to do what?”

“i—i don’t know?” he stutters when you come closer. he holds his breath as you keep leaning closer, “have some fun?”

you snort, going back to your original position, completely looking at anything but him, “be a gentleman.” you mock offence, “take me to dinner first.”

he mouths falls open, his eyes grow astronomically wide, “i—i don’t mean it like tha—” he stops as soon as your laugh escapes from your mouth. escapes. because you really meant to keep it for yourself.

he chuckles after a while being starstruck, as if he saw a star for the first time,“you only laugh at me and never with me,” he says and you shrug. “what about, i take you shopping?” it tickles you interest, he knows it. “and i pay everything you want—” he interrupts you when he sees you getting ready to protest. “i know you can buy anything you want. but let me do something for you, my love.”

you can’t lie, you fill pure bliss at the mention of shopping alone and maybe because of the petname he used on you.

you love spending money and the idea of making this arrogant, handsome, cocky spoiled rotten guy bankrupt makes you happy.

“okay,” you finally accept, he gets up immediately and offers his hand to you. you take it.

“after you, my love.”

KIM SUNOO 又は ─── THE CHARMING MILLIONAIRE

“why is no one there?” sunoo’s hand brushes your lower back whereupon you abruptly stop.

the man doesn’t tell you anything in return. only staring at the scenery in front of him. even as you stare at him, he stays quiet— a faint smile creeping on his face. the lights shine in his eyes and they are so beautiful.

everything is so beautiful, him and what he is staring at. you decide to admire it too.

you stand in front of your favorite restaurant, completely empty although it is early in the evening. the jazz music rings in your ears, a beyond angelic melody that you will be unable to forget.

there are a dozen candles on almost every table— except the one in the center of the room. you guess it is where you are both supposed to sit.

you go back to shooting daggers at his side profile. your grip gets tighter on your purse, your pulse gets quicker, you want to kiss him so bad. “please,” you start. “don’t tell me you bought that restaurant for me.”

he finally looks at you. the beaming smile suddenly showing on his face makes your entire spine shiver, “i didn’t, i knew you wouldn’t appreciate it,” he voice harmonized with the music in the back.

for the first time in a while, you don’t say anything back, you are left speechless. he observes you for a while, not speaking. as he always does.

he lifts his head to show the direction of the table in the middle, “let’s go, shall we?” he commands gently. without thinking, you do as you have been told. “good girl,” he adds.

you wander around the place, still a bit in a daze. you are unable to not contemplate the perfectly decorated room. too adoring of everything in the space, you don’t notice sunoo walking faster than you and arriving at the table before you.

he pulls the chair for you to sit, “m’lady,” he teases, watching you sit down politely. he has never seen you so shy. you smile at him as a thanks, pulling his heart strings.

he sits in front of you soon after, “you can order anything you want, the chefs and waiters are all there to serve you.”

YANG JUNGWON 又は ─── THE PROSPEROUS LOVER

your heart jolts after the sound of a tap gets heard from the outside. you look at the clock in front of your bed before looking at your balcony and whatever—or whoever—is outside.

it ticks two and a half at night. you frown, turning your head to see a man staring right back at you and doing a little wave.

the balcony’s automatic light reflects on his blonde hair, shines on his soft skin and he looks as pretty as a prince.

you tilt your head to the side, sighing to show your exasperation— he only smiles brighter at that.

he taps on the window again, and again, even while you walk to him, even while you unlock the glass doors.

“hi, doll,” he greets you, his dimples showing off perfectly. “did you miss me?” the cold air hits your bare skin, getting under your satin pajamas. shivering, you take his wrist in your hand and pull him in. “woah, eager are we?”

you ignore his stupid comment, focusing on closing the doors. still, the cold doesn’t leave your skin. you hug yourself gently, eyes sliding from the top of his head to his feet, “how did you even get in?”

“rose let me in,” of course. it wouldn’t be anyone else but one of your own maids doing that to you. “she said you would be delighted to see me.”

you put your hands on your hips. looking up at your ceiling, you mentally ask for help from higher beings. you don’t know if you can get through this, not this late.

when you look down again, jungwon is still standing, a face illuminated by a genuinely content and amused smile.

you blush, “what do you want?”

“i had something for you,” he tells you as he looks for something in his jacket pocket. when he gets his hand out, a beautiful box appears in his hand. “there.”

you narrow your eyes, hesitantly walking to him. your fingers brush his whereupon you take the box from him, your skin tingles.

after opening it, you get blinded by the stunning pearl necklace in there.

you remember this specific necklace vividly, you told him it was cute, that you might buy it sometime. you didn’t expect him to buy it for you. you didn’t need him to.

you bite your inner cheek, “i can buy my own jewelry,” you tell him. but there is no real bite in your words. “i have boxes full of it.”

“trust me i know,” he grins. “i just wanted to, because i—” he seems in a inner conflict of what he is about to say. you shallow, your mouth goes dry and you hold your breath. “i like you.”

NISHIMURA RIKI 又は ─── THE YOUNG RICH MAN

you meet him at your usual spot.

it is an exploit, really. sneaking out after a family dinner, away from your family and all the people in your house—when god knows how protective they are— is incredible. and you deserve an award for that.

sadly, you can’t stay for long tonight. you left your phone at home and know that it is only a matter of a few minutes before they start to come knock at your door to ask if you are okay or not.

you see riki from a short distance, he doesn’t see you yet and you can tell he is nervous from the way he looks at the big box in his hands.

“hey,” you try to get his attention and succeed. a smile appears on his face, gentle and soft. you mirror it— and send him a little wave.

he clears his throat, the moonlight reflects in his eyes, “hey,” he responds, voice husky.

you nod, your smile is still wide and joyful. but, you get straight to the point. you point at the box in his hands with your chin, “what is that?”

“oh—” he exclaims as if he forgot it was even there. he gaze fall on the box. it’s a cardboard box, in a soft brown. you can read ‘ami’ on it. he offers it to you, “it’s for you.”

it’s your turn now, to say “oh,” but in a softer and more pleased than not tone. you take it.

“i wanted to apologize for being late last time,” he fidgets with the rings of his fingers now that he is not holding anything. his eyes don't quite avoid yours but still won’t look at them for too long. “i know our meetings stress you out.”

too busy being sweet on his nervousness, you observe his cheeks getting redder as he talks instead of thanking him properly. it must stress him out because he doesn’t stop:

“bu—but! you are not obligated to wear it—” he is always so darling. “i mean— you can wear it if you’d like but i don’t want to force you to do—”

you take a deep breath while he stumbles over his words, punching air through your nose. you decide to end is cute misery, “thank you,” you get on your tiptoes to kiss his pink cheek. he blacks out. “i have to go now.”

to be honest, you would have found this gesture cocky and arrogant if it wasn’t riki. but maybe you are a little bit biased.

𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

[tarotofhope]

You can apply the below observations to both, your vedic and western charts. I'm not generalizing anything or anyone, these are just my random personal observations, don't let it ruin your day or week(for some people).

Note: I've noticed that some people were arguing in the comment section, when I posted part 1 of these astro observations. Please don't do that. If you do not agree, just ignore the post and move on, don't come fighting and arguing in the comment section saying, "We are not like this, we are not like that." I don't understand, those are not fixed opinions, definitions or judgements neither am I pointing out fingers at someone specific, so please do not take it personally. If it is something positive, people always come and accept easily then why not the negative stuff? Astrology is vast and people are complex. So many combinations or placements explain so many things, but it may not apply to everyone. Even I do not resonate with some observations(positive and negative, both) but I do not go bursting out in the comment section. If people won't observe and find common points between placements/signs, then tell me how else would people study astrology? Those observations are not written after just observing 1 or 2 people. If any of your placements are mentioned and you do not resonate with it, then you might have some other placements which make you an exception, don't take it to heart. If you have so much problem then don't read observations, only read tarot.

☾✴ The more Aries/Scorpio/1st House placements you have in the big 6, the more aggressive, assertive, impulsive and impatient you are.

☾✴ Sun conjunct Mars in the 4th House placement will give the native a profession/passion their father won't like and support of, there will be strong resentment and disapproval from his side.

☾✴ Aquarius sun people are misunderstood personalities and they either have a huge friend circle or they like to be alone, nothing in between.

☾✴ Capricorn Sun people are so attracted to the mystical and magnetic scorpios, they love their aura and energy. Same goes with Aries and Scorpios too. Capricorn Sun people also adore kind and generous people.

☾✴ People with dominant earth placements have a stable long term profession and/or more than one property in their name. They mostly leave some legacy behind if they're popular and famous, people respect them a lot and they have many loyal fans and admirers. To mention a few: Elvis Presley, Beyoncé, Michael Jackson, Adele, Ratan Tata, Gurdas Maan, A.R. Rahman.

☾✴ Now, this is very specific, I can't sit still if I don't mention this. When Sagittarius Sun singers and composers break up with someone, they create the biggest hit number after that. That song gets to the top in the charts. For example: Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus. I love how these natives quickly reach a glow up after a huge blow up, maybe this happens because it hits them hard when they soon realize that their life and peace of mind is much more precious and they shouldn't waste it on someone who's not worth it.

☾✴ Ketu/South Node in the 5th house/7th house, Ketu conjunct Venus/Saturn/Moon will make the native less or not at all interested in having children and/or romantic relationships. These people have their focus on other things in life such as self growth, career, ambition, passion and so on.(If these people have strong martian placements then they would want intimate relationships or marriage but no children.)

☾✴ Leo, Taurus, Capricorn and Aries Sun men have veiny hands and arms.

Love, light, peace & hope to you🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC & Astrology Observations. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[sir--crow]

this!!!

I've seen a lot of hate on Tiktok towards fanfictions to the point where thousands of people in the comment section will be making hateful jokes about the fanfic.

I'm like... that's weird. it's mean. it's rude.

there's one particular fanfiction in general within this fandom that gets a lot of hate, and the author is active within the community so I know that they see it. it makes my heart hurt for them. because they wrote a 400k+ fanfic FOR FREE. it might be ooc, but so what? it's fanfiction. it doesn't matter. ITS FREE. so I don't care.

I feel like a lot of people forget how lucky we are to have Ao3 and other fanfiction websites because it's a whole library we can access for free, and the authors don't get a dime for the hard work they put into it.

you wanna know what I do whenever I dislike a fanfic? I close the tab. I don't leave a hateful comment. I don't leave a bookmark saying "bad" or "wouldn't read again" because guess what? Ao3 isn't goodreads. that author WILL SEE WHAT U WRITE. as someone who published on Ao3, let me say that we can see everything people write in their bookmarks, and it always makes me happy to see loving comments or praise.

I couldn't imagine seeing a bookmark hating on my fanfic. it would break my heart.

so this post really resonated with me. if you see hate on any social media about a fanfiction. ignore it, or call them out!

fanfiction is free and the authors take time out of their day to write for YOU. so don't laugh at them when their writing isn't the best or the characters are a bit ooc and then act all shocked when they take the fanfic down for hate. they have no obligations to keep writing, and yet they still do it.

finally, I also see people say that fanfic authors of more serious topics are problematic because of what they write. for example, dead dove is a popular problematic genre on tik Tok that people bash. I'm sorry but what? once again YOU DONT HAVE TO READ IT and just because they write about it doesn't mean that they are that way/do those things themselves. just because someone writes about cannibalism doesn't mean that they're a cannibal. just because someone writes about murder doesn't make them a murderer.

I don't get it. is it a lack of media literacy? I feel like people get disconnected from reality whenever they write stuff on social media as if the person they're writing about isn't an actual person with feelings.

so please, don't hate on fanfiction. and let me say this YOU'RE ALLOWED TO DISLIKE STUFF. you're allowed to dislike a fanfiction! I'm not saying that you can't. I'm just saying that it's wrong to post hate.

be kind.

thanks for the insightful post OP.

Please stop publicly hating on fanfics. PLEASE!! Especially in a comment section of a video that’s about the fic or the fandom, because whether you’re aware of it or not, the author could have a social media account on that platform and see the hate. The hate on something they did for fun, for free. If you want more content then you have to stop hating. these authors aren’t celebrities they don’t have pr teams or people dealing with hate for them, they’re participants in fandom, and they’re real people.

Fanfics are not books, yes some are amazing enough to be, but you do not buy them, they’re provided to you for free. A fanfiction being popular is not like a book you bought sitting on your shelf, you should not feel obligated to read it because you spent money on it. Because you didn’t. it’s free. Fanfics no matter how popular should not be treated and reviewed like books, you do not get to publicly criticise or say “how are people buying this?!” Because they’re not. It’s free. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s overrated, it’s something someone did for fun, and you don’t get to criticise that, especially because it’s public for you to read!! Don’t be mad that something’s overrated, be glad that it was even up in the first place, someone could have easily just left it as a draft and never posted it, but they did. They decided to share this piece of themselves, to the fandom for anyone to read and that is a gift.

Ao3 is an uncensored website for fanfics, you can write about literally anything. And yet I see “no don’t read that fic it’s problematic!!” In a comment section. Fanfiction is not censored, if you want morals and every character being perfect and making the ‘right’ choices, then get off ao3. Also reminder that an author can write characters making decisions that they don’t agree with, for depth of the story. Just because your favourite character, that you see as the pinnacle of righteousness, makes a bad decision or says something mean does not make the story bad or problematic. It also doesn’t make the author agree with that decision. All the time authors of published books write about morally grey characters or villains. But when an ao3 author does it all of a sudden they must have committed the war crimes that they wrote their villain to commit. Do you realise how stupid that sounds?? 😭

Also don’t post vague negative videos about something/someone even if you don’t say who or what it’s about, it leads the comment section to gossip about who they hate and that’s just not cool. And tagging the fandom that they’re in??? 90% of the time they’re going to see that.

Public hate is not cool, if you don’t like someone, talk to you friends about it if you’re craving other peoples validation so badly. You don’t need to post something publicly. And I know hate gets more popular then love in fandom, no matter if it’s headcanons or fics or creators, but that doesn’t make it good. I don’t know why people are so negative all the time, like I don’t care what headcanons you hate, why do you even spend that much time thinking about something you hate?? I want to hear what headcanons you like, I want to know you fav characters, your kins, literally anything.

Sorry this is so long, it just pisses me off to see a fun video about fandom and then I open the comments and it’s filled with hate. This is a fandom, have fun with it!!! Please. 😭

[covetyou]

Do you have fic recommendations where Joel and Tess take advantage of reader or something like that

hello hello!

my brain is soup and I don't keep track of what I've read at the best of times, but the below are ones I can remember off the top of my head that at least vaguely have some of the vibes you're looking for:

ain't no rest for the wicked by @corazondebeskar-reads Tess finds a pet plaything for Joel. both Joel and Tess are vaguely dark in this fic, but to me they're only as dark as their situation demands of them (dog eat dog Boston QZ situation). reader is willing but not always talked to about what is going on. it's hot as hell, had a really interesting dynamic, and an ending that I still think about all the damn time.

@punkassfrance's masterlist this has a few Joel x reader x Tess fics, but Mare Nostrum Mediterranean Grill is the one with the vibes you're looking for. there's only two parts, but what there is of it is great. the other two (love and dopamine, and overnight medley) are both excellent too though, so I'm throwing you the entire masterlist (there's plenty of Tess/reader here too, if that's your thing)

strangelove by @ozarkthedog Joel and Tess nurse you back to health, but then they don't let you go. as the darkest thing on the list, this fic fully encapsulates those "reader is being taken advantage of" vibes. I won't say much more about it, I don't want to spoil it, but it's excellent and it's been too long since I read it. warning for dub/non-con.

crave by @allfoolsinluv You babysit for Joel and Tess. this AU itches my brain in all the right ways. purely from the dynamic of employer/babysitter, it has a hint of that "take advantage" vibe you're after, but it's all consensual and reader is very interested. it's incredibly hot and this Tess is just so very attractive to me.

there's a surprising variety here now that I look at it, so hopefully something takes your fancy that you haven't read before 💛

if anyone else has any "Tess and Joel take advantage of reader" fic recs (self recs are always welcome! 2025 is the year of shamelessly tooting your own horn) please leave them in the comments!

I've written this once before and the app is maybe the shittest place to do this kind of post and now I want to scream because everything got wiped and I had to start again.

[thehoneybeet]

Hellooo honey!! For what I wanna know about you: rec me your 3 favorite fics (doesn't have to be drarry or even hp but literally just your 3 favorite fics).

If that's too difficult to narrow down, then how about your 3 favorite fic tropes?

hi phoebe!!!

you sent me this ask almost 2 years ago (sorry!) and part of the reason I didn't answer then (besides being horrible at following through with ask games) is that i find it so hard to pick a favourite!

most of the fics I read are drarry, and there's such a plethora of Good Food out there that it's really impossible to narrow it down at all. so I thought I'd share some fics that have been on my mind, recently!

Don't Fear the Reaper by Anonymous

this was my erised gift and I can't recommend it highly enough! it has everything I adore. I even sent it to my mom and she really enjoyed it, too.

this story is life affirming. it's about death, kind of. it's mostly about life, and how to live it. so many hilarious, delightful, wise moments.

Every Breath You Take by @hephaestiions

I've been chewing on my own MCD wip for a while now, and whenever I think about that theme this fic is always at the front of my mind. I think "Oh my darling" is branded on my heart forever now.

their relationship in this fic is in the tragic stage of near-total breakdown (think worse than divorce, because the love is still there), and Scorpius's POV shines.

Find New Ways by @skeptiquewrites

a gorgeous, heart-massaging meditation on marriage. prose that uplifts as it describes.

if anyone reads any of these after seeing this rec, please feel free to come chat with me about them or leave a comment!

[laugtherhyena]

Continuing the rant-iness of last post's notes onto this one i think (I appreciate if they're read, i think I'm too self-conscious to have them in the post itself)

[threewaywithdelusion]

I want to read a zombie apocalypse Stranger Things story. Set after season 3, but the Byers have already moved to California. Hawkins in the epicentre because the “zombies” are flayed humans or people whose blood mixed with Demogorgon blood or whatever. So the Hawkins gang has to try to make it across the country to California because not only do they want to find their friends but they also need El. She’s the only one who has any hope of fixing this.

The thing is, they have to take their parents with them. (I assume Steve’s parents weren’t in Hawkins). Both Wheeler parents (and Holly), the Sinclairs, the Buckleys, Mrs. Henderson, and Ms. Mayfield are all dragged along by their weirdly competent children. They’re all horrified by the apocalypse and trying to act brave for their kids, but meanwhile their kids are looking up to Steve and Nancy, who are heavily armed with their bat and gun and acting like this is a normal Tuesday.

They head west, driving when the roads are clear and they can find gas, walking when they can’t. Maybe they meet people along the way. Other people fleeing Hawkins — Eddie and Wayne, maybe, who have set out on their own. Eddie hotwires a car and gets them mobile after days of walking where they’re barely made it past the Indiana border. Maybe Chrissy already ended up with them when they saved her from a prior zombie attack that killed her mom (and she and Max can bond about the mixture of grief and guilt and relief they feel). Maybe Jason is with them, annoying Eddie and Wayne to no end (he can die later on).

Technology has gone down, so there’s no real communication. (Would radios still work?). They’re heading blindly west and hoping the Byers are there. It would normally make more sense to stay out — El can find them, so they should let her come to them — but they have to keep moving because it isn’t safe. Not only are there zombies (“Demozombies!” “No, Dustin, we’re not calling them that”) but scary groups of humans who kill first and ask questions later.

Steve and Nancy grow closer as the de facto leaders of the group. They are both carrying so much weight on their shoulders, trying to make sure everyone stays alive. Nancy is the practical one who keeps them moving even when it hurts, even when they have to leave people behind, and Steve is the one who watched their six and makes sure everyone stays safe.

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike know random facts about compasses and radios that help them along the way. Erica does the math for how far they’ve gone and how long it will take them to reach California. Robin and Steve have been bonded by Starcourt but haven’t really had time to get to know each other yet and they’re doing it in an apocalypse, which turns their codependency up to 11. When Steve gets all stressed about looking after the kids or about what their life will look like now, Robin is the one who jokes with him and reminds him there’s still good in the world. He has no idea where his parents are, but he has his soulmates and his kids so he has to keep going.

Maybe they almost die at one point. They’re cornered on all sides and there’s nothing they can do and then all of the Demozombies stop and walk away. Maybe Kali finds them and saves them.

Maybe the radios still work and they find Suzie and Eden, making their way through the wilderness with a pack of their feral younger siblings.

Maybe they make it to California and the Byers aren’t there. (They had to run too. The government came for El and they’re in hiding, but El has been watching her friends and she’s coming. Maybe she never lost her powers. Maybe in the apocalypse, she got them back).

I don’t know. This idea occurred to me today, so I haven’t put a ton of thought into it yet. I just think it would be fun to have these kids go through a proper apocalypse. They’d be ready. They all keep weapons under the beds and their walkies close and they have bags packed in case they need to run. Most of the world wasn’t expecting the apocalypse. But the Party? They were ready.

[foxhole-pipe-dream]

...

[here-there-were-dragons]

what im getting from this is the guy would love ao3

Merasmus canonically writes fanfiction

[afterglowsainz]

imperfect for you | oscar piastri

pairing: norris!reader x oscar piastri

summary: you’re too focused on being the paddock’s cupid that you fail to notice your perfect match is right there, on your brother’s teammate

fc: madisyn menchaca

a/n: i’m choosing to ignore all the trouble and negativity surrounding oscar’s win and just focus on the fact that oscar piastri is a formula 1 grand prix winner!!!

—

liked by ynnorris, charles_leclerc and others

f1 the ferrari couple arrives in blue classiness 💙

tagged charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

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username omg alex’s first appearance in the paddock !!!

username she’s truly one of the most beautiful women i’ve seen

username let’s all thank yn’s mind for bringing these two together 💕

ynnorris my babies 🥹🫶🏽 (liked by charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux)

username still can’t believe if it wasn’t for yn they wouldn’t be together

username i just love when hot people date each other 😍

username and they’re matching too 🥺

liked by oscarpiastri, francisca.cgomes and others

ynnorris currently in monaco looking for my next project ❤��‍🩹

tagged landonorris, oscarpiastri, logansargeant and alexandrasaintmleux

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username not her saying she’s looking for a “project” after setting up charles and alex 🤣

username the one and only paddock’s cupid 💘

username it’s insane how she sets everyone up and she’s still single

username the prettiest girl❣️

oscarpiastri you literally posted a pic playing padel, there’s you next project

ynnorris padel is for the weak who can’t play tennis

maxverstappen1 hey!

alexandrasaintmleux charge €10 per tarot reading 🫶🏽

ynnorris alexandra malena your mind is immaculate 🤌🏽

liked by logansargeant, friend1 and others

ynnorris the look from the nosebleeds🩸

tagged logansargeant and friend1

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username why on earth wasn’t she at the garage???

username babes your brother is a literal driver what are you doing there

ynnorris he kicked me out :(

lissiemackintosh shame on you landonorris

landonorris that’s literally fake she just wanted to see how it looked from up there

oscarpiastri i can confirm

ynnorris no one asked you‼️ oscarpiastri

username and who’s that with logan 👀

username omg not another one of yn friends 😭

username she took the paddock’s cupid name too seriously

logansargeant send me that last pic

ynnorris ask friend1 🤭

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and others

oscarpiastri exploring more of monaco🇲🇨

tagged logansargeant, ynnorris and friend1

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username can’t believe he’s moving there

username we lost the game of keeping f1 drivers out of monaco

username not oscar hard launching logan’s relationship 😭

username i genuinely think yn hard launched them first in her last post

username hard launch between yn and oscar when

username no because was this a double date orrr???

username logan and his new gf, no lando, oscar and yn next to each other … hmm …

ynnorris you look cute �� friend1

friend1 youuuu 💕

logansargeant 🤨🤨

friend1 you look cute too ig

logansargeant 😊

oscarpiastri no flirting on my instagram please

ynnorris boooo 🍅🍅🍅

liked by oscarpiastri, trentarnold66 and others

ynnorris post-beach clarity 🏝

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username the only woman ever

username 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

lissiemackintosh my girlfriend 🥵 (liked by ynnorris)

username obsessed with you

username face card is insaaaane

username oscar is very slow

trentarnold66 damn😍

landonorris uhm 🤨

charlesleclerc 🤨

maxverstappen1 🤨

pierregasly 🤨

lancestroll 🤨

lewishamilton 🤨

ynnorris all of you leave rn.

ynnorris except you lewishamilton you can stay 🥰

liked by friend2 and others

f1gossip some drivers were seen clubbing at monaco this weekend including oscar piastri with a mysterious brunette. yn norris and lissie mackintosh were also at the party

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username who’s the girl with oscar?

username i believe it’s friend2 but i could be wrong

username omg and look who follows her 🤭

username yn once again playing cupid but this time with the wrong guy 😩

username no because i wanted her and oscar to date so bad i thought they liked each other :(

username but look at the bright side!!! she’s been rumored to be dating trent alexander arnold so is not all bad

username i guess 😔

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footballwags trent alexander-arnold was seen recently with rumored girlfriend spending some time at the beach

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username excuse me what

username i thought his rumored girlfriend was yn norris? who is this?

username guys i think trent and yn were never really together

username you think?

username trentyn goodbye goodbye goodbye you were bigger than the whole sky

username tbh i can’t be mad at this

username same

liked by oscarpiastri, lissiemackintosh and others

ynnorris took a trip down under 🇦🇺

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username OMG GUYSSS THIS IS NOT A DRILL

username so we weren’t completely delusional huh😭

lissiemackintosh can’t believe you’re cheating on me 😔

ynnorris you’re my number one always! 🫶🏽

username she’s so gorgeous i’m speechless

username yn give me a chance pls pls pls

oscarpiastri you’re too much 😍

ynnorris do you want an australian kiss? 😛

aussiegrit kids please

username last pic is peak boyfriendism 🥵

username FINALLYYYYY

[mymoonsight]

Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it

x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes

As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.

Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???

Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.

Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.

Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.

Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.

Edit:

Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol

People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am

[yueebby]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐢) – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips, 7.2k words of gojo unable to process his feelings

notes. sorry for leaving everyone hanging after the prologue (make sure to read or reread since it's been a hot minute!) TT but here it finally is!!!...not proofread soz :x

series masterlist | chapter 1/2

You haunt his dreams, he’s sure. Gojo never believed in superstitions or the supernatural despite what all those old geezers preached. That was until your figure started to appear every time he closed his eyes.

The familiar scene of you gets cloudier every time it appears in his dreams, but he knows it is still you. It’s nearly comical how even his subconscious knew of your everlasting beauty. Everytime, the same sequence replays: a grand celebration he had hosted in the palace in honor of a prosperous year of his reign. The two of you were overlooking the guests, seated at the head of the room.

You’re wearing court attire that was altered to fit solely you (it hugged your body in such ways that made Gojo’s head spin), fabrics and dyes all originating from foreign lands. In your hair sits beautiful hair ornaments, swinging with every movement you make.

However, Gojo knows it is not the materialistic items that make you beautiful, no, he knows that it was simply you.

“Has anyone told you how unnerving your eyes are?” You quietly comment, eyes still trained on the party in front of you. Satoru cracks a slight smile, not ashamed in the slightest that he was caught ogling you.

“I thought you said you loved them?” He blinks at you, attempting to lean closer to show off his blue orbs. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, beloved.”

You purse your lips, subtly leaning away before he can initiate improper conduct. He does not take your action well, snaking an arm around you to firmly cage you in his hold. Normally, you would welcome his advances but you’d rather not be publically humiliated in front of the entire Imperial Court and all of the influential clanheads of Japan.

“Please have mercy on me, Your Grace,” You whisper, eyes flitting across the room, making sure there were no eyes on you. Luckily, everyone was too absorbed with the luxurious goods Gojo had imported for the occasion. It was the anniversary of his coronation, after all.

He makes a noise of disapproval, “Can’t. Must let these people know that you’re mine.” Gojo closes the gap between you and sniffs your neck, softly moaning at your scent. He knows that if the geezers looked up from their silver spoons they would have a heart attack at his public display of affection. Not that he cares. His unorthodox ways may make them livid, but Gojo knows they won’t do anything. He was going to pave the way for the Golden Age of Japan— with you by his side.

“Your Grace!” You giggle at the ticklish sensation left by his warm breath. Any attempts of shying away from him are fruitless.

“Don’t run away,” His other hand firmly places itself on your clothed thigh, restricting your movements. All of this is hidden by the table that sits in front of the two of you.

You’re looking at him with those shiny eyes of yours, silently pleading with him. “Can’t this wait until tonight?”

He huffs, “I have suffered enough today without your presence. Ijichi kept begging me to finalize the preparations, but who am I to care? My flower was too busy having fun without me.” 

“You and your dramatics. I was only away to tend the gardens in the Consort’s Pavilion. Which, might I remind you, is fading by the moment because someone refuses for me to stay there.” You tut, picking up your chopsticks to eat the delectable fish placed in front of you. 

Gojo’s stare never falters as he watches you pick up a small piece, eyes shining as if he were watching a spectacle. “You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“And I, you.” You pop the piece inside of your mouth, chewing happily at the flavor that fills your tongue. “You know, I–” You began, but were cut off by the sudden seizing of your throat. 

The chopsticks in your hands clatter loudly with the porcelain they are dropped on. 

Gojo's breath hitched, his eyes wide and trembling with horror as he watched you struggle for air. "My love?” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of rising panic.

Your hands immediately travel to your neck to alleviate the sudden burning feeling that blossomed in it.

“[Name]!” He shouts, large hands quickly rising to cup your cheeks. In a desperate attempt, he squeezes your cheeks to get you to spit it out. 

"Poi–poison," Your voice was hoarse, your face losing its color by the second. Satoru was frozen with fear. “Don’t eat it…Satoru.” With those parting words, you lose consciousness.

“[Name]?” Satoru’s hoarse voice can’t stop repeating your name like a prayer, hands lightly tapping your cheek as if it was going to bring you back to life.

Gojo wanted to laugh. Even when you were dying, you worried about him. Not that it mattered. You weren’t going to die. He refused.

Sometime during your struggle the chatter had stopped, and all eyes were on you. Satoru looks up from you to bark orders to the guards he had placed around the room. They leave to summon the Imperial Physician while Gojo is left clinging onto your limp body, praying to the Heavens above that they will grant him one more miracle.

—

Back in his chambers, Gojo’s head pounds, but he’s not sure whether it was the speed he shot up from his bed or the dream itself. He feels hot, sweat running from his bare chest that heaves to bring oxygen to his quickly pumping heart. He’s nearly certain his chest is going to cave any second with the way it constricts with pain. It was like he was a geezer, he humors silently.

“Your Grace?” A delicate hand cups his cheek. 

He follows the direction of the hand, eyes slowly trailing up the feminine body it belonged to, barely covered as a result of the thin silk nightgown that highlighted her natural curves. “Are you alright? It was only a nightmare.” She cradles his face, moving slowly in his vulnerable state.

Satoru breathes heavily, eyes widening as they travel from her breasts to her face, beautifully illuminated by the sparse moonlight leaking from the window. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders, obscuring some of his access to her skin. His beautiful mistress. He’s sure that she is whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but the images of his memory keep replaying in his mind, occupying it from functioning properly. ”Himiko, how did you–”

“I heard you and I couldn’t bear it.” Her finger softly caressed his flushed cheek, trying her best to ignore the bewildered look on her lover’s face. 

THE PRESENT —

The journey to the Inner Palace was a blur. After a long goodbye, a horse drawn carriage was sent to the front of Yaga’s estate the very next morning. Your mind was elsewhere the entire time, too busy mulling over your past and now damned future. 

That is why when the carriage comes to a complete stop in front of the servants’ quarters, you are startled to meet two awfully familiar faces.

The two are silent, eyes carefully watching you exit the carriage. The purple set of eyes steps forward first to take your bags from you. 

“Ah thank you Mister—“ Your voice trails off, eyes looking up from the dark robes in front of you only to be surprised with a familiar face. “L-Lord Geto?” 

His lips quirk up slightly upon recognition. “Welcome back, [Name].” Your heart throbs at his indifference from the last interaction you had. It is quickly concealed by the excitement in your voice when your eyes spot a comforting pair of eyes.

“And Kento?” You light up.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at your familiarity with the Imperial Chancellor. He knows he should be relieved that you held no malice towards himself and Nanami, knowing the struggle you were subjected to when banished. However, there was a foreboding feeling gnawing deep within his soul. Guilt? Fear? It was hard for Geto to put a finger on it.

Nanami simply nods in acknowledgment, but stays silent under Geto’s watchful gaze.

“[Name],” The black haired man starts. Your eyes return to his face. “I wanted to be the first to greet you here, but I suppose Lord Nanami must have had the same idea.” He chuckles lightly, but the mirth never makes it to his eyes. You don’t notice Lord Nanami stiffening up.

“To say I am flattered would be an understatement, Lord Geto.” You return the same sugarcoated pleasantries. 

Geto must have noticed your unease, reminding you, “Please, there is no need to keep your guard up around me. I don’t bite.” His voice has a teasing lilt. It does little to soothe you. 

“Can you blame me, Lord Geto?” Your eyes meet his purple ones that narrow at your allusion.

“I suppose not.” He hums. “Though I must tell you that the incident was out of my power. I must carry that burden everyday, so I implore you to forgive me, [Name].” He throws out your given name once again like you were familiar. 

When you don’t respond, he continues, “I know, it is easier said than done.”

“You don’t say.” You bite your tongue as soon as the words leave your mouth. He fails to acknowledge how your last interaction was your banishment, served just by the man in front of you.

A sigh escapes Geto’s lips. "As a gesture of my accountability, I place myself entirely at your disposal. Simply name a favor, and it shall be fulfilled." You can’t detect anything but sincerity in his words, leaving you speechless. “Of course, it had to be within my power, but I shall grant you one request in return for your forgiveness.”

“I—” You were too shocked to form a thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

Suguru’s eyes crinkle, "Our last encounter may not have been pleasant, but I still consider you a dear friend, after all.”

“I am flattered to say the least that you had decided to grant me such honor,” you gape.

Geto shakes his head softly, “You shouldn’t hold me to such high regard. I could hardly bear the weight of your disfavor.”

“You know I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards what happened,” you say softly. It wasn’t Suguru’s decision what happened that night.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise,” the black haired man in front of you pushes. You relent. Perhaps you should just bite your tongue and accept the opportunity presented. “Please. Just think about it.”

You watch in silence as Geto turns around to walk away. His sudden offer leaves your mind racing. A man of his caliber, second to none but the emperor himself, would be able to grant any of your desires. Perhaps you should ask to import Western literature, tales of great fantasy— or, you could think bigger and ask to move back with your clan. Though you highly doubt he will entertain the latter, considering your indentured servitude to the Inner Palace. 

Your racing thoughts are diverted when you hear someone clear their throat to capture your attention. You perk up when you realize that Lord Nanami was still here, and you have completely ignored his presence.

“I am just as surprised to see your immediate return to the palace.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his face, sympathetic eyes never leaving you. You flush under his gaze. It was quite embarrassing knowing the entire palace probably had caught wind of your incident with the emperor.

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips. 

“It wasn’t my intention,” you mumble. “But I suppose if fate has decided, there is not much I can do.”

“You truly believe that it was fate that brought you here?” Nanami asks, the hold he had on your arm tightening enough to catch your attention but not enough to hurt. 

“I-” You begin, words failing to conjure. “I’m not sure.”  You had thought that your banishment was fate, but now that you had been brought back, it felt like you were simply at the mercy of something cruel.

Nanami watches your eyes staring wistfully at the blue sky above, his own flickering to each of your features. He wonders if you know that your expressions gave you away. It’s more endearing than anything, from the flutter of your eyelashes, the wrinkle of your nose, to the furrow of your eyebrows. Only a blind man would deny the fact that you were easy to fall in love with. However, it would make a foolish man to dare to pursue you.

 He’ll appreciate you and your charm from afar where his head may stay attached to his body.

The comfortable silence shared between the two of you is disrupted by a flock of handmaidens passing by. Nanami tenses his jaw when the voices become audible. 

“Is it really her?”

“It’s said that she tried to sneak into the Emperor’s chambers.”

“Is that Lord Nanami? My, we must warn him about that whore that tried to seduce the emperor!”

“Poor Lady Himiko.”

Anger swells in your chest. Though you’re not sure what tale had managed to escape the servants’ quarters, but you pray that they may never reach the emperor’s ears. It was simply profane to the beloved consort, an offense that you know Gojo would never forgive you for. You can deal with nasty gossip, having previous experience, but you doubt you can handle being beheaded for conspiring against the emperor and his consort.

“I’m afraid no matter how much time has passed, the palace rumors seem to never die.” Nanami sighs, exhaustion evident in his gravelly voice. “I advise you to brace yourself. Within these coming days, the fire will only get hotter.” He doesn’t bother elaborating on his words, choosing to lead you to your new chambers.

“Thank you for the advice Nanami,” you exhale. “However, I am sure I’ll be able to manage on my own. After all, I’ve been doing it for quite some time.” The moment the solemn words leave your mouth his eyes soften. You quickly look away, flustered.

“I know you can, [Name]. I suppose my anxieties are misplaced, forgive me.” You can feel his stare bore into the side of your face. He sighs, “it is a habit that comes natural to me.” He worries for you. The words go unsaid, but you are able to decipher his double meaning.

Your heart flutters at his kind implications, eyes too shy to meet him once more. Instead, you choose to fix your gaze on the doors to the servants’ quarters. The blonde man beside you takes the liberty to open the doors to your new room. 

At the sight in front of you, your heart lurches.

Before you stands a familiar head of white hair, standing tall with his back turned towards you. His head was tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing something unseen, before he slowly shook it. Then, with an unsettling calm, he turned to face you, his gaze heavy with unspoken intent.

“I’ll take her from here,” Gojo’s icy voice breaks the silence that had overtaken you and Nanami.

“Of course,” Nanami bows deeply. You turn to bid the man goodbye, but he leaves hurriedly without sparing you so much as a glance. You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion, eyes longingly watching your old friend walk away.

The moment the shoji doors close behind him, Gojo clears his throat.

“[Name],” he tests the waters, his movements deliberate as he takes a slow, tentative step toward you, the air between you thick with an unspoken tension.

“Your Majesty,” You respond shakily, retreating a step as your breath catches.

“Please,” Gojo mutters breathlessly, his voice trembling with unspoken desperation, his eyes pleading with an intensity that only deepens the pit in your stomach. He takes two deliberate strides forward, the gap between you vanishing as though drawn by an invisible force.

“No,” You shake your head, pain flashing across your face. You won’t let him waltz right into your life after carelessly tossing you away, not without consequence. It is to no surprise that words seem to go unheard to the man in front of you. His eyes glistened in the dim lighting, fixed intently on your face, tracing each feature with a quiet focus, as if he were trying to burn them into his memory.

The world seemed to stay still just for the two of you. But it only lasted for just a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo mutters, a strong hand flying to the back of your neck tugging you towards him for a searing kiss. The instant his lips crash against yours, he lets out a soft whimper, as though the very act consumes him. Despite the passage of time, your body responds instinctively, like it was always meant to be this way.

It felt like the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was right in front of you, your fast beating hearts making contact with the way he had your chest pressed to his. All while pushing you against his body, Gojo allows his hand to trail down your back, revisiting every valley that he had once memorized.

“Mph,” your traitorous hands find their way into his head of white hair. He smiles into the kiss upon hearing his name leave your mouth.

“Yes?” He leaves a wet kiss at the base of your throat, bending down to continue his frenzy.

“This isn’t right,” the words came out of your mouth in a whisper, as if you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

“You’re wrong.” He inhales deeply, attaching his mouth onto your collarbone, ”I was made solely for this.” A small whine leaves his mouth when you hesitantly try to push him off. He uses his innate strength to fight your attempts.

“May I ask something of you?”

A kiss was placed on your jawline. Another on the base of your throat.

“Anything,” he breathes.

“Do you..” Your voice falters. “Do you love her?” Like you loved me? 

The trail of kisses come to a complete stop. For a second you fear you may have overstepped. The emperor’s silence was palpable. The only sound that filled your ears was the harsh thuds of your own heart. 

“[Name]...” he slowly stands up to tower over you with his height. The distant look in his eyes forms a pit in your stomach.

“Answer me,” you whisper, the pit deepening.

“I am just a man,” he reasons. Your heart drops at his answer.

“You could not even take an oath of monogamy,” you spit. “You are nothing but a weak man.” 

His eyes shoot up from their trance frantically. You fear that the lust he had been tempted with had worn off, and now you were left with nothing but wrath.

“I understand that I was nothing but a spoil of war, but you could have done me one last favor by allowing me to leave on my own accord. You did not have to cast me away,” your vision starts to waver with the tears that puddle in your eyes. “If I knew your heart had yearned for another I would have left.”

The set of blue eyes that stare at you are no longer the lively shade that you had grown to love. They have been replaced by an uncertain stormy grey. It was almost laughable. A man, so big, who had the world in the palm of his hand looked so small.

A cruel part in you enjoyed seeing the turmoil in his eyes after the events that had transpired.

“Had I known the tribulations I put you through, perhaps I would have put a second thought before choosing you.” Gojo exhales, pinching in between his eyebrows. “But I must assure you that you weren’t the only one suffering.” And for a moment you think you see lightning strike in those stormy irises of his. 

Your eyes widen at his confession.

He lets out a deep sigh, “The head maid will be here any minute. I bid you farewell. I pray that with our next interaction, your heart learns to soften.”

Ever for dramatics, Gojo leaves before you can get the last word.

—

True to his word, the head maid soon comes to assign your duties. You’re not surprised at your new set of responsibilities: tending to the emperor’s garden, sweeping the floors to his chambers, and overseeing his meal preparations. 

It is nothing out of your skill set, and you’re more than willing to accept your predicament rather than being burned alive for offending the emperor on numerous accounts. You suppose even Gojo was kind enough to spare you from that cruel fate. It almost softens your heart enough to decide to forgive him of his transgressions. Almost.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud clang of a pot. When you turn your head towards the direction of the sound, you’re met with the head maid’s stern gaze. Her eyes narrowed on the wooden spoon you had been mixing in the broth. 

Ah. She wanted you to perform the mandatory poison test before serving the food to the emperor.

However, just as you bring the spoon to your lips, it is violently swatted from your hand, clattering to the floor. Your eyes sadly linger on the spilled broth before snapping to the culprit, your gaze filled with disbelief.

"There were strict orders to ensure that the task did not fall to you," the head maid, Ogami, declared sharply. The elderly woman, with silver hair neatly tied in a tight bun and skin etched with the marks of years spent in service, raised a wrinkled finger in your direction.

You blink, taken aback by her sudden reprimand, the sharpness in her gaze leaving you momentarily frozen. It didn’t make sense—there had been no mention of any such orders, no one had informed you of any changes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the weight of her unyielding stare. 

How strange.

Days pass by like a blur, your routine falling into place. When dawn arrives, you’re up to prepare the emperor’s garments for the day. Your mid-mornings grow even busier as the palace comes alive with activity. Whether mending torn hems or ensuring the ceremonial robes are free of imperfection, you move like a ghost through the corridors with hopes of going unnoticed. The emperor’s unusual antics, however, make it nearly impossible to slip by unnoticed. He seems to have a knack for drawing your attention. His antics often begin at ungodly hours, long before the sun graces the horizon, as he attempts to coax you into sharing the first meal of the day with him. You decline each time, yet his persistence never wavers, a boyish grin always accompanying his invitations. By the time the sun reaches its zenith, Gojo finally departs to attend to his imperial duties. It’s only then, in the quiet lull of his absence, that you find the chance to make real progress with your work.

“To say I am relieved because of your presence would be an understatement, [Name].” Nanami and you overlook the palace’s main courtyard. 

You smile, hands filled with silks that needed washing, “I could say the same.” The emperor’s outrageous requests were driving you mad. Your mind flashes to earlier that week when he had insisted on hand feeding you honey! You wonder how he survived without a personal servant before you took the position.

“His Majesty is as eccentric as ever, I assume.” Nanami’s eyes crinkle. 

You laugh, “You know him too well!”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he shakes his head, smile ghosting his lips. “We’ve known eachother since our youth.”

You perk up at the news, your curiosity piqued. The confusion must have been written all over your face, prompting Nanami to offer a quick clarification.

“It was brief, our time at the academy. But we were both under the instruction of Yaga,” he elaborates. Huh. What a small world, you think as Nanami paints an unexpected connection. 

“I am struggling to imagine you and him studying under the ever serious Yaga,” you giggle.

“I was in the year below him. It was Lord Geto and Shoko who were first hand witnesses to his nature.” Nanami tells you. 

You nearly dropped all of the emperor’s clothes, “Shoko?” The revelation that your own friend was acquainted with the emperor stopped you dead in your tracks. Had she known him personally all along? If so, she made no effort to reveal it. Instead, she appeared almost disgusted by him, though you had chalked it up to her disdain for the new ruling dynasty rather than a personal vendetta against the man himself.

“I am aware you were well acquainted with her in your time in the Outer Palace, no?” “Yes, but–” you pause, before eyes snapping back to Nanami. “How did you know?”

Nanami blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes widen a fraction, and he opens his mouth as if to explain, but then falters, his words stumbling.

Before he can say anything, a soft, familiar voice drifts from behind you.

“[Name]!” A servant of Lady Himiko calls urgently, her voice laced with a sense of urgency. You turn to face her.

“Yes?”

“The emperor requests your presence in the ceremonial hall. He says it is of great importance and that you must make haste!” The girl exclaims, grabbing your only free arm and tugging you toward the hall.

You glance back at Nanami, your eyes silently promising him that this conversation is far from over. He gives a small nod, acknowledging your unspoken words as he bids you farewell.

“Ah, may I ask what the emperor requires of me?” you ask, trying to maintain some control over the situation.

“You’ll see,” she replies, her tone clipped. Without sparing you a glance, she pulls you forward with determination, clearly focused on her task.

Like a lamb heading toward slaughter, you find yourself helplessly being dragged through the grand doors of the ceremonial hall, your thoughts swirling with questions you can’t yet answer.

The expansive room was eerily empty, a stark contrast to its usual grandeur. The sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long beams of light that danced across the polished floors, illuminating the intricate tapestries and the grand pillars that lined the hall. But your gaze soon shifted, focusing on the emperor’s seat at the very end of the room.

You had expected the usual scene: Gojo slouched in his throne-like chair, whiny and complaining about the mountain of paperwork he despised. But what greeted you instead was something far more unexpected.

A figure stood poised at the head of the room, commanding the space with an elegance that was undeniable. Anyone familiar with the court could recognize her signature choice of kimono—the rich plum silk embroidered with intricate gold patterns, delicate yet striking. Her hair, black as midnight and flowing like a river of silk, cascaded down her back in perfect waves, a stark contrast to her porcelain-like complexion.

It was Lady Himiko. Her beauty was legendary, whispered about among women across the nation, often compared to a living work of art. The rumors of her grace and poise weren’t exaggerated. Standing there, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who remained perfectly still and attentive at her side.

Her eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, your breath was stolen. The stillness of the room was palpable, and you couldn’t help but wonder why she was here, in the emperor’s seat, with not a whisper of Gojo in sight.

“Ah, just the one I was looking for!” her eyes light up when she sees her servant return with you in her hand. The gleam in her eyes fill you with unease.

“Lady Himiko, it is an honor,” you bow.

“There’s no need for that! Please, stand.” She waves her slender fingers at you, or so it seems, but at her silent command, her ladies-in-waiting begin to move toward you.

You take a step back, instinctively using the emperor’s garments, still damp from your earlier washing, as a shield against their sudden movements. The soft rustling of fabric is almost deafening in the silence that follows.

Lady Himiko’s eyes narrow at the motion, her sharp gaze flicking to the garments you hold between you and her. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays at the corners of her lips, but it does nothing to ease the tension thickening in the air.

“I understand the unspoken animosity between us,” she says, her voice smooth, but there's an edge to it that sets your nerves on edge. “I pray you will accept my humble apology.” She clasps her hands together, but her eyes remain calculating, never leaving yours.

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “I had not expected the emperor to kindle such… passion for me so suddenly. It was neither of our intentions that fateful night we reunited after the days of our youth.” She shakes her head softly, laughing nervously. "How rude of me, I doubt you of all would want to hear about Satoru and I."

Your breath hitches, caught between surprise and a tightening knot of discomfort in your chest. The weight of her words presses down on you, and you struggle to maintain composure.

“I do apologize for bringing you here on such deceptive terms, but I had to get your attention somehow,” she continues. “As one who has been a former concubine, I wanted your counsel on how I should navigate this delicate matter.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say she was mocking you. But you knew Himiko wasn’t one you wanted to offend, so you bite your tongue.

Instead, you nod, steeling yourself against the discomfort crawling up your spine. “What is it that you need from me?” you ask, your voice betraying none of the wariness you feel.

Himiko’s ladies-in-waiting close in around you swiftly, subtly guiding your every step toward the emperor’s stand. The grand hall feels even larger as you’re led deeper into its heart, each step reverberating through the space.

At the end of the room stands Himiko, watching you approach with a distant gaze. The soft glow from the nearby windows catches on the polished surface of the wooden desk before her, where inkstones, brushes, and stacks of paper lie in disarray.

You pause, your gaze falling upon the desk, and that’s when you notice the manuscript she’s pointing to. Her perfectly filed nails trace the edges of the paper with deliberate slowness. Though you cannot read the characters from this distance, the emblems that adorn the papers are unmistakable. They belong to some of the most powerful clans in the empire, each one a mark of authority and influence.

As your eyes skim across the paper Himiko’s hand rests on, the characters seem to leap off the page in a rush of realization. It’s a proposal– one written by the notorious Zenin clan. You can almost feel the air grow heavy as you piece it together. The words speak of demands for more autonomy—an increase in their power, more control over the lands they already possess. And you know, instinctively, that if this were to pass, everything Gojo has fought for, everything he’s struggled to protect, would crumble into dust. His fight against the rigid clan-based hierarchy would be for naught.

For a moment, your mind reels. This is no mere conversation or request for guidance. This is a game of power, one where you’re being used as a pawn. Her eyes lock with yours, and the air between you thickens with unspoken understanding. She must’ve taken you for a mere tool to execute her own plans.

But you’re no fool, and that realization comes like a slap to the face. You straighten your posture, eyes hardening as the weight of the situation settles in.

“These seals...” Your voice falters as you stare at the emblems, your hand hovering over the manuscript as though touching it might implicate you further. The weight of the realization crashes down on you like a cold wave. You look up at Himiko, bewildered, your heart pounding in your chest. Meddling with state affairs, let alone tampering with the emperor’s documents was a crime punishable by death.

“Does the emperor know about this?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. “This—this could be considered treason!”

“Careful with your words,” she says softly, her tone calm. “It is not treason when it is for the betterment of the empire.”

Your mouth opens as if to respond, but no sound escapes.

“The emperor has always held you in high regard,” Himiko says with a wistful sigh, her eyes narrowing on your figure. “I’ve no doubt he would find it impossible to refuse any command spoken by you.”

Her cryptic words linger in the air, their implications sinking into you. You’re left reeling, unsure of whether her remark is meant as flattery or a thinly veiled mockery of your banishment. 

She scoffs, her delicate façade cracking as her tone turns venomous. “The emperor may not know, but I see right through you. Seducing him to claim yourself as some spoil of war and twisting his mind to lead our nation to ruin—it’s sickening. Truly, a shame the assassination attempt failed.” Her words lash out like a whip, her civil mask shattering entirely.

You gasp, her implications cutting deep even as your heart hardens against the venom. Had she known–?

“Perhaps that is what the entire Court believes of me,” you manage, your voice trembling yet steady enough to carry your conviction. Months of whispered rumors and vicious gossip had thickened your skin, and you refused to crumble under her scrutiny. “But I will not allow you to sully the emperor’s reputation.”

As much as you detested Gojo, your disdain for the corrupt elders burned hotter. They had plotted your downfall, attempted to take your life, and now sought to undermine everything Gojo was fighting to build. You could not allow them to gain any more power in the Court  than they already held.

Himiko’s lips curl into a cold, triumphant smile as she picks up an inkstone and brush from the emperor’s desk. “As his Honored Consort and future Empress I command you to hold this for me while I pave the way for a greater future.” Her words are laced with mockery as she extends the inkstone toward you.

You recoil instinctively, shaking your head. “No. I refuse—” Your rejection is firm, your voice sharper than you expected, as you pull away, clutching the emperor’s garments protectively against your chest. 

The next few moments unravel in slow motion, as though fate itself had decided to humiliate you. Himiko’s gasp pierces the air as your sudden movement causes the inkstone to slip, spilling its dark, viscous contents over her elaborate kimono. The silk, undoubtedly crafted from the finest threads in Japan, drinks in the stain, the deep black spreading like a wound across the fabric.

“My lady!” Her servants rush to her side, their collective cries of alarm startle you. They push you aside as they fuss over her, their movements frantic as they attempt to salvage her now-ruined garment.

You stumble back, staring in disbelief at the disaster you’d unwittingly caused. “I—I am truly sorry—” you begin, but your words falter under the weight of the situation.

“What is going on here?”

The booming voice echoes through the hall like thunder, freezing everyone in place. You whip your head toward the source, your pulse quickening as your eyes land on the figure now standing in the doorway. The emperor himself, Gojo, commands the room with his presence, his expression a mixture of confusion and rising fury as he takes in the scene before him. By his side stands the owner of the voice, an elder, with an expression carved with barely restrained anger piercing through you.

Himiko lets out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with a convincing mix of distress and indignation. Gojo reacts instantly, rushing by her side, his features hardening with concern.

“I found her forging His Majesty’s signature,” Himiko exclaims, her voice wavering just enough to sound genuine. “When I tried to intervene, she lashed out and attacked me.” She trembles as she buries her head against the emperor’s chest.

It hits you—the full realization of her calculated scheme. This was her plan all along.

“I-I didn’t!” you stammer, your voice raw with desperation. “That wasn’t what happened at all– she was the one tampering with imperial documents. I tried to stop her!”

Gojo’s piercing blue eyes snap to yours, cutting off your explanation. His gaze, once warm and teasing, now burns with unrestrained fury. The bile rises in your throat as you see it. Anger, disdain, and worst of all, disbelief.

“Himiko,” he murmurs, his arms tightening protectively around her trembling form. Her soft sniffling only adds to the spectacle.

“To be caught tampering with imperial records is one thing,” Gojo finally says, his voice icy and cutting, “but to stoop so low as to accuse Lady Himiko? Was this an act out of jealousy? Spite? How pathetic. This is beneath even you, [Name].”

You feel your knees weaken, the tears you’ve fought to hold back beginning to pool in your eyes. “Please, you have to believe me,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of his words.

His expression darkens further, the light in his sky-blue eyes replaced by thunderclouds. “Why would I believe you?” he sneers, his tone laced with contempt.

A single tear escapes down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until you can no longer stop them. The dam of your resolve breaks, shattered by his cruel dismissal.

“Why?” Your voice trembles, breaking as the tears come freely now. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Gojo’s lips curl into a bitter smile. “Don’t make me laugh,” he says coldly. “How could I ever believe in one as base as you?”

His words cut deeper than any blade, piercing through the walls you’d built to protect yourself. You’d convinced yourself you were immune to his indifference, but the searing pain in your chest proves otherwise.

“Leave,” he commands, his voice sharp and final. “Do not look back. Your very presence stirs nothing but disdain within me.”

You stagger back, his words striking harder than any physical blow. He might as well have drawn his sword and ended it here. The infamous tales you had heard about Gojo were once glorious images that were painted of your beloved. You had never thought you would be on the other end of his blade. 

Without a word, you turn and run, your vision blurred with tears. The emperor’s garments slip from your hands, forgotten in your haste to escape the suffocating anguish. You don’t look back, even as the echoes of his disgust chase you out of the hall.

If there was one undeniable truth that Geto Suguru knew, it was that his best friend, Gojo Satoru could be an utter fool. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of a youth stolen too soon, replaced by the crushing weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. The brilliance that made Gojo a formidable emperor rendered him hopelessly inept when it came to navigating the labyrinth of his own emotions.

And as his closest confidant, bound by loyalty and friendship, Geto Suguru couldn’t help but feel the urge to shake some sense into him—to force him to confront what he stubbornly refused to see.

That is why, when your trembling form hurries across the courtyard, tears streaming down your face, Geto Suguru can’t help but halt you in your steps. 

“I’m leaving.” you declare, your voice raw, your eyes red and swollen. The words, so resolute despite your trembling tone, catch him off guard.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“My favor,” you say firmly, though your voice wavers. “I want to leave this place.”

For a moment, Geto says nothing, his sharp mind scrambling to process the abruptness of your request. Then he shakes his head, his expression softening. “You know I can’t do that.”

Your incredulous gaze snaps up to meet him. “So you lied to me?”

“No, not at all,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “I meant—I can grant you time off. But as someone under the emperor’s direct supervision, I can’t allow you to leave permanently. What I can do is give you one lunar cycle away from court.”

You hesitate, weighing his offer before giving a sharp nod. “I’ll take it. Just let me leave,” you reply, sniffling.

Geto watches you for a moment longer, his chest tightening at the sight of your despair. “I’ll make the arrangements right away,” he says gently. “I’m sorry we seem to meet only under such terrible circumstances.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur, your tone hollow.

He hesitates, searching for the right words to offer some semblance of comfort. “Whatever he did, I’m sure—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice colder now. “He made his disgust for me perfectly clear.” You march past him, your steps resolute despite the trembling in your shoulders. “Thank you for understanding, though I must beg you to keep this between us. Who knows what might happen to either of us if he finds out.”

Geto exhales slowly, his composure steady but his mind racing. Just what, exactly, had his best friend done this time? Gojo’s antics always seemed to leave Geto cleaning up the aftermath, but this—this was something else entirely.

Just as he promised, there is a carriage waiting for you outside of the servants’ quarters. With heavy bags in hand and an even heavier heart, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with reluctant resolve. The irony of the moment doesn’t escape you, a sense of déjà vu washing over you, as though life had played this scene out countless times before.

You turn sharply, your bleary eyes meeting the calm, hazel gaze of someone you hadn’t expected to see.

“Nanami?” you breathe, disbelief coloring your tone.

He inclines his head in a polite nod. “Forgive the intrusion, but I insist on accompanying you,” he says, his voice as composed as ever. “The roads beyond the palace can be dangerous, especially for someone traveling alone.”

For a moment, you simply stare, caught between gratitude and confusion. The warmth in your chest battles against the ache that lingers from your earlier ordeal. “And what of the emperor?” you ask, forcing a faint smile. “Would he not throw a fit in your absence?”

Nanami lets out a quiet, mirthless laugh, the sound more bitter than amused. “Perhaps,” he admits, adjusting the luggage in his hands with ease. “But he was never one to share, was he?”

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[backinmyphase]

Are we still friends? - G. S.

Synopsis: There were many times your friendship with Satoru was hanging on a tight string. You had always worked through it. But this time was different. Even if you loved Satoru... - It would be hard to forgive.

wc. 11.2k (I'm sorry :'))

Content warnings: Satoru is a bit of an ass, leaving someone alone in an unsafe environment, SFW, mention of alcohol, Angst, Angst MUCH Angst, comfort to the end, year long pining, Satoru is an idiot and I mean an IDIOT

A/n: Happy birthday Satoru Gojo, my dumb idiot <333 (I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. I also want to thank everyone who said they wanted a whole part of this drabble, I'm happy for every comment)

Fall 2005

"Why are you avoiding me?"

You finally got him alone, without all his new friends surrounding him and making you feel small. Right here behind the sport gym of this old place you had to call your school. Finally you had a moment alone, to talk to him, after days of silence between you. Finally you could get this weird tension out of the way that had infested itself since the beginning of the school year.

After all it was just Satoru, right?

Just Satoru, who rolled his eyes, while turning his head away. "I'm not."

"Stop lying, you are." You followed his gaze, trying to read his expression. But there was no need for that, since he snapped his head back to you after you spoke, looking at you with that terrible expression which hid nothing.

"Oh my god, just because I am not running after you every day, does it mean I'm avoiding you!" He groaned, a hand in his hair making it messy.

"Jeez, you are so clingy."

You stared at him. Blinked to see if you just imagined that. Blinked again. Nothing changed. "Excuse me?"

He didn't say anything now, which only made your anger grow. "I'm trying to make sense out of your childish actions, Satoru! You are the one who just stopped talking to me, leaving me alone in English, even though we have a project together. And now don't tell me that's not avoidance!"

You were breathing heavily, while glaring at him but he only scoffed with a smile on his face, a smile you didn't know.

"Oh please, if you need help and attention that bad run after your little boyfriend!"

"What?" your voice rose a whole octave. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, Rayo or Ruya, whatever." he waved with his hand, pronouncing every letter of the name with almost disgust.

"Ryu? He is my partner for a physics project, for God's sake!" While shaking your head out of shock, you couldn't help but huff. Of all people, Satoru should know.

"Please." He chuckled with such a cold tone. You have never heard such a tone fron him. "Everyone knows you two are hooking up."

"What?" everything seemed to stop. Slowly you searched his gaze, but Satoru looked away.

"Who says that?"

You have never seen him acting that way. So detached. Why didn't he even look at you? Where was the Satoru who watched sad romance movies with you? Where was the honest Satoru?

Where was your best friend? Where was the Satoru you... Knew?

"Satoru, who is talking about me?"

He kept his head low, but you could still see a small glint of guilt in his eyes.

"Is it your friends?"

Something inside you was panicking at his lack of answer. At the lack of denial. What was also said about you? What did he gossip with them about?

"About what are they talking?"

You could see him gulp. But he still didn't say anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? If he let them talk about you, he at least had to tell you what it was about. Especially since he knew.

You had talked with him about your fear of high school and the way people gossiped and the rumors which ruined the reputation one had to uphold.

You had talked with him about trying to keep your head low.

"Satoru, what are they saying about me?" You couldn't help it, your voice rose.

And then he just started moving. Just walking slowly away. Didn't even look at you before. He could talk with these people about you but couldn't look into your face?

"Satoru if you just walk away now, I swear I will never talk to you again."

He stopped in his tracks.

"Satoru -"

"God, can you shut up?"

It was an ugly scream. But not as ugly as the expression he gave you as he finally looked at you. That was a look of disgust. And with an awfully calm voice he added;

"You are so noisy."

You blinked at him. One time. Two times.

That was not your best friend. That was a boy who was hiding whatever distain he had towards you for years. Years you thought he was the only person who understood you.

People change. People fall out.

"Forget it, Gojo."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Fall 2009

"You are avoiding Satoru."

It's like being pushed into cold water in warm clothes.

The stirring of the kettle is the only sound in the kitchen, helping to keep the awkwardness away. Shoko sat at the kitchen table with a glass of juice, her look remaining on your back, as you made yourself tea.

"I'm not."

Only after the kettle rang you allowed yourself to move again. Carefully, you took the kettle, pouring yourself the hot water into your cup with the teabag.

"You are." She took a sip.

You watched as the water changed its color to light brown.

"He is worried, you know?" you heard the shaking of her head. "Can't stop pestering me."

You couldn't help but scoff as you turned around to her, hot teacup in your hands. You placed it down gently and took a seat opposite of her. "Of course he is."

She was staring at you with that stare you knew. The stare which was contemplating what to do and what to say. You stirred your tea with a small spoon and placed the used teabag on a small tissue. The tea was still way too hot. But you still took a sip.

It burned.

"What did he do?"

You looked at her face. Her eyes were gentle and for the first time since a while she wasn't just Satoru's good friend, she was your roommate. Your friend.

You couldn't help but smile. Even if it didn't reach your eyes.

"What did he tell you?"

And that's when you saw it. Her eyes twitching, glancing at her phone on the side of the table. Just that small glance was enough. You knew. Knew, he had made her start talking to you. Knew, he wanted her to push you to answer. Knew, of course, he sent his friends to ask you, instead of just leaving you alone.

"Just that you are mad at him for no reason again. His words not mine."

Satoru Gojo was such an asshole.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

"Sooooo... she didn't tell you anything?"

Satoru would be lying if he said he didn't wait the whole day to meet up with his friends. He had waited in the cafe for roughly an hour now, even though it wasn't the discussed time. But he just couldn't keep waiting. Waiting to get any possible news, any updates of what you could have said. Especially from Shoko.

But she just rolled her eyes at him.

"No Satoru, you should probably know what you did. If she is that mad at you, it's probably something big."

He shook his head, trying to think of anything he did that could've pissed you of. He glanced down at his hot chocolate - his third since he got here - and wondered why you just wouldn't tell him what he did.

After all, communication is key in a friendship, right?

Suguru shook his head at him. "Since when is she avoiding you?"

"Since 9 days." There was no need for math, Satoru had counted down the days since you wouldn't even glance at him, when he tried to talk to you. How you just walked past him in your own apartment, when he met up with Shoko and Geto. How you locked yourself in your room.

"I don't get why she is acting so childish now." he mumbled to himself.

No nod, no wave, no glance. It was crazy. It was dumb. It was just like five years ago when he was the one who shut you out of his life.

The loud sound of Suguru sipping his tea snapped him out of his thoughts. Suguru placed his teacup down on the table and tilted his head.

"Didn't you go out together nine days ago? That Friday?" 

There was a beat of silence in the room. Only the sound of the coffee machine in the background and the new customers ordering. Satoru blinked at his friends. One time. Two times.

"We did?"

Geto and Shoko shared a look. "Oh Satoru..."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

You couldn't help but groan when you woke up. Your body seemed so heavy as you stood up, like every morning. Well every one since that one.

You glanced around your room, feeling horrible as you saw the dirty dishes you used yesterday. But you just didn't want to eat anywhere else anymore. You didn't continue talking with Shoko yesterday, for all means you started to avoid her too.

You knew, to all your friends you seemed unreasonable. You didn't go out, didn't leave your room and of course ignored Satoru. You worked on your psychology major online, the professors also accepting your work. Overall you tried to avoid any contact with your friends.

Because you just had realized; all of them were also Satoru's friends.

And who of them would put you before him? Before the golden boy Satoru Gojo? The boy who you had held so dearly to your heart.

Too dearly.

Your phone went off, making you sit up. It was already 8 am. You had to go to work or else your boss would be mad.

With one push you got out of bed, making yourself ready. Your phone lit up again. The last days you had started to ignore it. But still you took it everywhere you went.

You tiptoed your way into the kitchen, hoping to avoid running into Shoko. And you sighed relieved, - lucky you - she seemed to still be asleep. No used glasses or dishes. Just you and your kettle.

A coffee machine was too expensive so tea had to hold up.

While the kettle was working, you made yourself a slice of bread, with butter and cheese. Tea and bread, the breakfast of the winners. You took your first sip out of your teacup, sighing at the hot feeling, which warmed you. It was starting to get really cold, you needed the warmth.

It was mornings like these, which made you like fall.

The walk to your workplace was beautiful, the trees all in different colors, painting a picture worth of drawing. But unfortunately you were no artist. You were just a college student working as a part time barista. So you had to hurry up, to please your manager.

The woman wasn't happy with you, since you took the last couple days off. You knew it was hard in this environment, since it sorely relied on the broke students nearby, which were as employees really unreliable. Or at least that was what she was always complaining about.

But you needed the break, or you would have come to work with tear streaks on your cheeks.

You opened the door to the small coffee shop, met by the annoyed look of your manager. She stood at the counter with her arms crossed, her face only lighting up by a small bit as she saw you.

"There you are! Hurry up, we open in 10 minutes. So change into uniform!" she went into the backrooms, her voice echoing in the room. "Hurry, I said!"

You couldn't help but sigh, as you retreated into the small changing room.

There was something so heavy, when you started dressing in the apron. An uncomfortable feeling, a feeling telling you you are sick and should head home. But you had to pay to have a home.

You made your way back to the counter, leaning on it, while hoping there wouldn't be as many customers as usual.

You turned around to look at the menu and you were surprised, there were a couple of new additions on it. Macchiato and Flat white, which you have never made before. You hoped it could just be made by the expensive coffee machine next to the menu.

There were also new teas added to the menu. Lemon and Mint were new kinds, but personally you wouldn't drink them.

A ring behind you startled you. Great. You glanced at the clock next to the big menu. 9:05. Insane people.

You kept your look on the coffee machine, searching for the buttons you will have to use, trying to calm yourself that it was only one person. Even if their steps to the counter were very determined, surely they were just a normal person, wanting a normal coffee? Not a big order, you had to triple take to get right, surely?

You turned around. "Good morning, how can I -"

You stopped as you saw the white hair.

There he stood, leaning forward on the counter, white hair standing a bit up and those ocean eyes staring up at you.

" - help you."

That's why you needed a break. Because he knew where you worked. And you knew he would show up, distracting you, making you furious with just his smug face.

"You haven't answered my texts."

While squinting your eyes, you said again with a firmer voice; "How can I help you?"

He frowned, taking his arms off the counter while standing up straight again. But as he studied your expression, he seemed to get what you wanted to get across. He sighed.

"A hot chocolate please."

You nodded, while pretending to type things into the Cash register to keep your eyes down. Avoiding his piercing look.

"Here or take out?"

"Here. I will sit over there." he pointed at the small table, which was probably the nearest to the counter, making your inner self groan, which was hoping he would just get his drink and leave. But no, this was Satoru and of course he had to pester you even here.

"Alright, take a seat, your drink will be there in a second."

You waited for him to go to his table, but he didn't. No, he just stood there before you, like he was waiting for something.

You went over to the machine and started working it, but he still just stared at you. Making no effort to sit down. Even the sound of the machine pouring milk into the cup didn't fill the awkward silence.

"Is there something else you need?"

You could hear him clearing his throat. "You weren't here the last days."

And you were? Well good, you took the last days off. You took the finished cup of hot sweet delicious browness and placed it on the counter in front of him, while still not looking at him. "No, I wasn't. Is that all?"

He continued to stare at you. You were watching his hands, which were slowly engulfing the hot cup, while he still looked at you. You waited for him to finally go to his seat. He didn't. "Why won't you tell me what I did?"

"Is that all?" you raised your voice, leaning a bit back and turning your head a bit so you could glance at the back rooms. "If so, please let me work in peace."

"It was that Friday night, right?" he was whispering. "What did I do? What did we do?"

You froze. There was something so surreal of him asking what he did wrong. Like that was a reasonable question. Like you were mad for a small forgettable reason, something one could just forget about.

Like someone one could just forget about.

"Is there an issue here?" the head of your manager popped out of the backrooms, staring at the two of you. Well, at least someone listened to what you were saying.

"Not at all." you looked up and smiled at Satoru. "The young man here was just about to sit down at his table."

"Right?"

His face hardened at your words. But with a lot of self control, he also formed a smile, while starting to move. "Yeah, was just having a lovely chat with the barista about the new menu."

Your boss nodded and went back into the back rooms while Satoru finally sat down at the table. Your rapid heart beat, which you hadn't even noticed slowed down by the larger distance between you and him than just the small counter.

But there was still the tension between you, since no one else was in the shop, just you, him and your annoyed boss.

And his gaze was locked onto you while he drank his hot chocolate. Why was it so hard to avoid his piercing eyes? They were like magnets you really wouldn't want to be hung up on because just one look and a panic inside you rose, making you want to lock yourself up in the bathroom. And even though he had his laptop set up before him, he didn't spare it a glance.

Why did Gojo Satoru have such a presence?

You glanced at the clock. 9:36.

Would he stay here for the next 6 hours of your work? No, that would only one insane person do. Right? You dropped your gaze on the cashier register. Why couldn't you just be left alone?

God you needed a break.

A ring of the door made you look up again and you saw a soaked Utahime coming through the door, cursing at her broken Umbrella. Huh, you didn't even notice it had started to rain outside. Even though now, the sound of the water falling against the windows seemed so loud.

"Of course it starts, when I try to get to work..." Utahime muttered while placing her umbrella near the entrance. But her face lit up when she saw you.

"Oh, thank god you are back, it was hell without you! I had to deal with -" But as she looked at you her gaze dropped to Satoru, who was now really interested in his laptop.

"Oh. You are also here Gojo." Her face changed into a frown, while she walked close to the counter. She looked at you with a grimace. "What a surprise."

Satoru just huffed, but kept his gaze on his laptop. "Always a pleasant one, Utahime."

"Utahime?" The voice of your boss was coming from the back rooms, now louder than before, in the tone which meant trouble. "Get here immediately!"

Utahime looked at you and rolled her eyes, making a couple of gestures to illude to throwing up. But her voice was still kept professional. "Coming!"

"Someone is in trouble..." Satoru was grinning to himself while he typed something into his program. Utahime just scoffed while she went to the back rooms door.

"Well, I am not the only one, am I Gojo?"

Oh god, he didn't like that, you could see it in his falling grin. And while Utahime disappeared into the back rooms, you hoped he wouldn't open his mouth. But of course your hopes were for nothing.

He stood up and went to the counter with his now empty cup. Placing it with a bit of force on the counter. "Okay, I get it you know. I fucked up."

"But you could at least give me a chance to talk it out."

Just one look at his oh so deep eyes, made you avert your eyes to his cup. His words making you feel alone, exposed and so so uncomfortable. "Do you want to order more?"

He groaned and his hands found their way into his hair. "Please, drop it and just talk to me! You are making such a big deal -"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" your voice was much quieter now, barely a whisper. "You are already belittling me even though you don't know what my problem is. You already assume it's something small and stupid."

You looked up at his dumbfounded face. He blinked at you. You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief. "This whole time you are talking about making things right and that you need to talk to me, but not once have you thought about giving me space this last week!"

You pointed at the small room around the two of you. "I mean you are even now here, at my workplace!"

His voice was filled with uncertainty now. "Yeah, because you wouldn't talk to me or Shoko -"

"Which should be sign enough to leave me alone, Satoru. How would you say it?" A small scoff left your lips. "I think 'Stop, being so clingy?'"

A silence filled the room. The quiet talking of Utahime and your manager could be heard, but the words to unclear to understand. Satoru held his head low now, almost averting your gaze.

"But-" your voice was shaking and you wanted to hit yourself for it. "If you want so desperately to know what I am mad about, I guess I can freshen up your memory."

Still silent. You guessed you should keep going. "Last Friday, we went to that club, you wanted to show me, you remember?"

"The one where you ditched me for all these other people?"

You looked down at the cashier register and hoped hoped you could hide the vulnerability in your voice. The room was completely silent. The only sound the falling raindrops against the window.

Until he laughed.

The sound of the little chuckles made something inside of you turn, you felt like throwing up. You looked up at him to see a relieved face. A. relieved. One.

"What are you laughing about." it was hard to speak while your teeth were pressed together with more force you had ever used.

Satoru stopped but the little smile remained. Your hand was itching at that smile.

"Sorry, sorry." he cleared his throat. "But I mean we can spend more time together, if you want that? I mean you still mean much more to me than thes-"

"Satoru." you raised your hand signaling him to stop speaking. "Why do you think I was avoiding you?"

"I - I don't really get...?" he was stopping mid his sentence, now looking confused. "You know it's okay if you were jealous, I never meant to make you -"

"JEALOUS?" You gripped the counter so hard, your fingers were turning white. "You think my problem is jealousy?"

He shut his mouth, blinking so clueless like again. It was exhausting.

"No, Satoru, my problem is not that I was jealous you spend time with other people." you gritted out, while typing in his hot chocolate, to distract your hand before you were hitting him. "My problem is that you abandoned me. Alone in a club, I didn't know."

"You left me drunk and clueless alone at a club with no one I knew. Miles away from my apartment. Left me to ask strangers where my ride was, while they pitied me, because the great Gojo Satoru had already left."

You dared to look up into his eyes, hoping he could finally see your mental state. Finally getting why you were so petty. Making such a big deal.

"That's why I am mad."

His look turned wide and blank. You couldn't keep looking at it and broke the eye contact. He didn't move, just stood there before you. But you could see his hands gripping the cup, he was holding.

Just as you saw him open his mouth again, Utahime came back, now with her uniform on. She had a blank smile on her face and a sharp glare on Satoru. "Do you want to order? I can take yours."

He gaped a bit at that but his face quickly turned stoic. "No, thank you. I was just about to pay and leave."

You nodded took the cup he was just holding on. It was warm. "That will be $4.30."

With a bit of force he pressed a $5 dollar bill on the counter and turned to his seat. While grabbing his things, you could see his eyes focusing on the floor. And you knew there was no reason, but you felt bad. Something about this felt like it was your fault. Like you were overreacting. Even though it was just how you felt.

The door shut softly behind him. He disappeared just as fast as he had appeared.

"Thank you." You whispered to Utahime, and she smiled at you gently.

Truth be told, you wouldn't call her a close friend. You just knew her through Shoko, since she was your roommate and Utahime was a couple of times over. Thus you knew her still over Satoru.

But she did help you get this job and was always a pleasant coworker.

"No problem. You want to share it over a cup of coffee?" she winked at you while leaning on the counter.

"Are you working over there?" the voice of your boss echoed through the room. "Get to work!"

Utahime rolled her eyes. She spoke now in a careful whisper. "I guess after work?"

Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a person who wasn't so close with Satoru, would it?

"I would like that."

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Spring 1995

"Come on sweetie, say hello to Satoru."

You held onto the leg of your mother as you stared at this strange boy. There was something ominous about his eyes and his white hair. You had never seen someone like him before. And he had that intimidating look...

"Hi."

Your mother placed a hand on top of your head, laughing a bit as you tightened your grip on her. "Good job. Now go play with him, while we make the cake ready, okay?"

You looked up to her and nodded. She smiled back and gave you a small nod, signaling you to let her leg go. With a heavy heart you let her go into the kitchen with the other woman, who she called Mrs. Gojo.

You looked back at the boy, who was still staring at you with those intimidating eyes. Why did your mother bring you with her again? She said something along the lines, it would be important to fit into the new neighborhood and greet them properly. But right now?

You just stood there awkwardly, trying to understand this strange boy.

He would probably never speak to you, you just hoped the time would pass as quickly as possible. You wanted to eat the cake Mrs. Gojo made as a welcoming gift...

He opened his mouth and closed it again. His eyes now focused onto the ground before he started to speak;

"Do you like Digimon??"

He looked at you with big eyes, which suddenly didn't seem intimidating at all. He fidgeted with his hands, while tilting his head.

"I guess... But I don't know much about it."

His eyes lit up and he smiled so excitedly. "That's not a problem! I can show you!"

And just like that he took your hands, pulling you with him into his room. The room was big, much bigger than your own. There were a couple of posters, of what you guessed were some mons, you didn't know.

He let go off your hand to pull out a big box. And when he opened it, there were a couple of cards inside, which you had never seen before.

"What are these?"

"I will tell you, just sit down." he let himself fall down next to the box, now going through the cards. He took a couple of them out and looked at them each individually.

You carefully sat down, while watching him. His big blue eyes had an excited glint in them and his white hair was shining under the light.

Satoru Gojo was a strange neighbor...

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Fall 2009

"And he just left you alone at this club?" Utahime frowned, while placing her cup of coffee down. "And he forgot about it?"

You shrugged, glancing outside the window. It had stopped to rain in the afternoon. You were free now, since your and Utahime's shift had ended and you were glad Satoru didn't come back.

"I guess he did."

She shook her head and scoffed. "And now he comes to your doorstep-"

"Well actually, it is not mine but the coffee shops-"

"-asking why you are ignoring him? The nerve!"

A loud sip later she continued; "Gojo has to be humbled, my god!"

You couldn't help but smile at her antics. It was kinda sweet how she got so worked up over your business. You were glad she wasn't just on his side. You watched her sip again and sighed. "If it wasn't for that guy who drove me home, who would guess what could've happened?"

She huffed.

"If I'm being honest I would reflect upon the whole friendship. It just shows how self absorbed he is."

You sipped on your bitter coffee.

"Yeah, well he is still Satoru."

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Summer 2003

"Wait for me outside later, okay?"

You smiled as you read the note Satoru had left on your windowsill. There was just such a feeling of excitement every time you read one of his notes, it made your heart race and your face hot.

That was normal right?

"Mum!" you ran into the living room, hoping to catch her before she went to get groceries. "Did you get me the kimono for the festival??"

She way already ready to leave as she sighed at your question. "Yes, sweetie I did. And I also told you that yesterday."

"Can you help me lat-"

"Yes, I will help you get it on, now shoo." she laughed and pointed towards the kitchen. "Young madam, you can worry about the firework after you did the dishes!"

You gasped as you remembered the mountain of dirty dishes you had to clean before the evening and started rushing towards the kitchen. "Already on it Mum!"

You heard her laugh as the door shut behind her leaving you alone. You let the water run into the sink, while organizing the dishes. You took a sponge and started cleaning the plates, which never seemed to end.

Oh, how excited you were for later! It was your first real festival here and Satoru had promised to show you around. And there would be fireworks, now; in summer! Your first own kimono, and your first time visiting a festival you would spend with a friend.

You placed the finished plates next to the sink, taking a towel to dry them. After you finished them, you sat down before the TV and watched what was on.

You didn't even notice how fast the time passed, til you heard the door click from the keys from your mother. You looked at the clock to see it was already 18:30 and shrieked.

"Mum, mum, can you help me now!! Pleaseee?" You jumped out of your seat on the couch and sprinted towards her, looking at her with the eyes you put on when you begged for something.

"Yeah, you can go into my room while I organize the groceries, okay? The kimono is in the closet." she took of her jacket while smiling at you exhausted.

"Okay!" and just like that you turned around and ran into the small room of your mother.

Her closet was always something magical, if it were the high heel or the jewelry you tried to put on while she was away. Your heart was beating fast as you opened it slowly. As you saw it you gasped.

The kimono dress was so pretty. Almost to pretty. You gently took it between your fingers, gasping at the soft fabric. You liked it. You really did. But...

Was it maybe to pretty for you? To fancy?

"Alright, sweetheart." your mother clapped one time as she stepped in, a soft smile on her face. "Let's make you ready, okay?"

"Yeah.." you took a look in the mirror on the cupboard of your mother and tried to imagine, just imagine, what Satoru would say if you were completely overdressed. You tried to shake it off, trying to get as excited as before, but you just couldn't. The excitement gave a bit of space away for the growing doubt and fear.

Maybe you should play sick...

"Alright, firstly try to put the under dress on and i will help you with putting the kimono dress over and so on." she chuckled and took the kimono out of your hands, eyeing it. She placed it onto her bed gently and went up to the door again. "I will go outside while you change. Just call me when you need help."

"Okay."

You sighed as she closed door, eying the under dress you had picked out. But even though you didn't feel comfortable anymore and the ball of doubt in your stomach was eating you up, you still took of the other clothes and slipped into the under dress.

You didn't like how it fit you anymore. Your stomach hurt. Why did it suddenly hurt?

"Everything alright, sweetie?" the voice of your mother was filled with a slight tone of concern.

"Yeah, you can come in." you glanced at the pretty kimono dress on the bed and feared how it would look on you.

"Okaaay-" she stepped back in and smiled as she saw you. "Perfect! Then let me put the kimono dress on."

She helped you into the kimono dress, watched as the ends of the dress fell onto the ground. Focused, she took the ends and checked something before she tightened it.

"What are you doing, mum?"

"Hace to check if it is above your ankles. It shouldn't touch the ground while tightened." she stood up and patted your dress a bit down. "It's supposed to be a bit big up here."

Her concentrated face was a sight to see, while she adjusted how the dress was sitting. She took a step back and gently placed the obi on the rope which was tightening the kimono. After it was sitting she took a step back again and whistled. "Such a pretty lady!"

The dress was comfortable, even if you felt a bit out of place in it.

"Soooo-" your mother turned you to the mirror, making you sit down on the bed. "Now your hair."

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Fall 2009

You threw your bag onto the wardrobe as soon as you stepped into your apartment, groaning from exhaustion.

"Someone's grumpy." a playful laugh rang softly. Shoko poked her head out of the kitchen watching you take your jacket and shoes off.

"You could've warned me that he will visit my workplace, you know?" you grumbled while pushing softly past her to get into kitchen. She huffed with a small smile on her face.

"I would've, if you talked to me."

"God, I need a hot tea..." you shook your head while turning on the kettle. "It's raining cats and dogs outside. And of course it only started again, after I left the shop."

Shoko chuckled a bit, now making her way over to the fridge. "I wanted to make noodles today, do you want to eat with me?"

The kettle rang again, making a smile steal its way onto your face. "If you have enough for two?" You poured yourself a cup of tea, the water changing its color to light red.

Today you chose fruit tea.

"Yeah, don't worry." she opened the fridge and took her orange juice out of it. "Just missed eating and talking with you."

You took a sip out of your tea and sighed at the heavenly warmth flooding you shortly after.

"You're not going to talk about Satoru, are you?" you turned around to her, to see her sigh as she closed the fridge.

"Only if you want to." She took a glass and poured herself orange juice into it. "But I don't need to. I mean, if I'm being honest, it wasn't the nicest thing of me to pressure you to into talking about it."

She sipped a bit, smiling a reminiscing smile. "Was just worried about you and him, since he was constantly texting and venting to me about his worries."

"Oh."

You sat down at the table, cup of tea in your hand and just warmed yourself. Shoko sat down at the opposite side, tilting her head a bit. "Utahime texted me a couple minutes ago. Asked if you made it home safely."

You couldn't help but smile at that. "Greet her from me and you can reassure her that I made it."

Shoko nodded and started typing on her phone. A couple of seconds later she began to smile at her phone and looked up at you. "Hey, Utahime and I wanted to meet up here tomorrow to watch some movies. You wanna join?"

"Yeah, sure." you watched as she typed a new message and hit send.

"Great!" Shoko rested her head on her left hand, while she held her phone in the other. "Oh, and I can give you her number if you want to? She told me that you had a lovely conversation."

You laughed a bit before pulling your phone out. "I would love to have her number." And just after a couple of minutes you had Utahime's contact and a meet up tomorrow.

"Alright." Shoko put her phone away and stood up, making her way over to the stove. "Enough with that, the noodles don't make themselves!"

You watched as she cooked, a comfortable silence making it's way into the room. Something inside you had changed after you had spoken with Utahime. Something inside you was happy. Happy you weren't alone in your frustration and anger towards Satoru. That your feelings were valid.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Summer 2003

You waited a long time.

You stood alone before the entrance of the festival, waiting for Satoru just like he had asked you to. People were going by, most of them older than you. Some of them stopped to ask you if you were okay, only leaving if you reassured them you were alright.

You felt anxious like never before. Satoru was late.

"Hey, are you okay?" a boy probably in your age stopped by, just like the people before him.

"Yeah, I'm just waiting." you smiled at him, trying to convince him, but he frowned.

"For what?"

"My friend." you muttered, trying to keep your calm. You didn't want to think about what your long wait could mean.

"But I have seen you standing here an hour ago, are you sure your friend is still coming? If they aren't and you keep waiting, you will miss the fun." the boy pouted.

You watched the next people going by, a couple walking by while holding hands. You heard some whispers about the fireworks and you couldn't help it, tears were starting to build up.

You knew it was dumb. But today you had wanted to say it. You had wanted to say it to him during the fireworks. You had wanted that, but he seemed to have forgotten you were waiting for him...

"I've to go, my parents are calling for me." the boy looked behind him, before he turned to you again. "Try to enjoy your stay here, okay?"

Then he just ran away.

Just like that you were standing there alone again. You felt so stupid for getting dressed up, to care so much about this. Why did you care so much?

And even though you didn't feel like it, you followed the boys advice and walked into the festival.

The stands looked fun and they had cool prices. You saw an older guy win a plushy for his friend, shoetly after placing a small kiss on his cheek. You looked away shortly, feeling like a creep for watching them.

And even though it all looked fun, it didn't feel like it when you were walking here alone.

"Hey, do you want a candy apple?" A woman called out behind a stand, smiling at you.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have that much money." you apologized but she shook her head, waving fo you to get closer. So you did slip through the people in your way to the stand.

"Don't worry, it's on the house." she winked as she gave you one candy apple.

With a bit of hesitation you took it from her. But you weren't hungry, so you just kept it in your hand while continuing to walk.

And after a long walk you finally reached the watch place of the fireworks. It was under a hill, there were already many people, sitting and talking with each other. And after you saw that you couldn't keep the tears in.

You cried hot tears, because you felt so stupid.

While sitting down on a bench on top of the hill, you gripped your candy apple. The ugly sobbing just didn't stop, didn't matter how much you tried to stiffle it. Oh god, why couldn't you stop-

"Hey." His voice startled you. But even though it was loud because of the people you knew it was Satoru who spoke from behind you.

"Please don't cry." he walked up next to you, sitting down next to you onto the bench. But you couldn't look at him. Not when you still had tears in your eyes.

"You are late." your voice was hoarse, god it was so embarrassing.

He was silent for a couple of seconds. Then he spoke;

"I know, I'm sorry. I wanted to get you flowers but-" he stopped and turned to another direction. "The flower shop was closed and I didn't know. So I - Well, I -"

You blinked at him, the last tears flowing down. And then he turned to you and you saw them. Daisies. He hold onto just a few of them. They weren't fresh, most of them already hanging their heads.

But that somehow made them even prettier.

"I wanted to bring you Daisies." he muttered and looked down at them.

You couldn't help but softly laugh, the sobbing dying out. Your cheeks were drying, and your candy apple didn't seem like your last holding point anymore.

"Thank you, Satoru." you whispered with still a hoarse voice. "But why Daisies?"

That's when a loud bang made you look up into the sky. The first firework was raining upon the sky, the red lights illuminated the sky, painting a beautiful picture.

"They make me think of you."

You turned to Satoru and for the first time tonight looked him in the eyes. His beautiful eyes. The fireworks somehow made them even more gorgeous.

"I'm sorry I came late, I really am." he glanced at the candy apple in your hands. "You probably enjoyed the evening more without me."

Another bang made you look up again. The new firework was a yellow one, looking like it was raining gold from the sky.

"Do you want it?" you held the sweet apple in front of him. "I don't really want it."

He blinked at you, his face going from guilt to embarrassment. "You can't do that!" He muttered. "You can't just give me your candy apple."

A purple firework lit up the sky again. You tilted your head as you looked at him. "Why is that? You like sweets."

He wanted to say something, but only seconds after, he did take your candy apple. He handed you the Daisies, which were changing color through the lights. Just like his hair.

He hesitated, but bit into the candy apple, while holding it with one hand. It looked a bit clumsy but also endearing.

You felt tired but something inside you was so happy. Yeah, he was late. So what? He still cared about you. And that was what counted in the end.

You could feel him glance at you as you looked into the sky watching the different colors exploding and painting the dark night. And then you felt it.

His hand engulfing yours.

"You look pretty in that kimono."

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

Fall 2009

"Satoru, stop drowning yourself in the shower, I have to shower too!"

Satoru groaned at the voice of his roommate and friend. The cold water was so relaxing, like it was washing a bit of his uneasiness away.

Of the girl he made out with that Friday.

"Chill, I'm almost finished." he called out while going through his wet hair again, while the water rained down.

God, the weekend was awful. You just hadn't left his head, he couldn't believe that he did what you accused him of doing. He didn't remember that Friday precisely. He had probably drank too much. There was only one thing he surely remembered.

There was this guy who had flirted with you while you were working in the coffee shop that Friday. God, the way he looked at you made him want to-

The rest of that day was vague. He remembered that girl that was clinging to him. She wasn't really his type but he was drunk so he had let her kiss him. But he didn't know what else he did. But to just forget you? That didn't sound like himself.

"Satoru!" Suguru called out again.

"I'm coming!" Satoru turned of the shower with a huff. He took his things and dressed himself in sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Someone has to make sure you don't do something stupid." Suguru muttered as Satoru stepped out of the bathroom.

"Well, it's not you, you do equally stupid things." he grinned at his best friend and stepped to the side, to make space for him. "The shower is yours."

"Yeah, yeah, Satoru."

Suguru disappeared into the bathroom, lifting a heavy weight of Satoru's shoulders. He didn't want to keep worry his friend. Yeah, he felt shitty but he didn't have to make it everyone's problem. Oh well, he tried not to.

His room was dirty. He hadn't left it the last three days, only to shower and to get food and water. He had watched every comforting movie, but even those weren't helping, since he just remembered they were always comforting because he had watched them with you. Whose reactions can he watch when he is sitting alone in his room?

Normally Satoru would call himself as a rather put well together person. But when it came to you, he acted irrational, dumb, stupid, overall he was just not thinking. With you the emotions were always stronger, didn't matter if good or bad. And he knew that wasn't healthy.

But he didn't know how to change it.

He didn't want to have bad things between the two of you. He wanted to make it right, to make you look at him again. But he also didn't want to push your boundaries anymore. Even though it was itching in his fingers to get up and go to your work to apologize.

But that wouldn't work, he knew that. So he had to apologize differently.

Ring!

His phone buzzed and for a slight second he hoped it was you. But it wasn't. It was that privat unknown number that kept calling him, even though he ignored it.

And he knew he shouldn't, but his energy was low, so he just answered. "Hello? Who is there?"

There was a bit of rustling on the other side and a gasp could be heard. "Satoru, I gave you my number, didn't I?" It was a female voice he couldn't quite decipher. "Didn't you safe it?"

"I'm sorry, -" he felt a bit uneasy at the tone of the voice. "But who are you?"

There was a second gasp. "You wound me Satoru! After we had such a lovely evening..." Her voice went a bit lower. "Oh, wait... Did you forget me?"

Her giggling after that made him confused. "Anyway, I'm Haoka, silly!"

"Well, I don't know you, so please stop calling me." He was already on the button to end the call as she called out; "Wait! You really don't remember? We were together that Friday, in the 'Crying Angel', that club."

Oh god, he wanted to face-palm himself. Why did he give anyone there his number?

"We shared some glasses of wine and some of the fun stuff the bartender brought..."

Slowly some memories came back. Pictures of him sitting in that uncomfortable couch, but feeling so at peace...

"And then you pulled me onto your lap and kissed me-"

He remembered vaguely how he felt something big and warm against his chest as he had zoned out. He knew he had made out with some girl beforehand, but that he gave her his number...

"Haoka, was it? I'm sorry but I was literally drunk out of my mind, would you stop harassing me?" He heard her be quiet for once. "Thank you."

"Wai-" he stopped the call and sighed.

Well, he had to apologize to you somehow.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

A week later

"L/n!" you flinched as you heard your manager call out to you from the door of the coffee shop. You sighed to yourself while walking to your workplace. It was 8.30am foe God's sake. Couldn't you just walk to work in peace without being told to hurry?

"I'm coming!" you called out, and walked a bit faster. A couple of seconds later you were on the doorstep of the little shop.

"New flowers came for you." your manager shook her head while pointing to the counter. "That's nice and all, but if you can, tell the one who is sending them, that they should send them to your address and not to ours, okay? I'm not always here to get them for you."

There on the counter they were. Fresh, healthy daisies, waiting for you.

"Yeah, sorry." you muttered and disappeared into the changing room. Behind the closed door you wanted to sink into the floor. And you wanted to die from embarrassment, because there was also a bit of giddiness in side your stomach.

Dumb.

After you changed you walked behind the counter, the white flowers were shining up to you. And of course there was a small note attached, just like with the rest. The last days, there was written:

I'm sorry. I know I was an ass.

Is there something I can do? I don't want us to fall apart.

Can we talk?

They were always small notes and you wished you didn't, but you did keep them with you. The last nights you always read them again and wondered if you should call him. Taking your phone and staring at it for half an hour. But in the end you always chickened out.

The coffee shop door opened and Utahime came in, yawning. "Good morning."

"Good morning." you smiled at her as she came up to you. "Slept well?"

She scoffed while taking of her bag from her shoulder and placing it behind the counter next to you. "Don't even start."

She was already turning to go to the changing room, when she stopped in her tracks. Her look hanging on the new flowers in the small vase. She rolled her eyes and scoffed again. "He's still sending them?"

"Yeah." you kept your gaze on the white flowers.

"You know, I don't want to influence you too much. You know I was never a fan of Satoru." Utahime was whispering now, her voice gentle. "But don't let him pressure you with these gifts, okay? If you want to talk to him, do it, but don't forget what he did just because of some pretty flowers."

There was something big in your throat. You tried to swallow it, you really did, but it just didn't succeed. So you spoke with a hoarse voice; "Okay, I won't."

She smiled softly before she turned and went into the changing room.

You knew there was a new note. But you were so scared to look at it. Because even though he wasn't here, it was still a confrontation with Satoru. And you were scared of talking to him right now, because you knew how sentimental you can get when it came to Satoru.

You didn't want to keep thinking about him. Especially at work when you were alone with your thoughts and the coffee. But with these flowers beside you it was impossibile to think of anything or anyone else.

You wanted to know. Wanted to know how he responded to your lack of response.

Carefully, you separated the note from the flower it was attached to. The flower was the only one whose head was slightly hanging. The paper felt like fire in your hands. You heard Utahime's steps towards the counter and you knew she had seen what was in your hands. But she didn't act like she saw, she just turned to the door waiting for a costumer to come in. So you opened it.

You couldn't help it. You've got to know.

Are we still friends? - G. S.

Your eyes were starting to burn, your vision blurring before your eyes. You couldn't, you shouldn't but you did. You started to tear up.

"Hey, you okay?" You heard Utahime's soft whisper next to you. You wanted to answer, you really did, but your mouth didn't let you.

Utahime started to move again as she heard you sob one more time and went into the back rooms. You didn't hear it loud and clearly but you could decipher the words she spoke to your manager.

"L/n isn't feeling well. She-" The door shut completely behind her and you didn't hear more.

You tried to catch your breath, however it seemed impossible. Slowly you took a breath in, a breath out. In. Out.

It was 9 am. You were at work. Everything was okay.

"Hey." You didn't notice Utahime was next to you again, missing her steps towards you. "I spoke to her, you can go."

"What?" you looked up at her in surprise.

She sighed. "I hate to say it, but it won't get better if you don't talk it out with him. You don't have to do it today, but you are obviously not in the right state to sit here next to these flowers for hours, or are you?"

You slightly shook your head head. She smiled softly. "Then get going."

For a second you just blankly stared at her. But then it hit you. You could leave. Should leave. And today you would do it. You would talk to him and speak your whole mind. Yeah, you would tell him how you felt after the last confusing years, where he treated you like the sun one second and like shit the next. Not tomorrow. Today.

"Thank you." you hurried to the changing room, poking your head out before closing it. "Thank you!"

You heard her laugh, while you hastly changed. The apron was off in seconds, you had to stop and take a breath, before you opened the door again.

You hurried to take your bag and as you arrived back at the counter, your gaze fell onto the flowers on the counter. It was dumb. But you took them out of the vase and held them dearly to your heart.

"Get well soon." Utahime winked at you as you stood at the door. You gulped, but smiled back.

"I'll try.

-------> At home

The door was shut fastly behind you, you hurried to the kitchen to get the flowers a small cup as a vase. There was a small blue one, which was also not too small, so you took it. Filled it with water, as your eyes fell onto a note on the fridge.

Will be away for the whole day, medicine exam is eating me up - Shoko

Oh. Shoko was with her study group. Medicine was a hard major. But to be honest right now you didn't really think much about it. The only thing in your mind was the phone in your bag.

You placed the little cup-vase onto the kitchen table. The daisies were smiling at you, just like they were six years ago.

You wanted to smile back but it didn't feel like the time for that.

Your hand took your phone out of your bag. You watched as you fiddled with it. Wondering if maybe you should do it tomorrow, since you were pretty exhausted-

No. Today.

Your fingers were shaking as you typed his number. Hesitating before the dialing button. But in the end you did press it.

Your anxiety rose by thousands as you heard the dialing tone. And by the third time it rang you wanted to hang up, until -

"Hello?"

His voice was a bit hesitant and quiet. You were shaking, wondering why you called him, without thinking what words precisely to say, why did you just call him without any plan-

"Stop sending flowers to my workplace." your voice was slightly shaking, just like your hands. "My manager can't keep picking them up."

"Oh." it was very quiet on the other side. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you trouble with them."

A silence made it's way into the call. You heard him breath and you were sure he heard your anxious breathing too. God, this whole idea was a mess.

"Hey." he spoke again. "Do you want to talk about it? Are you ready to talk about it?"

...

"Yeah, I'm ready." your voice was a whisper.

The second silence followed, this one even a bit more tense.

"Can I come over, or is that to much?"

Your breath hitched, suddenly this seemed so real. You were stupid for it but you did miss him. You wanted to see him.

"It's okay." you muttered and heard a relieved sigh from him.

"Good, because I am almost there."

And just like that he hung up. Leaving you standing dumbfounded in your kitchen, the realization slowly settling. Wait, he meant immediately? You didn't think he would be already on his way, you still didn't know what to say!

God, you needed a tea.

Today was a green tea day. You worked your kettle, trying to keep your cool. But it was near impossible. How could you remain calm, when Satoru was coming over? Satoru, who was usual never wanting to have a serious talk?

Ring

You looked at your kettle, only to realize it had been the doorbell. Okay. It was time.

You opened the door of your apartment, to see a soaked Satoru standing before you, breathing heavy.

"Sorry for the rush, I didn't want to intimidate you." he muttered while his eyes were locked onto the ground. "I just had to see you in person."

"It's alright." Well, he still intimidated you, but in the end you wanted to see him in person too. At least you think you did, when you look at his wet, but still gorgeous hair. At his blue ocean like eyes. It was just Satoru.

You let him into your apartment, hurrying to your kettle, who was now ringing too. You heard him shut the door, as you poured yourself a cup of tea, watching as the water turned green.

His steps echoed through the apartment, until he stood there, in the doorframe of the kitchen. His eyes now locked onto you as you glanced at him. You took your tea cup and sat down at the table. Gesturing with your hand that he should sit down too. He did.

You saw him gulp, but he kept quiet. You took a long sip.

"So?"

His eyes widened a bit. Then he cleared his throat. "I wanted to apologize to you. Like, really apologize. I know I messed up."

You could see his hands fidgeting but he still kept his eyes on you.

"I don't remember what I was thinking. And I mean that literally, I drank so much that I didn't remember even going to this club." he shook his head. "Not that that excuses anything. My first mistake was drinking carelessly. And I'm so-"

"Why did you?" you stopped him. He tilted his head a bit as you looked at him. "You treated me horrible that evening. You left me alone at the entrance of that club, drank your brain away and then disappeared. Why did you leave me alone at the entrance, why did you drink so much?"

His body tensed up and you knew you struck a nerve.

"And you know that's not the first time." you muttered. "It's like three years ago, when you suddenly made that shift to treat me horrible and then dropped me as a friend."

Silence made itself into the room.

"And then you come back to apologize and want everything to go back as it were, but it doesn't." you whispered. "I can pretend that it does, but it doesn't. Because I just don't feel appreciated as a person. For you I'm always-" Your voice broke a bit.

"For you I'm always just the safe backup. Because I always forgive you and you know it."

"That's not true." Satoru tried to grab your hands on the table, but you pulled them away. Any form of contact right now would kill you.

"Then what is it, Satoru? It feels like you never told me."

His eyes faced the table, now looking like he was sick. His posture was stiff as he fidgeted more with his fingers.

"I'm an idiot, you know?" he was mumbling. "A coward and a selfish idiot."

"What are you talking about?" you gripped onto your warm teacup. He looked at your hands, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

"It's just -" he stopped. While looking at you he shook his head and abruptly stood up. Speaking with his hands on his face, his voice a bit muffled but still understandable. "I want you to know that everything I will say is not me trying to justify my behavior, okay? I just - I own you an honest explanation."

You looked at him, as he seemed to hide himself behind his hands. You were scared. Scared of what he will say. But you knew you also wanted and needed to know. "Alright, then tell me Satoru."

It's silent again, the only thing you heard was the sound of a neighbor's key falling outside of the Appartement. Satoru was messing with his hair, while he avoided to look at you. You could see the gear wheels in his head working, trying to make out what to say. He took a sharpy breath.

"Every time I notice that we are growing more together or become closer, it's just so, -" he shook his head. "It's so scary. Because I notice how I start to feel and act and I -, well I get cold feet and try to push you away. Because I know, that it's stupid for me to feel how I feel, and I don't want to lose our friendship and-"

"Wait, wait, wait." you raised your hand. "You're pushing me away because you don't want to lose our friendship?"

He groaned. "It's stupid I know and in the last years I have become better, but it's just-, god, every time I see someone flirting with you and you look so happy, my emotions become so big and I get angry with everything."

"Satoru what do you mean? Why would you - I don't understand." now it was your turn to hide your head behind your hands.

"That Friday, before we went to that club together. I have seen you with that guy, who bought you a drink at your workplace. And you laughed so much, I just felt so shitty because I realized-" his voice is shaking. "I realized that I still have feelings for you."

The world seemed to stop spinning. You raised your head in slow motion and looked at him. His blue eyes were locked on you, showing vulnerability. You couldn't help but just stare at him.

"And I got scared!" his voice got a bit louder as he started pacing down the kitchen. "Because I have been in the friend zone my entire life and I thought I could live with that. But everything was so much, I saw red and just wanted to hide. I wanted to snap out of that feeling so I left you standing at the entrance."

He stopped pacing, his back now turned to you. "It's the same every time. I want to keep our friendship, but push you so far away that we become strangers."

"You really are an idiot."

You didn't notice until you spoke, that you were crying. Ugly sobbing filled the room, you felt like suffocating. "Not once did you ask yourself how I felt. You just wanted to keep yourself safe, didn't you?"

You could see his back tensing. You shook your head. "You made me feel like I was the friend you only kept in touch with, because our parents know each other. You made me feel so dumb for wanting to spend time with you. That's not how you treat someone you have feelings for!

You could have just told me."

He scoffed, now turning around. "Would we be still be friends if I did? "

"No."

You looked at the green tea in your cup. "We would be more."

You could hear his breath hitch. And in seconds he was standing in front of the table again. You felt his gaze on you. "What do you mean?"

You laughed while tears were streaming down your cheeks. "Satoru it was so obvious for everyone else. Why do you think I have forgiven you every time, no matter what you did?

I have feelings for you."

The silence came back. And with a silent sigh he sat down before you again, hwad in his hands again. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Why did you never tell me? Because I was scared of ruining our friendship. And you always seemed to have zero feelings for me that we're not platonic." you sobbed again, making him flinch. You saw his hand twitch, but this time he didn't move it.

"Please, don't cry." he was whispering with such care in his voice you wanted to cry harder. "Not over my stupidity."

A small try of a laugh escaped you. "I'm always crying over your stupidity, Satoru." you shook your head. "But also mine. I could have confessed too, but I didn't because I was scared. I'm sorry."

He moved a bit closer, his chair now as near as possible. "Don't apologize -"

"But I am sorry. Because now I don't know how to feel and..." you stopped, trying to catch your breath. "I want to forgive you, but I'm just so scared and -"

That's when Satoru stood up again. You watched through your blurry vision how he made his way to you, going around the table. There he stood looking at you with something so big, something so mighty in his eyes.

Carefully his hands made it's way next to your face, drying your tears and caressing your face.

"I know that I will do everything to deserve your forgiveness. No pushing away, no riddles."

He wiped your hair out of the way and placed a soft kiss onto your forehead.

"But I don't think I want to be friends anymore."

Deleted scene:

"I thought I should stop sending them." Satoru had his signature grin on his face, while looking at the daisies on the table. "But you do like them!"

"I didn't say you should stop sending them, I said you should stop sending them to my workplace." you kept your gaze on the white flowers in front of you, even though you felt him staring at you. "And I didn't want you to think that you could buy my forgiveness."

"Oh, I never thought that! I just wanted to you to know that I thought of you." his close body raised a hand to take on of the daisies. "You remember that day at the festival?"

"Of course I do." you snorted. "I thought you were stupid for bringing daisies and claiming that they remind you of me, when they are white flowers."

He gasped dramatically. "Stupid? That was my heart laid out in front of you!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful 'hurt' face. "Then why do they remind you of me?"

"You were always new beginning."

Taglist:

@lady-of-blossoms @mistygrovesarchive @hauntedcatnerd3 @ginginha

@watermelonslut @genxnarumi @lun4rchive @dekusdante

@eclecticmentalitypersona @ackermendick @luciiferslover @hyunsuks-beanie

@ri-sa20 @mew4-ever18 @cgmajor @gojojjknanami

@haikyuusimpsblog @starlightglimmersworld @sadmonke

@sheep-infog @ssetsuka

[fastandcarlos]

Children Once Again : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: when you’re invited to the f1 as an ambassador the last face you expect to see is that of your childhood best friend

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by mclaren, landonorris and 792,057 others

ynusername: such an honour to be in monza to watch the grand prix, thank you so much to mclaren for the awesome hospitality 🧡

68,472 comments

username1: no way you finally for to go to a race!

mclaren: it was an honour to welcome you and host you at your very first f1 race 🧡

username2: hope you had the best time ever yn ❤️

kendalljenner: told you that you’d absolutely love it 😂

ynusername: @/kendalljenner I should’ve listened to you!

username3: ngl she seemed to be really close with lando when they were around the paddock together!

oscarpiastri: thank you for being such an awesome guest to have with us this weekend!

username4: papaya really suits you btw yn 😉

username5: and you got to go to monza too, that’s one of the best races on the circuit!!!

landonorris: can’t believe we finally got to see each other again, let’s not leave it so long next time 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris you’re still just as annoying as ever 😂

username6: wait wtf is going on here…did they already know each other??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, kendalljenner and 837,018 others

ynusername: never in a million years did I think I’d get reunited with this guy, nearly 14 years later and we’re back together again 🥹

71,950 comments

username7: wait so they were friends at school and reconnected? omg that’s adorable

username8: see the f1 really does change lives 😂

georgerussell63: how you managed to put up with him growing up is crazy to me!

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 it was hard work at times 😂

username9: I can just imagine them causing so much trouble when they were younger!!

landonorris: 14 years to make up for but the rest of our lives to be back together causing mischief again!!

username10: look at how happy lando looks to be back with her again

mclaren: we’re so pleased we could unknowingly bring the two of you back together again 🧡

ynusername: @/mclaren I owe you guys so much for inviting me in the first place

username11: this is just the sweetest story ever 😭

oscarpiastri: at least I don’t have to listen to you guys reminiscing anymore 🙄

username12: so happy they got to reunite together ����

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, ynusername and 2,038,173 others

landonorris: a dream weekend with my childhood best friend, still feeling just like big kids and like we’ve never not been each other’s lives 🥹

73,067 comments

username13: and you’re sure she’s just a friend are you???

alex_albon: these photos suggest you’ve had more than just a dream weekend to me

username14: you can just tell how fond of her lando still is 😭

danielricciardo: yeah, sure “just” friends 😉

username15: who is buying a friend flowers that are that nice!?

ynusername: you’re not gonna be able to get rid of me so easily this time around!

landonorris: @/ynusername good because I don’t want you to go anywhere anyway 🥺

username16: I don’t want these two to go their separate ways again 💔

maxverstappen1: you’ve known me since we were kids and yet you don’t hug me like that 🤨

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 stop reading so much into things 🙄

username17: you’re not kidding anyone norris 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 782,607 others

ynusername: the first photo was lando when I surprised him at the race, now compare that to the last one after spending four hours with me 😂🧡

73,058 comments

username18: they couldn’t even stay away from each other for more than a week!!

maxverstappen1: I can so see why you two were the best of friends after meeting you 😂

username19: just look at how excited he is to see her 🥺

danielricciardo: it was a joy to meet you here and hear so many childhood stories of lando’s!!

username20: ofc cause only a friend would do something like this right??

landonorris: stop lying to people, I really was happy to have you here for the whole time 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris that’s why you banished me to the paddock for most of the afternoon 👀

username21: it breaks my heart knowing they spent so long apart when they seem to get on so well…

carlossainz55: it was fun embarrassing lando with you for the whole weekend!!!!

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I had no idea he was still as stupid as he was back in school 🤦🏻‍♀️

username22: he loves spending time with you really yn 😂

oscarpiastri: I’m sure I saw him shed a tear when you told him you had to go

landonorris: @/oscarpiastri definitely tears of joy!!

username23: we really missed out on this friendship for so many years!

alex_albon: still sticking with the friendship storyline I see…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername just posted two stories

replies

alex_albon: if you went out with one you’d be a true passenger princess!

ynusername: when do you plan on letting this go??

username24: can you two just hurry up and date already?

georgerussell63: look at how handsome he is yn, you can’t deny it 😂

username25: put us out of our misery please and just announce it!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

danielricciardo: why are you two kids holding hands!?

username26: I still refuse to accept that you two are just friends!

username27: are you playing us all by pretending to just be friends?

charles_leclerc: when will you two just wake up and see it??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 2,492,613 others

landonorris: don’t tell her but I secretly loved her back in school all those years ago, and I guess it’s fair to say I still love her just as much now ❤️

203,362 comments

username28: finally they’ve given us what we wanted for so long 👏🏻

alex_albon: can’t believe you tried to convince me that you two weren’t dating 🙄

oscarpiastri: couldn’t be happier for the two of you 🥰

username29: these two are the perfect reason as to why you should believe in destiny 😭

danielricciardo: this might just be the worst kept secret in the world!!

carlossainz55: i feel like I’ve watched a movie watching your romance unfold 🥺

username30: the fact he’s always been in love with her melts me 🫠

charles_leclerc: well aren’t you guys just the cutest 😭

username31: please don’t ever lose contact with each other again!

georgerussell63: you guys are perfect for each other, so pleased you managed to find one another again

username32: all these years and yet none of us knew that he actually only ever had eyes for her…

mclaren: congratulations to you both, secretly we’re taking all the credit for this 🧡

landonorris: @/mclaren you guys can absolutely take credit, thank you for inviting yn all those weeks ago!

username33: this is the kinda romance that everyone dreams of, only this time it actually came true 🧡

ynusername: it was only ever you 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[mickyschumacher]

Im not sure if your request are open but if they are- a fic with Lando based off the song lose control by Teddy swims. Angst and smut, the whole works😩

But if your request are not open and you see this I hope you have an amazing day/night 🫶

(also I absolutely love your writing. Binge read majority of them the first day I got tumblr and I’m obsessed)

[LOSE CONTROL!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and lando had ended things on a good note... or so you thought. you didn't expect to find him at your front door begging for a second chance. or in which lando doesn't know when to give up.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), mentions of magui (not a fan of what she's done but this is fiction), angst, jealousy, cheesy confessions, unprotected sex (pretty please use protection), teasing, slight-public roleplay? breast play, eating out, fingering, oral sex, p in v, cumming inside, mentions of crashing, technically infidelity on lando's part, poor humour, fluff, and poor proofreading.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: ex-fwb!lando norris x fem!reader, special appearances: magui corceiro and joão felix.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 9k+

𝐀/𝐍: first of all so sorry for taking this up so late! my bad... but it's done! in time for my 2k special! yes that's right, there are two thousands of you little buggers reading my work! i'm ever so grateful, especially because i'm the most inconsistent person i know! thank you for putting up with me, for reading my work, and for your cute little comments. they all make me very happy in such a tough time i've been going through. sending you my ever grateful love from the bottom of my heart ♡︎ p.s it's my 100th post shocker!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

"I miss you."

Lando's voice was always like this. Slightly croaky and brittle yet warm and full of need. For you it was a sort of drug. It always pulled you in, it blurred the line between wrong and right, and you always came back for more. And when it was paired with those brown tinged blue eyes of his and all the freckles on his face, you were a goner.

"Lando," you sighed, leaning on your door frame. It was one in the morning. You were asleep but ever so gracefully woken up to the consistent ring of your doorbell. You rubbed your face with an exhaustion not familiar to your slumber but familiar to the antics of Lando himself. The words fell from your lips in an eased flow. "You can't be here. You don't miss me. You need to leave."

You tried to avoid his pained eyes but everywhere you looked, you met them in some shape or form.

"But I do miss you. I miss everything about you. Your smile, your lips, your body, your laugh, fuck, everything."

You blinked slowly, wondering how you had got here. How is it that the decisions and choice you made in life lead to Lando Norris pleading at your front door at one in the morning?

Ah...

There was an answer to that.

As the story goes, around a year ago, you were with Lando. 'With' was a loose term. It was supposed to be friends with benefits. You had been for almost a year by that point. Naturally, the only rule to being friends with benefits was to not fall in love with each other. And as natural as that rule was, there was a common saying: 'Rules are meant to be broken.'

You and Lando both realised it. But it terrified you the most. You weren't cut out for this. Things were already hard enough as it was sneaking around.

Travelling on the private jets, facing the media and the public, having to watch Lando race every weekend and pray for him wellbeing... it wasn't exactly your cup of tea. It was exactly why you were friends with benefits in the first place.

So you ended it. Lando wasn't happy about it but he respected it.

That was the end of your story.

Or so you thought.

"Lan, you're in a relationship. For fuck's sake, please can you consider her at least?"

Lando ran a hand through his dark mop of curls, sighing while holding back the eye roll at the mention of his intricately created PR relationship. He knew you were right. You often were. But you weren't understanding him. He didn't think you ever could, no matter how much he tried to explain it to you.

You and him... you were made for each other. He knew it from the bottom of his heart. You were perfect. Together, you were perfect. There was no one like you. And for him, there was no one else. Not ever. No matter who he dated or who he was with, he'd be damned if there was someone else other than you.

Lando's tongue poked his cheek, eyes firmly on you. "Are you coming this Sunday? In the evening?"

This race weekend was the Silverstone circuit and in the same day, afterwards, was a dinner party with the drivers, families, and friends. In other words, it was a recipe for disaster.

"I don't think I should..." you trailed off, internally wincing when you knew deep down you should've just said you weren't coming rather than being open to it. When it came to the blue-eyed boy in front of you, any assertiveness you ever had was thrown out the window.

Lando reached to grab your hands, fingers automatically rubbing smooth circles into your skin. "Please come," he pleaded, "if not for me, come for mum and dad, hmm? They miss having you around."

You pressed your lips together, eyes falling onto the floor as you began to chew your lip. "Lando, I can't come. It doesn't look good... for the both of–"

"She won't be there."

Your eyes flickered up to Lando, widening slightly at his words.

With an eager sharpe intake of air, he doubled down on his response. "If that's why you're saying no, she won't be there."

You tilted your head, giving him an almost dry look. "You know that's not even half of the reason." A sigh fell from your lips. "Go home, Lando. You've got practice tomorrow. You need sleep."

Lando's eyes softened. You always kept track of those small things for him, scolding him for not going to sleep early or not taking care of himself. It was like old times all over again. His grip around your hands tightened. "I will," He promised, "but tell me you're coming on Sunday. Please."

You cursed at yourself. It was that same voice. That one with so much need and desperation. It was as if a voice gained the ability to have puppy eyes.

Reluctantly, you nodded slowly. "Fine... I'll come," you relented.

A smile finally sprawled across Lando's face, hands moving to quickly bring you into a hug. His arms felt comfortable, bringing an ease you hadn't felt in over a year. "Thank you."

Your eyes widened when you felt a quick kiss on your cheek, still lingering after Lando parted. He grinned, taking a few steps back from you. "I'll see you Sunday. "

━━━━━━━━━━━

The Sunday jitters were real. You couldn't ever truly imagine how anyone of the drivers felt on race day but you imagined it to be something like this.

The way your heart was thumping, one would think you have an odd case of arrhythmia. You were working up a sweat masked by the anxious sprays of perfume you had lathered on and all you were doing was standing.

You hadn't watched the race in person because that was equally as idiotic as going to a brunch where the person you love and his family was despite him having a girlfriend. And you didn't want to be twice as idiotic. In the end, Lando had gotten a well-earned P3 at his home race, despite the mistakes of his team.

You were happy for him. But it didn't rule out the fact you were in a serious dilemma of awkwardness as you dawdled outside of the venue. Your fingers twirled around the fabric of your dress.

You shouldn't of worn it. It was Lando's favourite. You knew that.

Hell, you shouldn't be here.

You should go home.

It wasn't too late.

Your name abruptly sprung into the air. "Is that you?"

Well shit.

You took a slow turn on your feet, a sheepish smile automatically working its way onto your face. "Mr and Mrs Norris!" you greeted.

An amused huff fell from Lando's mother's mouth. "Please! You know you can call by our names!"

Somewhere in the back of your head, you could feel your mother's voice nagging you at the very thought of calling them by their names.

Cisca smiled, bringing you into a warm hug. "God, we've miss you!" Pulling away after a few seconds, she took another few to observe you. "You've become more beautiful since we last saw you, isn't that right, Adam?"

Lando's father chuckled. "Not more than you though," he teased only to get a playful elbow from his wife. He turned to you and grinned, reminding you exactly where Lando's came from. "The girls will be so happy to see you, sweetie. Oliver too."

You laughed gently, thanking them. Your mouth felt dry. Usually you knew what to say to them. But it had been so long, you weren't sure what to say. Whether it was right or wrong. How much Lando had even said...

"Lando was telling us how you've been busy studying, is that right? You've been doing your master's?" His father queried.

Speak of the devil...

You nodded slowly. "Yes. It's research based so it's quite, uh, time consuming. So I just wanted to put a year dedicated to it. That's why I haven't been around as much."

Both of his parents nodded in understanding. His mother pouted, "While it's been sad without you, I'm very proud of you. A bachelors is no easy feat let alone a master's!"

Your heart constricted while her soft eyes met yours. His mother was always like this. Talking you... treating you as if you were her daughter. You never understood it. You'd only known each other for a couple of years including the period were you and Lando were with each other.

You asked her a month before you had ended it with Lando how she knew you so well. Her response... you could've never forgotten it even if you willed it. '"A mother knows everything. What's good and bad for their children. You know it as mother's intuition. When I look at you, I just know."'

"'Know what?'" You remembered asking.

"How important you are to Lando."

And that was when you realised you were completely and utterly in love with him.

"If you two are done talking, we should finally go inside," Lando's father continued to tease.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you walked with his parents inside the venue.

It was definitely too late.

━━━━━━━━━━━

To be honest, Lando had seen many beautiful things in life. Life, if you looked at it carefully, perhaps on a slight angle, was beautiful. And besides, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

But the sight of you walking into the venue, arm linked with his own mother and you chatting with his father was forever etched into his brain.

He could've sworn his heart was leaping out of his chest. Everything about what he was seeing was perfect. Your smile, the atmosphere, the sun shining down on you, the sound of your laugh, your hair, the wind, the dress... God, he could go on and on.

"Lando! Look who we met outside!" His mother cheered making him grin.

"Well, well, well," Lando smiled, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before hugging his father. He stepped back, blue eyes fixated on you. He stretched out his arms, waiting for a hug making you sigh and his parents laugh softly.

You took a step forward, reaching your hands to wrap around his back while Lando's own hands fell to your waist and brought you close. His classic Tom Ford perfume lingered around you as he whispered in your ear. "You came."

"I promised," you responded softly, pulling back only for him to tighten his grip on you. You suppressed an eye roll. "Congrats on P3. You did well."

Lando perked up at the mention of his race and finally pulled back. "You watched?"

"I–" Your voice was interrupted by another familiar Brit.

"Is that who I think it is?" Alex queried with his usual wide grin.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Depends... is it the most prettiest girl? After Lily, of course."

Alex chuckled. "Is there any other answer?"

You pretended to ponder. "Nope! That's the one." You both laughed as you gave each other a hug.

"Where have you been? I needed someone to give me company on the tracks. It's been so lonely," He complained dramatically.

And without realising it, you were back to meeting everyone you hadn't seen in a long time. Weirdly enough, you missed this. Talking to everyone, joking around, just spending time with them... it gave you some sort of peace.

"Okay! Oscar, you're time's up," Lando announced, standing at the table you, Oscar and his girlfriend, Lily, were seated at.

Oscar gaped at his teammate. "But we only just met her!"

Lando gave a sickly sweet smile. "Aw... tough. Now scram!"

You shook your head as you watched the couple leave the table. "You are the worst," you said, leaning on your arm while Lando took a seat next to you.

"I haven't seen you in so long! Sue me for wanting to spend time with you," Lando shrugged in his defence, blue eyes trained on you.

You blinked, averting your eyes to the rest of the party. "I going to get some champagne," you murmured, standing up to go the table full of various spirits and juices.

You cursed silently as you caught Lando following after you from your peripheral. Arriving to the table, your fingers danced around, looking for the right glass of bubbles.

"You're ignoring me," Lando stated, hot breath skimming past your ear as he stood inches away from you.

You kept your eyes on the alcohol, letting a small laugh fall from your lips. "Gee, has anyone ever told you that you're a smart cookie, Lando"?

Lando pursed his lips. "I miss you."

You sighed at the familiar words, fingers wrapping around a glass of what you were pretty sure was Dom Perignon leisurely being given. "Lando... stop it. I came here because you wanted me to, okay? Just forget about whatever it is you're thinking about."

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt Lando's hand travel to yours, fingers just hanging on to each other. You hated how his touch made you feel so... so tingly. As if you were having your first crush.

"So that's why you wore this dress? To tell me to stop? Because I wanted you here?" He laughed softly, playing with your fingers. He shook his head. "I can't even imagine what you'd do if I told you every single thought running through my head right now."

Your eyes widened. You shakily put back the glass of champagne.

"Lan–" Your voice cut off upon the feeling of his fingers trailing at the back of your neck. You gulped while Lando's voice continued to linger.

"How much of a mistake do you think this really is? Wearing my favourite dress? Don't think I haven't seen that necklace on you. Let's turn that pendant around and show everyone who's name is on it, hmm?"

Your eyes widened. Shit. You had completely forgotten about the necklace. You had spent all your time using it on the front side that you had forgotten about his initial's engraved on the back.

Lando's tongue trailed over his bottom lip, head tilting to the side. "Sweetheart, I'm torn. You have no idea how gorgeous you look. But you have no idea how much I would give... what I would do to take you home right now. That dress would be off and my fingers would be on you. Fuck, just imagining it, I–"

"Lando!"

You and Lando both furrowed your brows, chests heaving breathlessly. You definitely didn't say his name nor did you sound like that. Turning your head slightly, the view made you take wide steps back from Lando.

Lando mended his brows even more, only smoothing them when he saw what you had seen. "B-Baby!" The endearment failed to come out of his mouth smoothly, making you wince.

You watched Lando hug the blonde girl in front of you. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Brazil?" He asked, only just covering up his sheer curiosity.

"I was but I wanted to surprise you... so surprise!"

A surprise... yes it was.

You blinked as the blonde turned to you, extended her hand, and introduced herself. Awkwardly, you returned the kind gesture because ultimately she had done nothing wrong to you.

You introduced yourself as Lando's old friend because it was the safest bet. And it was the truth... to some degree.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Lando asked his girlfriend as a queasy feeling began to form in your stomach. You think you can hear her respond, settling for a glass. You weren't sure. Your ears were tuning in and out of this noise. Out of your peripheral you see the driver turn to you. "Did you still want your champagne?"

You let out a low exhale and gave the both of them a tight smile. "It's okay. I was just leaving."

The smile on Lando's face dropped. "W-What? Already?"

You nodded curtly. "Lots of things to do."

Lando narrowed his eyes. "Like what? It's barely seven... the day's almost over..."

Your eyes widened, feeling startled as an awkward laugh fell from his girlfriend's lips. "Lan, the girl said she has things to do. Stop grilling her. Sorry... must be the post-race adrenaline or something. It's a shame you can't stick around though. See you around?"

You gave a small smile, slightly irritated at how genuine and sweet she was. You actually wished there was something about her to hate. "Yeah," You agreed softly, "See you around."

━━━━━━━━━━━

About thirty minutes had passed since you left the dinner party, much to everyone's dismay.

You were exhausted.

You only just had the energy to take off your heels and put aside your purse before you fell onto your bed. Sighing, you stared at the ceiling. What even was life anymore?

You couldn't believe yourself. You were so angry and pissed off at Lando and you were jealous of his girlfriend.

There wasn't any rocket science to it. You were still very much in love with Lando. You shouldn't be but you were.

Your mother once told you that love wasn't black and white. It was the blurred line between: it was grey. It was never as simple as being in love or not. You fall in love and fall out of it and just as you did, you would fall once again but with someone else entirely. And sometimes it compelled idiotic things like infidelity or rebounds.

Love was also seasonal. It changed all the time and sometimes you enjoyed it and sometimes it made you suffer. It was entirely demanding. It drove people crazy. It was overwhelming and yet so lonely.

Point in case: love sucked.

And you and Lando had not escaped from it.

You weren't sure if you ever could.

But you had to. It was the right thing to do. Maintaining boundaries was the right way to go.

You blew some air up to your face, pushing the hair out of your face. Nodding to yourself, you told yourself you were getting over Lando.

You sat straight at the sound of your doorbell ringing throughout your house. Begrudgingly you walked towards the door, a hundred percent sure it was your neighbour a floor down. She was a sweet, quiet old lady who fit the 'crazy cat lady' persona a bit too well. Often, she came to you asking if you had seen a cat of hers but the worst part was that all of her cats were the tabby orange type. How she could tell the difference was beyond you, no more than how exactly the cats were using elevators and opening fire exits to get to your floor.

Without thinking too much, you opened the door to greet the lady but all the words you had ever known fell to the air upon seeing Lando.

"Lando," you took a calm deep breath, "Please tell me I'm hallucinating or that you're not actually in front of my door right now."

"I can't do that," Lando said, eyes burning with something a bit too familiar.

Wordlessly, you begun closing the door. But the jutted foot of Lando's quickly intercepted the act. "Please," Lando pleaded, coming into your apartment.

You let out a distressed sigh as you hear the door close. "Lando, you can't be here. You're supposed to be at a dinner party. With your friends... family, with your girlfriend, oh my God, with your freaking girlfriend, Lando."

"But you're the only one on my mind," Lando breathed, watching you walk around your house. His arm reached out to your waist, stopping your endless rounds of circles. He could feel you take a sharp intake of air, standing still at his touch. Holding you close, his lips lingered near your ear while his warmth enveloped you.

"I think I'm going crazy," he murmured. "You're in my dreams. Even when I look at her, I see your face. You're fucking everywhere, sweetheart."

You pursued your lips together. "Why do you have to make things so difficult?" you asked quietly, not to Lando in particular but to the silence of your house.

"Then tell me... that you don't want me here. That you don't feel the same way. Tell me... tell me you don't love me. Then I'll leave. I promise."

"I–" you paused, turning your body to him. You could feel his eyes searching your face but you couldn't even lift your head up. "I don't love you."

A lengthy silence ensued and it spoke volumes.

Finally, a soft chuckle from Lando's lips broke the silence. "You can't even look me in the eye and tell me that."

You threw your head back with an exhausted sigh, giving up. Your hands began to flail about. "What more do you want from me, Lando? Why can't you just leave me, us, alone?"

Lando's hand travelled to your jaw, pulling you in a mere inch away from his face. His grip was soft and warm, lulling you. "I can't leave you alone... I can't ever leave you alone. You don't get it," a cry of frustration fell from his lips while his eyes watered, "You were made for me and I was made for you. You... you are all I ever think about. I can't breathe without you. I exist for you. I am so fucking in love with you, it scares me. And i-if you tell me you love me, I'll break up with her right now."

Your eyes burned with an all but familiar salty liquid. "Lando... I can't."

Lando clenched his jaw. His voice was so quiet, a crack away from breaking entirely. "Why? Why can't you just admit that you're in love with me?"

"Because I'm terrified!"

You feel Lando's hand fall from your jaw while his brows furrowed, asking you what you were talking about. Your cheeks were flushed with heat while your fingers dug rested on your hips, digging into your flesh. You took in a shaky breath.

"I can't do this life, Lan. I can't be away from you all the time and travel with you all the time. I'm not another girl on your arm for the media. And I really can't watch you race. Every time I watch you race... I, " you blew air into your cheeks, "I watch with a sick stomach. Every spin, every crash... I always just think.. God, if something happened to you. If I love you..."

Lando fell silent. For the first time in a long time, he had nothing to say to you. All he had were the fresh tears quietly leaking out of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, using his arm to wipe off the rest of his silent sobbing. Stepping forward, with the soft pad of his thumb, he collected the tears you hadn't realised were falling.

Lando cleared his throat, breathing in while he rested his hand on your cheek, rubbing soft circles into your skin. "Ever since I met you, before I even realised I was in love with you, I've spent every race thinking about you. You're my first thought when those lights go off and the last when that flag waves. You don't know it but you are the only thing that makes me feel truly safe. And I would fight the world if it meant that you could openly love me back."

A singular tear made it's way down your face, seeping into the pores of your skin as Lando pressed a long kiss on your cheek before quietly leaving towards the door. Before entirely leaving, he stopped in his tracks. "I'm not giving up on us. I told you before. I could never leave you."

━━━━━━━━━━━

It had been a month since you and Lando had talked... whatever that was out.

The promise he had made before leaving your house that day was one he was persistent in pursuing. You knew Lando. He was stubborn. Often, what he wanted, he got.

You tried to avoid him. But the good morning and good night messages you received every day despite his ever-changing time zones still reached you. You spent the first three days ignoring them but the guilt with each passing day got heavier.

In a way, it felt like you were restarting your friendship. Taking things slow. Except the odd times that reminded you it was anything but. In particular Lando's 'drunk on horniness' messages or the sudden love confessions that popped out of thin air.

Things were... steadyish.

It was the only reason you had accepted Carlos' extended invitation to join him and the other's at a nightclub. You couldn't lie. Of course, Lando was at the forefront of your brain when you accepted. A part of you was curious.

How was he holding up?

Whether he was still with his girlfriend...

Were his plans on not giving up on you limited to his consistent texts?

But alas, as life usually worked, things did not go the way you planned.

While most of the drivers steered clear of the alcohol aside from their podiums, a practice Lando often took somewhat seriously, he was seriously considering breaking at the sight of you. More specifically, the sight of you and João Felix, the famed five-star FIFA player, mingling.

Lando who wasn't starving for any spirits was ready to down a few shots. But instead, he was completely sober, not a lick of alcohol in him, watching João, the ex-boyfriend of his own girlfriend chat you up.

Lando couldn't exactly blame the athlete. He would've done the same thing: the fixated eyes as you talked, the ear-to-ear smile when you laughed, the seamless checking out when you turned to take a sip of your drink or talk to someone nearby because Lando was a hundred percent sure you were the most gorgeous person in the room.

But he could blame João's pettiness. Lando had his ex and now he was going after you. In way, he rated it. But Lando knew you too well.

You were not interested in the player at all. The tight smiles, the absentminded nods, the readiness to jump into a conversation with literally anyone else... you were practically inviting Lando for a talk.

You could feel yourself freeze at the sight of Lando and his girlfriend walk over to the both of you. The air, all of a sudden, felt thick, fogging up your brain. You weren't quite sure what to say. This odd intertwining history between the four of you was nauseating.

"João," Lando greeted with a fake cheer. Magui, his girlfriend, gave a tight smile that bordered on pissed off – you knew the look all too well.

The football player gave a loose grin, shaking Lando's hand. "Lando... Magui," he sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh! Have you guys met yet?" He asked, brown eyes moving to you as he introduced you to the couple.

The three of you blinked at the dry sarcasm underpinning João's voice. You let a small laugh fall past your lips. "We have, actually. I'm Lando's old friend and Magui and I met not so long ago."

Lando gave you a pointed look. "You are way too down to earth. She's a special old friend," he corrected, grinning at João.

You pursed your lips awkwardly as the two Portugueses raised their eyes brows. You raised your hand to rub the nape of your neck nervously. "Uh, well, no... just old friend will do. Always the funny one, huh, Lando?" You murmured with a forced laugh.

To be honest, as the silence began to build, you were surprised to even hear Magui's voice. "I'm sorry..." she started, arm darting out to grab João's hand, making you widen your eyes, "João, we need to talk."

You incredulously watched Magui drag away the Portuguese before turning to Lando. You pondered over her words. "She still–"

"Likes him? Yup!" Lando said, popping the 'p' as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"It's weird how similar she and I are. Lonely... and both head over heels for our exes." Lando tilted his head, eyes examining you carefully while you took a deep breath. "Can't say the same for João though," he clicked his tongue.

The comment made you raise a brow. Lando softly laughed at your confused expression. "Sweetheart... it is my worst luck that you are the most gorgeous woman to exist. João had eyes for you. From the moment you were talking till the moment we stepped in."

You folded your arms, a small grin teetering on your face at the irritated expression on his face. "So you were watching me... obsessed much?" You humoured out of pure amusement.

Lando poked his cheek with his tongue, taking a step towards you, hands still shoved into this pockets of his pants. "Oh you have no idea."

You pressed your lips together.

There were an infinite amount of things that were unhealthy. Rewatching your comfort shows five times too many, the double digits on your screen-time, a high sugar intake (although your tastebuds said otherwise)...

But for you, it usually ended up being Lando. The various facets of Lando often left you undone. And a clean-shaven Lando, stalking towards you in the loosest long sleeve polo shirt, folded at the arms and half unbuttoned so the necklace you brought him and bracelets he wore glittered under the club lights was just another one of many undoings.

"Lando..." you murmured, taking a step back, eyes darting to your surroundings. "What are you doing?"

"I haven't told you how good you look today, have I? Because you have no idea how fucking hot you look," Lando responded, ignoring your question as he took another step forward.

You swallowed your saliva at the recognisable look swirling in those blue orbs of his. Like he was going to ravage you.

"Lando," you hissed, putting a hand to his chest to maintain some distance. You breathed shakily, trying to think straight. "Have some self-control!"

"Oh sweetheart, you know as much as I do." You widened your eyes as Lando used your hand to pull you closer, merely inches away from his face. His voice, despite it's softness, is drowned in a husk that runs down your spine. His warm breath pricked the surface your skin. "When it comes to you, I have no control."

Never in your life had your throat felt so dry. You burned at his words and his touch made your stomach churn. "But..." you furrowed your brows, trying to remember what you wanted to say. "But Magui? João?" You managed to get out.

As the strobes of light glimmered across Lando, you managed to capture him closing his eyes after being trained on your lips for so long, as though he was trying to hold himself back, swimming up to the surface for some sort of consciousness.

His forehead fell to yours as he pondered those three words. "I told you..." Lando said, hands travelling up your neck to hold your face, relishing the heat your flushed state brought. "I exist for you."

In essence: fuck Magui and fuck João.

━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're kidding me," Lando flatly said, evilly eyeing the 'Out of Order' sign on your elevator.

"I'm also totally kidding that my room's on the fifth floor," You laughed softly, sarcasm underlying your voice.

Lando turned to you with a blank stare. You two had both managed to get out of the nightclub as discreetly as you could (which included the most obvious winks from Carlos and Fewtrell). While both of your patience was wearing thin, in the nature of an F1 driver, Lando was losing it ten times faster.

Lando had been waiting what felt like forever to be with you, for you to green-light him. That time he spent without you felt torturous as though he was being punished for being in love. And now that he had you, he was going to make up for lost time.

The only hitch in his plan was an elevator under maintenance and five flights of stairs.

Lando raised a brow at the anything but innocent smile tugging on your lips. He sucked in a sharp breath. "I do not like that look on your face."

You suppressed an eye roll, knowing damn well those twinkling eyes were saying something else. Slowly, you walked towards the fire exit with Lando following after you cautiously. Popping your head into the room, you looked up and the numerous staircases trailing up the building.

A quiet laugh slipped past Lando's mouth. "What are you doing?" He asked as you took your heels off and placed them on the floor.

You turned to him, resting your hand the railing of the staircase while the other found your hip. "My dear Lando," you tsked, "you didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

You smiled at the furrowed brows he sported. "They say you should work hard to get what you want. Who knows..." you shrugged, "Maybe you'll find my panties on the third floor."

As the cogs finally clicked in place, Lando sunk his teeth into his lips. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, raking his eyes over you. "And if someone catches us?"

You jutted your bottom lip, pretending to ponder his question. "Guess you'll have to be fast then. Aren't you an athlete or something?" You teased, grinning ear-to-ear now.

"You are going to be the death of me." Lando gave you a pointed look, throwing his heading back soon after receiving a cheeky wink from your side.

The British driver watched carefully as you started to make your way up the flight of stairs. Smiling to himself while shaking his head, he grabbed your heels with his two fingers and climbed up after you.

Lando was amused and excited at the same time, seeing you occasionally turn to him with a knowing glint in your eyes. He knew himself that things were currently tame: finding your heels, purse, and jacket in his hands.

He felt dazed upon catching a glimpse of the lace underneath your dress, tight around your ample flesh, his own pants beginning to constrict.

"Not just yet, Lan." Your voice piped up in the silence. Lando fluttered his eyes open, seeing you turn back to him again. He questionably hummed in response, gathering himself once again.

"What are you going to do now?" You queried with feigned innocence, eyes flickering to your bra dangling in your hand. "Whoops!"

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, watching your bra fall to the floor before shamelessly moving his eyes to your chest, eyes bulging at the now uncontrolled cleavage spilling from your dress. His fingers clenched around all of your items while he swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth.

The sudden urge to increase his pace up the stairs made you widen your eyes with a fire-like anticipation, matching his action. As Lando grabbed your bra from the floor, he could only imagine what was coming as you arrived to the third floor.

But surprisingly enough, Lando had caught up to you, intentional on your part he was sure. He eyed your body as you sat on a stair, leg crossed over another, letting your dress ride up your thighs.

"Looking for something?" You queried, catching his attention.

"Nothing." Lando winced at the poor and croaky lie escaping his lips.

You grinned, gliding your tongue over your lip. You stood up, hand clenching around the soft and wet fabric in your hands. You could hear Lando's breath hitch as you used your free hand to trail up his leg, only millimetres away from the bulge in his pants.

Lando's eyes focused on you as you met his gaze. He felt your lips graze his own, naturally making him lean in for more but your finger pressing down stopped him, instead pulling his free hand open.

Lando closed his eyes upon the feel of the soft textured fabric in his rough palm. "Please tell me that's what I think it is."

He knew what it was. But he wanted to hear it from your lips.

You moved your lips to his ear. "What do you want to hear? That your holding my panties? Or that they're soaked?"

Lando's eyes snapped open, dropping your items to his side. His hand travelled up your neck, holding your face to jerk it towards him. You could feel his hot breath swarm your vicinity. His thumb trailed over your lips, head leaning in.

You gave him a small smile, pulling away. "We still have two whole floors, Lando. Patience is a virtue."

Lando blinked blankly at the light tap of your fingers on his cheek. He watched you leave once again. Knowing that you had no underwear unknowingly awoke something deeply sinister within him.

You were a siren. Luring him in by doing so little and yet, the most. He was sure of it.

Lando took in a deep breath, closing his eyes once again. He was also sure that the next thing about to come off was the last thing you had on: your dress. And he wasn't confident he could handle it at all. His cock felt impossibly tight against his pants, aching in such a way that begged for release.

"You're missing the show, baby."

Lando looked at you, gathering your items and slowly walking up the stairs, watching you carefully take the straps off your shoulders, emphasising 'L' on your necklace. His tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, preventing them from tugging upwards when you realised you had to deal with the zipper of your dress.

"Need some help?" Lando asked, catching up to you once again.

You pouted at his amused expression. "Lan... I had a thing going," You whined. You had used a damn string and paperclip to pull the zip up earlier this evening. And now? Now you had a lover who drove a papaya-coloured car for a living with a shit-eating grin.

"How about," Lando started, moving your panties to his other hand to wrap an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, "I help you get out of this dress and you stop being a little minx so I can fuck the tease out of you, hmm?"

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, feeling Lando's bulge push up against your ass. Your skin pricked with a wave of heat that you hadn't felt in a long time. You hear Lando hum in your ear, waiting for a response as he nestled his chin into your collarbone, fingers grazing up and down your body.

"Fine, fine," you relented, turning to grab Lando by the hand before you hurried up the last flight of stairs.

"I thought you said patience was a virtue!" Lando huffed, smiling at your pace.

You rolled your eyes. "You're one to speak."

Lando chuckled softly, trailing after you with the same eagerness sparking within him.

━━━━��━━━━━━

You peeked your head into your empty hallway, hand still around Lando's. There were four flats on your floor. Two of which were empty thanks to the cost of living crisis and the other, your neighbour, who was often out of town.

In other words, you were free to be as loud as you want.

With as much humbleness and reserve you could manage, you tamely walked down your hallway, hearing Lando mumble something about how your hallway belonged in a horror movie.

"Gee... that's so sexy, Lan. Keep going," you dryly encouraged, turning to grab the keys in your purse.

Lando jutted out his hand, letting your keys dangle from his fingers in front of your face. "I'm just saying," he said defensively with the corner of his mouth tugging upwards in amusement.

You shook your head, failing to suppress your grin as you shoved the key into the door, waiting to hear the obscene click. Opening the door, you smiled timidly at the state of your flat. "Well... this is my humble-ish abode... that you've seen a bit too much recently," you teased.

Lando laughed softly, following after you, hands still full. "What are you on about? I love your flat. It's so... you."

You turned to Lando with a raised brow, watching him put down all the trinkets you had left him on the shelf near the door. "Is that a diss I hear?"

The driver rolled his eyes, walking towards you with a knowing glint to his eyes. His arms stretched out, travelling to your waist before pulling you in. You could feel his breath graze past your skin as he held your gaze. Lando's voice was a mere whisper in your ears. "I mean I love you... so I love your cute little flat."

"Oh," you lamely said before blinking back to reality. "I mean not 'oh' like 'oh,' I mean like 'oh... I love you too?" You questioned, slowly dying on the inside at your stupidity.

Lando grinned at your pained expression. "Nice save," he murmured against your lips. "Now... where were we?"

"Hmm?" You idly queried, unable to take your eyes off of his lips. "Uh," you cleared your throat, "something about fucking the tease out of me?"

"Ah, yes," Lando agreed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "You have been pretty awful today. First walking in with João..." He clicked his tongue, finger trailing the underside of the strap of your dress before pulling it down your shoulder. "Then this dress, fuck."

You let out a shaky breath, feeling his fingers skim past your neck as he walked around you to meet the zip you had been battling all day. Lando's mouth met the side of your ear while he pressed the cold metal of your zip down and against your back.

"And now your little theatrics. It's not very nice of you, sweetheart. I've waited so long... you're on my mind every second of every day. I think about you so much, I don't think it's healthy. But..."

Lando stopped himself, lips brushing against your burning skin.

"But?" You repeated, turning your body to face him.

"But... I don't care," He finished with a small nonchalant shrug and a balance of softness and cockiness drowning his voice.

You didn't waste a second, moving your hands to Lando's neck, pushing yourself forward as you pressed your lips to his.

You could feel his hands immediately wrap around your waist. Your skin pricked with a familiar burn, warming at the touch of Lando's fingers skimming your bare skin.

Even though a fire was whirling within you, your body still had managed to create waves and waves of goosebumps as the hairs on your skin stood straight. You could feel Lando's tongue dart out, nudging your mouth to open a bit more to explore every crevice.

A mix of a grunt and high-pitched moan slipped past Lando's lips making your thighs clench at the tingling rippling through your core. You were positively going to combust.

Lando was equally sure he was going to lose it. He had waited so long to feel your lips and the sheer happiness he felt right now... it couldn't even compare to his imagination. To feel his teeth graze your lips while his one hand roamed your bare back, ever slowly inching towards your ass... the other tangled in your soft hair... he was almost afraid to admit he daydreamed of this.

His pants, fuck, they were tight before but this was something else entirely. He was in a some sort of twisted pain as your hands moved from his neck and crept up the hem of his shirt, brushing his taut torso, remembering exactly where all his little moles were.

"Shit..." Lando sighed out, holding you tighter against him. His lips moved along your bare shoulder, meeting the nape of your neck to attack it with purple written love letters. "Get on the bed, baby," he managed to get out, half-focusing on the honey-drenched moans falling from your lips while he waddled you towards the bed.

You sat back on the mattress breathlessly, chest heaving up and down as you watched Lando eye you down with a lust-driven softness. A gentle smile sprawled across your face, making him gulp cautiously. Coyly, you stood up, barely a few centimetres away from him as you peeled off your dress as slowly as you good.

You could hear Lando's breath hitch before he sucked in a sharp intake of air, eyes fixed on your breasts. They looked lonely... as if they were waiting for his touch. His tongue rested on the side of his mouth, tilting his head while your dress skimmed past your thighs and off your legs.

Lando's head fell back. "Fuck... you are going to be death of me." He shook his head, inching back towards you.

The small laugh that had fallen from your lips made him smile. He watched as your fingers pinched the edge of his shirt, lifting it up at the same rate of his arms flying up. Removing his shirt, your hands danced towards his shorts but Lando's hand caught your wrist.

You flickered your eyes to Lando, eyebrows raised at the pained look on his face. "If I let you do it, I swear to God, I might cum right here."

Your eyes slightly widened at his words, mouth all of a sudden feeling dry. You raised your hands in defence, watching him try to take off his pants in amusement.

"Don't think I don't see that smug smile on your face, sweetheart," He murmured, blue eyes averting to you. A smug smile of his own formed on his face as his arms caged you in, your knees bucking at the feel of the mattress or Lando – you couldn't tell.

Lando's head dipped into the valley of your breasts, hot breath letting goosebumps litter your bare skin. "I missed these sweet tits of yours," he murmured, watching his own hand skim past your pebbled nipple, ears perking at the quiet gasp coming from your mouth.

You could feel the ghost of Lando's smile against your skin before his hand stretched to fondle the soft mound of tissue while his tongue wrapped around the other, circling the hard nipple with his warm saliva.

You let out a small sigh, hand immediately travelling to the mop of brown curls Lando sported as you revelled in his touch. You could tell what he was doing. Making up for lost time. Ensuring you knew how much he missed you by spending the uttermost time and care with your breasts alone.

His thumb and tongue moved in synchronised circles, paying attention to each nipple, savouring the way your body arched into his touch and the small sighs and whimpers of admission dancing into his ears.

Detaching his tongue from your nipple, Lando looked at the sight of the ample flesh of your tits filling his hands. Fuck... it drove him insane.

Your body quivered as Lando's lips trailed down the valley of your breasts, a line of purples following right after his wet kisses. "Lando," you hissed, "People are going to know."

A huff of amusement crawled from his throat. "I know."

Lando watched you roll your eyes while he came down to pussy. His hands glided across your thighs, gripping your plump skin as a wave of tingles bubbled within your core.

Planting a small kiss on the side of your thigh, he flickered his blue eyes to you. "Think I still need to get that brat out of you," he murmured before gently pulling at your labia.

He watched your folds clench around nothing as his hot breath grazed the surface of your pussy. Lando smiled knowingly. "You are simply drenched for me, sweetheart."

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his finger slide down your slick folds, going up to ever so slightly to gather your arousal and graze the sensitive bundle of nerves near the top. A gasp left your mouth, making him grin.

You feel his fingers move away from your heat, skimming your thighs while hearing the hitched breaths fall from Lando's mouth as if he was the one affected. You could see his eyes travel across your body, wondering where to start. He wanted everywhere.

His mop of curls on his head dipped down, warm lips pressed up against the valley of your breasts to your stomach. And as he reached your navel, he could hear your shallow breaths, the ghost of his smile tickling your skin.

Heat prickled every inch of your body and yet a shiver of what could only be explained as some sort of electric current ran through you. You felt a tap on your thigh, bringing you back to reality.

"Don't lose me now, baby," Lando murmured softly, hands gripping your hips to yank your body closer to him.

Before you could breathe, before you could imagine the mere consequences of the way Lando's breath felt against your core, his mouth dived down into your folds.

Your mouth fell open as your head found comfort in the mattress. His tongue grazed over your clit with a tantalisingly slow pace, letting your legs tremor in his grasp. You could feel his lips curve, smirk practically dripping off his face.

You opened your mouth, preparing a witty comeback only for a string of moans to come out as Lando traversed deeper into your burning core, taking on every crevice and fold.

A groan escaped Lando's lips, pulling away for a brief second. "I missed how good you taste, so fucking sweet," he sighed out, delirious.

Your toes curled at his words, hands reaching for his head as he returned back to your pussy, Lando's own hands moving to your inner thighs to expose you entirely to him. His tongue had found your clit once again, unleashing his torturous attack.

"Oh God," you cried out, hips bucking themselves further into his tongue as the signs of your upcoming climax approached. You didn't think you could last any longer, especially not when Lando slipped two fingers inside you, making you clench around around him.

"Fucking hell," Lando rasped against your clit, speeding up his pace. His fingers move in and out of you rapidly, tongue flat against your clit as you trembled in his hands.

The dazed look in your eyes, the sunken teeth, the clenching of your walls...

Lando eagerly pulled you closer if possible, hoisting a leg over his shoulder, sending an entirely different realm of pleasure across your body.

"Lando!" You sobbed, hands tightening their grip on his hair.

He moaned, maintaining his pace. "Come, baby. All for me, come on. Show me how good I make you feel."

You felt undone at his words, body convulsing as the big waves of your orgasm hit you hard. Your walls clenched and pulsed around his fingers.

Lando couldn't tell whether his heart was fluttering or whether his cock was throbbing, probably both, but he had once committed this ruined sight of you to his memory not too long ago, and God, he had been dying to see it again.

The strain in Lando's voice was impossible to miss. So was his aching cock standing straight against his stomach. "I need you... so bad," he murmured, pussy-drenched lips against your ear.

You couldn't help but shudder at his words. Only minutes had passed since your orgasm but fuck, you needed him as much as he needed you.

With a series of nods, you beckoned him over, bringing your lips to his for a brief minute. Your hands trailed over his chest, grazing the back of his neck before finding their place on his upper back.

A low sigh blew from Lando's lips, his eyes trailed to where your hips met before coming back up to meet yours. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in your touch before holding your gaze firmly. He called your name. "I love you. So fucking much. You're all I want... forever."

His confession made you warm all over. You could feel your eyes water slightly. With a tight smile, you brought your hand to caress his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch. "I love you too."

Those words were music to his ears. Without a second to waste, his hips moved, cock thrusting into you so deeply that you can't help but let out a small cry of pleasure, hand covering your mouth.

Lando wanted to fold. Right there and then. You felt so good around him. As though heaven had found him. But all he could do is moan your name, feeling you tightly clench around his cock.

His eyes flitted to your face when he heard your muffled moans. His arms stretched out to keep your hands away from your mouth and on his back. "Let me hear you, baby. Yell my name. Tell me how good you feel."

Your body jolted as his thrusts became deeper and somehow, you felt like you were only becoming more aroused. Your skin felt sticky, riddled with sweat as your slickness coated your thighs.

Lando groaned at the sight. You were making a mess of him, dripping all over his cock as your eyes became lost in a haze. His hand reached out, jutting your chin to make sure you were looking at him. "Keep looking at me. Look at what you do to me."

Lando's grip on your waist tightened, pulling you over so you straddled his cock, riding him into a new oblivion.

And you did look. You watched him fuck into you with a speed and depth you had missed so dearly. You watched him memorise you as though he was afraid to forget you. You watched him make love to you.

Your second orgasm began to build up as the obscene sounds of your skin slapping against one another filled the room. Your body shook at the feel of Lando's thumb against your clit, rubbing you as he entirely ruined you.

"Lando, I–" you mewled, unable to get the words out.

"I know," Lando responded, holding the same level of restrain and pleasure as his own climax built up. "Cum," he almost cried out, "please."

You could barely keep your eyes open as the tight coil in your stomach snapped. You trembled in his grasp, cumming all over his cock, hips almost unstoppable as they chased those waves.

The tight clench your orgasm brought around his cock sent him over. Lando fingers sunk into your skin. "Fuck, where, tell me where," he begged, impossibly close.

You quivered, still in the remaining moments of your orgasm. "Inside," you panted, "please, Lan." There's nothing more that I want than your cum."

Lando rasped, hips stilling at your words as his cum spilled into you, filling you in all the the right places. His grip on you loosened as he slowly pulled out of you.

You shivered at his fixated gaze of your mixed cum seeping out of your pussy. Lando fell into the bed, closing his eyes, muttering things under his breath to restrain himself. You held in your laughter as he left the bed, almost painfully, to grab a wet towel from the bathroom to clean you up.

You kissed his cheek gently, thanking him as he finished cleaning all the witness dripping your thighs. Putting aside the towel, you pulled the duvet over you and Lando, nestling up to his warm body.

You could feel the softness of your mattress and duvet conform around your body while Lando rested beside you, taking you in. You mended your brows at the sudden silence. "Penny for your thoughts?" You queried, poking his cheek before rubbing his face with the pad of your thumb.

Lando leaned into your touch, warm blue eyes grazing over your face. "I missed you," he murmured, pressing a kiss onto the side of your hand. "Every day without you felt miserable and now... I can't believe you're actually in front of me. "

Your eyes softened. "I'm here," you reassured, "forever."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑