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therealhousewifeofharrystyles · 1 year

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Harry’s Home

(PART I.)

Pairing: Roommate!Harry // Nameless 1st-Person Femme Protagonist

Word Count: ~ 12k words

‼️Mature/18+‼️

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Lots of Flirting, Pining, Love/Hate Dynamic, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Body Objectification (M & F), References to Masturbation (F), Mentions of Body-Type Biases, Alcohol Consumption (Legal & Responsible Drinking), References to Ovulation & Implications to Breeding

**ANY & ALL IMAGES USED ARE NOT MINE**

Likes, Comments, Reblogs, and Follows are 100% welcome 💕

Weeknights deserve more credit. For many of us, it’s the peaceful resolution to our day. It’s the time when we come home after being excused from our lectures or meetings, or when we clock-out at the end of our shifts. We’ll safely make it back to our comfort zones and our open time slot can be occupied with whatever we want. Those few free hours are sacred. They give adults a necessary recharge. Personally, I share my humble homestead with an egotistical, British businessman—Harry Styles.

Harry was employed as a marketing executive for a unisex fashion brand located in Portland, Oregon. ‘Vol. 6’ started out as a small business, and had recently made waves in the industry with its diverse designs and overall style inclusivity. The company’s roots were planted by a few local, starving artists who set up an online shop with the most modest of intentions. The amateurs were blindsided by how their ideas blew up in overwhelming popularity via the internet. It was like winning the lottery. They eventually accumulated so many orders that they needed to expand their operations—hiring an A-team of designers, tailors, and legal professionals(for copyright purposes, of course). International sweatshops and inhumane labor conditions were far from what Vol. 6 sought to create. And so they stayed in Portland—keeping their focus upon ensuring exceptional product quality, as well as enforcing flexible, comfortable, and progressive working environments for its employees. Although an underdog in the fashion scene, Vol. 6’s excellent reputation continued to soar without a hitch. It turns out that a cohesive process of structured business management and clever marketing can be achieved without sacrificing empathy, creativity, realness, or substance. The only disadvantage is the limited supply of merchandise whilst there’s a metastasizing demand. It’s not like this kind of business structure is rare. High-status designer brands have been known to keep their stock low—or at least that’s what they say—for their popular items to seem more valuable and special. As an operation that works against those capitalist games, Vol. 6 values employee and customer satisfaction over profit. The company’s active attention and true kindness are what separates them from the rest.

So, as I mentioned before, Harry is a part of Vol. 6’s marketing team. He often collaborates with the designing team when he’s working on new promotions or adverts. Creative cohesiveness is essential to successful marketing. Hence why Harry and Mitch became close friends as they had consistently developed ads together for a couple of years.

Some have referred to the boys as yin and yang. One of the two tended to present himself as intimidating and pretentious, whilst the other was comparatively quite mild and personable. It was a mystery how these men befriended one another instead of becoming enemies. Harry was the type that wanted to complete tasks his way, and his way only. In total contrast, Mitch liked spontaneity—preferring to ‘go with the flow’ rather than planning ahead. That method of living was despised by Harry. He was set in his ways. It didn’t make sense to him how his friend could act so unbothered by the world’s chaos. Maybe it was just his hot temper, or maybe it was the way his natural responses to conflict were either instigating a verbal quarrel or using bitter humor as a defense mechanism…but Harry just wasn’t a people person. Mitch had thankfully brought him out of his comfort zone a few times—reminding Harry of his university days when his mates had turned him into a womanizer. The results, however, differed from those times due to Harry developing a bleeding heart as he progressed through his twenties. He was open to new experiences and fun banter with strangers as long as Mitch accompanied him. And so they became somewhat of a package-deal. Well, at least that had been the case before Mitch started dating Sarah Jones.

Harry had nothing to dislike about Mitch’s girlfriend. They got along just fine. However, Mitch became less and less available to Harry outside of work…Which meant Harry wasn’t going out much, and that was his issue. Of course he was happy for his friend—Mitch was supportive of him when he was in a serious relationship a few years back. There was no reason for Harry to be bitter. I personally believe he was just lamenting; that he was struggling to accept the fact that life would no longer be the same as it was. He looked back to when he was working towards a degree and reminisced about how he felt more socially fulfilled from living with, and eventually befriending, complete strangers. Those college memories had been the stepping stones of Harry’s development into true adulthood. He had no intention to ever stop growing and improving as a man. Thus why Harry sought to make a big lifestyle change in order to work towards branching out on his own accord. No more was he to reside in a bachelor-pad apartment with a shitty landlord who had never fixed the rattling air-conditioner. He was going to move somewhere more permanent. A place where he could enter his thirties as successful, single, and not lonely. A housemate would solidify the latter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having met him briefly a few times, Sarah recognized a few of Harry’s traits as noticeably familiar. She knew someone personally with identical mood swings, a goofy laugh, and an annoyingly specific taste regarding every little thing. The combination of resemblances felt bizarre to witness up close. She felt like Harry had been performing as some sort of parody—speaking in hyperboles and absolutes as a joke. But she soon realized she was wrong and that he was just like that. Reacting emotionally was actually his genuine response to any sort of change. Sure, she’d interacted with the moody type before. She’d also certainly met plenty of picky control-freaks. Only, the person Harry reminded her of was unique in that she was entertainingly campy, yet sincerely empathetic; and Harry was the same. That person who’d come to her mind was me. And as soon as Sarah heard the news that Harry was looking for a roommate, her ears perked up and she reached out to me immediately.

But I guess I should probably explain the origin story of Harry and me, together, in more detail…here, I’ll start over:

My introduction to Harry was when a friend of mine, Sarah, gave me the news that her boyfriend’s officemate, Harry, was looking to lease a new place. The house was located in a nice suburban area just outside of Portland. Seeing that the neighborhood had been on the upscale side, he wanted to find a roommate to split the pricey rent with. Me, working full time and desperately seeking a replacement for living with my parents, saw this as the golden opportunity to finally have true independence. My initial excitement almost deterred me from wondering whether this ‘Harry’ dude was decent, or reliable, or if he was just some complete prick. I’d never met the guy. I didn’t know a single thing about him besides his name, and yet I’d already begun to mentally pack my bags. I still should’ve had more reservations about it. But then again, I was already aware of how uncomfortable living with a complete stranger was—thanks to college life in the U.S., of course. Also, Sarah’s boyfriend, Mitch, was (and still is) a respectable guy and I was sure he’d only surround himself with people of the like…logically speaking. After all, he was my closest friend’s boyfriend. If Harry stepped on my toes even once, Mitch would endure a hurricane of wrath from my Sarah.

The added layer of safety provided by my best friend’s loyalty was comforting. But this was still a gigantic step for me as a young adult. I’d be actually moving out of my parents’ house entirely for the first time ever. You could say I was blissfully naive of what challenges and obstacles my future held. Apart from all my idealistic daydreaming, I couldn’t help seeking a clearer picture of who Harry actually was (literally and figuratively).

Sarah had given me a basic description:

“He’s a sweet guy. But he tends to act kind of… ambiguous at times? His vibes go back and forth, you know? Kind of unpredictable. Hot ‘n cold…” she trailed on.

Ok. That obviously required significant elaboration—of which she’d eventually come around to providing after I sang the classic Katy Perry lyrics she’d unintentionally referenced.

“…Yeah, yeah, yeah…” She dismissed me, my sing-songy tangent coming to a giggly close.

“…But I’m serious—Mitch has told me all about Harry’s passive narcissism and how much of a stubborn grump he can be…I don’t know, maybe it’s a British thing. A stereotype, I know; but he switches from sarcastic to compassionate on the flip of a dime…” Sarah rambled.

I squinted at her and shook my head in disbelief. This was starting to sound a little sketchy. A grumpy, moody, narcissist? Awesome.

“Psh, so he’s a crabby geriatric divorceé? Wonderful…It’s no wonder he’s got that old-timey name, to boot. The guy just needs a caretaker…also, why would Volume 6 hire an old dude to handle their marketing campaigns..?” I joked.

Sarah shook her head and laughed as if I’d just said something utterly ridiculous.

“HA! Oh, god…I’ll have to remember to tell Mitch all of what you just said.” Sarah wheezed, entertained by my very false assumptions of Harry.

I blinked at her, not understanding why she found what I said so funny.

“…You have it all wrong, babe. He moved here from the UK, like, 10 years ago I think? Mitch said he hopped around from LA to New York City, then from New York to…um, well…to here, in sweet ole Portlandia.” She concluded.

As a young woman in her early-twenties, I wasn’t very enthusiastic about this living arrangement coming to life.

The look on my face must have revealed my doubts because my friend chuckled, waving her hands around for emphasis, and quickly clearing the air for me.

“Wait, wait, hold on! Before you tune out—He’s in his late 20’s! Just realizing how weird that sounded…Yeesh, I’d never let you live with some stinky, old, Englishman, you dummy!”

Phew…That sounded much better. It wouldn’t be too different from living with my older brother, then. But that one word, ‘ambiguous’—it wouldn’t leave my mind. Adjectives like that just leave too much to the imagination…well, to mine, anyway. What was Harry being all ambiguous about? My overzealous curiosity pushed me to spiral, conjuring up whatever dirty secrets that would be instant deal-breakers for me…

Did he smoke inside? Did he hate cats? Dogs? Or worse, was he the leader of some creepy murder cult? And if so, would he reserve our living room for their weekly meetings?!

...Would I be spared as a sacrifice because of my not-so-virgin blood?

Was he a fratty douchebag who peaked in college and succumbed to alcoholism?

Was he the type who’d refuse to be my roommate once he saw that I wasn’t a size-00? Would he feel catfished and tell me I looked “bigger in person?” …Not like that sort of thing really mattered to me—I’d just heard that before from a few guys around his age who were surely expecting to be faced with some petite porcelain doll…

Anyway, I guess I just hoped he’d be direct enough to tell me…you know…anything worth mentioning before I’d officially become his roommate. For all I knew, he was probably just a snobby little brat with an annoying, pompous accent.

Amidst my internal ramblings, Sarah added that Harry was a perfectionist.

So, I was right—he was a brat.

I wanted to stay positive, though. Maybe he was just a neat freak, and that’s what Sarah was implying. I mean, that didn’t sound too intolerable, right? And if he was moody, maybe he’d just keep to himself most of the time. I was perfectly fine with that. I tended to keep to myself most of the time, too...though, I never thought of myself as that moody…

Whoever he was, I just crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t have any attitude similarities to Simon Cowell. Just imagining that possibility made my head hurt and my self-confidence plummet. Whatever. That was probably unlikely, right?

Nonetheless, I was desperate for answers. Sarah just shrugged at me and told me to look him up myself if I wanted to know more. And so, I went to work.

Who was Harry Styles? Aye, that was the question…sorry, I’ll continue:

Doing some basic Googling, it seemed that Harry was at least somewhat active on social media…enough that he wasn’t untraceable, at least. This was one of those (very)few times where I was legitimately grateful for the existence of online social platforms. I scrolled and scrolled, and clicked, and scrolled some more…for probably 3 solid hours. Daylight had actually run out by the time I’d realized how badly my corneas were stinging. I’d looked at myself in the black reflection of my phone and could see the popped blood vessels in the whites of my eyes. At least I found what I was searching for.

Luckily for me, his—albeit, ancient—Facebook page looked genuine and free of any red flags. To my dismay, I had to send a friend request and a follow request to his socials in order to actually have access to the profiles. Did that make it obvious that I was in the middle of e-stalking him? Quite likely, yes…But I’d let my excitement and curiosity overtake my sense of self-preservation that night. Tiptoeing around so I could naturally stumble across a morsel of information would’ve been agonizing. My main objective was more important to me than playing mind games with that stranger, Mister Harry Styles. I wanted so badly to free myself from the confines of my childhood home, regardless. Ugh! I was the only one in my friend group who still lived with their parents, and the lack of privacy only weighed heavier on me as time progressed. My dear friend, Sarah, kindly gifted me my long-awaited chance at freedom by sending Harry’s offer my way, and I wanted to run with it.

Yes, I may have been diving face-first into a serious commitment with a complete stranger. Sure, I’ve never lived with a man who wasn’t related to me. And, yeah, I was nervous that this guy was going to reject me because I was younger, eager, and…kinda on the chubby side, to be honest. I know, I know…

My size shouldn’t matter, I knew that, and I still know that. It never truly matters. I knew my situation wasn’t the same as meeting a lousy Tinder date or whatever, but I felt paranoid regardless. All sorts of men have burned me in the past with their shallowness, so I wasn’t about to hold onto a false guise of confidence just for my big break to disappoint me in the end. The age difference felt somewhat significant on top of that. I’d been made aware that Harry was a few years my senior, but it didn't bother me. I hoped it wouldn’t bother him, either…that, and everything else about me, of course…I just had to wait and see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He accepted my friend/follow requests immediately, and I dove head-first into research (lowkey-stalker) mode. From awkward prom photos and blurry, live music performances, the innocence of his Facebook profile finally put my worries at ease. His most recent profile picture was of him, his mother, and his sister. The candid, selfie-style photo successfully pulled a smile out of me. It’s not a secret that there are wolves in sheep’s clothing out there. But my gut assured me he was safe—that he was a decent guy. The back and forth comments on those family photos were friendly enough for me to assume a close bond between the two siblings, especially. My cheeks started to ache from my incessant smiling and giggling. The pictures were just so cute, I had to message Sarah about it.

[Text Messages]

Me: stfu this guy is adorable 😫

Sarah: HA I’ll have Mitch let him know u think so 😏 ❤️

Me: Oh my god, fr pls don’t

Sarah: Too late 😉

Me: Alrighty 🙂 Brb…gonna go play in traffic 🤪

Sarah: Ur such a drama queen lol

Me: Yep, that’s me 😚

Sarah: xoxo 😘💋

** one week later **

Sarah told me Harry was a bit different than the way he seemed in those family photos. She said he had tattoos and that he was a total frat boy at heart. All shyness aside, “…his true colors shine their brightest when he’s riled up…I’ve seen it. Little crabby pants man-child.” It was safe to say that Sarah was explicitly giving me a warning for Harry’s hot temper. I looked past it at the time because–as a sensitive crybaby myself–I assumed he was just in-tune with his emotions. I saw nothing wrong with that. I actually found it to be quite refreshing. A handsome man who isn’t an emotionless narcissist or a bird-brained himbo? Sounded pretty exciting to me! I looked forward to possibly cohabitating with someone who had a solid connection to their empathetic side.

Also, basically everyone and their mom has a tattoo or a sleeve. Harry wasn’t different or special in that way to me at all. I completely shrugged it off. Who cared? Still curious as all hell, I scrolled around for a link to his Instagram. The link was right there on his Facebook profile.

Nice.

This is just too easy, I thought. I’ve got all this information on this man at my fucking fingertips.

Wow wow wow wow…

So, uh…Needless to say, Harry presented himself as a little less, um…well, I definitely wouldn’t have pegged him as a “mama’s-boy.” I mean, it wasn’t like he was unrecognizably different or anything. Sarah’s depiction of him, although vague, was right on the nose. All of this was meant for research purposes only. But it was objectively true that he was insanely gorgeous. It was just a fact. Pretending like Harry was average in attractiveness…I mean, why would I do that? Why would I lie to myself when the man was just an innocent sight for my sore eyes? That’s all he was…he was cute. Handsome. Adorable. It was as simple as that. I just don’t know why I couldn’t stop coming back to his Instagram time and time again. No matter how paranoid I’d been about accidentally liking a post from like…5 years ago…I still kept clicking on his profile for more.

He had a few videos of him working out—pull ups, bench presses, deadlifts—all of which featured a very sweaty, and very shirtless Harry.

He also had a few group shots with friends. Sometimes there would be a picture of him with his mom or his sister.

The latest posts revealed his plethora of tattoos to my unexpecting eyes. It was obvious that he knew he was attractive. He knew he wasn’t some average Joe. And I swear he had to have known I was looking. Surely he was looking at mine, too. But I was quite conservative and innocent on my instagram profile—similar to the way he looked on his Facebook. I had to admit, the general vibe of this virtual scrapbook was indeed leaning on the fratty side. Sarah was right. He also seemed aloof in some ways. It looked like he preferred small gatherings to larger ones. He didn’t post very often, and it was hardly ever him who’d be taking photos of himself. Someone else would capture Harry’s beauty.

The contrast between the two online profiles distracted the hell out of me. Specifically, I found myself gawking at him in his sweaty workout videos. His defined shoulder muscles quickly caught my attention, my gaze drifting across the defined blades until I ventured lower. The butterfly on his abdomen was both creepy and beautiful. It reminded me of the moth from Silence of the Lambs. Its wings glistened with a layer of moisture as he pulled himself up and down on the steel bar. Beads of sweat made his chestnut curls cling damply to his skin. I salivated watching this man strain and flex continuously; and I felt myself arch my back while I sat, pressing and grinding my clothed core against my mattress.

Jesus…What was happening to me?!

So, uh…the truth is…I thought Harry was really fucking hot. There was no point in lying about it. His hair just looked so soft and silky, and I wanted to run my fingers through it. I wanted to pull at it. I wanted to slide my soapy hands across the art on his body under a steaming hot shower. I wanted to kiss my way down until I was met with what I was 10000% convinced would stand a girthy, 7-inch masterpiece. Oddly specific, I know. But it was obvious he had a gorgeous dick to compliment the rest of him. He just had this vibe—this aura about him. It’s hard to explain. What was worse was how it seemed as if he knew he exuded that ‘big-dick energy,’ too.

So why 7 inches? Well, the dildo I’d been using for a while was about 6 inches—which was very nice, don’t get me wrong. But it just didn’t quite fill me…completely. And so I’d begun to fantasize about how Harry could stuff my holes instead. Fantasy Harry was a motherfucking dreamboat, let me tell ya. I couldn’t stop daydreaming about him—from carrying heavy boxes into the house and helping me unpack, to flat-out forcing me onto all fours, spanking my ass, and fucking me to tears. The fantasies only evolved over time, no matter how hard I tried to push those perverse thoughts away…but to be honest, I didn’t want to…

Nevermind his admittance of vanity, he still had a gentleness about him…hiding somewhere beyond those pale, teal eyes. Or maybe it was my overwhelming attraction to him that cast a rosy hue to how I perceived his character. I guess that was possible. However, I tended to have a good radar for these sorts of things—people, I mean. Harry made me feel excited, secure, comfortable, and very horny. I had no intentions of backing out from signing that lease, and I decided it was time to officially confirm that with him.

My addiction had only worsened from there. I’d begun to shamelessly use his posts as some sort of spank bank for my regular sessions of alone time. My body reacted quite positively to the change in routine. I couldn’t get too into it, though, as I hardly ever had the house to myself. That was one reason why I wanted out of there. Of course, I was still able to have my fun; I just needed to keep quiet. But fucking myself to Harry made staying quiet extremely difficult. It was like masturbating on Hard Mode. I was constantly hyper aware of how I handled my phone with my one free hand—so as to not double-tap. Then there were some photos of him where I’d pinch and zoom in closer, straining my eyes to see if I could make out the outline of his bulge. He wore black athletic shorts a lot of the time, so he was usually protected by the camouflage of the dark fabric. In one of his weight-lifting videos, though, he brought the bar up from the floor up to his knees, then slid it up just below his hips, and—oh my god. The metal pressed so closely to the tops of his thighs that he had his whole package propped up. His shorts tightened perfectly around him. It was so subtle, most people would probably miss it upon first glance. But I didn’t. I saw it. And now I can’t unsee it.

Oh…but he wouldn’t post him with a…or would he…?

Ugh, that cocky little smirk…Fucking asshole.

I hated him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, I felt really dirty for thinking about my new roommate like that.

Oh, yeah…Sorry, uh, I forgot to mention: the two of us had e-signed the lease. I know, I know…but I needed to take the offer! How could I pass up the chance to 1.) move out of my parents’ house, and 2.) move in with a sexy, brooding, successful British man whom I could trust because he was a mutual friend AND…I honestly loved the house. It was old, but not broken or in shambles. The floors were amber hardwood, and the whole house was finished with matching carved, wooden railings and accent wall paneling. Having recently been remodeled, the kitchen was in excellent shape. Appliances were updated. The property was managed by an association which handled the lawn, utilities, and small, miscellaneous amenities. We had our own driveway, a connected two-car garage, and our mailbox was labeled with both of our last names.

The charming little cottage condo was now officially, and contractually, mine and Harry’s. I was ecstatic about it, honestly. We still hadn’t met in person yet, which I knew wasn't the smartest approach, but we’d at least chatted a bit over text and shared some friendly phone calls. His voice was insanely sexy, might I add. I knew he was from the UK, as per Sarah, and so of course I was expecting to be greeted with that accent. What I was not expecting was this slow, deep…rough…

Eek, sorry—um, I wasn’t expecting a voice like that to come out of the speaker, that’s all. Dare I say it, he actually sounded nervous to talk to me on that first call. He’d stutter his words whenever I posed a question, and I could practically hear his boyish smile through my phone. It also took forever for him to end our calls—our goodbyes resembling the never-ending midwestern kind that I was unfortunately very familiar with. They didn’t feel nearly as painful or awkward, though. Listening to his accented mumbles on the other line released a flutter of butterflies in my belly.

I later learned that Harry had performed his own research on me. The only difference was that he’d done most of it a week or so before we’d e-signed the lease together.

It was simple. At work, Mitch mentioned me in a conversation regarding the house Harry had his eye on. He was interested the moment my name was suggested, a gut-feeling making him latch onto me. Once he’d discovered my online profiles by searching through Mitch’s mutuals, his infatuation with me soared. He had a juvenile crush on me from the get-go.

Feeling 17 again, Harry would look for openings in their casual discussions so that he could bring me up. Mitch, being a good sport, spent day after day playing his role as the messenger between the 4 of us. He wished Sarah had just given Harry my phone number straight away instead. If she did, Mitch would’ve been able to eat his lunches in peace. Not only did Mitch lack the answers to those questions, but he’d also only interacted with me a handful of times. He struggled to provide Harry with even the barebones descriptions. How was he supposed to know whether I was a morning or a night person, or what my thermostat preference was, or which days I did my laundry, or how often I had guests over? My private social media accounts offered better information about me than that of the fleeting memories my best friend’s boyfriend stored in his brain.

Harry intended to use somewhat of a surreptitious approach to voicing his curiosity to Mitch. But his sly efforts were useless, as Mitch caught onto his scheme quite easily. There wasn’t anything indicating to me that he was interested in me in any way. Well, not until Sarah let it slip that Harry couldn’t keep my name out of his mouth whenever he spoke to Mitch. But I thought he was just curious…I mean, I was a random, younger woman whom he was going to be living with. It made sense to me that he wanted to know so much about me. I was just as curious.

Casual lunch conversations between the two men had begun to form a particular pattern of redirection. At first, Mitch thought Harry was simply just eager to send in his deposit before anyone else could. The rent cost was a steal for how nice the house was and for the lovely neighborhood it was in. However, he knew all this enthusiasm was directed towards me, in particular, when Harry’s eyes were perma-glued to his screen whilst scrolling through my photos. I didn’t really have that much to scroll through, but apparently Harry spent enough time staring at each individual picture that one may have assumed I had an endless gallery. He’d even taken the liberty of digging further and eventually found my LinkedIn page. I remember how the week before our first phone call, I’d gotten a notification from LinkedIn telling me that someone viewed my profile…I didn't even know why I kept the app on my phone since I was content with my current job. Nevertheless, Harry’s investigation wasn’t as covert as he’d hoped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry was scrolling around on my LinkedIn profile in the Vol. 6 breakroom. Without thinking, he outwardly deduced to Mitch, “She must be the commitment type,” referring to my short, yet impressive résumé. He promptly followed up his inference by chiming,“She’s lookin’ for something’ serious then, hm?”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, Harry’s nonchalance disappeared.

Mitch stopped in his tracks as Harry decided to drag the comment out further.

“I-I mean, like, for a serious living arrangement, y’know?” Harry squeaked.

Mitch cringed in discomfort as the cracking of Harry’s voice pierced his eardrums. To the man’s dismay, his friend didn’t know how to shut his mouth.

“…Some people can be quite fickle ‘bout it, yeah? And what, she’s 24? Surely she’s been disappointed by dozens of pricks by now. Must be dying for someone she can actually rely on, dontcha think?”

Mitch pursed his lips and half-heartedly agreed, “Mhm, probably sick of the fear-of-commitment type.”

Harry nodded and pulled at his lip with his thumb and forefinger. He then continued to ramble on.

“Now tha’ I’m edging on 30…I dunno…’guess I’m just looking—” He paused to clear his throat and scratch his nose with his knuckle. He looked considerably anxious. “—looking forward to, uh, commitments, and all tha’.”

Mitch’s eyes narrowed towards his friend who kept fidgeting with his hands on top of the table and dodging all eye contact. He found Harry’s clumsiness entertaining. He wanted to see how long he could get him to chase his tail. Instigating, Mitch said,“Yeah…So, uh, did you find anything else interesting about her?”

Harry lifted his head up to meet with the other man’s suspecting stare.

“Huh? Well, y-yes, definitely! ‘Course I did. She, uh…well, she’s—”

“—She’s a pretty girl…yeah, H?” Mitch interrupted, cutting him off from his stuttering. Harry swallowed dryly in response. At that point, it seemed to him that Mitch had finally picked up on his crush.

“Uhm, yeah…yeah, I think she is. Quite lovely, now that y’mention it.” His eyes blinked down at the zoomed image of me in a bridesmaid’s dress displayed on his clutched phone screen. Mitch patted Harry’s shoulder, heartily laughing at the glassy-eyed brunette in front of him.

Except, Harry wasn’t laughing. The shells of his ears turned red hot and his knee bobbed awkwardly under the table, unintentionally knocking on the hard surface a few times.

“Ah! Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, holding his nervous knee down.

“Harry, it’s ok if you have a lil crush on her...” Mitch assured him. Harry gnawed on the inside of his lip as Mitch kept on. “…God, y’know, I haven’t seen you down this bad since…well, since Cam, I think...”

Harry gulped at the mention of the woman’s name…the woman who broke his heart several years earlier. His discomfort with the subject was apparent to his friend who then swiftly rephrased. “Shit…Sorry…I just mean, like, you’ve got heart-eyes for a girl you’ve never even met. You don’t know her. She doesn’t know you…”

Harry stayed silent.

“…Honestly, I’m surprised. ‘Used to you always going for the Barbie-type. It’s nice to see you’re, uh, broadening your horizons, hm?” He smirked and drew an exaggerated hourglass in the air with his hands.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and got defensive at the suggestive implication. “Besides having dated all women, I’ve never had a type, Mitchell.” He scoffed. “And another thing—” Harry quipped, his pupils swallowing the soft green of his irises. Mitch, unintimidated, seemed quite amused by his friend’s sensitive temper.

“—You shouldn’t talk about her like tha’. Inn’ she close with Sarah?! That’s your girlfriend’s best friend. ‘S fucked up.”

Mitch nodded in agreement with a dismissing chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sarah’s known her for years, but I was just messing with you, man. Relax.”

The men were quiet for a few moments before Mitch sent a warning Harry’s way.“Don’t fuck around with her, ok? ‘less you’re looking to mop up the poor girl’s tears every day. You’re signing a 3-year lease, remember? Try not to think with the wrong head.”

Harry glared at Mitch.

Wha—mopping up tears?! That’s a bit dramatic…

Contrary to Mitch’s assumptions, Harry wasn’t planning to create an uncomfortable living space. That’s the last thing he wanted. Sure, he was attracted to me and felt little butterflies fluttering in his belly when he read my posts and my texts. So what?! That’s his business if he had a teeny tiny crush on his potential housemate. It felt like Mitch was deliberately egging him on, and that’s precisely how the conversation escalated.

“What—? What are you going on about?” His voice strained to release the words. Mitch was done beating around the bush—he realized how the aftermath of Harry’s pursuit of me could end with lots of crying on my part; and worst of all, a very angry Sarah Jones. He wanted to avoid that outcome as much as possible.

“H, you’re stalking her Facebook and shit—”

“—Oi! ’S not like tha’! I just wanna know who I’m asking to move in w’me!”

“Ok, well I’m pretty sure you don’t keep looking through all her photos because you wanna know how good she is about washing the dishes.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about…” Harry huffed. “…’Sides, you know it takes me a bit to get comfortable with people. Not to mention, I've never had a bloody roommate befo’, either.”

He was telling the truth—omitting some personal details in the process, but that didn’t matter. Not to Harry, at least. He knew Mitch was terrible at keeping secrets and that Sarah would be in the know before he could even finish a confession. There was no way he was going to risk jeopardizing such a safe and pleasant option with sharing his feelings so soon.

“Okay…” Mitch trails off. The air in the room was still and it made him uneasy. Harry scratched the shadow of stubble adorning his jaw. His impulsive mouth thankfully filled the silence that was suffocating them previously. As grown men and friends, the boys seemed to act like stubborn adolescents when it came to women—specifically, when it came to Harry and women.

“Um…so, you said you’ve met her before, yeah?” Harry couldn’t let it go.

Mitch drank from his water bottle and gave Harry the thumb’s up with his free hand.

“Then uh, why don’t you tell me ‘bout her? Like…Wha’s she like in person…?” Mitch took a deep breath and screwed the cap back onto the bottle. He then rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his chin mockingly. It was like Mitch was searching for ways to further tease Harry about his crush. Harry chose to ignore it this time.

Despite lacking approval in Harry’s newfound love-interest, Mitch offered him his honest knowledge anyway.“Hmm…well, I first met her at Sarah’s birthday party a few years back…She was nice, just a little on the quiet side. Seemed like she was holding herself back in that way, you know?”

The sincerity of his recollection shocked Harry. He was expecting to be turned down or mocked once again—he was even planning in his head what to send me via DM to further get to know me, assuming Mitch would’ve ended the conversation by that point. Luckily, he was mistaken.

“I remember her, like, tearing up at a picture of Lexi’s daughter. I thought that was a bit dramatic—the crying, I mean—but, I guess she hadn’t seen Lexi and her baby in almost a year or something..? I dunno…”

Harry frowned, empathizing with my reaction. It broke his heart whenever he couldn’t see his godchildren for long stretches of time, too. Mitch then tapped his fingertips against the table, traveling deeper into his memory to provide more details for Harry.

“…I’d say she’s sensitive in general, though. Sar told me how she’s always the one crying at movies, crying’ in arguments…cries whenever she sees a cat video on TikTok. Kind of a hot-mess, if you ask me…”

Harry’s lips twitched into a smile imagining my expressive emotions.

“...OH!” Mitch clapped his hands and chuckled before proceeding.

“She’s got this laugh that’s, uh, it’s like low-key really loud. Like, sometimes it’ll be this crazy wheeze and then, right away, she’s as red as a fuckin’ tomato. Sarah thinks it’s hilarious and they’ll basically laugh at each other for an hour. But yeah, you can tell she gets all weird and embarrassed after she laughs, though—and she apologizes for everything, all the time. Always sayin’ sorry when she literally didn’t do anything. I swear, dude…Someone could knock her onto her ass and she’d be the one to apologize. Wait, I think she’s from somewhere in the Midwest—like the northern nicey-nice states, y’know, so maybe it’s that? I’m not sure.”

“That’s…kinda cute.” Harry mumbled, his cheeks turning rosy.

Mitch grinned. “Oh, you think so?” A pink hue then washed over Harry’s skin entirely and he bashfully ran his hand through his loose curls. “Yeah, she seems quite lovely—I mean…”Harry stumbled over his admiration, trying his best to sound cool and detached. He failed miserably.

“…I-I dunno…Jus’ forget it.” He then buried his face in his hands, shamefully admitting defeat.

Mitch rolled his eyes and chuckled at his lovelorn friend. He guessed Harry was only randomly feeling things for me because he’s lived in a bachelor’s paradise for too long. It was also a known fact that he’d only have short flings once every blue moon. Those flings have become fewer and farther between as of late. Romance and commitment weren’t really Harry’s forte.

It’s not that he didn’t want a partner, but that he viewed the whole relationship-building process to be strenuous and stressful. Life and work were already difficult enough to balance. And so, for the past few years, Harry let himself be completely occupied by his job at Vol. 6. The go-to excuse to his friends (and especially his mother) for not settling down yet was that he carried a heavy workload, and he didn’t want to be an absent partner because of it. He’d end those conversations with a snippy “‘S as simple as that” phrase.

Even so, Harry was praying to God in the privacy of his lonely bedroom that he’d have the chance to settle down soon. All his adult life, he’d aspired to meet ‘the one’ and for him to give that one all his love and all his babies—a hopeless, hungry romantic Harry was. Dreams like these passed through his subconscious more frequently the more he aged. The British businessman was famished, desperate for love and connection.

Dating around was disappointing and redundant, and one-night-stands made him feel gross. He wasn’t simply a dumb, horny teenager anymore, he wasn’t even much of a dumb hornball of a man in his early adult years. Nay. He always kept an underlying craving for passion and compatibility. Harry was going to enter his 30’s in less than a year and he desired more than lackluster, meaningless sex with boring strangers. He needed more than arm candy. He needed more than a weak flame. He longed for an all-encompassing wildfire to eat away at his flesh from the inside out. He wanted to feel someone’s presence consume him.

Recently, Harry’s dreaming intuition had been signaling to him that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer to finally find his person. He was so needy for someone to genuinely love, and he felt overwhelmingly drawn to me from the very start—to my smile, my innocence, and my bleeding heart that matched his own. My lucky arrival into his life had only increased his determination towards lifelong romantic and sexual fulfillment. He just knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The time had come for us to meet in person. We’d gone out for drinks with Mitch and Sarah one weekend. It was a safe choice. This way, no one would feel uncomfortable, left out, or excluded. But in all honesty, it felt more like a double-date than a friendly gathering at a local bar.

I had been somewhat apprehensive about drinking around Harry knowing how I was a bit of a flirty(slutty) drunk. All it took was 1.5 cocktails for me to be a giggling, cock-hungry devil woman. Sarah knew this about me. She’d witnessed my nymphomania from the sidelines whenever we’d go out for a girls’ night. Yet, this knowledge did nothing to prevent her from ordering the 4 of us tequila shots before I’d even stepped into the establishment.

Of course, I was late—I’m late to everything. But that night, it was different. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown with hangers and loose clothes strewn across my bed and crumpled in clumps on the floor. Even my mother felt the need to knock on my door after one of my particularly loud outbursts of frustration—making sure I wasn’t actually in pain. I was fine. I just needed to look my absolute-fucking-best when I met my dream guy face-to-face for the first time! Was that such a crime to try and accomplish?!

My mom didn’t get it.

I’d finally slipped into a pair of high-waisted, dark wash jeans that made my ass look like a big, juicy peach, and a red, ruffled peplum-blouse that deliciously hugged my curves—my large breasts, especially. I topped it off with a tin cup choker and a pair of black, knee-high, heeled leather boots. My self-confidence switched from plummeting to soaring once I’d done a final mirror check on my way out the door.

I knew I had the ability to somewhat ‘make an entrance’ (in dim lighting, at least). However, as soon as Harry and I locked eyes, I saw his mouth hanging open as if I was an A-List celebrity approaching him. My stomach glittered with butterflies at witnessing the effects of my gorgeously buxom appearance. The high-pitched ring of Sarah’s playful wolf-whistle pulled me back to reality.

There he was. He was real. And he was even hotter than I thought he was. Yet, it was him whose features reacted to me with lusty enchantment.

His pupils were devouring me as we stood in a lull. My hand extended towards him for a cordial handshake. But as his large hand gripped mine, he pulled me into his chest for a hug—planting a soft kiss on my cheek. What was even more unexpected was how natural it felt to have his arms around me. The four of us then did a few rounds of shots that night. As a (heavy-weighted) lightweight, I was giggling like crazy after the first two throws. Harry laughed every time I did, and vice-versa, and so we’d run out of breath repetitively—basically falling to the floor on top of each other. We looked like a goofy, touchy couple out on a double date, but we were completely ignoring the other couple. Sarah found our loopy mingling to be quite entertaining, as did Mitch. They both had intimate knowledge the other didn’t. The night eventually wound down and the snoozy (actual)couple left for home via car service. I definitely wasn’t sober enough to drive, either. Thinking back, I suddenly remember sharing a private moment with Harry around that time. Nothing R-rated. Not even PG-13, really.

Our friends had already parted ways, leaving the two of us drunk and cozy at a corner-table in the back of the bar. He ordered us some ice water, of which I’d gratefully accepted. I was mid-gulp when I felt his fingers tuck a section of my hair behind my ear. In hindsight, that was a cheesy, 90’s romcom thing for him to do. However, it felt so gentle and sweet in the moment, I didn’t care. My eyes blinked up at him, my mouth occupied with chilled fluids, and he smiled dreamily down at me. Swallowing and setting my glass down, a soft giggle escaped my lips.

“You’re even prettier in person, y’know.” Harry drawled. More light laughter came out of me before I returned the compliment. “Mmm, you too, Mr. Styles.” His cheeks dimpled and he shook his head at me. “Tha’s cute, but I’m serious.”

I raised my eyebrows at his accusation. “So am I.” My arms folded over my chest in playful defiance. We sat there for a few beats, deeply drinking each other in as if the other person was the bartender’s last call. Harry broke the trance first. “Need t’get ya home, love.” His hand moved to cover mine on the tabletop. Out of instinct, my glassy eyes followed his touch. He was cold, clammy even, yet I could feel my skin flush red-hot in retaliation.

Harry seemed hardly intoxicated or loopy anymore. He had more to drink than me, for sure. However, I had to hold onto him for stability in order to exit the building. Leaving the bar that night gave me the same satisfaction as going home after an amazing first date. I hadn’t met a guy so instantly enamored by my presence since high school…back when I was a size 8! As a size 16 in my early twenties, I’d gotten used to men talking over me and looking right through me. There was no reason for them to treat me that way. I’d always been told that I’m the nicest person in the world—that I was beautiful and hilarious and passionate and brilliant. None of that mattered, though. I was either met with pure indifference or blatant, manipulative narcissism from the opposite sex. But Harry was the diamond in the rough. He treated me better than just decently. He made me feel like a person deserving of much more than the bare minimum—more than just mere kindness—worth love, attention, effort, adoration, and affection. I hadn’t felt that in a long time…if ever.

And don’t worry, neither of us drove home. Harry ordered an Uber for me and rode along so that he could make sure I got inside my parents’ house safely—escorting me to the door like a proper gentleman would. I’d only really experienced that kind of ‘chivalry’ once or twice before. Not that every guy I’ve dated was a complete asshole to me, but the bare minimum was certainly a chore for some…It was refreshing to be treated so delicately—by someone who hardly knew me, to boot.

That entire first impression…it was a solid confirmation for me.

I liked Harry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry and I have grown to be quite friendly with one another since we first met a little over a year ago. However, we sure as hell didn’t start out that way—yeah, the amazing time at the bar was a false first impression. Sure, Harry would still have his moments where he was genuinely caring and gentle. But for the most part, his demeanor changed into that of an antagonistic older brother. So, you could say the initial acquaintanceship was tense.

For starters, we had that 5 year age-gap; and so Harry used that as a pass to be an arrogant, cynical, pretentious know-it-all. It was like he always needed to be the one and only expert on everything. And I’m certain he’s always gotten off on every rare instance where I’ve shown to be naive. Yelling-matches would occur every so often for months as both of us are sensitive hot-heads. We ended that streak of arguing when Harry’s big mouth had inevitably put me in tears. I think it was around the 6-month mark (of living together) when it happened. What’s silly is how his comment didn’t even deserve my dramatics, really. I’d already been in a piss-poor mood that night, and I’m just a crybaby in general. So you betcha any joke about me and my body, no matter how innocent the intentions behind it, throws just enough of a punch to unleash the hysterics.

I was in our living room watching YouTube when Harry came home from work. The video on the TV had pulled a full-blown guffaw out of me a minute or so before the door opened—which felt like a wave of relief after a long, miserable day at my job. I typically would spend more of my time enclosed in my bedroom, but I guess I just felt like switching things up that day. Besides, Harry acted as if he owned the whole goddamn place. The house was 50% mine, too (per our rental agreement). I had every right to venture away from my compact sleeping quarters for the evening. There was still a high probability that Harry would be a grump about it.

Fucking whatever.

If I wanted to enjoy our shared entertainment room, then I was gonna fucking enjoy it! My confidence was torn out from underneath me the moment that prick made his entrance. The door swung open, and there he was—white-collared, spotless, and as smug as ever. He released a generous sigh, an attempt at drawing my attention, but I refused to acknowledge his homecoming. What? Did he want a freaking ‘welcome home, honey’ from me or something?! Being a part of Harry’s House’s Greeting Committee wasn’t in the fine print of our lease. Plus, the last time I kindly acknowledged him after work, he brutally mocked me.

[“Hi!!!” I exclaimed with a sweet smile.

He raised an eyebrow as he slipped his shoes off. “Uh, hello.”

I was in the middle of stowing the last of the groceries away. I’d been in a pretty good mood that afternoon. I don’t know why or what made me so excited for Harry to come home, but I just was. Typically, I wouldn’t be keen on asking him to talk about his day. But, again, I was just feeling good. I didn’t understand why that deserved such an adverse response from the man.

“How was your day?! Oh yeah, you had that big meeting, or whatever, right?”

“Mhmm.” He muttered, unbuttoning the wrist cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his shoulders.

I grinned brightly at him and opened the fridge. The way Harry looked with his stuffy work clothes always made me melt. He kept his tattoos well-hidden, but simply pulling his sleeves back would reveal the art…and that was something he’d do as soon as he got home. The action was so small and innocent, but witnessing it so closely—whilst simultaneously inhaling the faint notes of his expensive cologne—sent rushes of heat down to my core. He had no idea how hot he was when he did that…actually, he probably knew exactly how hot he was…little shit…

“So…Did your presentation go ok?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘went fine. It was fine...glad to be home, though.” Harry sighed, but I saw him fighting a smile once I’d turned around to face him.

“Oh? Just fine?” Judging by his subtle cheekiness, I had thought he had some news to tell me. It just seemed that way to me, at least. Or maybe that he was hiding something, or about to make a joke. My latter suspicion was quickly confirmed as true.

“I dunno…It went well, I guess…couldn’t wait to get home...” Why was he smirking at me?

I giggled and continued the banter.

“What are you being so modest about? I’m sure the reps at Gucci fell in love with the designs.”

Harry slipped onto one of the bar stools and watched me unpack the remainder of paper bags from behind the kitchen island. He leaned back against the seat’s backing with his arms folded and resting comfortably atop his abdomen. After making silent eye contact for a moment, I resorted to laughing lightheartedly and raising my eyebrows at the man.

“Eh?”

Harry just smirked.

I’d begun to fold up the empty paper bags. My cheeks were definitely blushed pink, reacting sheepishly to his stare. To conceal my submissive appearance, I reached up—pushing up onto my tiptoes—to stack the paper bags above the refrigerator. It didn’t matter that my back was facing him. I could still feel his eyes following my every move. Why did he have to intimidate me so much?

“Fine, be that way. Just so you know, I bought cookies for us, but now I'm not gonna share!”

“Oh really?” He hummed, leaning up to rest his forearms on the counter.

Scoffing, I stepped forward to face him from the other side of the island and grabbed onto the edge of the countertop. My upper half was angled towards him so that I could talk more directly to him.

“Really, really.” I purred, not realizing my voice would sound so erotic. Instead of backtracking, I just ran with it. Harry’s pupils expanded much like a feline’s when they’re hunting their prey.

But he just sat there smirking at me. My pleasant mood wasn’t to be ruined by his teasing. I wasn’t going to allow it. I could play, too, Styles.

“What kind of cookies did you get us, hm?” His low, British drawl sent chills down my back.

“Oreos.” I didn’t sink into that ‘subspace’ as they call it. Not yet.

Harry basically moaned a hum out in approval. I swallowed, still combating my natural instinct to surrender like a desperate little puppy. This was getting more difficult.

“You know those are my favorite, don’t you?”

I blinked. “Uh huh.”

“I bet you got’em just f’me…you weren’t gettin’ them for us...” He paused for a moment. “…were you, sweet girl?”

“I…maybe…” I squeaked, earning Harry’s immediate amusement.

“I’m gonna take a guess at something real quick, a‘right, doll?”

“Ok…” He was so close to me. I was just thankful I’d been chewing gum at the time…

“Are you ovulating right now? Is that why you’re being so doting and domestic?”

My face fell.

“Wha—Excuse me?!” I stepped back from the counter and put my hands on my hips. What kind of guessing game was that?! Who even asks that?!

In the most annoying way, Harry stood up from his stool and copied my stance. He was using far too much sass and flamboyance to be accurate, though. I did not look like that…

“Oh, don’t you give me that look, sweetheart.” Harry chuckled, walking over to me. He then reached his long index finger up to *boop* the tip of my nose. I huffed in response. The breaking point was nearing closer with every word he’d spoken. But submission was not an option.

I knew that he knew. He had to have known. He must have caught onto my shyness, saw how much he made me blush, sensed how bratty I’d become whenever he teased me. I was putty in his hands.

“Awe, You’re cute…” He mumbled under his breath. His hand rose to my shoulder and he twirled a lock of my hair around his finger.

I was furious. It was obvious he was just trying to rile me up. That’s all this was…reaction bait.

“Harry…—”

“—I’m just sayin’, one might think you were trying to sweet talk me into letting you milk me dry and put a baby in ya. I’m sure you’re just as fertile as you look, aren’t you, babe?” He grinned and drummed his rings back against the marble counter, now leaning back all cockily.

There it was again—that smug little smirk on his stupid, perfect, dimpled face. What did he mean by, “as fertile as I look?!” God, a woman can’t be mean or nice without a man having some bullshit to say about it. Whatever. I told myself at that moment that the next man who dared to comment on my missing smile would be a dead one.

I gave him a dirty look and hustled my ass up the stairs to my room. Thankfully, I was finished putting all the groceries away. There was no reason for me to stick around playing this silly game with Harry. As I was making my way up, he called out to me, “I may have a high sperm count, but I’m not quite ready to be a daddy, yet, love!”

“Shut up!” I groaned and slammed my door shut. I think I could still hear him snickering to himself downstairs. Such a dick. Also, how the hell did he know I was ovulating..?! Ugh!

Oh, and Harry wasn’t even finished with his jokes yet, because he’d leapt up the steps in long strides and knocked on my door…just 5 minutes later. I opened it, having then changed into a crop top and pajama shorts in the meantime. Not only was my round ass falling out of the shorts, but my heavy, unsupported tits were also threatening to peak out from the bottom hem of my shirt.

Typically, I wouldn’t want to be caught dead wearing that kind of getup in front of anyone. However, I thought I looked deliciously thick and absolutely, downright-fuckable that night. Of course I’d been aware of this, as well. And so I used my innate feminine sexuality to my advantage. As soon as I opened the door, Harry’s eyes (unsurprisingly) flickered back and forth between my chest and my face. How classy… I took the liberty of folding my arms together in front of me to feign some modesty.

Looking back on it now, I definitely watched a similar scene in porn...

He just stood there at my door, all of a sudden at a loss for words. I wish that silence would have lasted longer. It took only a few seconds before he was flashing me his signature dimpled smirk again. He then mirrored my body language and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He teased, plucking at the hem of the shirt sleeve that hung loosely past my shoulder.

My back straightened up, an attempt at asserting a smidge of self-confidence amidst my pink cheeks and pounding pulse.

“What do you want, Harry?” I tried to act annoyed, but I think I sounded too timid…and to be honest, the idea of Harry filling me up with his cum had caused my panties to dampen significantly. They were surely leaking through my shorts, but fortunately my thighs were meaty enough to hide it.

“Hmm…No bra? Tha’s interesting…” I could tell he lowered his canter when he said that, but I still heard him.

“Gross, you pervert.” I spat, squeezing my arms closer against my chest.

“Ay, hold on, little miss sunshine. What’s with the bratty attitude, huh?”

“Shut up, mister big loads. Go impregnate a sock.” My expressive irritability only further inflated his ego.

“Hmm, I’ve gotta say, tha’s tempting, but…I wouldn’t wanna make you jealous.” I wanted to scream.

“Ugh! Get out of my room!” I pushed at the door, but Harry held it open with his hand—and there was no way I could win against him in that impossible match of strength.

“First of all, I’m not in your room.”

I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing.

“Second,” he held his finger up. “Would you like f’me to order us some dinner?”

I huffed. “What I’d like is for you to leave.”

He shook his head and tsk’d in response. “Mm-mm, tha’s not what I asked.”

My teeth clenched at his audacious snark.

“I don’t care, Harry.”

His rings then tapped awkwardly against the smooth wood.

“Ah…” he sighed with his head bowed. “…Look, I’m sorry. I was just tryin’ to mess with you...I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed…”

Even though I couldn’t stand him, I’d begun to feel my heart soften at his puppy-eyed expression. Why did he have to be so irritating and so adorable at the same time?! Just choose one!

Hmph…whatever.

“…Well, I know you’re hungry…I’ll pay…?”

I sighed and chewed at my lip. I was starving…

His boyish apology was reluctantly accepted, but I made a point out of picking something expensive. He could afford it.

We ate and watched a movie on the couch together. To my surprise, there were no more stupid comments coming out of his mouth for the rest of the evening. Impressive. I noticed his eyes turned basically black. It wasnt like we had all the lights off; plus, it was August—the sun didn’t set completely until 9pm. I felt those pupils following me.

It was apparent that Harry found me attractive. That night he certainly did. Or maybe he was just high? Either way, after he’d pointed out my lack of undergarments, I decided to brush him off as simply horny. At least that was the best explanation I could come up with for all the sneaky eye-fucking. There was no way I could’ve convinced myself he was actually giving me that kind of attention consciously…

After we’d finished eating, he went out of his way to fetch me a blanket(our good one, no less) and then proceeded to drape it around my back and shoulders, tucking me in as if he’d done it a million times before. Look who’s the doting one now, Styles!

I also remember how he basically bolted for the bathroom and took a shower as the film wrapped up with the end credits…Ok, ok…so, I may have purposefully bent over in those shorts while cleaning up the coffee table…but surely he just had a long day and was desperate for a hot shower…Surely.]

It’s safe to say that I toned down the ‘domestic’ part of me from that point on. Even though Harry just likes to get my goat, I still wanted to make it more difficult for him to have a reason to tease me. The night when our door to the garage swung open, his voice echoed through the house with such vigor that it sent yucky chills down my spine. Oh, the irony...

“Well, shit—Mitch wasn’t kiddin’ ‘bout y’laugh being loud as’ell! ‘Could hear ya from the driveway!”

This man survived off of my agitation, I swear. I shifted in my seat to face him and my eyes narrowed at the sight of his stupid, cocky face. I’ve always felt embarrassed about my somewhat-loud, slightly obnoxious laugh—and the thought that it’s been a main point of discussion between Harry and Mitch (and who knows who else) stung even worse.

It’s fine. Don’t listen to him. Don’t react. Just…breathe…

“Hi, Harry.” My intonation was as unimpressed as I could make it sound. He of course snorted at my brattiness, slipping his shoes off and tossing his wallet and keys onto the kitchen counter before taking long-legged strides in my direction.

“Good evening, doll.”

I huffed and waved my hand half-assedly. Something that drove me mad was how he was fiercely antagonistic towards me, and he insisted upon giving me little pet names. I knew he was just teasing me. That’s why I made sure to always swallow my bashful giggles whenever he said them. My subby-ness was not to be easily accessible anymore.

“So, what’s this, hm? Grown tired of hiding from me all the time?” He casually gestured to me with his flat, open palm.

I exhaled through my nose in aggravation as he plopped abruptly down onto the couch—his arm propped up next to him and one leg resting on the opposite knee. His draping arm was stretched out towards me. I refused to take part in Harry’s game at that time, and so I returned his question with silence. But it didn’t even matter because he could tell I was holding my anger in.

“Oh, I get it. It’s some sort of opposite day or summat.”

He stretched his fingers closer to where my head was resting on the back of the couch. They wrapped themselves around a smooth lock of my hair and twirled it continuously. This man thought it was absolutely hilarious to get even the faintest reaction out of me. Harry was generally the ‘touchy’ type of person when he’s around those he’s comfortable with. It made me feel special whenever he went out of his way to be affectionate towards me because…well, I had a crush on him for a while. And so, at first, I naively understood those soft touches as hints for his deeper feelings. At least that’s how I perceived things privately. But the more time I’d spent living with him, the more I had to come to terms with the fact that he was out of my league, and that he probably only viewed me as a little sister. My mind convinced me that Harry just enjoyed taking advantage of my innate submissiveness. He would never be attracted to someone like me. In order to protect my heart from the shattering effects of rejection, I chose to play into the little sister dynamic and behave as though Harry Styles was just a stupid fucking boy, and nothing more.

My behavior shift from the bashful sweetheart to the indifferent recluse somehow drew him closer to me anyway. I was so fucking pissed. I was sick of his games! Most of all, I hated Harry Styles. I hated him, and I hated his wandering hands, and his cockiness, and his giant ego.

My hair is not a toy, and I am not a doll reserved for Harry’s cruel amusement. And yet I kept living with all these antics because I…

…Because I liked his attention…honestly, I loved his attention. I’ll admit it! There was no way he could ever find that out, though!

That night when he (once again) twisted a piece of my hair around his long fingers, I pretended it didn’t make my heart flutter. My face stayed emotionless. It had truly been an award-winning performance by yours truly. To an outsider, this scene would’ve looked as if Harry and I were a bickering couple. They’d probably assume I was just a crabby girlfriend punishing her partner with the silent treatment. To be honest, that’s what it felt like for a second before I caught myself leaning into his gentle contact. I smacked his hand away from my hair and he just smiled at me.

Ugh!

He smiled at me, and then he poked my cheek with his index finger. I swear to God, my skin was on fire.

“So what’s next on the opposite day schedule? ‘You gonna go for a run?” Harry snickered and let out an amused sigh. “That would be the shock of the century, wouldn’t it?!”

He kept laughing at his juvenile dig. I let out a weak scoff, unable to swallow my pride that time. The air in the room was stale. Harry faced the television screen and sunk further back into the cushions. I sat there in mopey silence.

So I live a sedentary lifestyle, so what? And yes, I’m overweight—I’ve been struggling with my body my entire life, so there’s no need for anyone to give me a reminder. Regardless of the obvious and regardless of Harry’s ‘opposite day’ joke, I wasn’t in the right mindset to just brush it off…not that night. Starting a fight wasn’t the route I wanted to take either. I was exhausted. A retreat into solitude felt like my best option.

But, God…why did he have to fucking say that?

My bottom lip quivered and I was unable to blink back the tears for a moment longer. Every last ounce of patience I had left was dried up at this point. My long hair shielded my face whilst I bowed and dabbed my dripping eyelashes with my sleeves. Noticing the lack of verbal retort from me, Harry turned his head back in my direction. His breath hitched in his throat and his sage irises washed over to stormy blue.

“Oh, shit…” he muttered.

I sniffled and got up from the couch, making a beeline for the privacy of my bedroom. He never meant to make me cry. It was obvious Harry was just poking fun at me, but words can still hurt regardless of the speaker’s intent. It was too late for him to consider that now. Harry quickly jumped in front of me. He leapt into action so fast that I was physically startled back against my bare heels.

“What the fuck, Harry? Move!” I whined frustratedly at the man as he stood there with similarly glossy eyes.

Then he reached out and held my shoulders in his strong hands. His thumbs did that rubbing thing that most people only do when comforting their loved ones. Back then, I wished so badly that the simple gesture hadn’t sent such soothing goosebumps down my arms. It was so infuriating how this man held that kind of power over me.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, love. Please don’t cry. I—”

I gritted my teeth at his pity.

“—why? Are my big, fat tears too loud?! Or are you worried I’m so huge that I’ll get stuck, and my arms and legs will burst out of the fucking house?!”

Harry’s brows furrowed at my imagery. “Uh, wait—are you trying to reference…Alice in Wonderland—”

“—ALSO! Last time I checked, YOU were the one who ate all the cookies last night—YOU and your RABBIT TEETH fucking decimated my Oreos! So why don’t you go for a fucking run!”

Harry seemed amused with that one. His stupid dimples popped out at me and I was fed up.

“Get out of my way!”

I pushed against his chest, but he stood firmly on the carpet in front of the stairs. I remember fighting my urge to stomp my feet like a toddler. He wasn’t letting me retreat. He wouldn’t get out of my fucking FACE!

“I know you want to yell at me, so do it.”

“No, I don’t want to yell at you! I want you to move so I can go to my room!”

“Cmon, love. Talk to me…Give me all y’got. I know you have it in ya.”

“MOVE!”

Then he laughed. Why? Because I actually stomped my fucking foot—just like how I’d previously forbade myself to. And I’m sure the performance was quite entertaining for him.

“Don’t you throw a tantrum on me, sweet girl. Use your words!”

“You’re such a fucking smartass.”

“Oi, don’t talk about my ass like that! I’ll have you know, it’s quite dumb!” He grinned.

Un-fucking-believable. I can’t believe that got me to crack a smile. Harry instantly mirrored my surrendering, his hands drifting down from my shoulders to my elbows. My arms were crossed over my chest, but he wiggled them loose.

“YES! There’s that pretty smile…”

I huffed and groaned, feeling like a total child.

“…Don’t you be teasing me for my teeth—Y’look like a bunny just like me, babe.”

I giggled and playfully shoved his chest. “I do not!”

“Uh-huh! You definitely do!”

My hand rose up to cover my mouth and Harry just laughed at me. Lowering himself closer to my height, he *booped* my nose which caused me to scrunch it up in response.

“Aww, you are just a lil’ bunny, aren’t you?”

I squirmed and whined, annoyed as all hell with his patronizing.

“Don’t you start stomping your feet again, sweet Bunny. You’re better than that!”

I couldn’t help myself from just letting my guard all the way down at that moment. Inhaling deeply, I circled my arms around Harry’s middle and buried my face against his chest.

“Sorry…I just want us to get along, H.” My small voice was muffled against his shirt.

Harry frowned and wrapped his arms around me, reciprocating my surrendering embrace. My ear was pressed against his chest. There was a strong beat beyond his hard surface–my head pulsed with each fierce thump. That was the closest we’d ever been to each other. One of his hands slid up to my hair and combed through it.

“I do, too…I’m sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sharing a house was less expensive for both of us 20-somethings, and rent has thankfully stayed reasonable and affordable since we two moved in a couple of years ago. I’m happy in my living space with my roommate. It’s a platonic situation between me and Harry—regardless of what family and friends want to believe. And I doubt it will ever venture beyond friendship any time soon. It can’t. Things are perfect right now…exactly the way they are. I keep my little fantasies to myself within the privacy of my bedroom. Harry can never know.

I’ve been single for a while. It’s possible that my holes are the tightest they’ve ever been, and that it might feel like I’m losing my virginity again whenever I do get some dick. So what, sometimes I think about what would happen if I just accidentally sent a racy photo to Harry…

…Whether he’d keep it and pretend he never saw it (as a way to be gentlemanly)…if he’d be disgusted and laugh at my body…or if he’d turn feral like I hope he would, bursting through my bedroom door and finally taking all that I’ve unconsciously reserved for him…

Don’t fret, my pet — smut will come in part 2 😈

Writer’s Notes: Hi, everyone🥰 Phew…well, there she is! Part 1! Thought I’d celebrate my birthday today by posting my first H piece💕 I’ll start off by saying…I’m kind of an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to my writing…so I won’t be super speedy when posting updates on my work, as I really want to be certain that I’m posting exactly what I want you to read. I know that other content creators on here are excellent at keeping a quick, reliable posting schedule—and I will be trying my best to do the same(I hope to make it in the same ballpark as them, at least). However, please be patient with me💕🙏🏻 💕 I have devoted a lot of time, love, and creativity into my work just so that I can share it online with strangers for free. I greatly appreciate any and all support, suggestions, criticism, questions, etc., so please don’t hesitate to comment or send me messages/asks. (Anons are welcome!) I’ve been working on this piece for a while now and I’d really like to get your feedback on it. If you would like to be tagged in future updates/parts, please let me know!!!👏🏻💗👏🏻🩷👏🏻💖 👏🏻

xoxo ~ Regan 😘💕

@victoria-styles @harrystylessmuttyfics @therealhousewifeofharrystyles

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stolenslumber · 1 year

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devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes (pjs)

Jay needs someone to pretend to be his girlfriend, and you’re just the person for the job— seriously, you’re almost a professional at this point, regularly charming the families of your idiot twin’s friends who need your help getting their parents off their back. Of course, leave it up to Jay to blur the lines of your fake relationship so smoothly that you catch real feelings; falling in love has never been this easy.

PAIRING: park jongseong x female reader GENRE: acquaintances to partners in crime to fake dating to lovers i guess? lol, college au, vaguely greek life au, vaguely rich kid au, fluff fluff fluff, jake is the mc’s twin bc i thought it would be funny WARNINGS: swearing, kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes WORD COUNT: 14.4k A/N: ik the ages don't line up here shhhh just ignore that okay

NOW AVAILABLE: hang your head low in the glow (companion fic/follow-up)

“WHY DO YOU LOOK SO NICE?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You scoff, tossing the apple you were just about to eat at Jake’s head. Annoyingly, he catches it in mid-air, then makes a show out of polishing it with his shirt and taking a big bite out of it. “Hey, I was going to eat that, asshole.”

“Shouldn’t have thrown it at me, then.”

You roll your eyes at your twin, then go to retrieve another apple from the fruit bowl. It’s surprisingly well-stocked, given that you’re in a frat’s kitchen. Honestly, it’s surprising that there even is a fruit bowl in a frat’s kitchen, but the president of this frat runs a tight ship.

Said president appears in the doorway just then, snatching the apple from your hands as well as the one from Jake’s hands. “Guys, seriously, you have to wash these before you eat them.”

You and Jake both whine simultaneously. “Chan!”

“I already took a bite out of that, bro,” Jake complains.

“I’m starving; please have mercy,” you beg.

Chan whips his head around from where he’d begun washing the apples in the sink to fuss at you. “What? Why haven’t you eaten yet? It’s almost 9pm!”

“Which reminds me— why do you look so nice?” Jake repeats.

“I had a thing with Mark,” you sigh.

“You can just say you were pretending to be his girlfriend; we all know what you mean,” Jake snorts.

“I had a thing with Mark,” you repeat, resisting the urge to throw another apple at Jake’s head. “It was at this ballroom downtown, and of course he had nothing to wear, so I had to take him shopping first, which made us late, and then his parents wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about how I need to convince him to give up the music major, so I couldn’t touch any of the food there. Not even the foie gras torchon,” you recall mournfully. “We just got back, like, five minutes ago.”

Chan hums sympathetically— he knows how much you love foie gras torchon. “You can probably ask for an endless supply in return for your appearance at today’s thing,” he suggests, only half-joking. It absolutely sounds like the kind of thing Mark Lee would agree to, what with his ridiculously large inheritance and hapless generosity (last month, Mark lost thousands of dollars in some animal shelter-related pyramid scheme, marketed to him by none other than Lee Haechan).

You wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m keeping Mark’s favor for something else.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “What else?”

“Whatever it turns out I need in the future, dumbass. What’s it to you, anyways?”

“Just wanna make sure the poor guy doesn’t end up trapped in your snares forever, little sis. Yo, can I have that apple back?” Jake turns to Chan with characteristic puppy eyes.

“You’re only older than me by eight minutes,” you grumble, the age-old retort slipping out of you before you can help it.

“No, Jaeyun, you cannot. And don’t talk to your sister like that— oh my god, why do I sound like Taeyong,” Chan mutters, thinking about his predecessor frat-president-slash-mother-hen.

“Jeez, government name and everything.” Jake holds his hands up, relinquishing his claim to the apple.

“In fact, your sister gets to have both of these apples, after I clean and cut them up, because she is a saint for continuing to save our asses from our parents like this,” Chan lectures, unceremoniously carving out the chunk of the apple with Jake’s bite marks and tossing it into the trash bin.

“Real ones get it!” You reach out and high-five Chan.

“That is so unfair, c’mon, man!” Jake splutters. “She gets just as much out of these fake relationships— seriously, didn’t you drive her around everywhere for, like, a month after she went to that wedding with you?”

Both you and Chan shudder at the memory. “Ugh, my worst cousin and the worst guy he was ever with. They’re still married, by the way.” Chan shakes his head. “God knows why.”

“Love conquers all…?” Jake offers.

“What the hell are you talking about love for,” a new voice grumbles. Park Jongseong strolls in through the doorway, hands full with plastic bags promising wonderful things based on how your stomach reacts to the smell.

“Oh, hell yeah, chicken!” Jake cheers. “Took you long enough, bro.”

“Traffic was hell; something about a ball downtown, and— oh. Hey.” Jay stops abruptly at the sight of you, now munching on the apple slices Chan hands you, one by one.

You wave vaguely in his direction, too busy eating to respond. Jay is one of your brother’s friends who you don’t know that well, since you’ve never pretended to be his girlfriend. It’s strange that you two don’t know each other better, actually— as the social chairs of your sorority and his fraternity, respectively, you would usually have a lot to work on together. But this year has been particularly busy for you, what with your senior thesis and your various things with Jake’s frat brothers, and you had delegated most of your social chair responsibilities to your co-chair, Yunjin, who was far better suited to the social part of the job, anyways. You suspected Jay had done the same thing, since the two of you only ever texted to confirm budgets for any joint events.

“You need to have more than one-and-three-quarters of an apple for dinner,” Chan scolds you, parental instincts back in full force.

You shrug, about to turn around and rifle through the cabinets to see if you can find some peanut butter to add to your apple slices when a takeout container appears in front of you. Tired and still starving, you react rather slowly, your eyes tracing up the hand on the container to the veins of an arm belonging to none other than Jay.

“You look hungry,” is all he says, before popping the container open for you and rearranging the rest of the plastic bags on the counter. “Jake, tell the others to come down for food.”

The others means that soon, there will be an influx of hungry frat brothers in the kitchen, and you have no desire to be anywhere near that, so you mumble a quick thank you to Jay, plop the rest of the apple slices into the takeout container (against Chan’s complaints about the contamination), and move to leave the kitchen, eager to be on your way to your sorority house.

The last thing you overhear before you leave is Jay asking, “Why did your sister look so nice?”, and Jake and Chan responding in unison, “She had a thing.”

A few days later, when they’re doing work in the library, Jay asks Jake, “So how long have Mark and your sister been seeing each other?”

Jake’s pencil jerks across his graph paper, a jagged line appearing on the page at the same time that he swears. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Jay echoes flatly. “Didn’t you say she had a thing with Mark?”

Jake blinks. “Well, sure, in the same way that she’s had a thing with Chan, and Yeonjun, and Vernon, and all the others.”

Jay gapes at him. “Your sister dated all of them? And all the others?”

“What, no, she didn’t date them, she fake-dated them! Just a couple of times, mainly showing up to things with their families so their parents would leave them alone about finding a partner and all that. You know how the parents are.” Jake gestures vaguely, referring to the oddities of the world of wealth they were born into.

Jay nods slowly, understanding dawning upon him. Does he know how the parents are? Oh, does he ever. He has always had a good relationship with his own, but they had been more pushy on the whole love thing as of late, with the not-at-all subtle questions his mother asks about any special someones in his life and the unfunny jokes his dad cracks about how he’s still spry enough to help raise grandchildren. Especially unfunny, given the health scare his dad had given them all in the last year.

Jake’s voice brings him out of his veering-towards-morbid thoughts. “But seriously, bro, how is this news to you? My sister’s been doing this… Cinderella-genie thing for two years now.”

Jay’s eyebrows furrow. “Cinderella-genie thing?”

“Yeah, I mean, she transforms our frat brothers into respectable young men with a respectable relationship, but only for three occasions, and she gets the same number of favors back.” Jake wrinkles his nose. “It sounds weird when I say it like that, and don’t get me wrong, I love to give her shit for it, but it’s all above-board stuff. Sunghoon bought her bubble tea for like, three months. Oh, and no one’s allowed to catch feelings, so everything ends clean and neat.”

“She fake-dated Sunghoon?”

At the mention of his name, Sunghoon pops one side of his headphones off. “What’s up?”

“You fake-dated Jake’s sister!?”

Sunghoon shushes him before responding. “Yeah, don’t you remember? It was a couple of months ago.”

Jay’s ears flush, both at how loud he had unconsciously gotten, and at the reminder that he really has been out of it for a while now. It’s not like he’s been living under a rock, but he has definitely been spending a lot more time with his parents and away from his friends ever since his dad’s health scare.

“She was great, though,” Sunghoon continues. “My mom still thinks I made the biggest mistake of my life ‘letting her go.’ But she’s also been leaving me alone about ‘finding love’ because she thinks I’m heartbroken, so yeah, Jake’s sister works wonders.”

Jake smirks. “Sim genes, man. Elite stuff.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “You wish. Didn’t I hear your mom yelling at you on the phone the other day for not having settled down yet?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Does she not realize what decade this is, I mean, we’re still in college—”

Jay interrupts what looks to be the beginning of a long rant from Jake, cutting him off with, “So where can I sign up?”

Jake stares blankly at him. “Sign up for what?”

“The Cinderella-genie thing.”

Sunghoon scrunches his face awkwardly. “Uh, she kind of has a waitlist, buddy.”

Jay waits for him to laugh and say he’s just kidding, but he doesn’t. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t do the fake-dating thing for multiple people at the same time, and she’s pretty busy with all her shit, so I’m not sure how long of a queue you have ahead of you…”

“Okay, but Jake could get me ahead, right? Cut the line, or something? C’mon dude, I’m your best friend.” Jay is suddenly desperate, remembering the conversation he’d had with his mom on the phone last night, where she had dreamily recalled meeting his dad in college and delicately reminded Jay that he could have a plus-one to the Parks’ upcoming 50th wedding anniversary celebration.

Jake eyes his friend warily. “I dunno, she really doesn’t like stuff like that. Unfair advantages, I mean.”

“My parents aren’t getting any younger, Jake, and you know, with my dad last year and everything…” Jay does his best approximation of batting his eyelashes at Jake.

“Are you guilt-tripping me?”

“A little?” Jay’s smile turns a little maniacal. “For real, my parents have their 50th wedding anniversary coming up, and it would be the perfect event to bring her to so I can reassure them that things are going well in my love life.”

“Are things going anywhere in your love life?” Sunghoon’s tone is skeptical, and reasonably so.

Jay has been distant lately because of his family, but even before that, he had always been known as somewhat aloof and unattainable. Devastatingly handsome, yes, with killer grades and fierce ambition, and a business empire to inherit to boot, but he is also his parents’ one and only miracle child, born after years of trying and almost giving up. Jay’s parents are older than all of his friends’ parents, and their family business has always been that— a family business. Jay has two years after graduation to learn the ropes in the business, and then he’ll be due for an MBA, and then a return to helm the business, but this timeline has recently felt more urgent than ever with his parents’ flagging health. They would never say it, but he knows the only reason they haven’t retired yet is because they don’t want to hand over control of the business to anyone but him. Jay has worked his ass off in college, trying to get there as fast as he can, as well as he can. But his parents also want him to enjoy college and find true love, and while he’s been doing pretty well with the former, the latter has been on the backburner for, well, forever. Who has time for true love, in between classes, fraternity duties, the various shenanigans his friends get up to, internships, networking, TA-ing, volunteering, being on the executive board of two clubs, and eating, sleeping, dreaming, and thinking?

So. No. Things are not going anywhere in his love life, and he confirms just as much to Sunghoon with a grunt, to which Sunghoon wheezes out his amusement.

Jake eyes Jay with pity, now. “Alright, that guilt trip was successful, but more so because you just admitted to being bitchless for so long. I’ll put in a good word to my sister for you.”

Jay perks up instantly. There is light and beauty in this world after all! “Awesome, thank you bro, you won’t regret this, I promise!”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but those are famous last words, Park.” Jake raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you can handle my sister?”

“Why not? She seems… nice.” Jay is slightly evasive in his answer, and truthfully, it’s because he isn’t really sure what you’re like. All your interactions to date have been cordial, almost business-like, and you and Jake are fraternal twins, so it’s not even like he’s really familiar with what you look like. He is, however, sure that you look beautiful in a ballgown, even if he only saw you in one in his frat’s kitchen.

Jake chortles outright. “No, my sister is not nice. Yeah, I’m definitely going to convince her to help you, just because I think it’ll be hysterical watching her turn you inside out. Good luck, my brother in Christ, because you’ll need it!”

you: hey jake told me abt ur predicament

jay: … good morning, how are you? i’m pretty good myself

you: ???

jay: just being polite. and it’s not a predicament i’m just… interested in your services

you: good for you? anyways i’m super busy right now and don’t really have time to be taking on anything else so i’m just letting you know that i can’t help you out. good luck though

jay: how about coffee?

you: what?

jay: do you want coffee?

you: like right now?

jay: yeah i’m on your porch

You almost throw your phone to the other side of the room. True, Jay’s fraternity house is across the street from your sorority house, but it still feels absurd to think that he’s right there, less than twenty feet below your room. Is he stalking you?

Accordingly, that’s the first thing you ask him when you throw the door open to him. “Are you stalking me?”

He scoffs. “As if. I asked Jake to ask Yunjin for your location.”

“That’s not not stalking.”

Jay shrugs, though he has the decency to look a little embarrassed as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever. I just walked across the street; that’s all. So, coffee?”

You stare at him for a few moments, weighing your options. Truthfully, you were about to leave to get coffee before your first class, anyways, but you’re not sure how long you want to entertain Jay. You decide to split the difference. “I’m on my way to Nat’s, so you can tag along. But I’m just grabbing a coffee to go, and then I have class.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Gimme a second; I’ll grab my stuff.” For some reason, your heart is beating a little faster than usual when you reach your room. You’d like to blame it on the stairs you just climbed, but something about Jay coming to find you at your front door feels old-fashioned and sweet, though your rational mind reminds you that he literally just walked a couple hundred feet. He even said so, himself.

But when you come back down to see him leaning against the doorway with his hands still in his pockets, looking out into the street, you suddenly remember that Jay is, like, really good-looking. Despite yourself, you find yourself admiring the cut of his jaw and how nice his hair is styled. It’s not like you don’t know plenty of attractive guys— hell, the guys you usually fake-date are all objectively hot. It’s just inconvenient that you now recall how Jay has always seemed to be the most mature out of Jake’s friends, even from what little you know of him. Unhelpfully, your brain also conjures up the image of him sliding a takeout container to you last week, and the way your eyes had lingered on the veins of his arm.

God. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten laid.

Jay’s voice breaks you out of your bizarre trance. “Ready, Cinderella?”

“Excuse me?”

“Jake told me about your whole Cinderella-genie thing. It would be weird to call you ‘genie’, so…” Jay trails off, scratching the back of his head and looking actually embarrassed now.

You can’t help but laugh. “Right, because Cinderella is totally less weird. Alright, big guy, let’s go.”

The walk to Nat’s, your favorite local coffee shop, takes about 15 minutes— 10, if you’re walking fast, which you usually are. Jay’s legs are uselessly long, but he seems determined to walk as slowly as possible, while also staying silent the whole time. Finally, you reach the end of your patience and step out right in front of him, intending to ask him what the hell he’s doing. Unfortunately, you find that you misjudged the distance, and he almost collides right into you.

“Whoa,” he mutters, reaching out to grab your arms to steady the both of you.

“Sorry,” you huff, embarrassed at yourself. A lot of that going around today. “I just… what’s your deal? I already told you I can’t help you, and then you show up at my door and ask me to get coffee, but you don’t say a single word. What do you want from me?”

Instead of answering your question, he asks, “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The Cinderella-genie thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Jake has got to stop calling it that. It’s a long story, honestly.” Sighing, you reach into your backpack to pull out your planner. “Alright, we’re already past the amount of time I scheduled to get my coffee and get ahead on some readings before class, so I guess we can sit down inside.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You have time for me now? Also, that’s the most insane planner I’ve ever seen.”

You gesture around you. You had stopped Jay almost at the door of Nat’s, and you’re clogging up the sidewalk. “We should at least get out of the way of these people. And yeah, I’m sure it is.” You are a live-and-die-by-your-planner kind of person. Everything is in there— social events, studying time, your various things with Jay’s frat brothers, even things like eating and showering and sleeping. It seems psychotic, sure, but you’re a busy person, and there’s no way you’d be able to handle everything without the strict schedule you set for yourself.

When you walk up to the counter inside Nat’s, your favorite barista— a cute high school kid named Riki— is manning the register. You smile warmly at him. “Hey, Riki. The usual, please.”

You expect Riki to tease you about your usual, which contains an admittedly concerning amount of caffeine, but instead he calls out, “Jay! What’s up, my man!”

From behind you, Jay reaches out and fist-bumps Riki. “Hey, long time no see, buddy. How’s history going?”

Riki groans theatrically. “Horribly, ever since you stopped tutoring me.”

Jay frowns. “Wait, really? What are you having trouble with? I know I’m kind of swamped right now but we can always find some time and—”

Riki bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Jeez, you should’ve seen your face. Relax, I got a 94 on my last paper!”

“Oh, very funny, you menace!” Jay punches Riki’s shoulder, but his expression eases up. You wonder at the fondness that twinkles in his eyes.

Riki laughs some more, then he turns to you. “Noona, one cup of liquid death coming up! Hyung, what about you?”

“London fog, please. And seriously, text me if you’re having trouble, okay?”

Riki waves the both of you off, telling you that he’ll bring your drinks over to you.

You make a beeline for your favorite spot, right by the large window that overlooks the sidewalk. Jay surprises you for the umpteenth time that morning by easily striding ahead and pulling your chair out for you, then coughing and turning red when you give him a weird look.

“Sorry, I, uh, yeah. Instinct,” he explains, which is really no explanation at all.

“Are you courting me or something?” You try to keep your tone light and joking, but confusion inevitably slips in. Nothing Jay has done today has made sense.

He seems to have regained his composure when he sits down, because he hits you with, “I guess you could say that. It’s just something I think I’d do for my girlfriend.”

You stare at him blankly. “Thanks for telling me…?”

“I mean, if you’re going to fake-date me, you can probably expect me to do stuff like that, right?”

You groan. “I’m not going to fake-date you, Jay, how many times do I have to say it? I—”

“— don’t have time, I know. But what if I could make it worth your while?”

“Jay, you know I’m Jake’s sister, right? We have money. Besides, I’m helping Mark right now, and I don’t do this for multiple people at the same time.”

“Oh yeah, Jake told me about that rule. What if I could take care of that for you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll help Mark find a real girlfriend, and then you can help me, instead.”

“If it were that easy, don’t you think Mark would have done it himself?”

Jay waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, please, Mark’s been crushing on the girl in his music class for ages. He gets too into his head about asking her out, so he chickens out every time. They’re partners on a project right now, though, so I’ll just give him a push in the right direction.”

You have to admit that you’re intrigued by his proposition. Everything Jay just said lines up with what you know about Mark, especially the chickening out part. You’d like to see Jay try, and you figure it can’t hurt either way, so you nod. “Okay, fine. If you can help Mark, I’ll help you. But seriously, what’s your deal? Why do you want my help so badly?”

Jay blinks, then he leans back into his chair. “Oh. Honestly, I haven’t 100% decided that I do, yet.”

“But you’re willing to agree to help Mark Lee with a girl in order to secure my help?” You shake your head. “You’re really strange, Park.”

“I get overly invested in challenges really easily,” Jay confesses, showing you an unexpectedly bashful smile. “So I got a little caught up just now in the idea that I could change your mind about helping me. But now that you’ve brought it up, I’ll still help Mark, no matter what. I’m sick of him writing lovesick songs about that girl, anyways.”

“Large iced Americano, no water, four shots of espresso. And a London Fog,” Riki announces. He sets the drinks down on your table right as the bell above the shop’s door chimes and lets in the pre-9am work crowd. He groans and bids you both a hasty goodbye.

Jay eyes your coffee with disgust. “Liquid death, huh? That’s disturbing.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You tilt the cup in his direction, laughing when he shudders.

“Absolutely not. I can’t believe you order that enough that Riki knows it’s your usual.”

“I usually see him in the afternoons when I order this, actually, so I’m sure he’s going to give me an earful about getting one in the mornings, too. Speaking of— doesn’t he have school?” You whip around in your seat to stare at Riki.

“He has two free periods on Mondays this year, so I guess he picked up an extra shift. He’s a hard working kid,” Jay says.

You turn back around to see him with that same fondness in his eyes. “How do you know him, by the way?”

“Ah, he’s my little’s friend from high school. My little is Jungwon— cat-looking dude?”

You let out a squeal. “Oh my gosh, he’s the cutest!”

Jay crosses his arms and grins, looking amused. “Yeah, he is pretty cute. Anyways, Jungwon mentioned his friend was having trouble with his history class last year, so I started tutoring him a bit, just casually, since I’m studying history.”

“Not economics?” You’ve heard about Jay’s family’s notoriously tightly-controlled company. Everything is within the family, so you’re surprised that he isn’t getting ready to take over.

“Both. I can have two majors, you know. What’s yours?”

“Linguistic anthropology. And studio art. I can have two majors, you know.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I know that was pretentious. What’s linguistic anthropology?”

You clear your throat, not expecting to talk about your hopes and dreams so early in the morning, and with someone who’s only a few steps away from being a stranger. “Languages, and the social and cultural foundations of them. Basically. I want to do linguistic archaeology in grad school, and this is the closest thing you can get in undergrad.”

Jay leans forward and nods enthusiastically. “That sounds really cool. What kind of art are you doing?”

“Oil paints, mostly, and some charcoal drawing…”

Like that, an hour flies by. You don’t even notice the blocks in your calendar getting overwritten by what is essentially a coffee date with Jay until you get the reminder that you have class in thirty minutes.

“Shit, I gotta go soon.” You say it with some regret; surprisingly, you’re really enjoying yourself with Jay. He’s smart, and funny, and a little awkward in a way that makes you think he’s the most sincere person you’ve ever met. And he has interesting thoughts and opinions on history, some of which you even make a mental note to follow up on later for your thesis.

“Before you go, will you tell me why you do the fake-dating thing?” Jay puts his head in both his hands and smiles at you, and…

“Are you batting your eyelashes at me?”

Jay squints at you. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Not really,” you lie, like a liar.

“Didn’t work on Jake, either. Man, I gotta work on it.” Jay gives up the act and relaxes back into his chair. “Will you tell me, though?”

“Sure, it’s not like it’s a big secret or anything. It’s not even that long of a story, now that I think about it. Not something worth trying to seduce me over, but I like your hustle,” you joke.

“So it was working!”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Okay, so it started with Chan. He just didn’t want to go to his horrible cousin’s horrible wedding, but his sister had been arguing with the cousin about Chan and was, like, defending his honor or something? And one thing spiraled into another and all of a sudden Chan needed to show up to the wedding with an impressive partner to prove to his cousin that he could pull.” You make a face. “Boys. I’d actually met this particular cousin before, through some convoluted situation at one of those holiday parties that our families throw, and I knew he was insufferable, so I was willing to help out. Other guys in the frat heard about it, and you know, it’s surprising but not shocking that your frat has a lot of guys with some sort of weird baggage that prevents them from actually seriously dating someone. It’s weirder that a significant number of them also find themselves in situations where they need to pretend to have a girlfriend, but as it turns out, I’m really good at it— being a fake girlfriend, I guess. I haven’t had much time to date myself, so it’s kind of nice hearing how much everyone’s families liked me as their potential daughter-in-law. Plus, I always get favors in return, so it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s like the fun part of dating, without the actual time commitment.”

Jay looks skeptical. “Going to family events and schmoozing with distant relatives is the fun part of dating?”

You scoff. “Whatever. You’re the one who asked why I did it, and I told you. It doesn’t have to make sense to you.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not judging, I swear. I just think that there’s probably better parts to dating, but who am I to talk,” he mutters.

“Ah, yes, Jake mentioned that, too. Bitchless all these years?”

Jay deadpans at you. “I know you aren’t making fun of me for that when you basically just told me that you fake-dated all these guys because you have a raging praise kink specifically for people’s families.”

“Oh, fuck off.” But you’re laughing, almost— giggling? Ugh. Maybe you do need to back off on the caffeine. “Alright, I have to go now, for real. Text me when Mark is good, and then we can talk about our two fake dates.”

“Isn’t three the max?”

“I was serious about not having time, Jay. I have a thesis for linguistics, and a portfolio to put together for art. Mark was going to be my last… thing this year. I went to one event with him, so if you can get things squared away with him, you can have his other two.”

“Okay, fine. Pleasure doing business with you.” Jay salutes you with two fingers.

“You haven’t even succeeded with Mark yet, and you haven’t heard what favors I want in return, either. Don’t get ahead of yourself, hotshot.”

And then you’re gone, leaving Jay to ruminate on the last hour and a half you spent together.

Jake’s right— you’re not nice, not in the traditional sense of the word. You’re kind of prickly, and you seem to run your life like a drill sergeant, but Jay thinks you must be really kind. Aside from Chan, the others you’ve helped (Mark, Yeonjun, Vernon, Sunghoon, good lord) are all variants of pretty boys who can’t talk to women to save their lives but live and die by the words of their parents, who all hope to see them get married sooner rather than later (Jay elects to ignore how he fits into that mold pretty well, too). No wonder you felt bad for them in their plights and wanted to help them; and Jay really believes that you did it to help them, not because of whatever favors you got in return. Like you said, you have money, so it’s not like you couldn’t buy your own bubble tea or pay for a driver. No, he’s seen your calendar, and it’s crammed with volunteering events in between everything else, and he’s seen the way you fuss over Riki, someone you only see a couple times a week while ordering a coffee. He’s pretty sure you’re just a classic do-gooder, and he doesn’t even need your help that badly, but he does love a challenge. Get Mark Lee together with the girl of his dreams is the first one. The second one is to figure out why he cares about proving himself to you so much— it’s not like he’s swimming in free time either, but somehow you’ve gotten under his skin, and he wants to see where this goes.

(Plus, he thinks you’re really pretty.)

When you enter your studio art workshop class, you find Yunjin immediately and pout at her. “Thanks for revealing my location to Jay, traitor,” you whine.

Yunjin grins. “It’s not like the sorority house is a state secret, babe. And I have zero regrets— he’s hot!”

“So?”

“So, I’m sick of you fake-dating these guys because you love to be the most helpful person in the room, and I want to see you actually date someone!”

You snort. “Joke’s on you, then, because he also wants to fake-date me.”

“Eugh, really? What the hell, I thought he was a good one,” Yunjin groans.

“He is a good one,” you respond instantly. You’re not sure why you’re so defensive about him, but from everything you’ve witnessed today, you know that Park Jongseong is the definition of a good guy.

“Well, maybe this will finally be the one that goes from fake-dating to real dating!” Yunjing wiggles her eyebrows at you. “You already think he’s nice, and you didn’t say he isn’t hot, either.”

“I have a pulse, Yunjin, I can tell that he’s hot.”

Yunjin whistles between her teeth. “Wait ‘til I tell Jake to tell Jay that.”

“Do not— and since when are you and my brother so close, anyways?”

She flashes you a conspiratorial wink. “New boytoy.”

“Ew, seriously? Jake?”

“Hey, it’s not that deep. He gets around, too, doesn’t he? Friends with benefits, no strings attached, etcetera.”

“Famous last words, honey.” You start pulling out your art supplies, chewing on your lip as you consider whether to ask her what you’re dying to know. “... So, what do you know about Jay? And do not tell Jake about any of this, Yunjin, I swear.”

“We’re really not close like that, babe, and I’d never betray your trust for dick.” Yunjin puts her hand over her heart solemnly.

“I want you to know that I’m throwing up in my mouth.”

“Noted.” Yunjin sticks the pencil she was using in her hair, then leans back and hums thoughtfully. “Now, Jay… I know what everyone knows about him, I guess. Good guy, nice family, kind of detached, if I had to say so? Not in a bad way, though. I just mean that he seems to hang out with his friends and that’s pretty much it. He’s involved in a bunch of stuff on campus like you are, but I know he had to pull back recently because one of his parents had a health thing— oh no, I can tell you’re already Cinderella-ing.”

You huff. “Jake is so annoying for that. What do you mean, Cinderella-ing?”

“You feel bad for him and now you want to help him!”

“I already agreed to help him, if he helps Mark Lee get a girlfriend, first.”

“Wow, he must really need your help if he’s willing to do that.”

“Funny, he said he isn’t sure if he needs my help, yet.” You shrug. “He’s confusing.”

“Oooh, but you’re interested, aren’t you?” Yunjin peers closer at you. “Oh my god, you whore! You want him!”

“Yunjin!” You shush her, cognizant of the other students around you. “I’m just curious, okay? I wanna know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Sure, sure. I believe you!” Yunjin insists, looking entirely unbelievable. “That’s not surprising about Jay, though. His family is, like, super family-oriented. Introducing them to a fake girlfriend seems like it wouldn’t go well, so it makes sense that he’s hesitant about it. You should ask him for more details when you guys fuck—”

You cut her off with a hand slapped over her mouth. “I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

Yunjin laughs underneath your hand and flicks you off. “But seriously, the rumor is that he’s never dated anyone in college because his parents had the perfect college romance and want the same thing for him, and he’s always been too busy being the prodigal son and heir apparent for true love to just, like, fall into his lap. Despite the valiant efforts of many girls on campus,” she finishes dryly.

“That’s… a really detailed rumor.”

“Chaewon’s little is obsessed with him, so I’ve heard it a million times.”

You both cringe. Chaewon is far too nice to say it, but her little is stuck in a phase of boy mania so all-consuming it borders on clinical.

“Enough about boys; how’s it going with the portfolio?” Yunjin nudges her chin towards your empty canvas.

You sigh. “Pretty good, except for the human portrait part. It’s really not my thing, but Professor Song was so adamant that I try to include at least two of them by the end of the year. I did one of Jake already, but he doesn’t know, so it’ll be hilarious to see him cry at the senior showcase.”

“Oh, he’s totally going to lose it,” Yunjin agrees. You stay silent on the curious display of knowledge she just exhibited on your brother’s behalf. “Who are you thinking for the other one?”

“Beats me. I’d use my parents, but that feels a little bit too on the nose, especially after the one of Jake. It’d be weird to ask our friends, right?”

“Not really, but your portfolio theme is family, isn’t it? Very sweet of you to think of us as family, but then you’re talking about an entire group of people.”

Instantly, you shudder. “That’s way more than two humans. Love you guys, but no thanks. I’ll figure something else out.”

Yujin smirks at you. “If you and Jay date and fall in love and get married, you’ll be family, and then you could do one of him.”

“That is so not the solution!”

You don’t hear from Jay until a week later, at which point you figure he has given up, so you’re shocked to find him at your door again.

“Morning, Cinderella,” is all he says to you before handing you a cup.

“Good morning,” you return, too dumbfounded to say anything else. “What’s this?”

“Coffee. Large iced Americano, no water, four shots of espresso,” he recites. “I got Riki to text it to me,” he admits quickly.

“I appreciate it, but what’s this for?” You narrow your eyes at him. “You can’t possibly think that one of the favors I’ll ask from you is coffee, right? I’m not that easy, Park.”

Jay looks offended. “Hey, you let Sunghoon buy you bubble tea!”

“Yeah, but he was really pathetic about the whole fake-dating thing.”

“... Fine, I’ll give that to you. That does sound like him. But no, this is because I wanted to ask you something, and I figured I’d take up the time that you usually schedule for getting your coffee.”

“Ooookay. So, what’s up?” You start on the walk to the library, and he’s quick to fall into step beside you.

“I’ve been thinking about how to help Mark with his crush, and I have the perfect idea, but I need your help.”

“You need my help to help Mark so that you can get my help for yourself?” It sounds absurd coming out of your month, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Wow, try saying that ten times fast.”

A surprised laugh erupts from Jay’s chest. “That was corny as hell,” he says, but he’s still laughing, high pitched and delighted. Laughter transforms his whole face, his eyes slipping into crescents and his nose scrunching with the force of his happiness, and you’re left dazed looking at him like that.

“Don’t tell anyone you witnessed that. I know where you live,” you threaten him half-heartedly. It really doesn’t carry much weight when you’re beaming in response to the mirth in his expression.

He stops laughing to grin at you, still bright and lovely. “Yeah, right. Who’s been coming to whose front door?”

“You don’t think I could walk across the street? I’m there all the time, Jay. So many people in that house owe me; it’d be a piece of cake to get your room number.” You say this with a stupid smile still on your face.

“Right, consider me properly frightened.” The wattage of his grin finally turns down a couple of notches, giving you room to breathe properly. “So, about Mark,” he starts.

“Yeah, this just sounds like more work for me,” you respond skeptically.

“Hear me out, okay? Mark has all these love songs written about this girl, and I found out that she always eats lunch at the same table at the same time in the dining hall on Tuesdays, so I figured he could play one of his songs over the dining hall speakers and then confess to her.” Jay makes little jazz hands at the end of his sentence, and it prompts a giggle out of you.

You have to fight your smile down when you speak. “A couple of things. One: that is so incredibly over the top for a confession, but sure, I like your spirit. Two: there’s no way Mark is slick enough to pull this off. Which leads me to three: what do you need from me?”

Jay nods. “Exactly, Mark could never do this on his own, which is why I’ve enlisted a bunch of guys from the frat, and you, of course.”

“Me, of course?”

“Sunoo and Jake are going to sweet-talk the lady at the dining hall who has the keys to the staff office with the dining hall audio hookup and microphone— she loves Sunoo, and Jake will flash her the ol’ puppy dog eyes to keep her sufficiently distracted. Heeseung will walk past and swipe her keys, and Jungwon is going to make sure that Mark’s crush is actually in the dining hall at the right time. Chan is going to apologize on everyone’s behalf if this goes wrong.”

You tut. “Poor Chan.”

“It’s his presidential duty, god bless.”

“And where do I fit into this?”

“You and I need to hold Mark’s hand, figuratively, and keep him hyped up enough to actually go through with it. He agreed to the plan, but I can totally see him chickening out again, which is why Sunghoon and Yeonjun are also going to stand guard outside the staff office so he can’t escape.”

“I feel like you could hold Mark’s hand on your own,” you argue, but you don’t really mean it. This sounds so chaotic and harebrained that you would normally want to stay a mile away from it, but Jay’s enthusiasm and seriousness about it is rubbing off on you. Plus, it would be nice to see one of your fake boyfriends actually succeed in their love life.

“He has two hands, and I can’t hold them all by myself because I have to operate the audio hookup,” Jay proclaims solemnly. “And I said figuratively! He trusts you, clearly, or at least he trusted you enough to be his fake girlfriend.”

“I come highly recommended,” you intone dryly.

“And he trusts me enough to go along with the plan, so I think we’re the best suited to be his moral support,” Jay continues, ignoring your smartass comment.

“This is a ridiculous plan, Jay.”

“So you’re in? Oh, wait. Are you free at 12:30 today?”

You stop to check your planner and confirm that you are. “What would you have done if I wasn’t?”

“Reconfigure the time-space continuum so you could be in two places at once. Mark’s future happiness depends on this,” Jay insists.

"I see what you mean about getting overly invested in challenges really easily… Alright, text me where I should meet you later, then?”

“You got it. Have a good day, Cinderella!” He yells this part as he jogs away from you.

“Stop calling me that!” But you can’t remember the last time you smiled this much this early in the morning.

Hours later, you smile instinctively upon seeing Jay’s name pop up in your notifications.

jay: coast is clear. meet me outside the dining hall staff office in 5 minutes. operation is a go

you: omw, 007

jay: stop ur making me blush

you: fr?

jay: no this is just banter

you: omfg mark just texted me to say that ur actually blushing

jay: im going to end him. after he gets a gf, ofc

“Hey,” you whisper in Jay’s ear, making him jump.

“Holy shit, how’d you get here so fast?”

You shrug, jostling his shoulder as you’re pressed up against him in the tiny recessed alcove across from the staff office. “I’m a fast walker. Places to be, people to see, you know? Speaking of…” You motion to the open office door. “Should we go inside?”

Jay clears his throat. Up this close, he can count the eyelashes that flutter against your skin. “Yeah, Mark’s already there. I’m surprised he found the composure to pop his head out and see me, or text you, honestly. He’s been a nervous wreck since this morning. Oh, finally, way to be on time, losers!” Jay beckons Sunghoon and Yeonjun closer from down the hall.

“We’re fine; Jungwon says Mark’s crush hasn’t even sat down at her table, yet. Hey, how are you? Long time no see.” Yeonjun flashes you a smile.

“Committing questionable acts in the name of love, you know, just living the dream,” you joke. “How’s your mom?”

“Great! She still asks about you. By the way, if I had known being a little more pathetic would get me this level of commitment,” Yeonjun gestures around him, “I would’ve asked for a real girlfriend, too.”

“I’m told I was pretty pathetic, and even I didn’t get this kind of treatment,” Sunghoon reminds you.

You pat his arm consolingly. “Maybe if you had Jay on your side, buddy.”

“Yeah, what the hell, best friend?” Sunghoon eyes him accusingly.

Jay pats his other arm. “Sorry, I have ulterior motives with Mark.”

“Oh, so now Mark gets a girlfriend and a secret male lover?”

Jay scoffs. “Not those kinds of ulterior motives, but please. As if Mark could bag me.”

“Ladies, ladies, there’s plenty of Jay to go around,” you say placatingly.

“Guys, I’m freaking out in here!” Mark wails from inside the office.

“Fuck, Jungwon said she’s sitting down now. Go!” Yeonjun pushes you and Jay towards the office.

In quick order, Jay gets the audio hooked up to Mark’s laptop, and he starts the song. While Mark hyperventilates between the two of you and you actually do share in the holding of his hands, Jay finds himself staring at you as you try to encourage Mark. You really are quite kind— he doesn’t think many people would have agreed to be dragged into this silly scheme, but here you are, throwing yourself into it wholeheartedly because there’s a chance it might secure Mark’s future happiness.

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky just then, streaming in through the windows behind you and drenching you in golden light. Jay’s not sure if he’s nervous about getting in trouble for this or if he’s just been looking at you for too long, but he can feel his heart stuttering in his chest. It’s positively outrageous how pretty you are.

“Bro, what the fuck do I say?” Mark hisses, interrupting Jay’s very important investigation of the color of your eyes. “The song is almost over, please, you gotta help me!”

“Just tell her how you feel,” Jay offers. It’s not his best attempt at advice, but he’s distracted by the way your hair brushes against your neck.

Mark splutters and fumbles and curses under his breath, but then the song is over, and Jay is turning on the microphone for him to speak. “Um, hey, so, yeah! Yeah. Uh, I’ve liked you for a long time… which you can probably tell, because of the song and everything.” Mark giggles nervously. “There’s, like, at least five more where that came from. Because I like you a lot, but I’m not great at talking in person, so I wrote all these songs, and oh god, this is super weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry if it’s weird, I just, well, I wanted to tell you. What I feel for you is so big I think I might explode; it makes me lose my mind and my breath and my ability to speak, and it leads me to do stupid stuff like this. And now you know. Okay, cool!” Mark reaches over and slams his hand to turn off the microphone.

You and Jay share an exasperated look over Mark’s head.

“Mark, you didn’t even say who the song is for,” you remind him.

He pales. “I didn’t?”

“Or who it’s from, but I think that part is pretty obvious,” Jay sighs. “Just text her right now, and tell her it was from you, and ask her out!”

“What? No, I can’t do that, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Mark moans.

You roll your eyes. “Mark, do it right now, or I’m telling your mom you cheated on me.”

“What? But I didn’t! And we weren’t even dating for real! And I just told her we broke up!”

“Right, I’ll say we broke up because you cheated on me.” You stare him down. “Seriously, I’ll call her tonight.”

“Nonono, I’ll text Mina, okay? See, I’m texting her right now.” Mark pulls out his phone and types frantically.

Jay throws his arm around Mark’s shoulder, using the leverage to hit the send button on his phone. “See, that wasn’t so hard!”

“I need to go walk into traffic,” Mark declares.

You smile breezily at him. “Sure, whatever. Love conquers all!” Behind his back, you and Jay high-five.

Jay says you should have dinner to celebrate Mark and Mina’s new romance (ignoring Mark’s pained “What romance? I’m dying.”), but you tell him that you’re volunteering at the community kitchen that night. Jay doesn’t miss a beat. “Sure, I’ll be there. We should talk about my thing, anyways.”

That’s how he finds himself in a hairnet and disposable gloves that night, making funny faces at the head of the community kitchen’s daughter, who’s running around underfoot. He’s been put in charge of chopping vegetables, while you’re stirring a huge pot of stew at one of the stoves.

“Watch your fingers,” you scold him half-heartedly. He’s devastatingly cute like this.

He has the audacity to wink at you. “I know my way around a kitchen, don’t worry.”

“Very cool, trophy husband.”

“What, no more 007?”

“Depends on the outcome of Mark’s text to Mina. Did you hear anything from him?”

Jay scoops up his vegetables into a large bowl and brings it over to you, nudging you aside with his hip so he can add the vegetables to your pot. “Not yet, but I don’t have him freaking out in my messages either, so I’ll take that as a win.”

You let him take over the stirring and turn around to lean against the countertop. “Cute hairnet,” you quip.

“Thanks. You think they’ll let me take it home?” he jokes.

You nudge your chin in the direction of the little girl giggling at Jay. “I think she wants to take you home.”

He winks at her, then lowers his voice so that only you can hear him say, “She’ll have to get in line.”

You swallow and wonder if the stove is turned on too high. “Right, so what’s your thing about?”

“Later, yeah?” Jay gestures around you, and you suddenly remember that you’re in the middle of a busy kitchen, with everyone hustling to get ready for the dinner service starting in half an hour.

You spring into action again, embarrassed at how easily you’d been absorbed into conversation with Jay. Something about the way he talks to you makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world— he’s always so attentive, nodding and responding to your every comment. You have to wonder why he hasn’t dated anyone seriously in college; he seems like he’d be the dream boyfriend. Hypothetically.

He only proves this point further when he reveals two containers of mac and cheese that he had picked up before getting there, which he microwaves for the two of you to eat after the dinner service is over. You turn on the lights in one corner of the cafeteria and sit at the only table that’s still left out: a children’s table where you have to balance precariously on seats that are too small for you. But it’s entirely worth it, knocking knees and elbows together, laughing too hard for what the situation warrants.

“I would’ve made you something myself, but I didn’t want to use up the kitchen’s ingredients,” Jay comments off-handedly.

Your heart glows in your chest. “That’s really thoughtful, Jay.”

He smiles and scratches the back of his head, suddenly shy. “Nah, it’s common sense, right? Come on, eat before it gets cold.”

Right then and there, Jay learns that he loves to watch you eat. You make exaggerated faces and ooh and ahh over something as simple as mac and cheese from the 24-hour diner down the street, and he finds himself itching to make something with his own two hands that will make you react like that.

When you’re done eating, you sit back and sigh in satisfaction. “That was exactly what I needed. Now, tell me about your thing— what kind of mess have I gotten myself into?”

Jay hems and haws for a good minute before finally telling you about his parents’ upcoming 50th wedding anniversary. “It’s a little complicated because they had this, like, fairytale relationship, and of course I’m happy that they’re still so in love all these years later, but it’s kind of… a lot to live up to. Not that I’m complaining, because they’re awesome, but I don’t have that kind of relationship with anyone yet, so I haven’t brought anyone home to them.”

“So the rumors are true,” you mutter under your breath.

Unfortunately, Jay seems to have heard you. “What rumors?”

Flushing, you explain what you’d heard from Yunjin, who had heard it from Chaewon’s little. You’re quick to add, “I wasn’t asking around about you or anything!”

Jay just smirks at you, something wicked and slow that only contributes to the heat in your cheeks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You hesitate before speaking up again. “So, if you don’t mind me asking… How come you haven’t dated anyone long-term in college? You’re, you know, perfectly okay to look at.”

Jay deadpans at you. “Wow, thanks, that really means a lot to me.”

You let out a huff of a laugh. “Shut up, it’s not a secret that you’re hot.”

Jay’s eyebrows shoot up, and you swear to god, he blushes to high heaven. “Th-Thanks.”

“Mm.”

It’s silent for a few long moments, then Jay clears his throat. “If I’m being honest, I haven’t dated anyone long-term in college because my parent’s relationship is a lot to live up to, and it’s not like I have a ton of time to find my perfect life partner in between everything else.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. Yunjin tells me I should try actually dating again, but it’s kind of a lot, right? Putting in the time and effort to get to know someone from scratch, when you’re not even sure how it’s going to pan out? And you’ve seen my calendar.” You laugh quietly. “And, honestly, I have this problem with dating where I get bored pretty easily.”

Jay leans forward, pushing into your personal space close enough to count your eyelashes, again. “Are you bored right now?”

“No,” you answer, although you’re not sure why he’s asking. “Um, so, why do you need a fake girlfriend, then? I don’t think it’ll pass muster with your parents, if they want you to be in love for real.”

Jay fidgets with his fingers on top of the table. “Yeah, it’s kind of stupid, to be honest. My dad was hospitalized for a month last year, and it really shook us all. My parents are on the older side, and I’m their only child, and, well, I’d like to make them happy while they’re still around. Sorry, that was morbid. And I know it’s not like we’d be doing this forever, and it’s wrong to fake it, but still. They’d be overjoyed to see me in a relationship. I want to give that to them, even if it’s only twice.” He tells it to you like it’s a secret, and your chest caves in with the force of his sincerity.

“I don’t think that’s stupid. It’s sweet, Jay, really.” You reach out and still his fingers. “Listen, you know I’m really good at being a fake girlfriend, right?”

“You come highly recommended,” he mimics you from earlier, mouth quirking up in the beginnings of a smile. It lifts the atmosphere slightly, and you’re glad for it.

“Right, so don’t worry. Leave it to me. Your parents won’t suspect a thing,” you promise. “When’s the anniversary celebration?”

“Six weeks.”

You pull out your planner to start scheduling. “Great, so you can send me information about yourself, and I’ll do the same for you, and then we can find time to meet up and quiz each other about it and get our answers on our relationship straight—”

Jay’s hand lands around your wrist, stopping you from writing further. “Not that I don’t appreciate your… efficiency, but I don’t think that’s going to work. Like you said, my parents want to see a true relationship, and I don’t think flashcards are going to cut it. How about we just… get to know each other?”

You blink. “What, like daily one-on-ones, or something? Office hours, but just for each other?”

He bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He lets go of your wrist to hide his face behind his hands as he continues to laugh, which makes you smile despite yourself. He’s so goddamn cute.

You decide to humor him. “What do you suggest, then?”

“As much as I would love to monopolize your time, I don’t actually want to take up any of the precious few free spots on your calendar. You need to set aside more time for yourself, by the way. But for now, how about you give me the thirty minutes you schedule for getting to Nat’s and then back to campus every day? We can get to know each other then.”

“You want to walk me to the coffee shop and back?”

“Among other things.”

“… Such as?”

“Just you wait, Cinderella. I’m going to sweep you off your feet so hard, you won’t know what hit you. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

In the dim light of the after-hours cafeteria, with his long legs stretched out on either side of yours and the soft crescents of his smiling eyes twinkling at you, you’re inclined to believe him.

Jay keeps his word. He shows up on the sorority house’s porch every morning, backpack slung over his shoulder and hands in his pockets at 7:45am. He doesn’t even have class until 11am (you know because you asked Yunjin to ask Jake), so his dedication impresses you. Sometimes, you’ll watch him approach the house from your window, bopping his head along to whatever he’s listening to in his earbuds.

When you open the door to greet him, he always smiles sleepily at you and reaches out to grab whatever’s in your hands (usually art supplies or heavy reference books for your thesis). It’s a small gesture, but it shoots through your cotton-candy-soft heart as true and straight as an arrow.

Most mornings, the two of you will chat about anything and everything, swinging from homework to Greek life drama to pet peeves to Mesopotamian history. Occasionally, you’re both tired from your busy schedules and just end up sharing his earbuds, listening to something slow and soothing. More and more often, you find yourself stuffing supplies and books into your backpack until it’s grossly misshapen, just so Jay can have his hands free to brush against yours on the walk to Nat’s.

It’s not just the coffee shop, either. Suddenly, he’s everywhere in your life, as if someone had penciled in his name as one long continuous block in your calendar. He comes to the library with you, and you work on your assignments in companionable silence. He’s now a regular volunteer at the community kitchen, and he’s helping them design a new menu for the colder days coming soon. He even shows up outside the studio art workshop, bringing you takeout when you’ve forgotten to eat. At parties, the two of you dominate beer pong, with him bouncing balls off of his bicep into the cups just to make you fake your fawning adoration at him. He doesn’t have to know that it comes easily to you, especially when he’s constantly looking at you the way you know you look at beautiful works of art.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually courting me,” you comment thoughtlessly one day. You’re perched on the kitchen counter at the frat, watching Jay make ramen for the two of you. It’s almost three in the morning, and neither of you should be awake, but there’s something special about the quiet privacy afforded by the strange hour.

Jay forces himself to keep stirring the pot like usual. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know any better, either, but he doesn’t want to look too closely into that at the moment. Instead, he opts to flirt. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it, smartass.” But you let him off the hook, now preoccupied with reaching over to re-tie his apron.

“Ooh, ramen!” Jungwon’s face lights up as he walks into the kitchen, led by his nose. He looks like he just woke up, rubbing at his eyes with the ends of his sweatshirt sleeves. You have to stop yourself from cooing at him.

“What are you doing up so late?” Jay scolds him gently.

“Oh, hey, Dad. Hey, Mom. I just woke up; I had a weird dream.” Jungwon nods at you both and takes a seat at the kitchen island.

You gape at him. “What?”

Jungwon blinks a couple of times, looking more alert by the second. “Oops. Did I say that out loud? Sorry, Niki’s been rubbing off on me.”

“Niki calls us Mom and Dad?” You’re not sure if that’s sweet or weird.

“As a joke! In a jocular manner. Jovially.” Jungwon throws up a peace sign, as if that helps.

“I’m glad to see the English degree is paying off,” Jay remarks dryly. He looks like he took the Mom-and-Dad thing much more in stride, except for the tips of his ears, which burn red. It’s a dead giveaway that makes you smile fondly, because it’s so him.

“Will you make some more ramen?” Jungwon bats his eyelashes at the two of you.

“See, it works much better when Jungwon does it,” you tease Jay.

“Can’t argue with you there, honestly.” Jay puts another pot of water on the stove to boil. “You should have more than just sodium and carbs, though,” he tells Jungwon.

You nod, hopping off of the counter to rummage through the fridge. “Yeah, you don’t eat enough vegetables. Maybe that’s why you’re having weird dreams. Aha!” You emerge triumphantly with a salad kit.

Jungwon laughs. “And you wonder why Niki calls you Mom and Dad.”

Jay scoffs. “That’s just because he hasn’t met Chan.”

“Fair enough. What are you guys doing here so late, anyways?”

You pause in assembling the salad to point a salad tong at Jay. “This guy just follows me everywhere.”

“We’re in my frat house,” Jay retorts.

“I could be here for someone else,” you argue.

Jay’s gaze pins you down, warm and earnest. “You’re not, though.”

You smile at him. “No, I’m not.”

Jungwon coughs. “Get a room.”

You reach over to ruffle his hair. “You’re standing in it.”

The three of you eat your ramen and salad in silence for a bit, all falling victim to varying degrees of sleepiness. Without noticing it, you’re scooched up next to Jay, shoulders and knees and ankles pressed together in one long line of comfortable intimacy.

Jay thinks about Jungwon’s question as he slurps at the noodles. What are you guys doing here so late? The answer almost eludes him. These days, he finds himself drawn to you like a magnet, pulled in by forces far stronger than himself.

He remembers that the two of you had been doing work in his room after the main library had closed, and you had fallen asleep on his bed at some point, a sketchbook dangling from your fingers. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time admiring your sleeping form, indulging in his favorite pastime of counting your eyelashes and resisting the urge to lay beside you. Eventually, your stomach had woken you up, and he insisted on making you some food, even if it wasn’t as nice as he would have liked to do for you. Now, looking at you chatting and joking with Jungwon, Jay feels his heart expanding into his lungs. You fit into his life so perfectly, and he’d like to think that he fits into yours, too. It’s almost too good to be true— could this be what his parents started with?

When you’re done eating, Jungwon waves the two of you away, insisting that he should do the dishes since you cooked. You’re not about to argue with that, so you pat him on the shoulder before following Jay back up to his room.

“He’s a good kid,” you tell Jay as you hop on his bed again, grabbing your sketchbook to pick up where you left off.

“He is.” Jay tuts at you. “And you should go to sleep.”

“I will, I will, just let me finish this sketch, okay? Besides, I don’t see you turning your laptop off, either.” You jut your chin out stubbornly.

Jay glances at the Wikipedia rabbit hole he’d been going down before your stomach had growled loudly an hour ago. He’s done with his work for the day, and he had just been keeping you company for the last two hours. “I have super important, time-sensitive work to finish,” he lies solemnly.

“Jay, I can see that you have the Wikipedia page for sinkholes open.”

He slams his laptop shut. “Actually, I’m done,” he declares, flopping down on the bed beside you. He turns his cheek from where he’s level with your stomach to look up at your hands moving across the page. “What are you working on in there?”

You make a displeased face. “People. I have to do one more human portrait for my portfolio, and it’s driving me nuts. Here, this one is of you.”

Jay lifts his head, astonished to see himself reflected back on the page. In smooth, sure strokes, you’ve captured him in tender detail: strong jaw, sharp eyes, and mouth twisted in concentration, probably from earlier when he’d actually been doing work. Jay’s jaw works as he struggles to figure out what to say. He’s unbelievably touched that you would draw him. “Can I keep this?” he asks finally.

“It’s not even done yet. And it’s not that good,” you warn him.

“It is to me. C’mon, please?”

“Maybe when I finish…” You trail off, swayed by the senseless patterns he’s tracing on top of your knee. “Which I won’t, if you keep distracting me.”

He smirks and stills his hand, looking like he’s about to tease you before he interrupts himself with a yawn. “Alright, goodnight, Cinderella.”

“'Night, 007.”

When he wakes up the next morning, he finds the lingering scent of your shampoo and a complete sketch of himself, now decked out in a tux worthy of James Bond. It makes him laugh out loud, and he knows he’s in trouble when he slides out a picture of him with his cousins from a picture frame to put your sketch in the frame, instead.

Before you know it, the day of the Parks’ wedding anniversary celebration has arrived. You’re on a four-way FaceTime call, with Chaewon lounging on your bed as you try on various dresses.

Kazuha is more invested in asking you about your relationship than helping you decide what to wear. “I’m just saying, I think it’s interesting that you and Jay have been, like, glued together for well over a month.”

“We’re getting to know each other better, so we don’t mess up in front of his parents,” you explain for the millionth time.

Kazuha wiggles her eyebrows at you. “Suuuure. Why didn’t you just send him one of those scarily detailed questionnaires like you did with all the other guys you fake-dated?”

Chaewon motions for you to spin in the billowy dress you’re currently in. “Too beachy,” she decides. “But ditto to what Kazuha said.”

“It’s because she like-likes him,” Sakura sing-songs.

You stick your tongue out at her. “Grow up, will you?”

“Forget about that— have you guys hooked up yet?” Yunjin demands.

“Yet? No, Yunjin, what the fuck,” you complain.

“Gross,” a familiar voice groans from Yunjin’s corner of the FaceTime. You, Kazuha, Sakura, and Chaewon all zero in on her square.

“Jake?” You exclaim.

Yunjin giggles and moves the camera to show Jake sitting at his desk in his room, wearing his nerdy glasses and hunched over a textbook.

“Did you guys just hook up?” Kazuha blurts out.

“Gross,” you repeat.

Yunjin rolls her eyes. “Grow up, will you? And no, I’m just here because it was too loud at the house.”

The rest of you fall silent on the call, especially you and Chaewon, demonstrating how decidedly not loud it is in the sorority house.

Yunjin blushes and clears her throat. “Whatever. Hey, you should totally wear that sparkly navy velvet number! The one that cinches at your waist.”

You rummage around in your closet and pull out the dress in question to try it on. “This one?”

Sakura whistles. “Oh, for sure. Good eye, Jen.”

Yunjin blows her a kiss. “Of course, of course.” She points at you. “That’s the one, babe. You have, like, the sluttiest waist ever, second only to Sunghoon; you have to wear that.”

Sounds of agreement abound, except from Jake, who whines, “You guys don’t think I have a slutty waist?”

“You’re a whore in other ways, don’t worry,” you reassure him dryly. You do another spin for Chaewon. “This isn’t too much, though?”

Jake suddenly pops into view of the camera. “It’s a formal event, and Jay is going to lose his mind no matter what you wear, trust me.”

“That’s not the point,” you insist.

The girls respond in unison, “Yes, it is!”

And you have to admit, the way Jay’s mouth stays open as he gives you the once-over a few hours later is gratifying, to say the least. For good measure, he does it again, letting his eyes linger at the dip between your collarbones and the curve of your mouth.

Molten heat spreads through you in response to his wandering eyes, ratcheting up in intensity when he smirks at you, purposeful and knowing.

You elect to check him out, too, knowing that you’re not the only person who can get flustered here. He cuts an unbelievable figure against the setting sun, leaning against his sleek black car, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankles. The tuxedo he wears fits criminally well, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what he’d look like taking his tie off. On second thought, this may have backfired; you only find yourself feeling warmer the longer you stare at him.

Thankfully, he starts moving, coming up to the porch to hand you a bouquet of baby’s breath.

“Oh, good idea— should I hand these to your mom or your dad?” You ask, taking the flowers from him.

He laughs, surprised. You are too cute for his own good. “The flowers are for you, Cinderella. My parents and I are allergic to pollen, actually.”

“Oh.” You hold the flowers closer to your chest, giddiness touching you from head to toe. He got you flowers, even though he’s allergic. “Thank you, Jay.”

He hums and reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Happy to do it. I saw the flowers in your room dying the other day. Go put them inside; I’ll wait out here. I can feel Chaewon’s stare drilling into the top of my head, anyways.” He looks up and waves at Chaewon, who’s hanging out of your window shamelessly.

She shouts, “Have her home by midnight, or she’ll turn into a pumpkin!”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes, but okay!” He throws her a thumbs-up.

Inside the house, you’re seized with the urge to splash some water on your face, just to calm yourself down, but that would ruin your makeup. Instead, you place the flowers in a vase of water and trust that Chaewon will bring them up to your room for you, after she’s done heckling Jay.

“Leave my guy alone,” you yell in her direction, pulling at his arm to get him down the stairs and to his car.

“Your guy, huh?” Jay looks at you with uncontrollable fondness.

“Just for the night,” you say, but you don’t miss the way his smile widens at the way you don’t deny it.

Ever the gentleman, Jay opens the passenger door for you, helping you gather the ends of your dress and tucking them in under your legs. He remains crouched for a moment, looking like he’s debating with himself about something, and then he goes for it, leaning over and buckling you in.

When you raise an eyebrow at him, all he says is, “Precious cargo,” and then he’s shutting the door, leaving you flushing once more.

The car ride to his parent’s place is easy and comfortable, even with the charged atmosphere that lingers between the two of you. Conversation always flows like water with Jay; you’re debating the finer points of how to determine provenance for historical artifacts when you arrive. Guests are littered across the front lawn, conversing with each other but centered around his parents.

Suddenly, you’re nervous. “Do you think they’ll like me?” You ask Jay.

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Are you serious? Of course they will. You’re you.”

You swat at his shoulder even as you smile widely. “Your unconditional faith in me notwithstanding, I’m serious, Jay. I want to be able to live up to this fairytale romance thing.”

He takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Believe me, you’re a dream come true. Let’s go, Cinderella.”

You gulp and curse your thundering heart, but then you’re five feet away from his parents, and you’re exclaiming at how in love they look, all these years later. Jay’s dad is distinguished in salt-and-pepper hair, and his mom is all smiles when she tells you that you’re too pretty for Jay.

“Mom,” he whines.

“Oh alright, come here, my beautiful boy.” She brings him in for a hug and beams when he kisses her cheek. Your heart melts like ice cream in the summer; he’s a mama’s boy, through and through.

Jay’s dad asks, “So, how did you meet?”

You open your mouth, prepared with your story. “I’m Jay’s friend’s twin sister, and then we kind of got caught in a scheme to help one of our other friends ask out the girl he liked, and we just got closer after that. Jay’s easy to like.” So far, it’s all true.

Jay doesn’t look like he’s faking anything when he continues, though. “She’s easy to love.”

“Way to one-up me,” you joke, but you feel like you’re floating, cradled by the buoyancy of the affection in his eyes.

“Seriously, she’s so smart it makes my head spin, and her heart shines brighter than the sun. She makes me laugh and work harder to keep up, and I’m lucky to just stand by her side. Being with her is the most natural thing in the world, like breathing, or my heart beating.” Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time he’s speaking; he wants to commit every change in your expression to memory, from surprise to fondness to something deeper.

Jay’s dad hums approvingly. “Good work, son. You sound like I did when I met your mom.” He brings his wife in to kiss her temple.

“Enjoy the party, lovebirds,” she coos at you, and then they’re gone, off to greet other arrivals.

You’re frozen in place, with one hand still clutching at Jay’s like a lifeline. “We didn’t practice that,” you mumble.

He shakes his head and rubs his thumb over your cheek with his other hand. “No, we didn’t. Are you mad?”

“Mad? I think I’m jealous of your future girlfriend,” you say, forcing a laugh. It sounds wooden even to your ears.

He frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act as if you don’t know how much I like you.”

The world stops turning on its axis. “What?”

His gaze slips down to your mouth, tracing your cupid’s bow. “You heard me.” He turns hopeful eyes on you. “Do you… feel the same?”

Just like that, the world resumes its motion, and you can’t let him go a second longer without knowing how much he is loved. “Desperately.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, and you think he’s going to kiss you— you need him to kiss you— but he hugs you close instead, lips hovering against your ear. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmurs.

“If it’s anything close to how happy I am, I probably have a good idea,” you laugh. You’re surprised at how quickly the burning urge to have his mouth on yours has tempered into something more grounded and permanent.

“I have to go do something for my parents, but I think I’ll die if I have to leave you. Will you come watch?”

You’d go anywhere with him. “Of course.”

He squeezes your hand. “Thanks, doll.” Against your will, your hand spasms in his. He giggles, delighted. “Duly noted.”

“Shut up,” you complain, but you follow him all the way to the tented dance floor set up on the grounds behind the house, only letting go after he kisses each of your fingertips in turn.

You’re surprised to see him pull out an eight-string guitar, and even more surprised when he explains to the gathered crowd that he’ll be playing the song from his parents’ first dance. They look perfect, swaying in the center of the floor, but you only have eyes for Jay.

You watch as his fingers pluck deftly at the strings, a romantic Spanish melody that barely reaches your ears over the rush of all your adoration for him. As soon as the song is over, he catches you in his arms, lifting you up and spinning you around twice before setting you back down, hands at home around your waist.

He asks if you want to dance. You teeter back on your heels, looking at the graceful curve of his mouth and thinking back to the nimbleness of his fingers. “Honestly? I want to kiss you. Really badly.”

He exhales and holds you tighter. “You won’t let me take you out first?”

“If you count the last few weeks, you’ve taken me out, like, a million times.”

“But a real date, doll. I want to cook for you, and we can get tea lights, and a picnic blanket, and— god.” Jay sucks in a sharp breath when you move his hands higher to cup underneath your chest. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I hope so. Stop being so nice, and take me to your room, please?”

Jay’s eyes flick heavenward. There’s only so much self-restraint left in him. “You win.”

And when he finally kisses you, pressed up against the door of his childhood bedroom, you nearly cry from how tender it is. He kisses you slowly, reverently, like you’re one of the saints from his history books.

“Sometimes, I think I’ve dreamt you up,” you confess to him. The words hang precious and delicate in the space between your lips.

“Let me show you I’m real then, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then licks right into you, eliciting a gasp from the back of your throat. Your fingers find purchase in the soft hair at the back of his head, and you realize that you’ve been breathing the wrong air your whole life; the groan that passes from his mouth to yours is the only thing you want in your lungs from now on.

Liquid desire pools in your stomach, rising until you think you might choke on it. “Jay, please.”

“Please, what? Use your words, doll.”

“Touch me.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Quicker than you realize it, but just as urgently as you need it, you find yourself laid out on his bed, and then he’s demonstrating that he knows more than just how to play guitar with those thick fingers.

When you make it out of his room an hour later, you’re still glowing with happiness. Jay knows he looks equally lovestruck, not least because his collar is hiding several lipstick stains from you.

You offer to help him redo his tie, so he anchors you unnecessarily close to him, hands sweeping up and down your side. “I don’t think I told you yet, but you look really nice tonight,” he murmurs. “You look really nice all the time, actually.”

You bury your face in his chest. “I’m going to explode if you keep sweet-talking me like that.”

He presses his smile to the top of your head. “Nooooo, you’re too pretty to explode.”

“Jay!” But you’re both laughing, bathed in the soft magic of newfound devotion. You couldn’t dream up anything better.

(Dating Jay is a lot like fake-dating Jay, as it turns out. In some ways.

In other ways, Jay still manages to take your breath away with new and inventive methods. He really does make you dinner, with tea lights and a picnic blanket, ensconced in the twilight of a park you drive an hour away to get to. He even makes foie gras torchon for the occasion, from scratch, and he watches you intently as you moan in delight at the taste. You joke about your breath being fishy when you kiss later, but he just shrugs, unbothered and already moving so that his head disappears underneath your dress, making you moan in a different way.

So, yes— there’s a lot more kissing, and sex, and intimacy that makes you want to curl up in a ball and hiss at how vulnerable it makes you. But Jay is always welcome in the prickly patches of your soul, and he wants those parts of you as much as he wants the parts of you that paint him in aching affection.

When he finally tells you he loves you that winter— in so many words, because it shows in his every action otherwise—, it’s three in the morning again, and your hands are fluttering across his brow, smoothing out the creases from a night of worrying about whether he’s really good enough to take over the family business. Your fingers, lovely and dear to him, stitch together the cracks in his self-resolve, and he can’t help but let the words out. His heart absolutely sings when you repeat the words back to him.

Some time later, you ask him to sit for a portrait for you. He doesn’t think too much of it, especially as the seasons bleed into one another and spring brings an influx of senior events, pollen, and the impending question of the future. He’s at your senior thesis, asking you detailed questions during the audience Q&A and wrapping you up in the biggest hug when it’s over, and you sit in on the final class he TAs, applauding when he’s done.

At the showcase of your final portfolio, his jaw drops when you reveal the second portrait (after having laughed his ass off at Jake blubbering over the first one and Yunjin kissing him in public to shut him up).

The second portrait is of him, and his parents. From his dad’s strong brows, to his mom’s smile lines, to his own hands; every detail is captured, shimmering in loving light.

He finds that his eyes are wet when you come up to him and brush your thumb against his eyelashes, smiling brightly at him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. I love you, so much, like crazy, you don’t even know,” he rambles, laughing through his tears now.

You kiss him quickly but firmly, just a reminder that your mouth was made to fit against his. “Love you more, London boy. Speaking of…” You lean back to stare at him through your eyelashes. “I got the Rhodes,” you whisper.

His eyes widen like saucers. “You’re coming with me?”

“More like you’re coming with me,” you say, knowing that Jay had requested to be placed at his family business’s England location to be close to you in the event that you got the scholarship.

“Obviously,” he relents without missing a beat. “I’m going to follow you everywhere. Can’t get rid of me now.” He dips his head to kiss you longer. Lightning still shoots through his fingertips, just like the first time, and every time after that.

At graduation, you tell him, “You know, I think I’ve decided what I want your favor to be.”

He smiles at you, familiar and true. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Just love me, for a long, long time.”

“Easy, Cinderella.”)

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