#THIS SCENE right here is where I permanently lost my mind

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ eyes on me ( lhs ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 17.2k ⤷ based on this and this by my lovely anons ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — here’s part 2 as promised ! i fear this might not be the end though, a part 3 is definitely in the works as we speak. enjoy, loves ! please read gently, they’re both soft and stupid 🤍

⤷ warnings — idol au, idol!heeseung, dancer!reader, post-enemies to lovers tension, soft!heeseung, vulnerable!heeseung, emotionally repressed!reader, breakdown scene (emotional), loser!heeseung, comfort scenes, longing (so much longing), love confessions, mutual pining, reader is in denial, heeseung is not, soft touches, forehead kisses, subtle fluff, unresolved tension, healing arc (they’re both trying), fluff (finally), angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — three weeks. that's how long it takes for everything to change. one moment you're avoiding him in dance studios and dodging his eyes in crowded hallways—the next, you're alone together in dim lights and shared breaths, dancing like your bodies were made to move in sync. you swore he was just like the rest: all charm, all talk, all ruin. but lee heeseung breaks—and suddenly he isn’t just some idol with a reputation. he’s a boy with silver hair and glassy eyes who holds your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. or, where thawing hate turns into something warm, and you start to wonder if the heart you locked away was always waiting for him to find it.

It was the third week of practice.

And you didn’t know if you were actually losing your mind or if the chaos of the schedule was finally eating at your nerves—bit by bit, rehearsal after rehearsal.

You stood near the mirrored wall, towel slung across your shoulder, sweat glistening on your collarbones as you caught your breath. Sunoo stood beside you, breathless too, fanning himself with both hands.

“Please,” he panted dramatically, “show me that turn again. I swear Ni-ki doesn’t explain it like you do.”

From the corner of the room, Ni-ki’s offended shout cut through the air. “Hey!”

Laughter erupted around the room, even from the staff in the back.

You cracked a grin, unable to help it. “I’m not trying to steal your job, Ni-ki.”

“You’d make a better teacher anyway,” Sunoo whispered loudly, winking.

You laughed again, relenting. “Alright, alright. Just this part before the chorus, okay?”

You moved to the center of the room with Sunoo trailing behind you like a puppy. The room watched with amusement as you demonstrated the turn, sharp and smooth, your body flowing from one beat to the next with practiced grace.

Sunoo watched you intently, nodding as you broke the step down and explained, “You need to spot when you turn. Keep your weight on your left foot, then shift.”

He mimicked you.

Not perfectly, but not bad either.

He landed the turn on beat—and his eyes widened. “Noona… I did it?”

You blinked. Then smiled wide and clapped. “You did!”

Sunoo gasped, stepping forward and throwing his arms around you in a quick, excited hug. “I’m a genius! You’re a genius!”

You chuckled, patting his back as he squeezed you before bouncing away again. “Okay—watch me again! Let’s see if I can do it twice in a row!”

Across the room, Heeseung sat beside Jungwon, mid-conversation before he went utterly silent—words lost on his tongue as his eyes drifted past the younger.

Past the choreography.

Past the noise.

To you.

To the way you smiled when Sunoo got it right. To the way you hugged him back.

To the way it wasn’t him.

Heeseung didn’t blink.

Jungwon followed his line of sight and sighed so deeply you could almost hear it over the music.

The younger leader placed a hand on Heeseung’s shoulder, firm. “You’re making it worse by not talking to her.”

Heeseung finally blinked. Swallowed.

“I wish it was that easy,” he muttered, voice low, rough at the edges.

Jungwon tilted his head. “It kind of is. She’s not scary. Just… direct.”

Heeseung gave a bitter laugh under his breath, running a hand down his face. “She’s terrifying.”

“Because she called you out?”

“Because she sees right through me,” he said, quieter this time. “Because I’ve danced with her, touched her, stood inches away from her face—and I still feel like I don’t know her at all.”

Jungwon stared at him.

And Heeseung’s jaw clenched again.

“She makes me want to try harder. But it’s like… the harder I try, the worse I get.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “That’s not true.”

“I can’t even talk to her.” Heeseung sighed, the weight of his breath heavy in his chest as he turned to look at Jungwon.

His expression was tired—exhausted, even—not just from the dancing, but from the constant ache in his chest he couldn’t seem to shake.

His silver bangs stuck to his forehead, skin dewy with sweat, and his hands fiddled aimlessly with the drawstring of his sweatpants as if they needed something to do, anything to distract him from the truth sitting on his shoulders.

“She’s just…” Heeseung trailed off, brows furrowing. “It’s like she built a wall I can’t climb no matter what I do.”

Jungwon met his gaze, quiet for a moment. “Maybe it’s not about climbing over it,” he said softly. “Maybe you just have to wait until she lets you in.”

Heeseung stared at him.

Then looked away.

Because he didn’t know how much longer he could wait. Or if he even deserved to.

Like clockwork, his attention snapped again.

Your laugh rang across the practice room, warm and light, the kind that made shoulders relax and chests ease with air. It tugged at something in Heeseung’s chest.

He looked up just in time to see Sunoo stumbling over his own feet, arms flailing slightly as he lost balance mid-turn, nearly spinning himself right into a collapse.

“Yah!” you laughed, one hand flying to your mouth as Sunoo caught himself just in time, scowling in playful offense. “I thought you said you could do it?”

“I did!” Sunoo huffed, brushing his hair from his forehead with a dramatic sigh. “I did it earlier, I swear—something about your version’s throwing me off.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you teased, stepping closer with a tilt of your head.

“Balance your weight on your other foot,” you instructed, your voice dipping into something more firm—controlled, focused. “You’re putting everything on your right again.”

Sunoo blinked, then nodded as he glanced at his stance. “Okay. Okay, I got it this time.”

He planted his foot again, took a breath—and turned.

You broke into a grin, clapping your hands together as you stepped back. “There it is!” you said, eyes crinkling. “See? You just needed to trust yourself.”

Sunoo’s face lit up like a bulb, puffing his chest slightly as he struck a dramatic pose. “I’m a prodigy.”

“You’re a brat,” you deadpanned fondly.

“I learned from the best,” he chirped.

And from across the room, Heeseung stood still.

Because there you were—smiling, laughing, soft in ways he hadn’t been able to reach. Not even once.

And he hated how much he wanted that version of you to be meant for him.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands at the back of his head. His throat was dry.

God, he was so screwed.

It was the middle of the third week. The music was still ringing in your ears when you moved away from Heeseung, his hands barely letting go of your waist as the choreo ended.

Heeseung immediately dropped into a crouch, elbows on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His silver hair clung to the sides of his face, sweat dripping onto the hardwood.

A quiet thud followed when Ni-ki plopped beside him, not bothering with grace as he leaned his entire weight onto Heeseung’s side.

“Hey, hyung,” Ni-ki muttered, nudging his shoulder gently. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung nodded, barely above a whisper, eyes still fixed ahead. Not on the floor. Not on the mirror. But on you.

Across the room, Jay and Sunghoon approached you with soft steps—careful, like you might run the moment they got too close.

“(Y/N),” Jay called first, rubbing the back of his neck, “uh—can we borrow you for a sec?”

You blinked at them, raising a brow. “You two already know your parts.”

“We do!” Sunghoon piped up, already defensive. “But…”

Jay gave him a look, then turned to you again. “You just—add more detail. Your angles, the way you hit the lines���it looks cleaner, sharper. We thought maybe if you ran it with us once, we’d pick it up faster.”

You eyed them carefully, crossing your arms. “You’re not just saying that so you can take a break and let me carry your section, are you?”

“No—no,” Sunghoon rushed to say, hands up in surrender. “Promise.”

You sighed, but your expression softened. “Alright. Come on.”

You waved the two over to the side of the room, where the wall-length mirror reflected the three of you. “What part do you want help with?”

Jay immediately got into position. “Right here—this turn before we drop into the diagonal step? Mine feels too… stiff.”

You watched carefully as he ran through it, analyzing the movement.

“Alright,” you said, stepping beside him. “You’re locking your arm too early. Watch—” you demonstrated the move slowly, your wrist flicking slightly before the turn. “It should feel like a release. Don’t force it.”

Jay nodded, brows furrowed in focus. “Got it.”

Heeseung sat frozen, watching the scene unfold—your voice calm, your attention focused, your hands gently fixing the angles of Sunghoon’s wrist when he joined in. He couldn’t hear all the words from where he sat, but the image was enough.

You were helping them. Teaching them. Smiling.

You didn’t even hesitate to say yes.

Ni-ki tilted his head and followed his hyung’s gaze. “You could ask her for help too, y’know,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sighed—long, deep—and reached a hand up to ruffle Ni-ki’s hair absentmindedly.

“Hey!” Ni-ki groaned, jerking away as he immediately ran his hands through the mess. “Why do you always do that?”

Heeseung cracked the ghost of a smile. “Because you’re annoying,” he muttered, and then, softer, “It’s not that easy.”

Ni-ki blinked at him. “Why not?”

Heeseung paused, watching the way your hand lightly tapped Jay’s arm in exasperation while you tried to show him the right count again. “We’re… partners, yeah. But it doesn’t mean she trusts me.”

Ni-ki stared. “Wait—after three weeks?”

Heeseung’s frown only deepened as his eyes trailed back to you. You were laughing at something Sunghoon said—probably an insult to Jay based on the way Jay clutched his chest like he was wounded and dropped to the floor dramatically. Your laugh was bright, breathless.

It wasn’t aimed at him.

And maybe that’s what stung the most.

“She looks at me like I’m one wrong move away from ruining everything,” he muttered, voice low. “And maybe I am.”

Ni-ki leaned forward on his knees, turning to face him properly. “Hyung, that’s dumb.”

Heeseung raised a brow. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean—you’re not one wrong move away from ruining anything. You just think you are because you’ve been in your own head this whole time,” Ni-ki said, shrugging.

“You do realize you dance fine, right? Like, objectively. You’re not messing up anymore.”

Heeseung hummed but didn’t answer. His gaze was still fixed on the way your lips moved as you spoke. The way your hands danced with every word. The way your head tilted back with the smallest laugh—and how he hadn’t been the cause of it in weeks.

Ni-ki watched him for a moment before speaking again.

“You should stop waiting for her to come to you.”

Heeseung blinked, finally turning to look at the younger. “What?”

“You keep acting like she’s the one who has to say something first,” Ni-ki said, arms now crossed. “But maybe she’s just waiting to see if you even want to fix things.”

Heeseung stared at him for a beat too long, silence thick between them.

“…You’re annoying,” he muttered again.

Ni-ki smiled smugly. “Still right, though.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just looked back at you again.

Your smile had faded now—back to that practiced neutrality you wore so often in rehearsals. Like a mask. Like armor. And yet somehow, he still thought you were the most beautiful thing in the room.

“Alright,” one of the choreographers clapped loudly from the mirrored wall, snapping him from his daze. “Let’s run from the top!”

“Positions, everyone!” the other added, tablet in hand, already counting off the beats.

Heeseung blinked, slowly coming back to earth just as you stepped away from where you were helping Jay and Sunghoon. Your steps were even, posture steady.

But when you walked right past him—shoulder grazing air, gaze fixed ahead—it knocked the wind out of him harder than any routine ever had.

It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.

Heeseung forced a breath into his lungs, swallowing back the sting clawing up his throat. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. Not in front of you. Not again.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way toward the middle of the floor, right where he was supposed to be. Center.

Where everyone expected him to lead. Where you stood next to him, silent as ever.

“Start on my cue!” the choreographer called out.

Heeseung dropped his hands and rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake off the tension. The beat echoed in the speakers, low and steady.

You were already sliding into place beside him.

He didn't dare look at you.

Not when it felt like the smallest glance might unravel him all over again.

But he could still feel you there.

Like gravity.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

“Five,” the choreographer counted. “Six… seven… eight—”

The music crashed in.

And so did he, every movement deliberate, every breath lined with effort.

Because if he couldn’t have your forgiveness yet, he’d earn your respect first.

So Heeseung let the music swallow him whole.

He threw himself into the rhythm, counting beats not to remember the choreo—but to keep his thoughts from spiraling. To stop himself from wondering if you were watching. If you were even thinking about him at all.

Every movement was tight, fluid, sharp where it needed to be and soft where it demanded intimacy. He pressed into the performance like it was the only thing anchoring him to the room.

Like the only way to make it all worth something was to lose himself in the sound, in the shape of his own body, in the push and pull of the steps you both had drilled into muscle memory.

For just a few seconds, Heeseung allowed the music to replace the ache.

To shove your silence to the farthest corner of his heart.

To let the performance be the one thing he could control.

Even if it meant pretending you weren’t standing two feet away, eyes trained forward, pulse matching his in every silent, heavy breath that followed.

Heeseung’s chest rose and fell with each breath, sweat dotting his hairline as he stared at the camera lens blinking red in the middle of the room.

The silence after the music ended felt louder than the beat ever had. He didn’t even realize how tight his jaw was clenched until—

“Take five!”

The call from one of the choreographers snapped him out of it. Heeseung blinked, exhaled harshly, and immediately peeled himself off from the middle of the room, walking to the far side where his water bottle was. He didn’t spare anyone a glance. Not even you.

“(Y/N), Heeseung? Outside for a sec.”

Heeseung's brows furrowed instantly, eyes flicking toward the door, then to you, who was already heading out wordlessly.

He swallowed, grabbing his bottle before trailing behind you, a few feet apart, always a few feet apart. Still close enough to match your silence.

Outside, in the hallway, one of the choreographers crossed their arms while the other tapped at their tablet, glancing at the footage. Neither of you spoke.

“Okay,” one finally said, “There’s definitely been improvements. You’re hitting the beats cleaner, the pacing’s more in sync.”

“But,” the other chimed in, tone softer, “you still look… guarded.”

You blinked. “Guarded?”

“Especially during the choruses,” the first choreographer nodded, “Heeseung looks like he’s afraid to touch you. Like he’s going to break something.”

And before you could even part your lips to speak, Heeseung blurted—

“It’s not (Y/N). It’s me. I’ll work on it.”

You turned to him, startled by the suddenness in his voice.

He didn’t look at you. He just stared straight ahead, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, voice calmer now as he added, “She’s doing her part. It’s me who’s—” he paused, “—hesitating.”

The choreographers blinked, a bit surprised themselves, before one of them smiled faintly. “Okay, as long as you’re aware. You’re both doing well, but we need to feel that connection. Especially for camera cuts.”

“Understood,” you said simply, still eyeing Heeseung from the side.

He just nodded again, jaw tight, eyes still anywhere but you. The other choreographer clapped their hands, motioning toward the door. “Alright, back inside. We’ll run through the lift segment again after break.”

You walked in first.

Heeseung followed—silent, steady. Like a shadow. But not cold.

Just careful.

Because no matter how wordless it all was, it was clear.

Heeseung had spoken before you. Not to save himself. But to take the blame. To shield you.

And you felt it, heavy in your chest. The first crack in your walls.

And you hated that it felt warm.

It was past ten in the evening.

The halls outside were mostly empty, lights dimmed down to their softer nighttime hue, but inside the small practice room, the quiet was louder than anything else. J

ust you and Heeseung—again. The soft hum of the building’s AC mixed with the occasional squeak of your shoes against the floor as you shifted in place.

Both of you sat with legs stretched out, the camera still propped in the middle of the room, the footage paused at a moment where your hand was just about to meet his shoulder.

You were watching the video with a critical eye, brow furrowed slightly in focus. Heeseung wasn’t watching the video.

He was watching you.

You didn’t even notice how long his gaze lingered until he spoke, voice low, hesitant, like it wasn’t meant to break the quiet.

“I could… step a bit closer. So you can hold on to me faster.”

Your eyes flicked to him briefly before nodding. “Yeah. That’d make the transition smoother.”

You hummed in agreement as you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a note in your shared checklist. The tapping of your fingers filled the silence, but you could feel Heeseung’s eyes on you still—never wavering.

Your thumbs slowed slightly, then stopped.

You stared at your phone screen, empty for a second.

Then, your voice came out soft, “Are you okay with that video?”

There was a beat of silence before Heeseung nodded slowly, leaning forward and reaching for the company-issued phone on the floor. “Yeah. Looks cleaner. Better than last time.”

His voice was quiet, careful—like every word was measured.

You stood up slowly, dusting off your sweatpants and glancing back down at him as he got to his feet too, not saying much. Just moving like he always did—steady, quiet, uncertain.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, watching as he walked toward the door.

And—of course—he got there first.

Wordlessly, Heeseung opened it, holding it open with one hand while the other clutched the strap of his own bag.

His fingers tapped against the canvas rhythmically, a nervous tic. You stepped toward the doorway and, without looking at him, murmured under your breath:

“Thanks.”

It was so quiet you didn’t even know if he heard it. But then—

Heeseung gave a short, stiff nod. “Of course.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Didn’t meet your gaze. But he stood there until you were through the door. And he followed a few steps behind again, just like always.

Because it was always like this with Heeseung. He never walked ahead. Never got in your way. He was just there.

Trailing you in the dark, in the quiet, like someone trying to keep up without ever daring to ask if he could walk beside you.

The silence between the two of you lingered as you walked the familiar path through the corridor. Only the faint hum of city life bled in from the front doors.

Lights overhead buzzed softly, casting dim gold across the floor tiles as your footsteps echoed lightly—yours steady, purposeful; his just a step behind.

You stopped by the scanner first.

Finger pressed to the cool glass, the small beep of recognition echoed through the space as the main door lock clicked open.

Heeseung stepped up beside you and did the same, eyes flicking toward your side profile. He didn’t say anything—not yet.

You didn’t leave right away. You just… stood there. Still in your sweats, bag slung over one shoulder, arms loose by your side like you hadn’t made your decision yet.

Heeseung blinked.

His gaze flicked to your hands, your shoes, the way your weight shifted on your heels. You should’ve left by now. You always left first.

“…You okay?” he asked gently, brows furrowed as he tilted his head just a bit.

But you didn’t answer that.

Instead, still facing forward—eyes fixed on the tinted doors leading to the outside world, you said, low but clear enough to cut through the street noise beyond:

“Thanks. For covering up for me earlier.”

Heeseung froze.

His hand, still loosely holding his bag strap, tensed. His back went a little straighter, chest rising slightly with the breath he didn’t mean to hold.

The words—they weren’t sharp. They weren’t fierce. They didn’t cut, didn’t bite, didn’t come with fire.

They were soft. Almost careful. Like something you hadn’t meant to say out loud—but did anyway.

You didn’t say it with control, with sincerity.

And somehow, that was worse.

Heeseung swallowed hard, blinking fast like the moment had thrown him off balance. “I-I mean… it wasn’t really your fault,” he muttered, voice low, awkward. “It was mine. So… yeah.”

He scratched the back of his neck, fingers brushing the edge of his still-damp hair as he tried to mask the way his ears were heating up again.

You nodded stiffly. Not a single emotion passing over your face—at least none he could name.

And then you walked past him. No glance. No goodbye.

Just the weight of your words lingering between you like smoke.

He watched your figure retreat toward the street, shoulders square and firm, even as the neon lights from across the road painted your back in shifting colors.

He let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding, fingers twitching by his side before reaching up to grab at the front of his shirt—right where his heart was thudding like a punch against bone.

“Way to go, Heeseung,” he mumbled to himself, voice dry.

Then he turned, slowly walking back inside.

The doors hissed shut behind him. He scanned his fingerprint at the rear corridor’s access panel, the green light flickering as the back wing opened up.

It was quieter here, dimmer, lonelier.

Heeseung slipped through the hallway like a ghost, making his way to the underground parking lot, shoes barely making a sound.

And even as he tossed his bag into the backseat of the van, even as he leaned his forehead against his hands for a second too long—he could still hear your voice.

Your soft but distant voice.

The way it didn’t hurt, but didn’t quite comfort either.

Heeseung sighed, the sound shaky as it left his chest. His fingers curled tighter against his hair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment too long.

“…Well,” he mumbled, voice barely audible in the stillness of the van, “at least there’s progress, right?”

He didn’t know who he was talking to—himself, maybe. The rearview mirror. The ghost of your tone still echoing in his ears.

And when no one answered, he just laughed under his breath, hollow and unsure, before sinking deeper into his seat.

The main practice room was cold.

The kind of cold that clung to your skin no matter how many times you danced through it. The sun hadn’t even come up yet—just the soft buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, humming in the still air.

You rolled your shoulders back, bare arms prickling with goosebumps as you watched your reflection in the mirror.

You went through the chorus again. Again. And again.

The steps were clean. The angles were sharp. But it still felt like something was missing—like the beat wasn’t connecting, like the movement wasn’t breathing right.

You stopped midway, exhaling hard as your hands fell to your sides. Your back hit the mirror gently as you slumped against the cold glass. The echo of your own breath felt too loud in the empty room.

The door creaked open.

You immediately turned, your body stiffening, mouth already halfway open to scold whoever thought barging in at seven in the morning was a great idea—but then you saw him.

Messy silver hair. A hoodie that looked two sizes too big. Eyes wide like you’d just caught him breaking into your thoughts.

Lee Heeseung.

He froze in place, his hand still on the door handle. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, stepping in fully as the door clicked shut behind him. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

You stared. “You didn’t knock.”

He looked like he got hit.

“I—uh—right.” He nodded quickly, ears going scarlet. “I’ll knock next time. Or yell. Or text. Or, like, tap the glass? Or throw something at the mirror—I mean, no, not that—”

You sighed, dragging a hand through your hair as you waved him off. “It’s fine. Just… maybe don’t sneak up on people at dawn.”

Heeseung cracked a smile, small and sheepish, as he set his bag down gently by the wall. He walked toward you slowly—cautiously, like approaching a scared animal.

You raised a brow when he stopped a few feet away.

He hesitated, “Are you… okay?”

Your arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Heeseung shifted on his feet. “I mean. You looked frustrated. Earlier. I—saw you run through the chorus, like, five times. You don’t usually stop unless something’s bothering you.”

You blinked. How would he even know that?

“…Noticed that, did you?”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to sound creepy, I just—I’ve been watching. You. I mean, not like—ugh.”

He groaned softly, hand dragging down his face. “You know what I mean.”

You let your brow arch higher, amused now. “You want to try again?”

“I just meant,” he mumbled, “you looked like you could use a hand.”

You tilted your head, skeptical. “You offering?”

He nodded instantly. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”

There was that twitch again—his hand fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, the way his shoulders were just slightly pulled in like he wasn’t sure if he’d said too much. Or if you were about to push him away.

You sighed.

Then nodded.

“Alright,” you said, pushing off the mirror. “Fine. Come here.”

And Heeseung—he actually sighed like it was the first full breath he’d taken all morning.

He moved beside you, trying to keep a respectful distance even though the routine wouldn’t allow it for long. You didn’t comment on the flush still creeping up his neck.

Heeseung glanced at you once, eyes unreadable. “Where do you feel it’s off?”

You hummed, stepping back to the mirror. “Chorus, last transition beat. It’s supposed to fall between the pull and release—feels like I’m floating too far left before the downbeat.”

He blinked. “I noticed that, too.”

You turned, mildly surprised.

He shrugged. “I rewatched our recordings last night. Figured I’d try to… I don’t know, be useful?”

Something tugged at your chest.

You looked down at the floor, then back up. “Alright, partner. Let’s get to work.”

And for the first time in weeks—Heeseung smiled, just a little.

Not his usual smug, cocky smile. Not the fake polite one for choreographers.

A real one.

Soft. Crooked. Almost shy—like he didn’t know how to wear it anymore but still remembered how it felt.

Heeseung’s smile lingered for a second too long before he blinked, remembering where he was.

He straightened up quickly and turned toward the phone on the floor, still connected to the Bluetooth speakers, sitting right next to his bag.

He picked it up carefully like it was made of glass, eyes flicking up to you.

“Uh… may I?” he asked, holding it in both hands like it wasn’t yours, like it wasn’t the same phone you used in front of him every day.

You nodded.

He nodded back, a bit too eagerly, and walked over to you, tapping the screen a few times until the music app popped open.

“Can I, um, see the part you’re having trouble with?” he asked gently, his thumb already hovering over the cue bar.

You stepped away, brushing a bit of hair out of your eyes. “Yeah,” you muttered, pointing at the screen. “Start from here.”

He nodded again, mumbling to himself, “Okay… I’ll play it now.”

The track started softly, and you instinctively moved into place in the middle of the room.

The moment the pre-chorus passed, your posture changed—sharper, more focused, feet gliding into position as you performed the chorus on your own.

Heeseung stood still just a few feet away, watching.

Watching far too closely.

His eyes were wide but unreadable, mouth slightly parted as you cupped the air where his chin would’ve been—just a second too stiff. You completed the sequence with a firm exhale, pausing back in first position.

You turned to him, arms still half-raised. “Well?”

Heeseung blinked like he’d forgotten how to do that. “Uh—sorry.” His ears turned red as he fumbled to lower the volume on your phone. “That was—uh. Yeah.”

You crossed your arms. “You were staring.”

His lips twitched, mortified. “No, no, I wasn’t—I mean I was, but—not like in a weird way, just—I was trying to see what you meant.”

You raised a brow, but didn’t say anything.

Heeseung cleared his throat, gaze darting briefly to the ceiling before finally landing back on you. “I think… I think you’re struggling a little with the extension.”

You tilted your head. “How so?”

His hand raised in mid-air, mimicking your movement. “During the—uh, the part where you’re supposed to… uhm…” His face was flushed now. “C-cup my chin. Yeah. That part.”

You blinked.

He looked like he wanted the ground to eat him whole.

“I just think… you should raise your hand just a bit higher before you glide it down,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re cutting the movement short. If you hold it up for a second longer, it’ll land better.”

There was a beat of silence. And then, you nodded. Serious. Thoughtful. Not mocking. Not amused. Like you were really listening to him.

And God, that did something to Heeseung’s chest.

“Wanna try it with me?” he offered, softer this time.

You nodded again.

“Okay,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly, as if the tension in his body had just released for a moment.

He gently placed your phone down between the two of you and turned toward you, trying his best to ignore the way his pulse suddenly spiked.

“You can… start when you’re ready,” he said, standing a little stiffer than usual.

You nodded, stepping just a little bit closer, close enough that your arm would graze his during the routine if either of you messed up the spacing.

The intro played softly from your phone, echoing against the dim, mirrored walls of the practice room.

Each movement flowed smoother than the last, your bodies slipping into rhythm—not perfect, not effortless, but aligned.

It wasn’t just the choreography anymore—it was muscle memory, tension, timing, the air between your hands, the way the mirror caught your silhouettes from every angle.

And when the chorus came, you raised your hand higher this time. Slower. Fuller.

Your palm cupped under Heeseung’s chin—not rushed, not forced—and his breath hitched for just a second as you slid past him, continuing your movement with clean lines and a steadier breath.

He followed, step for step, matching the beat as if the floor itself moved with the two of you.

It ended in silence. The music faded into the background.

You stood there, breath caught in your chest.

Heeseung let out a quiet gasp—barely audible—but he smiled. He actually smiled. That same soft one you didn’t know how to describe.

“Well…” he murmured, voice light and a little breathless. “You did it.”

You blinked, eyes finally meeting his.

It was the first time in weeks that he saw your face clearly. Really looked at it. Not through the mirror. Not from the corner of his eye.

Just you. Face to face.

And something flickered across your lips. Barely there. A subtle curve. A break in the walls you’d built so carefully.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding once. “I did.”

You didn’t look away. Neither did he.

A few seconds passed in quiet—comfortable, unfamiliar quiet—and then you cleared your throat lightly, eyes drifting for a second before returning to his.

“Uh… thank you.”

Heeseung’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it got a little brighter—boyish. Earnest. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, brushing against the hem of his shirt.

“I guess I’m… not that useless after all,” he said with a small chuckle, eyes slightly crinkled.

You rolled your eyes. But this time, it wasn’t annoyed. It wasn’t cold. You actually smiled—this time visible. Not wide, not big, but enough to show your cheek twitch. Enough that Heeseung noticed.

That was the second crack.

The second moment where something inside of you softened.

You shook your head slowly, and for once, didn’t walk away immediately.

Heeseung’s gaze lingered on your face for a second too long before he cleared his throat softly and shifted his weight.

His silver hair moved with the motion, strands falling messily over his forehead as he stood up a little straighter—shoulders back, eyes steady. A bit more confident now, just a little less hesitant.

“I was, uh…” he started, his voice gentle, low. “I was wondering if you maybe… wanted to try doing the whole routine?”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak yet.

He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting to the side. “Like—from the top. Just us. I-It might be a little awkward since it’s, um… y’know… just the two of us… if that’s… if that’s alright with you.”

You exhaled, amused at the nervous stammer he still hadn’t shaken off despite standing so confidently now. The contradiction would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so… endearing.

You waved a hand dismissively. “It’s alright.”

Heeseung blinked once, then nodded. “Okay. Okay—cool,” he said a bit too fast, lips twitching into a grin he tried to bite back.

He moved toward the speaker, glancing at you before pressing play. “From the top, then.”

You stepped into position beside him, watching from the corner of your eye as he settled into place. His posture wasn’t as stiff anymore, his expression not as blank.

There was a subtle bounce in his stance, a lightness in his eyes as he glanced at the mirror once before straightening out his arms. He was… comfortable.

He was also smiling. Not at you—but because of you.

And you didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself, but the way the deer-eyed boy beamed at the floor like this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him all week—it made something in your chest crack again.

A small one. Barely there. But it was a crack all the same.

You took a quiet breath, shook the thoughts from your head, and focused on the beat that was about to hit.

“Ready?” he asked, just loud enough to reach you over the soft intro.

You didn’t look at him.

But your nod came quicker than it had before.

And just like that, the two of you began to move.

You stepped into the first beat like a wave slipping into shore—natural, inevitable. And Heeseung was there too, not behind you, not beside you—but with you. Not a second too late or a step too soon.

The air between your bodies shifted with each sway and pivot, and the camera—silent in the middle of the room—caught the ebb and flow of two dancers whose hearts had somehow found the same rhythm.

You popped in and out of frame with trained ease, the lines of your bodies clean, carved with control and trust. You’d done this routine dozens of times. You knew the choreography like the back of your hand. But this… this felt new.

The way Heeseung’s fingertips hovered near your waist without trembling.

The way your eyes followed his movement without looking for something to criticize.

The way the space between your bodies felt charged, not cold.

Like the gods had crafted you both to dance under the same sky. Like the stars had aligned not in fire—but in quiet understanding. Like the moon was watching, patient and proud, as her two children found each other at last in the rising light.

And when the song ended, your chest rising and falling with a soft exhale, you turned to him.

Heeseung turned to you at the same time.

And maybe it was just a flicker. Just a ghost of a smile. Barely there and completely unspoken—but you smiled at each other.

Just a little.

There were no mistakes.

No second-guessing. No stiff limbs. No silence sharp enough to cut through.

Heeseung shuffled to his feet, dragging in a few deep breaths, hands on his knees before he straightened again. His gaze—warm and unreadable—drifted to you as you stood a few feet away, head tilted back, taking a long sip from your water bottle.

Then, to his complete surprise, you grabbed another one—unopened—and without a word, walked over to him.

He panicked. Internally, at least.

You held the bottle out casually, not even looking at him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t spent weeks thinking you hated his very existence. Like you didn’t see how his hands trembled for days after the last time your eyes met.

But you did it anyway.

His fingers brushed yours when he took the bottle—lightly, barely there—but he felt it everywhere.

He stuttered over his thank you. “Th-Thanks. Uh. Really. For the, um. The water. Yeah.”

You glanced at him—just the smallest tilt of your head—and replied, “You need to hydrate more, Lee.”

He choked on his own breath.

You didn’t even call him ‘Heeseung.’

You said ‘Lee.’

He would take it.

You turned away before he could see how the corner of your lip almost curved again. And behind you, Heeseung watched like a man seeing sunlight for the first time.

Because for the first time in a long time—it didn’t feel like drowning. It felt like a hand pulling him back to shore.

It was the end of the third week of practice—and Sunoo genuinely couldn’t believe his eyes.

Like, really couldn’t. He blinked once. Rubbed at them twice. Even tilted his head slightly to the side like it would give him a better angle. But the sight didn’t change.

There, in the corner of the practice room—where the camera was still standing and the lights were dimmed ever so slightly—sat you and Lee Heeseung.

Talking.

And not the cold, clipped kind of exchange that had become the norm for the past few weeks.

No. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, one elbow propped on your knee as you faced him, and Heeseung—sweet, silver-haired Heeseung—was talking.

Not in his usual awkward mumble either, but animatedly, hands flying with every idea that slipped out of his mouth like he couldn’t hold it in.

“I’m just saying—okay, wait—hear me out,” Heeseung said, brows raised with excitement, “what if during the second chorus instead of the usual turn you pause, like a half beat later, and I turn at the same time? It’s just a delay, but visually, it looks like you're pulling me in. Like—" He spun his fingers together with wide eyes, “—sync but with tension.”

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as you processed. “That could actually work. It makes the break feel intentional, not stiff.”

Heeseung grinned like he just won the lottery.

“Oh my god,” Sunoo whispered from the crack of the door, his jaw slack. “The gods do exist.”

Jay, who was half-asleep and leaning against the doorframe beside him, squinted. “What?” he mumbled, rubbing one eye. “Aren’t we going in?”

“Shh!” Sunoo hissed, grabbing the front of Jay’s shirt and yanking him back just enough to stay out of sight. “You’re gonna ruin it—they’re talking.”

Jay blinked blearily. “Who?”

Sunoo nodded his head toward the door. “Them.”

Jay peeked in, slow and careful. Heeseung was now sketching something on the back of a crumpled page—using a highlighter of all things—as he explained spacing to you.

You were leaning a bit closer, eyebrows furrowed in thought, completely immersed.

Sunoo slapped a hand over his own mouth.

“They’re not killing each other,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “They’re actually being… normal.”

Jay gave him a look. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, no, this is historic.” Sunoo grabbed his phone and started typing. “I need to tell Jungwon—wait, no, I’m documenting this. For science.”

Back inside, Heeseung was still talking, now barely able to sit still. “And then the third repeat—we flip the direction. So, you pull me in first, then I pull you in, but it’s so subtle no one will notice unless they watch twice. Right? That way it builds without saying anything. It's like…”

He paused, smiling almost shyly, “…a conversation without words.”

You looked at him for a moment.

Then, softly, you said, “You think about this a lot, don’t you?”

Heeseung flushed, fingers stilling against the paper. “I, uh… yeah. When I can’t sleep.”

You nodded again, and something about the way your expression softened—barely there but there—made Heeseung’s ears go red.

Outside the room, Sunoo clasped his hands together like he was praying. “Please let this last. Please let this not be a fever dream.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You’re insane.”

“I’m hopeful,” Sunoo corrected.

Because for the first time in weeks, the cold wasn’t sitting between your shoulders and Heeseung’s gaze wasn’t full of regret. For the first time in weeks, something shifted.

Sunoo couldn’t take it anymore.

He had watched in silence—well, mostly silence—for a full five minutes, practically vibrating in place behind the door.

So when you and Heeseung leaned just a little closer, heads nearly touching as you both stared down at the same scrap of highlighter-streaked paper, he gasped so loudly that even Jay gave up pretending not to care.

“Oh my god. That’s it. I’m going in.”

“Sunoo—what—” Jay tried to grab him, but the younger had already flung the door open with the confidence of a man on a mission, dragging the groggy older member with him.

You jumped slightly at the loud clang of the door. “Holy—Sunoo?” you yelped, hand flying to your chest as your eyes snapped to the door.

Heeseung, startled, nearly dropped the pen in his hand as both of you turned toward the intrusion.

Sunoo beamed. “Good morning!” he chirped like nothing was out of the ordinary, completely ignoring the way Jay groaned beside him.

Heeseung blinked, then chuckled softly, still flushed from earlier. “Hi, guys,” he said, smile honest and lopsided. “Good morning.”

You muttered a quiet, still recovering, “Morning.”

Sunoo gave Jay a look that screamed see, it’s working, before turning back to you two like the best third wheel in existence.

“Don’t mind us! Just here to bask in the morning sunlight that is—” he dramatically gestured, “—you two not being cold and terrifying anymore.”

Heeseung only laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to you, fingers brushing against the edges of the paper again.

“So, um,” he said, voice softer now, “you think that could work, right? With the delay in the second chorus and then syncing the snap right after?”

You looked at him for a beat, then nodded once. “Yeah,” you said, adjusting your posture slightly so you could hear him better. “It flows better that way. Doesn’t feel too sharp.”

Heeseung’s smile grew again—boyish, bright, like he couldn’t help it. “You wanna try it now?”

You nodded again, already getting to your feet. “Yeah. Let’s try.”

Heeseung stood too, brushing off the back of his sweatpants as he followed you toward the center of the room. He stole one glance back at the scrap of paper before placing it down gently on top of his bag.

You took your usual spot, glancing over your shoulder at Sunoo, who looked like he was watching a real-life drama unfold.

“Sunoo,” you called out.

He blinked, suddenly very upright. “Yes, noona?”

“Would you mind playing the music?”

He gasped, clutching his chest. “Noona. I would be honored.”

Jay leaned back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, watching with a half-smile. “You’re so dramatic,” he muttered.

But Sunoo was already prancing to the speaker controls. “Let’s go! Live show! Main dancers in love—I mean, in sync!”

“Kim Sunoo,” you warned.

Heeseung flushed instantly, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to take his place in the center of the room.

You were already walking to your side of the mirrored studio, a hand brushing your hair away from your face, jaw tightening just a little—but not from anger.

Embarrassment? Maybe. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, and you pretended to stretch your shoulder to hide the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Sunoo didn’t even flinch. “I said what I said!” he chimed, finger hovering dramatically over the pause button like a conductor preparing to cue a symphony. “And—three, two, one—go!”

The soft chime of the iCloud upload completion echoed in the quiet of the small practice room, the faint buzz of the city just barely bleeding through the glass windows.

The clock on the wall ticked past eight in the evening, and your limbs ached from repetition, from dancing the same chorus over and over—but somehow, the fatigue didn’t settle in the way it usually did.

You leaned over your phone one last time, watching the blue bar finish its run as you whispered, “Uploaded.”

Behind you, Heeseung crouched by the center of the room, carefully dismantling the tripod.

The soft clack of the phone being removed echoed against the walls, and for a moment, he stayed kneeling—opening the camera app, screen casting a faint glow on his flushed face.

He turned the lens toward himself quickly, adjusting the angle without thinking. One snap. That was all he needed.

The photo popped up on the screen. He blinked, caught off-guard.

You were in the background. Your figure was slightly blurred, turned to the side as you fixed your hair, pulling it into a low ponytail, your expression neutral—focused. Unbothered.

And still, somehow, something about it made Heeseung’s lips pull into a soft, boyish smile. He stared for a second longer than necessary.

“You looking at yourself again?”

Your voice startled him.

“Wha—?!” Heeseung yelped, practically throwing the phone back down onto the drawer like it burned him. “No—I—uh, just… turning it off! Making sure it saves—company phone! You know—protocol!”

You blinked at him.

“…You always stutter when you lie,” you muttered under your breath, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“I wasn’t lying,” Heeseung tried again, but his voice pitched high enough that even he winced.

“Mhm.” You raised a brow, pausing near the door as he scrambled to grab his own bag. His ears were red again. He adjusted his hoodie sleeve like it could hide the way his hands fumbled with the zipper

He finally caught up, just behind you, awkwardly opening the door like a schoolboy trying to remember if he should say something or not.

“Uh—after you,” he offered quickly, holding it open without looking directly at you.

You walked past him, letting out a quiet, “Thanks.”

And as the two of you stepped into the dimly lit hallway, silence stretched between you—comfortable for once, like something had settled. But Heeseung, still flustered, scratched at the back of his neck as he looked away.

The hallway smelled faintly of floor wax and fabric softener—old and familiar, like every late-night practice that came before this one.

Fluorescent lights buzzed above, soft and lazy in their glow, casting long shadows over the two of you as your footsteps echoed in quiet rhythm against the tiles.

Neither of you spoke at first. Just the steady shuffle of sneakers, the gentle thud of your bag against your side. Then, softly—almost timidly—Heeseung spoke.

"Hey… (Y/n)."

You didn’t stop walking, but you did glance slightly his way, a hum escaping your throat. A quiet, curious sound, inviting him to keep talking.

He hesitated, swallowing back the nerves that rose to his throat. “Can I… call you that?” he asked, voice barely above the hum of the lights.

You nodded—wordless, but not cold. More like urging. Like telling him to go on.

He cleared his throat, his hand slipping into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curling around the hem nervously.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

You blinked, then turned your head a little more. “For what?”

“For…” He shrugged, his shoulders rising like he wasn’t sure how to carry the weight of the words. “Letting me help you. Earlier. You didn’t have to… but you did.”

There was a beat of silence. Then you let out a soft chuckle—not sarcastic, not cold. Just tired and genuine.

“Yeah,” you said simply, shaking your head faintly. “It’s fine.”

And somehow, those two words carried more warmth than he expected.

The silence returned, but it wasn’t the strained, suffocating kind you both had known weeks before. It was soft. Like a shared breath. Like the calm after a storm.

You reached the front of the building first, scanning your fingerprint with a quiet beep. The door clicked open with its usual whirr.

Heeseung followed right behind, his own scan lighting the panel a faint blue. His steps were still careful—always a little behind yours, as if he was still learning to walk beside you instead of behind.

As the doors unlocked, he whispered again, just before you could step through.

“Thank you,” he repeated, softer this time. Sincere. Just for you.

You glanced over your shoulder—not quite a full turn, just enough to meet his eyes. Your face remained unreadable, the same neutral expression you wore like armor. But…

There it was.

The tiniest curve at the corner of your lips. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

You didn’t say anything else. You just turned and stepped into the night, the wind tugging at your sleeves and your voice leaving only an echo behind.

Heeseung stood there, frozen for a second.

And then, slowly, that boyish smile crept onto his face.

He looked up—just briefly. The moonlight caught on his silver hair, bathing him in a glow that made him look more like a story than a person. His heart felt stupidly full.

Still grinning to himself, he turned and walked back into the building, fingertips brushing against the warm scanpad as the doors closed behind him.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough for now.

Heeseung sighed contentedly as the glass doors slid shut behind him, a hint of warmth still lingering on his lips from your not-quite-smile.

His footsteps echoed faintly as he made his way down the dim stairwell leading to the underground parking lot, the buzz of late-night silence wrapping around him like a blanket.

He didn’t expect anything else tonight. Just the usual: his manager half-asleep in the front seat of the black van, maybe a bottle of water waiting inside, maybe a moment alone to think about the fact that you hadn’t walked away so fast this time.

But when he pushed open the heavy gray door to the parking garage, he blinked.

And then blinked again.

“…What the hell are you two doing.”

Jay and Ni-ki stood by the van—well, Ni-ki stood, his body twisted to the side as he held a crumpled piece of convenience store bread just out of reach.

Jay, disheveled and visibly sleep-deprived, was practically clinging to the younger one’s back, both of them wrestling like children in the middle of the dimly lit garage.

“Give it back, gremlin!” Jay hissed, reaching over Ni-ki’s shoulder.

“I bought it with my own money!” Ni-ki shot back, dancing around the parked car, bread flailing like a prized trophy. “You literally said you weren’t hungry!”

“That was twenty minutes ago! I am now!”

“Not my problem, old man—”

“Guys.” Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose, a tired but amused smile tugging at his lips. “It’s bread. There’s another convenience store across the street.”

Jay glared at him while still holding onto Ni-ki. “It’s the last sweet milk one. The last one.”

“It’s always the last one,” Ni-ki grumbled.

Jay turned to Heeseung. “Tell him to share.”

Ni-ki scoffed, hugging the bread dramatically. “Tell him to bring his own next time instead of stealing from minors.”

Heeseung shook his head with a light chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “This is what I come back to after a good practice session.”

Jay finally gave up and dropped his arms with a heavy sigh. “Fine. But you owe me next time.”

Ni-ki shrugged. “Sure. I’ll save you the plastic wrapper.”

Heeseung walked past them to open the van door, the grin on his face impossible to hide now.

Honestly, it was kind of nice. The laughter. The way things felt a little lighter than they had in weeks.

“Can we just go home before you two start biting each other?” he muttered, hopping into the backseat.

Jay followed with a dramatic groan. “As long as Ni-ki stops acting like a raccoon in a bakery.”

Ni-ki climbed in last, still smug, bread safe and sound in his lap. “I am the youngest. I get priority survival rights.”

Heeseung leaned back against the headrest, the sounds of bickering and laughter still echoing inside the van as the engine rumbled to life.

The final night of practice was nothing like the rest.

There was no laughter.

No playful bickering.

Just the sound of sneakers brushing against the hardwood floor. Of soft, controlled breaths. Of water bottles being set down too gently, like everyone was scared to disturb the focus in the room.

You stood beside Jake’s partner—someone you’d grown surprisingly fond of in the last few weeks—and she tugged lightly on your sleeve.

“Let’s do well,” she mumbled, her voice nearly drowned out by the silence around you.

You turned to her, nodding. “We will.”

The overhead lights buzzed softly, dimmed just enough to mimic the way it’d look during filming. Everyone was already in place, some crouched on the floor, others upright, heads bowed in concentration as the opening notes rolled in.

You spotted Heeseung a few feet away, standing exactly where he should be—center, eyes down, lips parted slightly like he was mouthing a quiet prayer.

Your chest tightened. Not because of him.

Just one more run-through before everything was set in stone.

You fell into your formation like instinct, like muscle memory, like ritual. Jake’s partner mirrored you perfectly, her steps sharp but fluid, grounded and light all at once.

And then there was Heeseung.

Sliding into frame like he was born to be there, every beat he hit sharpened with conviction. For the first time in a long time, his gaze didn’t avoid yours.

When your paths crossed near the second verse—your fingertips brushing in a fleeting moment of choreography—you didn’t flinch. Neither did he.

When the song ended, the room stayed still for a second too long.

Jake dropped to the floor with a heavy exhale. “Holy shit.”

Ni-ki sat down beside him, gulping water like he’d never tasted it before. Sunoo didn’t even speak—he just laid flat on the ground, breathless and smiling up at the ceiling.

You were still catching your breath, a little dazed from how smooth that run-through felt, when you turned—and met Heeseung’s gaze across the floor.

He wasn’t panting like the rest, but his chest moved a little quicker than normal. His bangs clung to his forehead, silver hair a mess from the dancing, and the tips of his ears were bright red when you nodded at him.

He nodded back.

He opened his mouth, like he was about to say something—

“Hyung!” Sunghoon’s arm slung over his shoulder with the grace of a collapsing tree. He leaned all his weight onto the older boy. “Save me. My legs are falling off.”

Heeseung huffed a startled laugh, stumbling slightly with the added weight. “That’s what you get for showing off during the chorus.”

“I wasn’t showing off, I was dying artistically.”

Claps suddenly echoed across the room—two sharp ones, then more, until the entire room was filled with tired applause. The choreographers stood in front, grinning.

“Great work, everyone,” the head choreographer called out, proud. “That was your cleanest run yet. If you keep that energy, the M/V’s going to come out incredible.”

A round of low cheers, pants, and relieved bows followed.

“Go home, get some sleep,” another added, “because we’re flying out first thing tomorrow. Plane call’s at five sharp.”

The entire room groaned.

Everyone bowed to the choreographers again, muttering quiet thank-yous and “good night!” before dispersing—some collapsing back on the floor for one last moment of peace, others shuffling to grab their bags.

You slung yours over your shoulder as you walked out of the practice room, only to realize—Heeseung was quietly pacing beside you, his steps matching yours.

He didn’t speak. Neither did you. But the silence wasn’t awkward—it wasn’t cold. Just… gentle. Like something understood, but not said out loud.

You both stepped out of the hallway and toward the building entrance when a familiar voice called out—

“(Y/N)!”

You looked up, surprised to see Yunjin and Chaewon waiting near the doors. Both of them waved, smiling, clearly having waited for you.

“We brought food,” Yunjin beamed, holding up a takeout bag. “Thought you might’ve skipped dinner again.”

But then her gaze shifted behind you—and her brows shot up in surprise.

“Oh…” she blinked, staring at the boy beside you. “And Heeseung-sunbaenim’s here too.”

Chaewon tilted her head slightly. “Hey.”

You turned to Heeseung, unsure what he was about to do—but to your surprise, he didn’t retreat or bolt. Instead, he offered them a small bow and a smile, the kind that was a little shy, but genuine.

Then he turned to you.

A boyish grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Get home safe, okay?”

You blinked, surprised at how easily the words fell from him.

“…Yeah,” you mumbled, a little caught off guard. “You too.”

He gave a final nod, eyes crinkling just the slightest before turning and walking back to where his members were gathering near the elevators.

You watched him go for a second—his silver hair glowing under the hallway lights, the way Sunghoon elbowed him the moment he approached, like no one missed the little interaction.

Yunjin leaned close. “Was that…?”

Chaewon raised a brow, watching Heeseung’s figure disappear into the hall. “Lee Heeseung-sunbaenim?”

You didn’t answer.

Not yet.

The air felt colder outside the practice room—more real somehow. The adrenaline of dancing had faded, and in its place was the rush of a different kind of weight.

Chaewon waited until you were a few steps down the hall before she spoke again. Her voice was softer this time, but not any less sharp.

“So… what happened to heeding all of our warnings?”

You paused mid-step.

The hallway light flickered above you.

Warnings. Voices. Reminders.

That Lee Heeseung was a walking headline. That he didn’t care about anyone but himself. That he was a heartbreaker, a perfectionist, a charming mess behind the scenes who never gave anyone the same version of himself twice.

You had hated him for it. Avoided him like the plague.

You swallowed, tightly, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag as your mind scrambled for a response that didn’t feel like a betrayal of your better judgment.

“He’s just my dance partner,” you said after a beat, turning toward them with a smile that felt tight around the edges. “That’s all.”

Yunjin blinked, reading you easily—maybe too easily—but she nodded slowly. “Right. Dance partner.”

Chaewon’s eyes stayed on you a second longer. There was something unreadable in her gaze, something protective. She wasn’t convinced. But she also didn’t push.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

The silence that followed threatened to grow awkward, but Yunjin, bless her soul, looped her arm around yours and pulled the conversation forward like it was a lifeline.

“Anyway,” she chirped, “we’re this close to locking in the comeback concept. Chaewon-unnie wants to go full femme fatale, I’m still pushing for glitter and leather.”

Chaewon scoffed. “You just want another excuse to wear rhinestones on your eyelashes.”

You let out a small laugh—grateful. Grateful they were here. Grateful they knew when to stop asking.

Even if the questions still echoed in your own chest.

And as the three of you walked out into the night, your heart was still quiet—but your thoughts weren’t.

The stars above were barely visible, the city lights too bright to let them breathe. Kind of like your chest right now—tight, conflicted, too full of everything and still pretending it was nothing.

Yunjin and Chaewon kept talking, their voices warm and familiar, fading into background noise as you walked between them.

He’s just my dance partner.

You repeated the words like a mantra, like if you said it enough times it’d become truth. But the truth was slippery—and it had silver hair and eyes that kept looking at you like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

You hated him. Didn’t you? You had every reason to.

You remembered the stories. The rumors. The way everyone warned you—how they called him careless, reckless, too smooth with his words and too sharp with his tongue.

He was everything you told yourself to avoid. So you did.

You ignored him. Brushed past him. Pretended he didn’t exist even when he stood two feet away. Even when he opened doors and kept his head bowed and spoke your name like it was something he wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

Because that’s how you protected yourself.

Because the boy you saw in that practice room? He wasn’t some arrogant heartbreaker with too much charm and not enough sincerity. He was awkward. Shy. Gentle. Too gentle, even.

Heeseung stuttered when he asked you things. He flinched when you looked at him too long. He smiled like he wasn’t used to smiling in your direction and was scared you’d take it back.

He acted like a deer in headlights, not some villain with a pretty face.

And maybe that was the problem.

“…You’re quiet,” Chaewon noted suddenly, pulling you out of your spiral. She eyed you with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah,” you said, voice just above a whisper. “Just… tired.”

Yunjin slowed her steps, her tone gentler now. “Long day?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just a long day.”

Neither of them pushed. You were thankful for that. Because you didn’t know how to explain it—not even to yourself.

That the lines were starting to blur. That your certainty had started to shift the moment he looked at you like you mattered. That maybe the worst part of hating him—was realizing he never hated you back.

The set was somewhere deep in the countryside of Poland—or so they told you. You didn’t ask. You didn’t care.

The jet lag was a vice around your skull, your temples pulsing with the weight of back-to-back schedules and unfinished sleep.

The only thing keeping you upright was the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the massive venue they’d rented out for the shoot.

The studio lights were blinding, and the beat of the backing track playing faintly overhead echoed like a second heartbeat in your ears.

You sat wordlessly in a fold-out chair as a makeup artist dabbed at the outer corner of your eye with a small brush, sweeping a final shimmer of dark plum across your lid.

Another artist fussed with the fall of your hair behind the black silk mask strapped tightly to your face.

You were grateful for the mask. Not because it looked good—but because it hid you. Even just a little.

You didn’t have to smile. Didn’t have to speak. Didn’t have to see the way Heeseung was still staring from across the room like you were the only thing that mattered more than the camera.

His gaze burned hot and obvious, like it hadn’t stopped tracking you since you stepped onto the set an hour ago.

Like even here—in the middle of nowhere, half the world away, wrapped in pearls and velvet—he couldn’t forget the way your hands felt against his just three days ago in the dance room.

You could see him in your peripheral. Silver hair tousled, his expression slipping slightly as he fiddled with the pearl strings sewn into his sweater.

His fingers—elegant, nervous—twisted and untwisted the threads like they were the only way he could keep himself grounded.

“You’re good to go,” the stylist murmured beside you, stepping away after one last spritz of setting spray.

You blinked and nodded. “Thank you.”

Across the room, Jake burst into laughter as Jungwon elbowed him, both of them dressed in matching jackets that shimmered under the lights. They looked exhausted but lighthearted—like they’d slept at least a little more than you had.

You stood up, adjusting the fall of your black mask as you made your way toward the center of the set. The platform had been polished until you could almost see your reflection in it.

Choreographers bustled nearby, adjusting marks and camera angles as final checks were called out across walkie-talkies.

“Everyone in position in five!” a staff member called.

You kept walking, and so did Heeseung.

But as you both paused at your assigned marks—just a breath apart, the cold air curling between your shoulders—you heard it.

Heeseung’s voice. Low. Careful.

“…You okay?”

Your eyes flickered to him for the briefest second, the mask hiding the frown that pulled at your lips.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly.

Heeseung didn’t move, but you could hear the way he breathed in just a bit sharper than usual.

“You’re not sleeping well,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

He shifted slightly in his stance, adjusting the sleeves of his sweater where they clung tight around his wrists.

“I’m not either,” he added. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” you replied, voice clipped. But it wasn’t as cold as it could’ve been. It was more tired.

He chuckled once under his breath. Dry. Almost self-deprecating.

The seconds ticked by.

And even in a space filled with people and light and noise—you felt like it was only the two of you.

But maybe that was the problem.

Because the more you let yourself believe it—the more you let yourself notice the soft smiles, the hesitant stares, the way his fingers lingered too long after each lift or catch—the harder it became to shut your thoughts down.

It was exhausting. Tiring in a way no practice could match.

You really didn’t know what to believe anymore.

You hated the way your chest fluttered when he smiled at you during warmups. You hated the way your heart twisted when his eyes dropped to the floor every time you brushed past him like strangers.

You hated that you remembered every warning you were given about him—and yet here you were, slowly forgetting why you built those walls in the first place.

It was too much. Too loud in your head, too warm in your chest, and too dangerous in your hands.

The chorus cue came. You pushed the thoughts aside. Let the music take you.

Let muscle memory and muscle tension guide your body. The choreography was second nature now—each movement stitched into your bones. Heeseung’s hand slid behind your waist. Your palms grazed his collar. The camera passed.

But it was over too soon—too much.

And when the final beat of the chorus hit, you pressed yourself away—too fast.

Heeseung’s hand slipped from your side with no resistance.

He frowned. Just slightly. You didn’t see it, but you felt it. The shift. The falter.

Your steps were light, almost too fast as you moved to the other side of the set—your breath tight in your lungs as you stood next to Jungwon’s partner, who greeted you with a bright, hopeful beam.

“You looked so good out there,” she said, nudging your arm lightly.

You forced a smile. Let it rise behind your eyes where the mask couldn’t hide it.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “So did you.”

The moment felt safe—comfortable. Predictable.

And from across the room, Heeseung saw it all. The way you laughed—small, but real. The way you leaned a little closer. The way you didn’t flinch or shift away.

He swallowed the tight lump in his throat, watching you with unreadable eyes.

What happened? What changed?

The chill of your absence seeped through the space he used to hold beside you. He turned away before he could think too long about it. Before the ache in his chest got too obvious.

He didn’t want to think that maybe—for all the progress he thought you were making—this meant you were still running.

The second day of filming began with breath clouds and red noses.

You huddled close with the other dancers beneath a shared gray blanket that barely kept the cold out.

The fitted red dress you wore clung to your frame, no sleeves in sight, no mercy from the biting wind. Your fingers twitched where they fiddled with the invisible hem of your sleeves that didn’t exist.

“This dress is evil,” Sunghoon’s partner muttered, her teeth chattering as she pressed her arms together. “It’s like—glamour meets hypothermia.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding. “Suffering for the aesthetic,” you joked, eyes crinkling behind the red mask you still hadn’t taken off. “We should get hazard pay.”

The girls around you giggled in agreement, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. It was one of the rare moments you could pretend this was just another project. Just another set.

But then the call came.

“Dancers, to the platform!”

You hesitated before letting the warmth slip from your hands.

The blanket fell to the bench behind you like a defeated flag as you stepped onto the gravel path leading to the raised platform. Your heels clicked against the cold stone as the wind tugged at your hair. You walked with practiced grace—but your arms were stiff, skin prickling from the chill.

He was already there.

In the middle of the platform, Jake beside him, their postures relaxed but ready. Half of Heeseung’s silver hair had been slicked back, the rest tousled slightly by the breeze.

He was wrapped in the same dark regal jacket you saw during the earlier takes, layered over the white stage shirt that matched the shadows in his eyes.

His gaze caught yours.

Just a second.

One heartbeat too long.

And then—a small smile.

Tame. Careful. Almost apologetic. Like he knew he didn’t have the right to smile too brightly.

You didn’t return it. You simply nodded, small and impersonal.

Heeseung felt the air knock out of him anyway.

He looked away, jaw tightening just slightly as he shifted in place, trying to shake the thoughts out of his head. His hand adjusted the earring tucked near his ear as the director’s voice rang out loud and clipped from below the platform.

“Alright, places! We’re rolling in three!”

You took your mark silently, body coiling with tension as you took your place behind Heeseung—just off to his left like the choreography called for.

“Two!”

“One!”

Heeseung didn’t dare glance back at you again. Not when the cold wasn’t the only thing that had him shivering.

And as the music started—so did the silence between your bodies. Two dancers moving like fire and frost. Each step practiced. Each contact perfect.

But Heeseung still wondered if your heart was somewhere far away from him. Or if he’d ever be allowed to reach it again.

The director’s voice echoed once more, signaling the end of the take. The music faded, replaced by the familiar shuffles of movement and quiet congratulations.

You stepped away. Again. Same as you always did.

But this time—he moved faster.

Before you could even plant your next step, his fingers closed around your wrist—not tight, not rough, but firm. Sure. The kind of hold that said, Don’t walk away. Not this time.

“Wait,” he said, voice low. Not commanding. Not pleading. Just there.

Your breath caught. “Lee—?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t give you the chance to protest again.

With a sudden tug, he turned, leading you away from the open platform, past a row of weathered pillars and toward the broken shadow of the ruined courtyard wall—one of the few places the cameras couldn’t see. Where no staff or backup dancers wandered. Just the wind. And your heartbeat.

“Hey—” you yelped softly, heels catching slightly in the gravel. You tugged at his hand, but it was useless. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t say anything.

Just glanced over his shoulder, silver hair windblown and eyes burning, and even in his silence, he was careful—his hand never left yours, but he slowed just enough to help you step over the uneven stones, guiding you gently until the two of you were out of view.

Out of reach. Out of excuses.

He finally stopped when the only sound between you was the faraway call of a raven and the hush of your breaths.

You pulled your wrist again. “Lee Heeseung—”

His grip loosened, not enough to hurt. Just enough that you could leave if you really wanted to.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

Still, he didn’t step back. He didn’t let go, either. And instead—his fingers trailed down. Slid slowly into yours like a silent plea.

The other hand came next—gentle, hesitant—trembling as it found yours and held on, palms warm despite the cold that clung to the ruins around you.

His breath hitched. Chest rising like he had to remind himself to inhale.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was small. Fractured.

A boy breaking.

“(Y/N)…”

His gaze flicked to yours and then away—like it hurt to be seen, but it hurt worse not to be.

“…Why do you hate me so much?”

It wasn’t a complaint. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t said like he was looking for a fight.

It was said the way someone asks a god why the world ended. Like maybe they’d accept being ruined—if someone could just explain why.

“I don’t get it,” he whispered, shaking his head, silver strands falling into his eyes. “I don’t know what I did. I’ve been trying—fuck, I’ve been trying so hard to make this okay. To make this easy for you.”

He looked down at your hands in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. Once. Twice. Like he was trying to remember something he never got to hold properly.

“I never—” he blinked, hard, and his gaze dropped to your hands in his, thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles like he needed to make sure you were real. “I never touched you wrong. Never spoke to you bad. Never treated you any different than the rest of them.”

His voice wavered, just slightly.

“So why is it that when I look at you… you look at me like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you?”

You swallowed the burn at the back of your throat. The words felt sharp in your chest. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t want to.

But you’d looked at him like that, hadn’t you?

“I’ve spent weeks trying to make this work. To be good. To earn whatever piece of trust you’d let me have. And still—” he laughed, bitter, watery “—you keep flinching like I’m gonna hurt you.”

He laughed. Just once. It sounded bitter, like it tasted like rust in his mouth.

“I know I’m not your favorite person. I know I’m a lot of things. But I’m not… I’m not cruel. I’m not trying to make you hate this.”

He stepped closer—just enough to close the space. Just enough for you to feel the weight of every word between his trembling fingers.

And his eyes, they weren’t angry, they weren’t cold.

They were pleading. Wet at the edges, rimmed red like he’d been holding it in too long. Tired. Soft. So full of something he didn’t have a name for yet.

“So tell me,” he said, voice nearly cracking. “What is it? What did I do? Because I’m losing it here, trying to figure out why you hate me so much when I—”

His grip on your hands tightened. Not forceful. Just—rooted, desperate.

“I just… I want to understand. I want to fix it. I want to know why you hate me so much when I—”

He stopped. Bit his lip.

And it crumbled out of him.

“…When I think about you all the time.”

The silence that followed that confession felt louder than the wind against the ancient stones.

Heeseung’s breath hitched. His grip tightened—not painfully, but with the kind of desperation you only showed when you were losing something you never truly had.

You sighed.

A long, shaking exhale that fogged up the inside of your mask. Your fingers twitched in his, and without a word, you slowly reached up—peeling the red cloth down from your face.

Your lips were parted. Your chest rose and fell a little quicker than normal. You didn’t speak at first—you just stared at him.

At the silver-haired boy in front of you, head slightly bowed but eyes still locked onto yours.

Eyes that were red and glassy. Eyes that didn’t blink as they searched your face for answers he was terrified to hear.

You swallowed.

“I heard things,” you finally whispered.

Your voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold. It was quiet—like a confession you’d kept folded in your pocket for too long. About to crumble.

Heeseung blinked. His brows pinched in the middle.

“I didn’t… hate you at first,” you admitted, eyes flickering downward. “I didn’t know you. I didn’t care.”

You laughed—bitter, soft.

“But then people started talking. Telling me to stay away. That you were selfish. That you didn’t care about your members, or your partners. That you half-assed things when it didn’t interest you. That you flirted with girls like it was a game, just to watch them fall.”

You looked up again—and Heeseung’s face was starting to crack.

“They told me you’d never make this easy. That you’d just throw me under the bus if it got hard. That I should keep my distance or I’d end up the next girl crying over Lee Heeseung.”

Your lips trembled.

“So I did.”

And still—he said nothing.

But his eyes. His face. His shoulders. He was shaking.

You went on, quieter. “I convinced myself it was true. Every time you looked at me, every time you smiled or tried to talk—I told myself you were lying. That you were just playing the part.”

Your voice caught. You looked down at your heels.

“I was scared.”

Heeseung’s breath hitched, finally unable to hold it in anymore. He sniffled sharply, blinking fast—but one tear escaped anyway. Then another. Then more.

Still holding your hands, he stepped forward—just enough that his forehead hovered over your shoulder.

You didn’t pull away.

You let him stay there—his body still trembling, your hands still warm in his.

A tear slid down the side of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Voice muffled against you. “I never wanted that. I swear. I never—”

He broke off. Shaking again. “I didn’t know they said that about me.”

And this time, it was you who clutched his fingers tighter.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” you said quietly. “But they were so sure. And you were so…” You paused. “You were so hard to read.”

Heeseung pulled back, just enough to look at you again. His face was soaked now. Lips parted, cheeks flushed from crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

And before you could say anything—before you could even breathe—he made a sound.

Not a word. Not quite a sob.

It was somewhere in between—like his voice cracked around the weight of what he was trying to hold in. And then suddenly, it was like the dam broke.

“I didn’t even…” he choked, voice trembling. “I didn’t even date anybody. Ever. Not since debut. I swear—God, I swear.”

He pulled away just barely, not enough to let you go, just enough to meet your eyes.

His were rimmed red. Wet. Wide. Panicked.

“I don’t know who said that. I don’t know where that came from,” he said, words stumbling over each other, “I never flirted with anyone—I never… I didn’t do any of that. Because I didn’t want to.”

Another shaky inhale. His hands trembled in yours.

“I didn’t want anyone else. I didn’t care about anyone else. I only ever wanted you to like me. To even just—tolerate me.”

Heeseung bit down on his lip again, trying and failing to swallow the next sob. His whole body shook from the effort, from the exhaustion, from the weeks of holding it all in.

And then finally—he slumped. Not just physically—but emotionally. Completely.

His head dropped, forehead resting gently against your shoulder, arms still loosely holding your hands like he was afraid you’d vanish the second he let go.

You inhaled—shakily. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

You could feel his breathing now. Labored, broken. The small shudder of him trying to stop the tears even as they soaked the fabric of your dress. You let go of one of his hands—not to step away, not to push him off. You raised it instead.

Tentative. Careful.

And cradled the back of his head.

Fingers slipping gently into the mess of silver hair as you pressed his face just a little closer to you, letting him cry into your shoulder. Letting him break, here—where no cameras could see. Where no staff would interrupt.

Where it was just the two of you.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered. “Heeseung… I didn’t know.”

You said his name like it hurt.

And it did. Because maybe if you had asked. Maybe if you had just looked him in the eye earlier. Maybe—

“I’m sorry,” you said this time.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His voice was gone. His body curled just slightly toward you like something inside him finally caved.

Like the mask he wore for the world had slipped—and all that was left was a boy who was tired of being misunderstood.

Your hand in his hair moved gently—slow strokes over soft silver strands, your fingers trembling as they threaded through the mess at his nape.

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned closer, like he needed the grounding. Like if you stopped, he’d fall apart entirely.

So you pulled him just a little closer. Just enough for his nose to nudge the side of your neck. Just enough to feel his shoulders shake against you as the sobs continued to slip out, quieter now, but no less painful.

And you finally spoke.

“People told me things,” you whispered, the words shaky, just above the sound of his broken breaths. “Things about you. And I believed them.”

Your throat burned. You blinked hard—but it was useless. The tears had already welled.

“I shouldn’t have trusted them just because I knew them,” you said. “I shouldn’t have let their version of you decide everything for me. Because you’re—”

You paused, fingers curling tighter in his hair.

“You’re nothing like what they said.”

Heeseung didn’t move, but you felt his grip loosen on your hands—only for his arms to suddenly wrap around you. Fully. Desperately.

His entire body curled forward into you, pressing against your chest, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck as if trying to disappear into you entirely.

The force of it knocked you back just slightly—your shoulders hitting the cold stone of the castle wall behind. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t stop him. Your free hand slid instinctively to his back, pressing there—steady, warm.

“I’m so—” your voice cracked. “So, so sorry, Heeseung.”

A choked sob escaped him again, and you felt it—raw, stuttering, like it had torn straight from his chest. His fingers gripped at your waist now, not to hold you back, but like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you whispered, tears finally slipping past your lashes. “Why didn’t you—why didn’t I ask?”

His only answer was to press further into you, body trembling, forehead still buried against your shoulder like the weight of your words might break him all over again.

And maybe it did.

Because Heeseung had never cried like this in front of anyone.

And you—you had never held someone like this either. Not like this. Not someone who once stood so far from you and now clung to you like you were the only solid ground he had left.

Heeseung’s arms tightened again. Not desperately this time—just closer. Like he didn’t want space anymore. Like he couldn’t handle distance for even a second longer.

His sobs had quieted, turned into soft, uneven breaths, but the tears didn’t stop. They fell naturally now—unguarded, unashamed—as if they’d been waiting for this moment, for you, to fall into.

You let your own tears drop, some falling to the sharp slope of his shoulder, others soaking quietly into the soft knit of his costume.

Neither of you said anything right away. The silence didn’t demand to be filled—it just existed, heavy and real and needed.

Then Heeseung whispered, barely audible.

“…Why didn’t you tell me you believed all that?”

His voice cracked again—not from crying, but from hurt. Not angry. Just… confused. Small.

You didn’t pull away. If anything, you pressed your forehead lightly to the side of his, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you exhaled. “Because I didn’t want to believe I was wrong.”

He sniffled. His fingers curled just slightly at your back, bunching your dress. “Was I really that easy to hate?”

You closed your eyes, throat tightening as you whispered, “No. That’s the worst part.”

He stilled in your arms. Completely.

Your hand smoothed over his hair again.

“You were… awkward. Quiet. You smiled at me like you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You stuttered. You kept your distance. But that wasn’t the boy they warned me about. That wasn’t the version I tried to avoid.”

You finally leaned back—just enough to meet his eyes. His cheeks were wet, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, lashes clumped together from crying. But he looked at you like you were all he could see.

Your hands, without thinking, slid to cup his face. Thumbs brushing under his eyes, catching the tears before they could fall again.

Heeseung leaned into your touch, nose brushing against your palm as he let out a quiet, trembling sigh.

His eyes fluttered shut for just a second—like he needed to gather himself, like he needed to be sure this wasn’t some kind of dream he’d wake up from cold and alone.

And then, barely above a whisper, fragile and hesitant: “…What now?”

Your breath caught. Your thumbs stilled where they gently traced the damp lines beneath his eyes. He looked so small like that.

Not because of size—but the way he folded into your warmth, the way the world seemed to weigh heavier on him than it should. And he let you hold that weight now, even just for a moment.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, your hands cradled him just a bit more securely, thumbs running softly along the apple of his cheeks. You leaned in slowly—so slowly he had time to move, time to flinch or pull away. But he didn’t.

And when your lips met the center of his forehead—soft, warm, sure—Heeseung froze.

His eyes fluttered open in surprise, just a little.

He just let his lids fall again, let his shoulders drop, let his body sink into yours like that simple, wordless kiss had done what a thousand apologies never could. As if all the jagged pieces inside him had stopped cutting for just a second.

He exhaled shakily.

“…That felt nice,” he mumbled, voice raspier now, lips barely moving.

You pulled back just a bit—not enough to break the closeness, just enough to see him again. “You needed it,” you said softly.

Heeseung opened his eyes again, gaze searching yours like he was looking for something he didn’t dare name.

“Do you…” His voice faltered, his ears already flushing. “Do you hate me less now?”

You couldn’t help the smile that ghosted across your lips, small and tired, but real. You brushed your thumb across the slope of his cheek again.

“I never hated you, Heeseung,” you whispered. “I was just scared.”

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, his smile returned—not wide, not bright. But soft. Real.

Heeseung blinked up at you again, dazed, the ghost of his soft smile still lingering like a shadow on his lips.

He looked—content. A little fragile. A lot lighter. As if your quiet, careful love had soothed something no one else had ever thought to see.

You let your hand drift up, fingertips gently brushing through the silver strands that had clung to his forehead, curling slightly from sweat and mist and the heat of his tears. You tucked them aside with practiced ease, brushing them into place.

“Do you want to go back?” you asked, your voice low—barely audible, like asking louder might shatter the quiet between you.

Heeseung’s response wasn’t with words at first. He simply grumbled under his breath, barely coherent, and ducked away from your hand again—this time not from embarrassment, but sheer stubbornness.

And before you could fully register it, he’d pressed his head back onto your shoulder, cheek flattened there with the dramatics of someone who clearly had no plans of moving.

You let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “You’re such a child.”

He mumbled something into the fabric of your dress. Something like, ‘Only for you.’

You sighed, amused. “If we have to,” he finally grumbled, dragging the words out like each syllable was a personal offense. “Let’s just… stay like this for two more seconds. Five. Five seconds.”

You counted in your head. One. Two.

But by three, you were already leaning back, pulling away.

“We’ll get caught,” you murmured, brushing your thumb under his eye one more time, like a promise.

You reached for his hand—still damp with tears and cold from the air. Your fingers slipped between his gently, tugging him forward with a softness that barely required any force at all.

“Come on, Bambi,” you said, half a laugh under your breath. “Your makeup’s all messed up now.”

Heeseung let you pull him, the tips of his ears turning pink again at the nickname.

“Well,” he said, sniffling once as he ran a hand through his hair, straightening. “That’s your fault.”

“Oh, is it?” you quirked a brow, still holding his hand as you walked out into the quiet halls.

He glanced down at your interlocked fingers—then at your face—and smiled, shy and fond. “Yeah. But I’m not mad about it.”

Neither were you.

Because even with everything still unresolved, for the first time—you weren’t walking away.

The sun had dipped hours ago, leaving only the pale gold trail it dragged across the horizon—and now, the chill was all that remained. Breath fogged in the air like smoke.

Someone had thrown a blanket over Sunghoon’s head like a cape, and Jake was being chased by his dance partner, yelling something about “You look like a freezing golden retriever, get back here!”

You smiled at the chaos, chin buried into the thick collar of your borrowed jacket.

You sat quietly on one of the foldable black benches under the tent, knees tucked slightly inward, thumb lazily scrolling through your phone as you sank further into yourself for warmth.

The laughter echoed from a distance—but your corner was hushed. Your own little pocket of calm.

Until a shadow appeared next to you.

You glanced up to see Heeseung standing beside you, his face half-hidden by the blanket draped around his shoulders.

He said nothing—just held his own foldable chair in one hand and gently placed it beside yours with a soft thud. Then, he sat. Quietly. No preamble. Just… sat.

You blinked at him.

Before you could say anything, he shifted slightly—his body turning toward yours—and with a movement so subtle it almost didn’t register, he opened the gray fleece blanket around his shoulders and extended it to yours.

You stared.

His face was a little flushed from the cold, silver hair windswept and messy. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you expectantly until you hesitated and let him pull the other half over your shoulders. The warmth was immediate.

“You looked cold,” he murmured simply, voice low, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance—not on you.

You huffed a soft laugh, the sound curling visibly in the winter air. “Thanks, Bambi,” you said, patting his head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your fingers threaded gently through his silver hair, disheveling the parts that still clung to some neatness.

He didn’t say anything—just sank further into the shared blanket, his shoulder now pressed fully against yours as his chin tucked slightly like a content cat. You could feel the heat from his cheek seeping through the fabric of your coat.

You tapped on your screen, closing the Instagram app and turning the brightness down just a little. Then, without looking at him, you mumbled, “Do you wanna watch anything?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, catching your eyes for the first time in minutes. The light from your screen reflected off his pupils, big and blinking—and then, a smile bloomed slowly across his lips, lighting up his whole face.

Your eyes widened, then you burst into a laugh. “Seriously? Out of all the things?”

He shrugged, that same sheepish smile spreading. “It’s comforting.”

You chuckled again, already typing it in the search bar. “Forrest Gump it is, then.”

Heeseung leaned in even closer, the blanket pulled taut over your shoulders now. His hair tickled your temple. “You ever watch it with someone before?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded, that smile still tugging at his lips. “First time for everything.”

Jay paused mid-throw, the balled-up scarf in his hands dropping to his lap.

“Wait,” he mumbled, elbow nudging Jungwon subtly. “Look.”

Jungwon blinked, confused, until Jay jerked his chin toward the tent tucked against the stone wall where you and Heeseung sat.

The younger squinted through the dim light filtering from the overhead bulbs—only to freeze.

Heeseung was fully curled into your side now, head snug in the crook of your neck, arm lazily looped through yours like it belonged there. His eyes were still fixed on the tiny screen, but his body said otherwise—completely relaxed, safe, folded into you.

What made Jungwon’s smile tug wider, though, was your hand. It rested gently over Heeseung’s, fingers slightly intertwined like it had been that way for years.

“Woah,” Jungwon whispered, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. “I’m glad they’re finally getting along.”

Jay snorted softly, leaning back on his palms. “Getting along?” he echoed with a scoff. “Hyung’s been in love since day one.”

Jungwon turned to him. “No way.”

“I’m serious,” Jay said, holding up a hand as if swearing on it. “Remember the day of the partner announcements? Dude looked like someone drop-kicked his soul when he got her. Couldn’t talk right for a whole week.”

Jungwon stifled a laugh, watching as Heeseung nudged closer to you in his sleep-like daze. You hadn’t moved either—still scrolling quietly with your free hand, letting him lean as much as he needed.

“You think she knows?” Jungwon asked curiously.

Jay tilted his head. “Maybe now,” he murmured. “Or at least, she’s not running away anymore.”

“Good for them,” Jungwon mumbled with a smile, tucking the scarf around his neck.

Jay smirked. “Took long enough.”

And under the canopy of stars, the shared blanket still held two hearts—finally moving in rhythm.

The hotel lobby was quieter than usual, the grand chandelier dimmed to a warm amber glow that softened the edges of the world around you.

Laughter and the clink of cutlery filtered in faintly from the dinner buffet upstairs, but down here, everything was hushed—tired. Like the building itself was finally winding down after holding so much energy for days on end.

You padded through the polished floors in white sneakers, hoodie sleeves falling over your fingers, shorts brushing against your thighs as the chill in the air-conditioning prickled your skin.

Your hair was down now, loosely falling past your shoulders, but the remnants of your filming makeup still clung to your face—lashes thick with mascara, eyes faintly lined in brown shadow, lips a soft red tint that hadn’t quite faded.

You rubbed your arms lightly as you entered the small café near the entrance of the lobby. The smell of roasted espresso beans and freshly baked pastries curled around you like a slow, comforting blanket.

It was late—past ten—but the place still buzzed with life. Staff, coordinators, some dancers still in half-costume, trailing glitter down the tiled floors.

The interior was cozy—gold linings framing the wide windows, soft yellow bulbs suspended from wooden beams, chairs cushioned in soft velvet greens and deep browns.

You admired the décor for a moment, the way it felt nothing like the sterile, cold cafes of set days. This felt real. Homey.

You let your eyes sweep the room once, then quietly stepped into the end of the line.

It was long—nearly reaching the back of the room—and you sighed inwardly, pulling out your phone to keep yourself busy. Anything to avoid the half-drowsy small talk.

You scrolled aimlessly through your camera roll, watching low-res rehearsal clips play without sound. One showed you and Heeseung mid-chorus, arms extended, perfectly synced.

You didn’t realize your eyes lingered on his smile longer than they should’ve.

You tucked your lower lip between your teeth, peeking at the glowing menu board up ahead, trying to decide between iced mocha or hot matcha—until you heard soft footsteps settle behind you.

Followed by a breath. One you recognized.

“…Long line,” Heeseung’s voice came low, hesitant, behind you.

You turned your head just a little, eyes lifting from your screen.

He wore a dark, nearly black denim jacket thrown over a plain white shirt, black pants hugging his legs just right. His hair—fluffier now, no longer slicked back from filming—curled slightly at the ends, soft and boyish. His makeup was still there, faint shadows clinging to his eyes, but it only added to the quiet charm he carried.

He smiled down at you.

“Hey,” he said, stepping a little closer like it was second nature.

You blinked, trying to keep your face neutral, but your lips pulled into a smile before you could stop them.

“Did you… follow me?”

He laughed—low and breathy—as his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, rubbing it sheepishly. “I was gonna head to the elevators, swear. But then I saw you walking in here and… well.”

You squinted up at him, raising a brow. “So, yes.”

Heeseung chuckled. “So, maybe.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “Stalker.”

He tilted his head, smile slowly spreading, eyes crinkling just a little. “A handsome one.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “That’s debatable.”

He gasped, mock offended, before draping an arm around your shoulders with the ease of someone who had always meant to be there.

“You’re lucky I’m cute,” he mumbled under his breath, looking up at the chalkboard menu.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you on that.”

He huffed a laugh, warm breath brushing against your hair. You didn’t lean in. But you didn’t lean out either.

His gaze shifted downward, eyes trailing past your hoodie and landing on your bare legs, peeking out from the hem of your shorts. A crease formed between his brows as he frowned, arm still lazily slung over your shoulder.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, voice a little quieter now. A little more serious.

You blinked, glancing down at your legs as if seeing them for the first time. “Not really,” you replied, shrugging.

He scoffed—so soft it was almost under his breath. “Liar.”

You grinned, caught. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered, tugging you just a bit closer like that would magically generate warmth. “It’s literally freezing and you’re dressed like we’re in California.”

“It was either this or pants that make me itch.”

“Next time, I’m bringing you sweatpants.”

You laughed. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He smirked, looking forward again as the line moved. “Depends if you behave.”

You snorted. “You sound like a dad.”

Heeseung made a face. “Take that back.”

“Nope,” you said proudly as the two of you stepped forward again, just one pair away from the cashier now. Heeseung’s arm stayed right where it was—draped easily over your shoulder, like it belonged there.

And without thinking much of it, you leaned into him. Just a little. Just enough to close the space between your side and his chest as your free hand scrolled lazily through your phone feed.

The warm lights of the café reflected off the screen, casting soft hues onto both your faces.

Heeseung peeked over your shoulder, his cheek nearly brushing yours as he watched you scroll. A laugh puffed out of him when you double-tapped three posts in a row without even really looking.

“You just like everything, huh?” he murmured, amused.

You gave him a side-eye, raising a brow. “Don’t stalk my habits, Bambi.”

“Hard not to,” he said under his breath with a small smirk, turning his head just enough to keep his laugh to himself.

You were about to retaliate when the line moved—and just like that, you were up next.

“Hi! What can I get for you?” the barista greeted, cheerful despite the hour.

You stepped forward, half under Heeseung’s arm as you spoke. “Can I get a hot matcha latte and… the blueberry cheesecake, please?”

The barista smiled, tapping it in. “Sure. And for you, sir?”

“Java chip frappé and a croissant,” Heeseung replied smoothly, his voice slightly deeper now with the cold and the hour.

As she repeated the order and the screen flashed the total, you instinctively reached for your wallet.

But before you could even tug the zipper open, Heeseung was already handing over his black card.

You blinked, glancing up at him in mild alarm. “Wait—Heeseung—”

“It’s fine,” he said softly, his voice a little smug, a little sweet. “I got it.”

“But I—”

He looked down at you, eyes soft with the barest smile on his lips. “Let me, okay?”

You sighed, whispering under your breath, “Show-off.”

Heeseung grinned, accepting the receipt and stepping off to the side with you as the barista called out, “We’ll bring it to your table!”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue further, walking with him toward a small round table tucked near the corner. His arm was still loosely around your shoulders as you both moved, like he didn’t even realize he hadn’t let go.

And maybe you didn’t realize you hadn’t wanted him to.

Heeseung pulled out the chair for you first—dramatic, with a teasing bow. “Your throne, m’lady.”

“Oh god, please stop,” you muttered, covering your face as you tried not to laugh.

He winked. “Can’t. I’m charming.”

You settled into the seat, shaking your head as he plopped into the one beside you—close, a little too close, but you weren’t complaining.

Especially not when he was smiling like that.

Especially not when he kept looking at you like that.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ permanent tagllist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie ⤷ piece taglist — @yohanabanana @sagegreenhairclip @dearestdreamies

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[lord-aldhelm]

HAPPY MERCIAN MONDAY!

unhinged feralness in the tags....

[spideyjimin]

Wait for your love | jjk (teaser)

—  pairing: firefighter!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: kind of exes to lovers, parents au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

—  words: 577

—  author’s note: here you have the teaser of the fic i’m currently working on 🤗 you have a tiny little teaser below & i hope you’ll enjoy it ❤️

—  tag list: let me know in any way if you want to be tagged when i post this and if you are part of my permanent taglist, you will automatically be added ✨

Jungkook and his team got called for a car accident involving several cars, and when they arrived, the scene was horrific.

There are probably five cars pressed and smashed one against the other. There are people injured and bleeding walking around the scene. Paramedics are already taking care of them, but Jungkook is walking to the cars to retrieve the people stuck inside. His captain screams orders and tells him which car he should go to.

His eyes look around, his heart breaking when he sees everyone involved and still stuck in their cars. Visions like this are quite common for him, it doesn’t happen all the time but it’s still recurrent. At the end of the day, his job is to save people in this type of situation.

When he reaches the car, he was assigned to, he takes a look at how many people there are inside. There’s just one person, a woman behind the steering wheel. She has her hand on her head, clearly showing that she might have a headache. She doesn’t really move. Instantly, Jungkook tries to open the door, but it’s showing a bit of resistance.

It feels impossible to open the door, but Jungkook sees the woman’s head falling. He’s getting worrier; she’s slumping into sleep which isn’t a good sign as she was holding her head barely seconds ago. He then proceeds to break the window so he can try to open it from inside. There are other possible ways, but it would be harder and more dangerous to get her out of the vehicle.

“Ma’am,” he says with urge.

Eventually, he manages to open the damn door from the inside. A good part of the car’s front is crashing into her. Before even thinking of taking her out, he places a cervical collar to protect her neck and spine.

“Ma’am,” he repeats. “Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t answer at all. Jungkook gets closer, his fingers brushing the hair from her face, but when he finally gets to properly see the woman’s face, his heart skips a beat. This woman is none other than you. His mind can’t start to get lost in the past right now. He needs to focus on taking you out of the car.   

You’re in pretty bad shape.

There’s blood on your forehead, you most probably have a wound on top of your head. There’s also blood at the level of your stomach, turning your green shirt into a very dark color. He can distinguish a big fragment of glass shoved into your belly. It doesn’t look good. Your legs are also completely smashed by the front, causing the steering wheel to be very close to your body.  Hopefully, your legs aren’t too injured. He doesn’t even want to start thinking about all the bruises on your body.

Slowly, he places one hand behind your back while his other hand slowly pushes your legs. He’s trying to be as careful as possible to avoid causing any other injury.  His strong arms hold you once he manages to fully remove you from the car. His eyes look down at your face with evident pain. He notices how you’re trying to open your eyes which makes him think that you’re trying to fight the urge to fall asleep.

“Yn,” he says while walking to an ambulance. “Please, stay with me,” he whispers with despair. “I’ve finally found you, and I can’t lose you right away.”

[mythtakens]

I haven’t said a lot about or reblogged anything really about Bobby Dying because. well I still don’t think he’s permanently dead and so I can’t really act like he is. but in the event it turns out he is in fact permanently dead forever and ever never to return alive and a decision was made that is actually that stupid and it was done in this really weird baffling way obviously my feelings on the whole matter will be completely different and I would be forced to process in a very different way. Bobby is my favorite and I still didn’t have a ~normal reaction to an emotional devastating scene because they loudly spoiled the end point weeks ago and took out all the tension of the arc. either way that messed with the viewing experience, but I would like to believe that they at least did that with a goal in mind and that it is not somehow truly just a result of incompetence concerning the biggest spoiler in the entire show. and oh we just crossed our fingers while clearly labeling the whole thing? yeah that doesn’t make sense to me.

my thing is I can deal with being messed with. I don’t love it, I don’t appreciate it, but I can deal with it! I understand and respect the people who feel done with the show regardless because it is a really careless thing to do to a dedicated audience. but well if I know anything about showrunners who think they’re clever it’s that they’re always mainly thinking of the end goal where they imagine everyone is patting them on the back for pulling it off. I just don’t see how in this instance for real killing a beloved character in a way where nobody he loves that is a paramedic or an EMT or his wife can get to him or touch him to confirm he is actually dead. on a show where people survive the most insane things time after time. fits into that type of smug narcissism. and you do it in a way that isn’t visibly permanent and you have cast members sowing doubt about it being so? personally I can get over stupid silly convoluted circumstances if they don’t actually have fatal consequences. this show is built on wild wacky circumstances but it’s also built on surviving them despite everything.

like to me it’s really not about “can showrunners/writers be this stupid”. they can they have they will continue to be. but like call it denial or delusion or whatever you want I just can’t watch everyone everywhere say it’s a bad decision nobody wanted and buy into that there was any sort of remotely willing consensus on Bobby being dead for real and everyone being really really sad but moving on eventually and it hanging over everything forever being better crazy tv than like. everyone going through that loss and still having those feelings of devastation and anger and helplessness and regret and then having the wildly complicated experience of being able to direct them at the actual guy and say all the things you wanted to say. like okay I am in my imagination here but you’re telling me real dead Bobby is better tv than like, Peter Krause gasping awake inside his own coffin after it passes through the Hall of Crucifixion-Resurrection? better than him calling 911 and Maddie answering and him saying I’m being buried alive? better than the signal being lost but her trying to call back and the absolute shock of realizing whose number it is? better than the tension of the dirt being dumped over a coffin Bobby is alive in?? better than Maddie racing to reach people who are probably not concerned with answering their phones right now because they’re standing around a grave?? better than maybe Bobby trying to call Athena and if it manages to connect seeing a missed call and then 911 calling her right after? better than a scene of Angela Bassett eating everyone up and making everyone think Athena has lost it demanding they dig up her freshly buried husband?????? better than his family jumping into action when they realize what’s happening to pull him back out of the earth after struggling to let him go??? real forever dead Bobby that everyone is really sad about is better tv than that and something to feel more smug and clever about?????????? well I don’t think so! but it’s not my circus.

[valeriianz]

Dream is trying to be good. He is out of his house, for starters, attempting to mingle among the crowds. He figures this effort alone is worth at least 10 points on the socialization scale.

He may be wearing black on black as usual, but at least this is his nice pea coat, and his jeans don’t have any rips in them. His hair is even washed (though he hadn’t bothered with a combing, minus 3 points).

It’s New Year’s Eve, he’s standing at one of the few scattered tables around the large space. The bar’s ceiling and walls are lit up in a colorful agglomeration of Christmas lights and twinkling decor, so much that the people around him appear to have pink or blue or orange skin, otherwise the place is dark.

Dream drums his fingers on the tall table’s surface, scanning the crowd and trying not to look too uncomfortable at the DJ’s choice in thumping bass and current rap trends blanketing the ocean of conversation happening all around him.

“Hey, how are you?”

Dream watches as a man walks around him to stand across the table, setting a drink down and smiling in a lazy, drunk way.

Dream just stares.

“Sorry, I saw you standing alone and thought you might want some company.”

The man has to lean forward and yell to be heard over the music and people. Dream is responsive enough to at least lean in as well to catch the stranger’s words.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Dream barely has to raise his voice, thanks to his natural baritone. He’s thankful for that; he hates shouting and to do so just to commit to a conversation would be tribulation.

The man doesn’t seem to catch Dream’s response though, or doesn’t care to. He takes a sip of his drink and tries again, his fingers curling around the pint.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Dream seizes the opportunity to politely turn this man away from him.

“No, thank you. My boyfriend is getting my drink.”

The man’s brows pinch together.

“Where is your boyfriend?”

He says it like it’s a joke. Like he’s caught Dream red-handed. Dream sighs and turns to look at the crowded bar.

“He’s right…” Dream’s eyes desperately scan the scene of chaos at the bar, hoping to find Hob’s familiar head of dark brown hair, his mischievous caramel brown eyes, or even the bomber jacket he wore tonight. But from here, it’s difficult to spot anyone’s face in the crowd. The blinking lights give off strange shadows and everyone is moving, either dancing or stumbling to push through the dense sea of bodies.

He hears a soft laugh from the man across from him and looks over to find him shaking his head, but he’s smiling.

“Look, I don’t mean to come off strong, but someone as gorgeous as you shouldn’t be alone on New Year's Eve.”

Any patience left for this man is immediately snuffed out, like water tossed onto a fire.

“I told you, I’m–”

“Waiting for your boyfriend, uh huh.” He grins with his teeth and Dream barely restrains from throwing his head back in annoyance. 

If there weren’t a threat of getting lost in the crowd, Dream would abandon his station here and go looking for Hob. But he knows it’s better to stay here and wait as he had been, despite the nuisance still attempting to converse with Dream.

He steps around the table to stand next to Dream, who takes a deliberate step sideways away from him.

“What’s your name?”

Dream ignores him, head now permanently angled towards the bar.

“You know,” he starts up again and Dream eyes flutter shut, praying for patience. “The longer you ignore me, the more persistent I’ll become.”

Dream opens his eyes and levels the man, who is definitely drunk, with an unamused look.

“Even if I weren’t already spoken for, this is a terrible way to receive my affections.”

“He speaks!” The man exclaims and laughs. Dream pinches the bridge of his nose and has officially made the decision to lose his mind at the stranger, when he blessedly feels two familiar strong arms wrap around his waist.

“Sorry that took so long,” Hob speaks directly into Dream’s ear, no need to shout with lips tickling his skin. “I got us two drinks each so we don’t have to deal with that again.”

Dream smiles, unaware of how tense he was as his body relaxes against Hob’s– before it sharpens to a smirk at the utterly baffled expression on the strange man’s face.

Hob’s lips trail up the shell of Dream’s ear, his nose nudging in his hairline as he speaks again, his hot breath warming Dream up from the inside and sparking a sudden and intense feeling of surrender in Hob’s possessive hold. 

“Who’s your friend?” And fuck, Dream can hear the control in Hob’s voice. The question is innocent enough, but the way his tone pitches into a growl, low and dangerous, makes Dream’s toes curl. 

“I don’t know,” Dream answers simply, one brow arching at the other man, giving him the decency to turn and walk away on his own before Hob can make a show of animalistic ownership that Dream can practically feel radiating off Hob’s self-control.

Thankfully the stranger leaves, which is just as well, though Dream would have rather liked being ravished with an audience.

He turns to face Hob properly, duly noticing the drinks on the table and slips his arms around Hob’s middle, bringing them flush together in what can only be described as a bear hug.

Dream tucks his face under Hob’s jaw– bending his knees a little– and inhaling deeply, the scent of Hob’s cologne grounding him, and exhaling loudly through his mouth and smiling again at Hob’s deep chuckle that rumbles through his own body.

“You good?” Hob asks into Dream’s hair, placing a kiss there.

“Mm…” Dream hums. “I’m great.”

[thehighladywrites]

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater…

Pairing: azriel x reader, the ic, lucien and elain, and helion mentioned

Summary: angst, no happy ending for him, a bit ooc azriel bc he’s an absolute ass in this. also I can’t make elain the villain bc I love her. bittersweet ending, cassian and feyre being the most wonderul people ever. some swearing, like a tiiiiiny nsfw scene, like it barely counts, but i’ll warn you anyways.

Author’s note: yeah, this was inspired by heather, so definitely listen to it while reading💔 i just think this was the perfect day👀 never again am i writing angst, plus i might have been a bit dramatic when said this was gut-wrenching, i don’t think this was very angsty, just a bit tragic. but i hate angst so any angst is gut-wrenching in my eyes🤷🏽‍♀️ also there’s no revenge better than rising above…

Word count: 6,5 k words

If you see any grammar errors or spelling mistakes, no you didn’t ❤️

"Y/n, I practically hear your teeth chattering. Here, wear this." Azriel removed his sweater, passing it to you with a hint of concern in his eyes. You bit the inside of your lip to keep from smiling, he was always so thoughtful and observant. It was on of the reasons you fell in love with him.

"It's okay, Az, you'll freeze." You attempted to return the warm clothes, but he firmly pushed them back, fixing you with a stare that left no argument.

"I won't freeze. You know I'm used to this weather. Bet you miss your old home right about now." He alluded to your home court, The Day Court where the sun always shines, and standing on the balcony on a crisp December morning doesn't make your fingers feel like they'll fall off.

You arrived in Velaris to assist with document translations, given your expertise. Your services were in high demand across various courts. And initially, a month-long stay extended to two, then three. Eventually, enchanted by Velaris and its people, you asked Helion if you could make it your permanent home. The support of your friends added to the whole experience.

You slid into Azriel's warm sweater, feeling its comforting embrace. The fabric whispered tales of comfort and safety, an unspoken promise against the biting cold. As you adjusted to the newfound warmth, your heart felt a different heat—one that spoke against the unspoken feelings you had towards him. The subtle scent of his cologne lingered, intertwining with the softness of the fabric, creating a scent that seemed to make your heart flutter twice as hard. In that moment, you couldn't help but let the warmth of the sweater mirror the warmth within you.

“ Feel better?” You nodded, avoiding his eyes in fear that he’d be able to see the emotions portrayed on your face.

“ Thanks, Az. For the sweater and all. It’s really warm.”

The corner of his lips twitched as his eyes remained on you, “Keep it. It looks better on you than it ever did me anyways.”

He grabbed your hand before you could respond and walked back in, closing the balcony doors. Stuck between friends and something more, you felt lost. Wanting to confess your feelings to Azriel but scared it could mess things up, you were torn. The shared laughs felt like good friends, but those lingering looks sparked a longing for more. Balancing this act, you wrestled with risking the friendship for a shot at something deeper. In the middle of all this, you were standing there, not sure which way to go.

As you hesitated walking further with him, Azriel noticed you stopped walking and furrowed his brow. "Hey, what's up?" he asked, his eyes reflecting genuine concern.

You wanted to tell Azriel how you felt, but doubts held you back. As you looked at him, the sweater felt heavy with unsaid words. You wondered if it's better to say what's on your mind or keep it to yourself. Fear answered for you as you shook your head and gave him a reassuring smile.

——————

Later that day, during dinner, Azriel asked you to meet him in the upstairs library while your friends were distracted, to which you accepted, head spinning at the possibilities.

In the quiet sanctuary of the library, the air thick with unreadable energy, Azriel's eyes met yours. Without a word, he closed the distance and gently pressed his lips to yours, a silent acceptance of the feelings that had lingered in the unspoken spaces between you. The unexpected kiss marked a sweet transition between friendship and the uncharted territory of something more.

——————

For over a year, you and Azriel kept things under wraps, not really calling it a relationship. It was a secret, a kind of unspoken understanding. The stolen moments and shared looks formed the backbone of whatever it was between you. You regularly fell in each other’s beds and spent intimate moments together. There was however one specific night you’d always cherish.

You were in his bed, cuddling after he gave you yet another amazing time. Your legs were h thrown over his hips as you occasionally kissed his plushy lips. He held you tighter and ran his hand under your sweater. His eyes were lidded as he whispered intimately,

“ This sweater looks so fucking good on you, please never take it off. I’ve never given anything to another woman, but there’s something special about you. I love it when you wear it, like a reminder that you’re mine. No one else will wear it.” He pulled you closer and kissed your neck and collarbones. His hot breath made yours hitch as he fondled with your stiffened nipples.

Your attempt to come up with a response faltered as he brushed over another sensitive area, prompting a moan to escape your lips.

————————————

But as time passed, the lack of clarity started to wear on you. The hidden nature of it all was both a source of comfort and frustration. You yearned for more, a real relationship, a label to put on what you had with Azriel.

But with the war and Feyre's sisters entering the scene, everything got complicated. Your attention got scattered, and the chaos made the unspoken thing with Azriel less of a priority for a while.

————————————

After the traumatic and bloody war, you tried to seek Azriel for comfort, but he busied himself with Elain. His focus seemed to be on her, making it hard to find a moment to reconnect. The situation left you feeling unsure about where things stood between you two.

As the days went by, you noticed Elain entering Azriel's world completely, capturing his attention in a way that left you filled with jealousy and pit growing in your stomach. Her presence became a subtle intrusion, and the shared moments that were once exclusively yours now seemed to be scattered between you and her. The laughter and conversations, once intimate, now carried a different tone, a rushed tone to hurry away to Elain. A pang of jealousy crept into your heart, and the undefined nature of your connection with Azriel began to feel more fragile. The fear of losing him to someone else tugged at your emotions, leaving you questioning the unspoken relationship you had shared for so long.

You couldn’t even blame him. Elain was a sight for sore eyes, a beautiful girl with an even more beautiful soul. She had only treated you with kindness, giving you thoughtfull Solstice gifts and advice when needed.

You couldn’t justifiably be mad at her.

You’d pick her over you too.

—————————

Maybe you should just face your problems head on and ask him for some advice to break the newfound ice. His grunts were heard as he punched cassians face, getting some blood on his knuckles. Approaching him in the training pit, you hoped he wouldn’t dismiss you. “ Hey, Az, can we talk?”

Looking at you with an unreadable expression, he sharply replied, “Yeah, sure, quick. What's up?”

You tentatively asked, noticing his mood, “ Um, you wanna go for a walk? I haven’t seen you for a while. Also, we’re supposed to meet tonight, are you still up for it?”

He glanced around, eyes searching for an out, “Can it wait? I've got something I need to take care of.”

You felt dismissed as he didn’t even address what you mentioned and used whatever power you had left and asked, “ I just thought-“

"Look, I'll catch up with you later, alright? But yeah, I guess i’ll meet you tonight." After Azriel quickly walked off, you felt a sting from his unintentional rudeness. He had been acting like this for a while now and they way he hurriedly accepted your offer was making you feel like a second choice. But why? You did want to meet him and he did say yes, so why in the mother’s name did this feel so…?

Trying to shake it off, you found a quiet spot to gather your thoughts. Doubts crept in, making you wonder if his abrupt exit meant something more. Left alone with unanswered questions, you thought about having a straightforward talk about where you stand in his life.

“Hey, you okay? What was that about?” Cassian’s tone was so gentle and inviting and it almost made you spill everything right there, but he already had his own issues and problems with Nesta so you didn’t want to burden him further.

"It was nothing. I, uh, I'll see you later, Cas." You hastily departed, your eyes stinging with impending tears.

————————————

He was late. Again. This had happened seceral times before and despite agreeing to see him tonight, his prolonged absence weighed on you. Feeling a bit pathetic, you rose from your armchair and slipped under the covers, opting for a deep, dreamless sleep.

————————————

As war flashbacks filled your mind, and a suffocating panic took hold in the middle of the night, leaving you sweating. You threw of your sheets, gasping as you made your way to door. Desperate, you rushed to find Azriel, your heart beating louder than the echoing footsteps in the quiet hallways. You hoped to find comfort, a break from your horrors, as you hurried along.

Turning a corner, the world shattered around you. Azriel and Elain stood in an embrace, lost in a kiss that felt like a thousand daggers piercing your chest. The air in your lungs disappeared , replaced by a crushing weight that threatened to swallow you whole. Time was lost as you grappled with the horrible realization that the sanctuary you sought was crumbling before your eyes.

Your Azriel wasn’t yours anymore.

Your Azriel wasn’t ever truly yours, a taunting voice spewed in your head

Quietly, your broken heart mirrored the shattered moonlight, pain etched into you, stranded in heartbreak's silent hallway where quiet screamed louder than war's echoes.

He had chosen to be with Elain even though he promised you he’d see you.

———————————

Your heart was in your throat as you went downstairs for breakfast. The memory of Azriel shoving his tounge down Elains throat was still so fresh and it made something in you ache.

The dining room buzzed with the voices of friends and family as you dropped into a chair between Feyre and Lucien, saving space for more seats in front of you. Glancing to the right from your plate, you noticed Lucien, as he cut into his eggs. Oddly, you hadn't known he was back, despite being good friends. Ever since he learned about his father, he'd been curious about your old home in the day court, where his father ruled. You two became fast friends, and you promised to take him on an exclusive trip there anytime he wanted.

“ Hey, Lucien. How was your trip and when did you come back, I didn’t hear you enter yesterday.”

Yeah because you probably cried yourself to sleep, maybe that’s why.

He flashed his charming smile, tilting his head with playful eyes. "Missed me, Y/n?" he teased, laughing as you playfully punched his arm. Only he would crack jokes so early in the morning.

Deciding to tease him back, you couldn't resist digging into the details of his trip to the continent. You never got tired of his adventures, loving how he narrated them with grace and humor, making you feel like you were right there with him.

"Yeah, so what if I missed you? I enjoy having you around, Luc. But seriously, spill. Did you take down any monsters? Save any damsels in distress?"

Lucien chuckled, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I did fight off a swarm of overeager pigeons. Does that count as saving the day or just a triumph against feathery creatures?" he quipped, his laughter infectious.

You howled at the thought of a flock of birds surrounding your friend, pecking at him while he irritatingly tries to remove them.

The room fell silent as Azriel walked in with Elain, and your laughter faded.

A mix of hot and cold flashes hit you as you saw Elain wearing your sweater.

The sweater Azriel gave you a year ago—the one that meant a lot to you.

The one you had grown to love and was a reminder of what could be.

The one that cemented your feelings for him.

He gave it to Elain.

The one he was kissing last night.

The one he swapped you with and then got irritated when you tried to approach him.

The one who was mated to the seething male next to you.

The weight of everyone's stares bore down on you as Elain and Azriel took their seats in front of you and Lucien. Feyre and Cassian's eyes felt like lasers on the side of your head as you couldn't look away from your sweater now worn by Elain. Confusion gnawed at you – you'd tossed it into the laundry basket, yet there she was, flaunting it. The fact that Azriel didn't seem to care only added to the bewilderment, even when he knew what it meant to you. Irritation sparked in you as you got ready to chew him out, because who the hell wears something that doesn’t belong to them. And maybe Elain didn’t know but Azriel sure as hell did and you had enough of whatever bullshit this was. But before you were able to speak up, Feyre beat you to it.

“Elain, where did you get that sweater? I’m pretty sure it’s y/n’s.” Everyone looked back at Elain as red colored her cheeks, she meekly looked at you as she sputtered her explanation.

“ I hope it’s okay y/n, I didn’t know it was yours. I was in the laundry room with Azriel and I got… Well I, I um, got dirty, so he handed me this shirt and told me it was okay but I should’ve asked. Do you want it back?”

Numbness was all you could describe what you felt like. There was no way to miss the insinuation. They fucked and he gave her your sweater to wear after. And she didn’t even know it was yours, so you didn’t blame her. You found a new level of respect for Lucien, because you weren’t even mated to Azriel and you felt all this pain. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt.

Not having the energy for this you gave her a sweet smile and said something that made Azriel’s eyes stay on you the rest of the meal.

“No worries, Elain. The shirt means nothing to me. Keep it. It looks better on you than it ever did on me, anyway.”

You casually picked up your fork, trying to eat away the tension that lingered in the air. Throughout the meal, Lucien remained tense next to you, his mate leaning against the shadowsinger, his arm around her. The gesture practically shouting that he didn't care about Elain's mate sitting across from him, much to Rhysand's dismay.

"Lucien, I'm full. Do you want to accompany me to town? There are a few things I need to get, and I could use some help carrying them." You extended your hand, and he took it, ever the gentleman, placing it so you held onto his arm with a smile.

————————————

Reaching the pathway to the town square, the open nature felt like a breath of fresh air. Despite you and Lucien being able to winnow, a walk through the cold December morning seemed necessary to clear your head. Glancing at Lucien, you sensed a shared need for clarity. Unable to contain it any longer, you decided to spill everything, the weight of unspoken words demanding release.

“I’ll be honest, I suspected something along those lines. I mean you weren’t being subtle about it. But the sweater threw me off.”

“Oh, I suppose our subtlety is not relevant anymore. Lucien, I just want you to know how much I appreciate you and hold you in high regard. Feel free to share anything; I'm here to listen. I can't even fathom how hard it must be when you're mated.”

His sad laughter echoed, tugging at your heartstrings, confirming that it wasn't an easy situation. As he opened up, every word he shared made perfect sense, resonating with what you were feeling.

After wandering around The Rainbow, sipping hot chocolates, and sharing your thoughts, you headed home. However, upon your return to The House, you were greeted by a pacing and visibly upset Azriel. Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked at Lucien who looked just as confused as you. Azriels pacing came to a halt as he quickly made his way over to you.

“ Where have you been? I looked for you everywhere. Why where you out with him?” Hot fury coarsed through your veins as you snapped at his tone. Just who the hell did he think he was?

“Where I am and who I'm with isn't your concern. Now excuse me, I'm going to my room. Lucien, I'll see you around. Thank you for your help.” You stood on your toes, giving Lucien a kiss on the cheek, and then briskly walked to your room, leaving Azriel with his thoughts. Though he certainly didn’t think very long as his footsteps inched closer behind you.

Azriel stood before you with a tense expression. “Why were you with Lucien?” he demanded, his eyes searching for answers.

As much as you missed him and ached for him, there wasn’t a single planet where you’d let him disrespect you and then demand answers like some jealous boyfriend. Anger took over as you stood tall and laid everything for him.

“Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you can’t talk to me like that. Lucien is a good male, you should know, your fucking his mate and he hasn’t murdered you yet.”

His face was back to it’s neutral state, the state of the shadowsinger and spymaster of the night court. He stepped closer, jaw tight as he spewed words that made your blood boil.

“I don’t want to see you around Lucien again. I don’t care that you’re friends because it looks like you want to fuck him. You belong to me and I don’t share.”

The possessiveness normally would’ve turned you on as it once did when a male tried to hit on you a few months ago. But this just made you want to punch him clean across his face.

“Azriel, I’m not sure you’re hearing me. I may see whoever I want because you’re not my father or mate or anything. And I’m not a thing, I do not belong to you so I will do whatever pleases me.” You stepped closer, interrupting whatever he was about to say.

“Unless you’re actually disturbed, then you’re capable of understanding that you’ve chosen Elain, you’ve neglected me and have chosen her. I don’t blame you, the heart wants what it wants. But atleast grow a pair and say it to my fucking face. How dare you come to me and demand I stop seeing my friend?”

“ Y/n, let me just-”

“ No, i’m saying what I’m going to say then me and you never have to talk unless it’s absolutely necessary.” The last bit of anger you had, fired up the question you had been asking yourself for a while.

“Why did you give her my sweater when you said you’d never give it to anyone. Why would you ever give her what’s mine? From my laundry basket? Are you truly heartless or just plain stupid? And why do you care about what im doing? You’ve made it clear we’re over.” You swallowed back your tears, determination winning over the burning behind your eyes, no fucking way would you cry in front of him.

His words devoid of any sense of emotion rattled you. He ignored everything you said as he gave his stupid answer.

“First of all, it’s just polyester. You’re acting like a child over a shirt. And you’re my mate, so I think I get some say in who you see.” As if his words triggered something, an obnoxious golden thread snapped itse in your chest. The weight of it heavy with sadness and betrayal.

He looked bored and uninterested as he stared you down. “I’ve always wanted a mated and when you first arrived, the bond snapped into place, hence why I fucked you for over a year. And I almost told you about it but then Elain came along and I realized I love her more than I want a mate. You know, The Mother is cruel, she should’ve just made me and her mates so we could’ve skipped this ugly little moment. Oh well-”

A grunt escapes as he staggered back from your punch. That arrogant, hypocritical piece of shit knew you were his mate, he knew it every single time he bedded you, he knew it when you cried and laughed, he knew it when you told him how much you wanted one.

He knew and he didn’t care.

A whirlwind of emotions hit you as the bond intensified. A headache crept in as you turned away and left in silence, your head filling with questions.

How could you face him without the urge to punch again? Did Elain know all this? Did anyone? How could you stay here without wanting to kill him? And why was your face wet?

You halted, a trembling hand reaching for your face. Tears flowed, and a humorless, empty laugh escaped you. You hurried back to your room, sobs breaking through. Collapsing onto the bed, waves of sadness, heartbreak, and betrayal overwhelmed you.

————————————

You stayed in your room, wallowing in self-pity for the next few days without eating or seeing anyone. The House put several plates of food on the table next to you but you just felt nauseous. Your friends had reached out and tried to talk to you only to be met with your silence, it speaking loud enough for them to understand you didn’t want to see anyone.

A knock made you snap your head up as the person persisted. Irritation sparked in you as the knocks kept up. Letting out a sound of annoyance you got up, letting your legs get adjusted from the days of not using them, before strutting over and throwing the door open only to be met with by Cassian and Feyre.

“ Oh, what are you doing here, I think I’ve made myself very clear. I’m really not inte the mood for this.” You sensed an intervention and there couldn’t possibly be a worse time. They ignored you, much to your dismay, and just stepped in and plopped down on one of the plush sofas that decorated your room.

“ Y/n, we haven’t seen you for almost a week. I’ve accepted you don’t want to see anyone but i’m starting to get really worried. Please know that whatever’s burdening you doesn’t have to weigh on your shoulders alone. We’re here for you and if you don’t want to talk to us then maybe Azriel? I know you like each other and have some connection.” Your stomach dropped when she mentioned his name.

"No, absolutely not Azriel. I never want to see that lying son of a bitch ever." They appeared alarmed and confused since you always spoke highly of him. Feyre and Cassian were the only ones aware of the true nature of your relationship with him. They had supported you, and were the only ones shocked about the sweater Elain wore, knowing its significance to you.

"What do you mean? What did he do?" They rose to give you a hug, noticing your eyes glossing over. Sitting on either side of you, they held you as you poured out the details. In the safety of your friends’ embrace, you told the painful details of Azriel's betrayal. The room echoed with the weight of your emotions as they listened, offering comfort and understanding.

"I feel so stupid. I know he's my mate, but I still feel betrayed. He made it clear we were just sleeping together, but there were so many mixed signals, and I just... I don't know. I have no anger left; I honestly don't care anymore. And I know it's not Elain's fault because she doesn't know we're mates, but I'm afraid I'll hurt her if I see her near Azriel. Gods, I really admire Lucien. I wonder how he's gone this long without breaking down." You shook your head as you looked to them. Their expression was laced with sadness and anger towards the spymaster.

“ I’ll kick his ass today at training, I’m so sorry honey.” Cassian was filled with conflict and anger at his dear friend being put through this. And Feyre didn’t look better as she glared at the door as if Azriel might suddenly appear. They were finally both mated and could imagine the pain of their mate doing something like this.

“ Y/n, do you want to come with me and stay at the River House? Maybe some time away from him will do you good. Lucien is also staying there and he has been down lately too. I’ve talked to him and your situations are very similar. Maybe you should talk to him.” Feyre held your hand, her voice gentle as she gave you a smile when you nodded, accepting the offer.

Cassian walked over to your closet and packed you a bag of clothes while Feyre led you to your vanity and brushed through your hair. She pulled it into one of the simpler styles you usually went for. You went onto the bathroom and took a quick shower. Cassian knocked softly and handed you a change of clothes. You felt an overwhelming gratitude for your friends caring nature as tears welled up in your eyes. They approached with laughter, and it sparked a genuine smile from you. Gods, you loved your friends.

—————————

Azriel flew back to The House after spending the day with Elain and dropping her off outside the River House. Though he loved Elain, she hadn’t reciprocated his feelings and it grated his nerves. He threw away a perfectly good mate. She should be loving him back too. As he entered The House, the unusual silence struck him. Cassian and Nesta’s typical noise was absent, and the absence of any sound from you heightened his worry. Azriel anxiously opened doors and searched every corner, looking for any sign of anyone.

He remembered that it was Sunday, the day of their usual family dinner. He let out a sigh of relief and changed before flying to the estate.

————————————

Your wineglass paused mid-air as Azriel walked in, placing a kiss on Elain's shoulder. She glanced at Lucien, subtly distancing herself. Despite her evident discomfort, Azriel nonchalantly put his arm around her. You felt bad for Elain. Maybe she wasn’t feeling Azriel anymore but didn’t have the heart to tell him.

A snarl ripped you from your thoughts as Lucien stood up looking murderous. Elain looked up at him with a hint of relief as Azriel simply pulled her closer and stared at him, face unreadable.

“Get your arm off her before I kill you.” Luciens voice came out gritted and you instinctively moved away a bit, not daring to get too close to the seething male witnessing his mate feel uncomfortable. Lucien was a levelheaded male and it took a lot for him to get really angry, so anyone with half a brain knew not to tread to closely. Rhysand next to him, stood up aswell, sensing that there probably would be a fight, ready to intervene.

“You’re going to kill me? I’d like to see you try.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say because Elain frowned and pushed his arm away, making her way over to Lucien, calming him down by grabbing his hand shyly. He still held eye contact with Azriel, slightly smiling as Azriel grew angry.

“Don’t lay your hands on her again. If i ever see you making her uncomfortable, I’ll hang you with your own insides.” Elain looked at him with wide eyes and dragged him further down the table.

“Okay, what the actual fuck? What is going on and why are you looking at y/n like that?” Rhysand’s voice broke whatever trance was going on. Your interest peaked as your eyes slid over to Azriel’s only to find them filled with his usual boredom mixed with anger.

You let out a laugh, not being able to stop as you thought about how ridiculous he was being.

“ Well, let’s see. Azriel is my mate and he kept it hidden from me since the day I met him. Oh, and we fucked around for a year or so before he became a dick and started ignoring me, stopped coming to our planned meetings and I finally understood it was because of Elain. But I don’t blame her, I blame him. Hmm… what else? Right! He knew about us being mated and wished he was mated to her instead, and look how that turned out. The one you left me for doesn’t even want you anymore Azriel, how does that make you feel, mate?”

You bit out the last words with poison as you gave him a half smirk. Elain approached you, as everyone soaked up the information. She held your hands in her shaking ones and looked at you with a pained expression.

“ Y/n, please believe me, I didn’t know you two were seeing each other, let alone were mates. He told me you were just friends and nothing more. Had I known, I wouldn’t have ever been with him. And if i’m honest I thought i wanted to be with him, but I want to get to know my mate.” Before she could ramble on you pulled her into a hug, feeling bad for her. She hadn’t know and still apologized.

“Elain, I assure you, I don't hold any blame towards you. I'm happy you want to get to know Lucien. Trust me, he's genuinely funny and nice when he's not being a sarcastic ass.” Laughter filled the air as you and Elain shared a moment, lightening the mood.

You let her go as she got closer to Lucien. No matter how much you wanted to seek your mate out for comfort, you couldn’t let it happen. You knew there was only one thing left.

“ Azriel, I reject the bond. I don’t know how I can ever be with you after this. Not only did you lie to me, you lied to everyone. I’m never going to trust you completely and I think we need to work on ourselves. But it won’t be with each other.” With that you turned on your heel and left for your room, leaving behind a shattered bond and pleading a mate.

———————————————

Azriel's three-month-long begging for a second chance haunted you, likely triggered by witnessing Elain and Lucien's kiss in the courtyard. While you were happy for them, a lingering sadness stayed you, realizing you would never experience a shared bond. Azriel had robbed you of the beauty of a mating bond, and forgiveness felt out of the question. Suffocated by him, you made your way to Feyre and Rhysand's office, ready to ask the dreaded question that had lingered within you for a while.

“ Come in!” Feyre’s gentle voice probed you to open the door as you slithered in. They both looked at you with caution. After breaking the bond, you had been bedridden for three weeks. The physical and mental toll it took on you was overwhelming and some days you questioned your decision. But then you remembered what led you here and just powered through.

“ Guys, I promise I feel much better, so please no more mother-henning. Especially you Rhys.” Feyre let out an amused giggle as Rhys just narrowed his eyes in mock irritation. The weight of what you had to say hung heavy on your shoulders, but you knew they'd support you. Opting for honesty, you decided to rip off the bandaid.

“ I want to move back to the Day Court. I love it here but I miss my home, my siblings, my parents, my friends. I wasn’t supposed to stay this long and even though I love velaris, I can’t live here so close to… him. Not only that but I’ve been sending letters to Helion and he is very eager to meet Lucien and has asked me to check if he wants to come.” You decided to drop the last bomb, asking them for a huge favor.

“I also wanted to see if you could erase my memories of Azriel. Not everything, just the whole fiasco. I genuinely want to move on, and I feel like I won't be able to if I keep dwelling on it. Believe me, I've tried to avoid him and the situation for the past months, but the thoughts still linger.”

They were silent for a moment, likely speaking to each other through their mind. You met their saddened eyes as they nodded.

“I'm sorry you feel this way, Y/n. I genuinely wanted you to feel at home here, but of course we won't force you to stay. We'll erase the memories, but only if you promise to visit someday. Perhaps even let us come to you? I've heard the Day Court's sun is not to be played with, almost rivaling the Summer Court.” You giggled and nodded at Rhysand's words, tears streaming down your face – a mix of happiness and sadness. Overwhelmed with emotions, you embraced them as they gave you a big hug, one of the last you realized.

————————————

You surveyed your now empty room, memories of passionate moments and heartfelt kisses with Azriel lingering in the air. It felt like a distant past, a different life, a different version of you. Shouldering your bag, you descended the stairs. Rhysand had winnowed all your belongings back to your old quarters in Helion's palace. Lucien and Elain, already packed, awaited you at the breakfast table. It was time to share one last meal as residents of this house.

After announcing the news, Lucien and Elain asked if they could join you, insisting on the top-class tour of the court you had promised him. Delighted, you agreed, more than happy to bring your friends along as you all headed back home.

The table was filled with your friends as you shared one last meal, Azriel's seat empty as he was out on a mission. Unable to face him in fear of lingering emotions, you insisted on leaving while he was away.

Feyre stood at the head of the table, a mix of emotions visible in her eyes. She cleared her throat, capturing everyone's attention.

“Today marks the beginning of a new chapter for Y/n, Lucien, and Elain. Though farewells are always bittersweet, we must embrace change and growth. Y/n, you've been a cherished member of our court and a life-long friend, and while your path diverges, our bonds remain unbroken. Never forget that you will always have a home here.”

She smiled warmly, addressing each one individually, “Lucien, my first and dear fae friend, Elain, my kind older sister, your presence has brought joy to our home. The Day Court awaits, and I have no doubt that your light will shine brightly there.”

She raised her glass, “To new beginnings, may your paths be lit by the stars that connect us all. Safe travels, my friends.”

The room echoed with the clinking of glasses, a heartfelt farewell lingering in the air.

————————————

After tearful goodbyes, Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a glance, understanding the weight of your request. Pulling you aside, Feyre spoke softly, “Are you ready for this?"

You nodded, feeling Rhysand place a gentle hand on your forehead as Feyre held the back of your head. Together, they wove their magic, erasing the memories of Azriel and the pain attached to them. As the magic settled, you blinked, a new easiness in your eyes.

Rhys offered a reassuring smile, “May this bring you peace on your journey, Y/n.” You gave them a final hug, walking back to Lucien and Elain and winnowed back to your home.

—————

TWO YEARS LATER

At Helion's annual grand ball, you moved through the crowd, the vibrant atmosphere alive with laughter and music. You glanced around as you spotted your friends.

Approaching your dear friends, you hugged and greeted all of your friends, updating them about your life as you heared the uptade of theirs. Then, unexpectedly, you found yourself face to face with Azriel. His expression revealed a mix of confusion and curiosity. This was the first time you had met him simce you moved. Your friends told you that he was often gone on long missions, only staying briefly to report to Feyre and Rhysand before heading back out. Unbeknownst to you, your friends had slowly decreased their conversations and meetings with Azriel and he was now more of an employee than a friend. They loved both of you but there was no way to just let him back in as a dear friend after what he did.

“Hi, Azriel. It’s been a while. How’s everything going?”

He nodded, "Indeed. I must admit, I'm surprised to see you here."

You chuckled, “Really? I mean it is my home after all. Why is it shocking?”

Azriel furrowed his brows, "I thought... after everything, you hated me."

Your eyes widened in confusion, “Hate? I don’t know what you mean, Azriel. Why would I hate you? You’re a dear friend of mine.”

Realization dawned in Azriel's eyes, “Your memories...” But before he could continue, Rhysand pulled him away.

Azriel's realization hit him hard. The weight of the moment pressed upon him, and he felt a deep sense of remorse. Seeing you free from the memories, both good and bad, brought a profound ache.

He swallowed hard, the truth settling heavily in his chest. He had caused so much pain that you chose to erase him from your mind. A sickness crept over him, the regret of his actions piercing through as he watched you move through the ball, blissfully unaware of the history you once shared. Surrounded by the festive atmosphere, he felt a deep loss and the haunting echo of an irreversible mistake.

You looked happier and healthier than you had ever been. Deciding to not disturb the peace you created, he simply disappeared into his shadows, seeking out their comfort as he always had.

[carvrmmvrmmmm]

I have a theory about Yellow Guy

In the 6th episode, Electricity, we see Yellow Guy go up those stairs, right? It’s even suggested he has been up there before - but hear me out. What if he and Lesley were always up there in the attic to begin with? Here’s my evidence: Yellow guy is shown to have undeniable intelligence when he is fitted with new batteries. His previous ones were old and “moldy”, so that suggested he never changed them. This also suggests that there was a time he had fresh batteries and this was not the first time he had acquired this ‘intelligent’ state. This could imply that as time went on, as the battery ran out, his intelligence started to deteriorate, and so did his memory. This also makes me believe that the “Big Boys Room” and the “Bigger Boys Room” were used to accommodate Yellow Guy’s mind. The higher the levels, the more ‘smarter’ they were, which makes me believe that as Yellow Guy grew ‘less smart’, he moved down each levels, going from Lesley, to the Bigger Boys Room, to the Big Boys room, and finally to the ground floor with the trio we all know and love. Adding onto that, did you notice that Yellow Guy was absent from these rooms? Red Guy and Duck was there, sure, but they seem to recognize Yellow Guy as a returning character. They even say he’s “Missing out” and he has to “Keep up”, which could suggest he had been away for a long time (due to his intelligence diminishing as prior mentioned). Lesley mentions that they are all replaceable, and that she “has plenty of backups”. But if that was the case, why is there multiple Red Guys and Ducks and only one Yellow Guy? This is here where we continue to theorize so buckle up. Lesley and Yellow Guy are obviously linked. With several evidence of Yellow Guy being Lesley’s son, David (Her saying “you’re not my real son”, Yellow Guy’s dream scene in the episode “Transport”, the photos Duck has in the episode “Family” etc. etc.) we can already see she has an attachment to him. There is also evidence that she is not the one in full control, with her felt like appearance and the fact that when we first see her, she states,

“Batteries can be replaced,

but some things stay the same.

No matter how we twist and turn,

we're still dancing in chains."

The first line is an obvious callback to Yellow Guy’s situation: unlike the other puppets of the trio, he requires batteries to function. Or at least, think freely for himself. Kind of like a toy. But he himself is not replaceable. That’s why the other levels do not have a Yellow Guy. So he “never changes”. But Lesley continues, using the inclusive pronoun, “we”, to suggest that he and Lesley are in the same position: Trapped as puppeteers for a greater being. Both of them had been in discomfort, fighting for independent control, suggested by the phrase “twist and turns” showing constant change of path, creating a sense of restlessness. But at the end of the day, both of them were still puppets “in chains”. When Yellow Guy leaves the ‘highest’ floor, it is shown that there are more stairs, which hints there being more ‘intelligent’ beings, possibly the puppeteers (aka the producers of the show and Roy as shown by ending credits). This could probably answer the question on why Lesley had the book (which has been widely believed to be their escape plan) that Yellow Guy had written in his own language and gives the show a lot more lore.

So my conclusion? Yellow Guy and Lesley used to conspire how to escape the puppet universe together in order to break free, but due to negligence on changing batteries, Yellow Guy was eventually used just as just a puppet for Lesley to replace her lost son and as a form of entertainment to preserve the memory of David, while Yellow Guy permanently loses his memories, succumbing to the inevitable fate of becoming a puppet more the wider audience.

[burtonsdoodles]

Children of Earth: Day FOUR Reflections... #6

No. SIX of my more lengthy points, which got shortened for my full list of thoughts after watching Day FOUR of CoE...

"An injury to one is an injury to all…" Now, I'll admit straight up, what I'm about to talk about is probably not what's actually happening in the scene, but the thought crossed my mind and it was funny to me, so here it is anyway…

So, the “very old, very wise friend”, who taught Jack the philosophy he tells the 456, is the Doctor, right?… well, I like to think Ianto's sharp, rather biting comment about it not mattering is actually a bit of a reflection of Ianto not liking the Doctor very much. (I know it's not. It’s more likely just one last bit of bickering for them, so we can hear some Ianto snark before y’kno: DEATH. Or more plainly, it's Ianto criticising Jack for using metaphors against an frickin’ alien!) Either way, I wanna talk about this other concept instead… 

I love the idea of Ianto having this deep disdain for the Doctor. Everyone else loves the dude, but Ianto? Ianto just associates the Doctor with utter disaster… FIRST, the Doctor was there at the battle of Canary Wharf, where Ianto lost everything, including (eventually) Lisa, the woman he loved. SECOND, the Doctor was the reason Jack then disappeared for months on end after Abberdon, Ianto had just gone through watching Jack seemingly being permanently dead, to then be very publicly and passionately kissed by the man on his miraculous return to life... to then be completely gone again when Ianto returns with the coffee. THIRD, he was the reason Jack ditched Gwen and Ianto again during the Stolen Earth crisis to go help the Doctor aboard the TARDIS…! Basically, if the Doctor is around, then Ianto is probably about to lose something he cares about. Therefore, it is my belief that Ianto has zero shits to give for Jacks infatuation with his beloved Doctor.

On a slightly separate note, I wish this were an idea that was actually explored in the show somehow, because I think it's a brilliant concept. Not only would it have been quite funny to see, but it genuinely could have been endearing or even a compelling source of conflict for Jack and Ianto to deal with - and you know my thoughts on the lack of Janto conflict.

But that's just one of my thoughts (admittedly, the most random and ridiculous of the thoughts that came to me after watching DAY FOUR). And I lied above - I actually cut this from the original list since there wasn't a quick way of shortening it, but I saw no reason not to still post it here anyway.

Only two more points to go, then I will be done with all my reflections from DAY FOUR... and I'll have no excuse not to watch that final episode of CoE… oh god.

LB :)

[n-m-and-p-avocados-at-law]

Born Again Initial Thoughts Based On One Watch Last Night That I Probably Don't Remember Super Well Because I Didn't Sleep As Much As I Should Have

Spoilers below the cut! Also, this started out sort of coherent and then devolved into random thoughts. Sorry. I'll probably end up having more thoughts later on (especially if I rewatch this weekend like I want to), so I might make another post later. Also, I promise I'm better at forming a coherent thought for my actual job.

Is it a solid show? Yes. Is it as great of a show as the original? No. Is it fair to compare them? I can't decide. Do I think this show could get to the level of the new show? It's possible.

My understanding of what happened is that they initially wrote it to not have Foggy and Karen, they shot a bunch of stuff, the strikes happened, they overhauled things, and they tried to keep a lot of the original stuff they shot (I assume for cost reasons). I think that whole backstory informs a lot of the decisions. That backstory is the "wires behind the TV that I can still sort of see even though they tried to hid them."

I think that the first two episodes are more or less going however they originally planned the series. If they were committed to using that footage, something BIG had to explain why Foggy and Karen aren't there. It had to be big. And, unfortunately, due to timeline reasons, I don't think the Blip was an option.

I do think the decision to make the BIG thing killing Foggy was kind of lazy, and I do think they could've gotten more creative, but I get why they did it. Absent something big happening, it wouldn't make sense for Matt to try and split himself off from DD after Season 2, Defenders, and Season 3 were about him learning they're one and the same. It also wouldn't make sense for him and Karen to get that mad and split off from each other.

I also think killing Foggy was shoehorned in because it wouldn't make sense to put Matt back at rock bottom right after Season 3. I realize the fact that they ever entertained not having Foggy and Karen means I'm giving Marvel/the writers too much credit, but here we are.

All that being said, I don't think Foggy is dead permanently. I'm not sure if it's a fake-out or if he's going to come back from the dead, but I don't think it's permanent. Fake-out is hard because Matt can feel when someone dies (paaaaaaiiinful thought). Although Daredevil is a more grounded MCU show, people have come back to life. The main reason I think they're bringing him back is this interview where Charlie Cox is talking about how excited he was to text Elden Henson and Deborah Ann Woll that they were coming back. I just can't see him being that excited for the 10 minutes we saw.

I will say I might be willing to forgive the writers for this if we get to see Matt getting Foggy back. And not in the same way he got Elektra back, where they were fighting, and she came back wrong, and she didn't remember him. I want them to give Foggy back fully, no stops, and let Matt have the most joyous moment of his life. Give him a miracle where someone comes back for once.

I would also like Elektra back, though, thank you.

ANYWAY, the scene itself was okay. Others have said this, but it felt rushed, and the DD/Bullseye fight didn't hit as hard as the Season 3 fights. It felt like they sort of slapped it on top.

I will say Karen's reactions were a highlight of the scene. I've seen a lot of people talking about how scared she is when she hears Dex hit the ground because it could mean she lost both Matt and Foggy. But in my mind, I'm also thinking about how she knows something devastating happened either way. Because if it's Dex on the ground, it means Matt killed him, and she knows how horrible that would be for him.

I would like some explanation as to why Dex didn't die. I know he has a fancy new spine, but that was a long fall.

Geez, I've written so much and I'm still on the first 10 minutes of Ep. 1. The rest of this will probably bounce around more, I'm just the most caught up on the Foggy thing still.

I actually don't hate that Karen is gone for the moment, other than the fact that it means we don't get that much DAW screentime. I am ALLLLL for the slow burn. And they set them up to be REAL flirty in the beginning with their friend code thing. I have faith Karen is coming back.

I can't decide if I think it makes sense for Matt and Karen to be so hands-off in regards to Fisk's campaign. A part of me thinks Foggy dying is big enough to justify it. A part of me thinks that they didn't think he'd actually win. Not based on real events, what are you talking about? A part of me thinks it's wildly out of character. I don't know, but here we are.

Matt asking for Dex to be sentenced to the fullest extent of the law is such a big thing. Based on the fact that Matt is against killing, I think he's probably generally against life without parole. It makes sense because it's Foggy, but OMG.

I feel like I'm having a hard time grasping who the new characters are at this point. I think that's one of the things that's making me feel like this isn't quite as good. In Season 1, for example, I feel like you already know Foggy so well just from that initial phone call with Matt and their initial interaction with that realtor lady. I don't feel like we got that with these new characters. However, we still have a long way to go, so I'm open and excited to get to know them. In particular, I've heard a lot about Kirsten from comic fans, so excited for her in general.

Others have said this, but it is quite funny that Matt has begun dating a therapist instead of going to therapy.

The fact that Heather is now a marriage counselor for the Fisks is also very funny. At the moment. I do think she's going to die.

I was excited about the Spanish with Hector. I hope we get more, to the degree we did in Season 1 with Mrs. Cardenas (or even more).

Someone pointed out Matt was wearing his glasses inside. I think in general Matt feels off. Not in terms of characterization, just generally. On the surface, he seems okay. But everything feels a little forced to me, like he's having to put a little more effort in. He can't relax and take of his armor in his own home.

Him carrying around the funeral program is devastating.

His decision to not go into the church was so sad. I'm reaaaaallllly hoping Maggie is back at some point. For now, it would make sense if he was avoiding her and God at the same time.

That last scene of Episode 2 was crazy. He was so willing to let himself get beat up. And then they crossed a line, so he had to cross a line.

I like the Punisher foreshadowing with the tattoo. I also think it's interesting that it's something that Matt wouldn't be able to pick up on.

Lawyer!Matt stressed me out a little because it made me think about work, but I'll be okay.

Shifting gears a little bit, it sucks that Fisk getting elected is believable given real-life events.

The Fisk/Vanessa thing is...intriguing. I don't know how I feel at this point.

BB Urich! So excited for BB Urich!

That being said, KEEP BEN'S NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, WILSON!

Who is the little guy from Wednesday at Heather's book signing? I feel like I didn't see anything about him in spoiler stuff.

I miss the old theme. I'm not sure how I feel about the music choices on the whole. I did like the Nick Cave song, though. I could get on board if they used Red Right Hand at some point. I do think that song is heavily associated with Peaky Blinders, though, so I don't know if they'll go there.

I also feel like the way they shot the old show was more interesting/better.

Where is Brett Mahoney? Where is Ellison? I feel like those are also two people who wouldn't let this Fisk stuff slide.

I LOVED the scene in the diner, that felt the most like the old show.

Fisk bringing up his father was interesting.

They packed A LOT into two episodes. I think that they set things up to be promising. There were a lot of seeds planted that I think could go in very interesting/satisfying directions.

I would like an explanation of what happened to everyone during the Blip, thank you.

What is the timeline with Echo/She-Hulk?

I almost forgot, but I'm glad we got a little of Josie.

What happened to Marci? Also, you can't tell me Marci wouldn't have been at that sentencing even if she and Foggy were broken up.

All in all, didn't love it as much as I was hoping I would. I think I would have liked it more if it wasn't living in the shadow of the original show. That being said, I do think there is a lot of potential for it to improve, and I'm ready to go on the ride.

[likeadevils]

In light of a previous ask, is it dumb of me to ask you what you think of Peter, muse-wise? IMO it’s the most egregious example of mixed muse, I don’t see it being only about Matty or only about Joe, not only because of the tone used, but because it’s one the vaguest and I think that almost every TTPD song is very clear in terms of its muse

i think peter’s a mixed muse, but a fairly clear cut one: first verse is matty, second is joe.

verse one:

my lost fearless leader

“the coward claimed he was a lion”— loml

“you said i need a brave man, then proceeded to play him until i believed it too”— the black dog

and just as a funny aside, mattys favorite song of hers is hey stephen, a song on fearless

preserved from when we were just kids

“he was my best friend down at the sandlot”— my boy only breaks his favorite toys

“at the park where we used to sit on children’s swings”— fresh out the slammer

“we embroidered the memories of when i was away, stitching ‘we were just kids’”— loml

is it something i did?

there is way to many lyrics questioning of why matty left her on ttpd than i can reference here, but the biggies are on the smallest man and the black dog

i didn’t wanna come down

parallel to pretty much the entirety of down bad

saying that she didn’t want the relationship to end

i thought it was just goodbye for now

i think this is a pretty direct reference to him ghosting her

verse two:

are you still a mind reader, a natural scene stealer?

“you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong”— gorgeous

“and i’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”— lover

“i was playing around with the idea of quiet confidence. there’s something so sick about […] somebody who, they’re not arrogant, they’re not cocky […] but there are certain people who just walk in and they don’t need to be arrogant because there’s something beaming from within them. and when you meet a person like this, you’re like, ‘why do i want to walk over there and talk to this person?’”— taylor talking about i think he knows for iheartradio

joe is an actor harhar

when crossing your jet stream

“my baby’s fly like a jet stream”— call it what you want

we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon, in different galaxies

“nights are so starry, blood moon lit”— glitch

“we learned the right steps to different dances”— how did it end

“resentment rotting away/ galaxies we created/ stars places and glued/ meticulously by hand/ next to the ceiling fan/ tried wishing on comets./ tried dimming the shine./ tried to orbit his planet./ some stars never align.”— ttpd epilogue, ‘in conclusion’

i didn’t want to hang around

“i didn’t opt in to be your odd man out”— so long london

“my white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment”— so long london

“every breath feels like rarest air when you’re not sure if he wants to be there”— so long london

implies she was the one to leave

we said it was just goodbye for now

there is somewhat of a timeline anomaly in articles about joever— some point to a breakup in february, and some in late march. there are more articles that mention them having gone on breaks before, and how their friends were expecting them to get back together before the big breakup was announced. looking at the articles (with a grain of salt because idk the accuracy of any one article), i think taylor and joe went on a break in february, and then taylor made it permanent in late march, and this line would be consistent with that

also, an agreed upon break, in contrast to the one sided “i thought it was just goodbye for now” in the previous verse

and then the bridge is a mix of both of them!

[soulemnity]

I need help,

I have SO SO So much ideas to write but I just can't every time I open my notebook or my phone notes I just can't write, nothing comes out right literally WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO I WANNA CRY

hey i get that feeling all the time !! that’s exactly how i felt before my most recent fic, and it’s honestly kind of how i feel now

i’m not sure if what helped me will help u, but don’t go, you’re half of me now was originally supposed to be a short writing exercise with a minimum of 500 words inspired by a simple prompt (a shoe and a child). i found that, upon starting, i just kept getting ideas and the writing flowed a little bit easier. the website i used is called chaotic shiny, which has a bunch of different tools to help writers ! i used the writing exercise generator

anyway, it could help to slap down the barebones ideas of the things u have in mind. it’s helped me a few times to “plan out” what i want to write and where, but don’t think it’s a permanent solution, because i still find myself a little lost sometimes lol. my “planning out” is just bulleted lists organized by separated scenes, as seen here:

these are examples from three different wips. sometimes notes mean a simple idea for the scene, or a piece of dialogue, or an entire paragraph u may want to use. i highlight the things i’ve used in yellow so i don’t forget

sometimes, like i said earlier, even just having a barebones idea slapped down can help:

i also recommend looking at muffinlance’s outlining post, it’s very informative !

now, this isn’t a cure-all. everybody gets into slumps—i’d been in a heavy one since october, and it’s possible i may just fall right into another one ! if ur struggling with getting ur ideas out, i’ve found it may help to go to a friend and express it with them; they could help flesh them out, or u could even collab. i am also open—i love to see people’s ideas !! i’d be happy to help if u ever need it !

i may have just said all this only for it to do nothing, but i hope u find at least one thing to be interesting ! :)

[jeannefostergoriot]

Soo just saw a post saying they’d wish for more song analysis for KOTLC about someone else’s song than Taylor so here we go.

Driver’s Seat by Madd Buckley x The Vacker kids

“He didn’t mean to scream, then what does he mean?” is Alvar, who was always expected perfect, or perceived the situation that way, and if Alden denied it, Alvar would have been like “what, then??”

“I’m not who he thinks I am”: still Alvar, joining the Neverseen, trying to make himself… seen?

“Trapped in his anger, one-way road”: I doubt it’s express in anger in Glitter-Perfect-City. But. Deception, permanent deception of the one you look up to. Has the same effect.

“Familiar blood I hold alone”: it’s Fitz. Cause following Alvar’s betrayal, he is the one holding the old Vacker line expectancies. Alone cause Biana is younger, less important, less visible.

“I won’t be who he is”: Alvar about Alden. Fitz about Alvar.

“The apple’s falling from the tree”: when Alvar joins the Neverseen, when Fitz joins the Black Swan, when Biana goes fighting Vespera. They’re making their own choices, they’re starting to be independent

“The engine light is blinking brighter”: more time passes, more they go closer and closer to the edge, closer to snapping, closer to breaking.

“And I wasn’t raised to be a fighter”: nobody is raised for that in the Lost Cities. Especially not in the royal family…

“But it only takes one spark to blow”: but it only takes one thing for apparent perfect perfection to go down in flames, for everyone to lose their mind.

“And I wasn’t taught to tame the driver”: none of the three was ever said how to feel fine, how to correct the problems they felt deep down with their world, they weren’t taught to pinpoint what is wrong and what oppress them.

“Just how to delay the raging fire”: just how to play with the rules till another game is set. Set by older. Set by others. Set for others. But they can take part in that new game.

“That turn signal’s ticking, ticking, ticking til”: time is coming. Hurt is here. So the flame is burning in their veins.

“I will be who he is”: the boys. They didn’t want. But they realize. Alvar when he stopped taking measures, when he just went right into whatever the Neverseen were doing. And Fitz, well. That scene in Flashback where he almost killed his brother.

“He’s in the driver’s seat”. Maybe Alden. Maybe just the system.

“I am his rage”: Alvar.

“Inherit the engine and leak, no mistake”: Biana, inheriting the pressure that drives Fitz crazy and the Invisibility that lead Alvar to disappear. Can’t do any mistake to avoid the erasure. Has to fight to be seen. To make the whole thing working.

“I am the warning, the blaring that won’t let you sleep in peace”: Fitz. Fitz who grew up almost in another world, Fitz who says that things aren’t right, Fitz that warns when going in the same old ways will crash everyone in the wall.

“I am his only”: dunno is the singer means “his only something” or “only his”. For the analysis I’ll pick “only his”. Cause the Vacker are not theirs. They aren’t supposed to make their own choices. It’s been like this for centuries. They belong to the system. They have to be perfection.

“The little fist bruising the wheel and switching seats”: This is the idea that from childhood, from early teenage, they had to… punch a bit their way on life. The three of them differently. Alvar threw a big punch and joined the Neverseen. Fitz was switching worlds. Biana was disappearing. And she made her way at school. She’s seen as one of the popular kids of Foxfire. It doesn’t come just snapping.

“I’m biting my own tongue”: trying to keep the appearances up. It hurts them.

“I am my father’s lost son”: they can’t deny their family name. They can’t deny they’re the products of it.

“I didn’t mean to scream” Fitzroy Avery Vacker. Losing it at any occasion. And regretting it despite not knowing how to apologize.

“Don’t know what I mean”: Fitz. He doesn’t know where or what he is, he wants, not anymore.

“I’m not who you think I”: no matter how long we think about them, we’re gonna miss a part. They’re never entirely open

(This is the song btw: )

[atalienart]

What are your thoughts about scenes (I don’t believe it’s a trope) in Rom-Coms where a person doesn’t want to get married to their partner of 6year long relationship.

They end up separating from each other and almost towards the end of the movie or show the person who didn’t want to get married ends up proposing. (or in some cases marrying some other person within a short dating period)

i feel like its a bit of of a pressure from society that makes this person change their mind from not wanting to get married and then proposing. I like to believe that it's fine not getting married, yes theirs benefits and next of kin for emergencies in hospitals. However, why is it always dead-set in people marrying each other?

Also, what are your thoughts when people say "marriage is hard work"? isnt every relationship hard work? it seems like its diminishing non martial relationships

Are you asking me about fiction or real life, because I'm lost xD Anyway, rom-coms usually end with "being together forever" and when you sign papers that say "here I state we're together forever" what's more "together forever" than this? You officially announce that you're in a "real" relationship. I think a lot of people like to have a sense of security that comes with "tying the knots", even if you can theoretically divorce. A divorce however requires an effort to break the "agreement". When you're in a "non-committed" relationship what actually stops you from just leaving without any consequences. Another thing is also a matter of religious believes, which for many people is pretty important.

Now let's take into consideration that rom-coms are usually written for women, and usually they show hetero couples. Women like to feel secure in a relationship. Men usually (it's usually men idk) don't want to commit (and are with a woman util she "too" old, sick, boring), so when in a rom-com he proposes he says he really wants to be with this one woman forever, no matter what, and he doesn't consider other options. Kinda romantic idk.

Anyway, if you're together for years and you still don't know if you really want to be with that other person then why are you with that person. If you don't care about the marriage but the other person does, if you don't plan to leave them then what difference does it make for you? You'll make that other person happy by signing some papers, that's it. In rom-coms the purpose of this hesitation is probably either a character getting to know himself better, reminiscing about the relationship or something like that.

I really don't find this rom-com scenario romantic at all. You either love each other or not. If you love each other you don't have a problem with making it "permanent". There are so many things that can be a cause of drama in a romance other than a piece of paper. Nothing romantic about a person saying "okay, fine, I'll marry you if you want it so much; when we were separate I realised I got used to you too much." Like, fuck off xD

(When characters end up with someone else, that's drama, not romance, and then it's fine because it's just contemplating human choices.)

And what are my thoughts about "hard work" thing? Yes, every relationship requires some work. I'm sorry, I'm really not the right person to ask about relationships and marriages irl. I have no idea how all this works xD

[intertexts]

GOODMORNING ITS TRIVA TIIIIME

EPISODE 29 TRIVIA:

- they actually rerecorded this episode. bizly wanted dakotas lesson to be strategy so ORIGINALLY they were fucking. playing chess. for two hours. according to charlie "they had chess dot com open. I don't know where condi was but I was physically prone on the other side of my room like hiding behind something" SO THEY HATED IT. AND THEN RERECORDED IT AND ENDED UP WITH THIS.

- DAKOTA IS OFFICIALLY 18. HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY. really funny that this happens in the hyperbolic time chamber where time in the real world doesn't actually move.

- THERES ART FOR THE BOULDER THING !!!! ITS AWESOME I LOVE THEM

- grizzly: "in the beginning were you guys told to tell me that you were quitting the Prime defenders?"

condi: "no, not at all. that just came out naturally I think"

charlie: "I was so sad to see how heartbroken dakota got at that"

EXPLANATIONS:

condi: "I mean vyncent doesn't really... get it. a lot of hardship has come from being the prime defenders I don't think he sees it as worth all that. dont worry i dont think this is a permanent state of mind for vyncent, hes a malleable little boy, but its where hes at right now. itll change with time but right now hes a little jaded"

charlie: "williams whole plan was, now that he's basically wisp-free and given a new lease on life (< side note. phrase that causes me harm specifically) his plan was to find a way to return this smoke soul and help save ashe and then after that.. who knows"

- dakota ended that scene with "I never wanted to do it alone" and that's what gave him the idea to have them help him with the boulder. he didn't want to do it alone

- the only reason william is still here at all is because of dakota and vyncent. if they weren't here he would've been gone ages ago

- YIPPEE. YOU GET TO SEE JASON ORIGAMI FINALLY. 3/3 OF THE PRIME FORCE COLLECTED. HI JASON <3

- THEY KEEP QUOTING ANGEL WITH A SHOTGUN IN REFERRNCE TO WILLIAM. DO THEY WANT ME DEAD.

- chaos beano :]

- cue anime talk for like 10 minutes. prime defenders the weeb podcast ever <3

- OK AWESOME. BIZLY TALKING ABOUT THE CHAOS DEMON: "the way it kinda works is like... the chaos demon lost all sense of personality. yknow it was a soul at one point, but the longer you're in a place like where he was, you just lose what makes you you. imagine you're in a place where people are screaming all the time and you don't even know if the screams are coming out of your own mouth and it's just eternal nothing and everything (< horrifying!). and then when he latched onto you, dakota, it became like feeding off of your negative emotions"

- "What is dakotas worst fear personified? Who is dakota afraid of the most?"

grizzly DOES NOT ANSWER THIS >:| however he does say "it was a really good choice to show him the fall right away. had he not turned into le frog I think I would've played dakota a lot more serious. but because it went from the fall to doug to le frog *then* to ashe, I think it just pissed him off more than it scared him"

- "people try to scare us by looking like ashe a lot"

"okay, no, its only been TWO people and one of them IS ASHE."

- charlie: "yeah I was nervous about that encounter considering I looked at my sheet and all I have is a chainsaw and a shotgun in the middle of an active volcano"

- charlie slime has put together a william playlist it's it's my life mission to find it now. I found the ashe playlist I can do this. I need to judge his music taste.

- theyre talking about jason dying in one of the big darkstar battles and everything and grizzly goes "wow it's crazy how dakota was there and saw all of that"

HELP THAT'S SO FUNNY. frankly i would love to see the two hour chess hell session that's so funny to me oh my god. ALSO DAKOTA 18 WHOOOO he can get shot now!!! great!!

literally took so much psychic damage over the quitting the prime defenders talk. head in hands. im so ill over them... oh boy can't wait to see william stay wisp free and enjoy his new lease on life and be a normal uneventful teenager again !! im sure thats what the next few episodes are about!! ^__^;;

but mac he's literally an angel with a shotgun fighting til the wars done!! he wants to live not just survive!!!

prime defenders weeb podcast of all time... were they talking about one piece. thats my guess. one piece & dragon ball. also the more they talk about chaos demons the worse it is!!! fucked up!!! especially with the new knowledge from the oneshot etc! can't wait for someone to get tossed in there!!

all he has is a chainsaw and a shotgun in the middle of an active volcano.... i love u william wisp. god. also PLAYLIST... good luck finding it....

[workingforitallthetime]

I know it‘s been a few years but I still occasionally think of ‚ain't like anywhere else‘. You‘ve probably moved on completely… But what did you have in mind for chapter 2? 👀🥺

this ask prompted me to open the google doc for the first time in years, so what the hell, let's exhume some remains and do some self-reflection about why part 2 was never going to work.

(all of the bits that follow are unedited material straight from the draft. i hope i've become a better writer than this over the past three years.)

Here's the opening paragraph:

Trevor was meant to be here. Not like he was born in the wrong place, since he’d never give up his birthright of New York obnoxiousness, but like it was all building to this. It’s never too hot. His body can’t soak up enough sunshine, hair sun-kissed, skin turning a permanent California brown. He’s trying to turn Jamie into a Californian but he’s stubbornly Canadian. Fishbelly white no matter how much time they spend in the sun.

the main reason part 2 didn't work is that there was really no reason for me to write my own take on the jamie/trevor origin story. it's been done, and by better writers than me. i just didn't feel the compulsion to write it, unlike the trevor/cole story, which was all mine.

anyway, the plan was to set up some tzjd undefined hooking up during their first season, and then have them stick around in california for the start of the offseason, and have cole come visit after the habs lost in the stanley cup finals (wow, remember when that happened?)

A week and a half later, there he is, waving at Trevor under the overhang at arrivals. Cole’s the most solid body Trevor knows. Dense, like he’s vacuum-packed down to size. Hugging him is like colliding with a mailbox. He presses his face into Trevor’s neck, quick, and Trevor’s not going to read anything into that. That’s just as high as Cole’s face goes.

cole's expecting trevor to get right back to hooking up with him, and trevor's not going to resist. meanwhile jamie still expects trevor to be hooking up with him. trevor sneaks in and out of bedrooms for an awkward few days. there was going to be a golf scene with cam york rounding out the foursome. i did not write any of this. here is an excerpt from my notes:

Need multiple instances of cole and jamie kind of flirting, or cole flirting with jamie and trevor able to tell that jamie likes it, and trevor’s kind of furious but he can’t say anything about it because he’s hooking up with both of them

eventually cole sees trevor sneaking out of jamie's bedroom and cole and jamie have a little talk and cole is unfazed and jamie's mind is blown. then here is the only bit i actually wrote:

It’s silent for a moment in the main room. Then Cole’s raspy voice says something, too low for Trevor to catch over the grind of the icemaker. He lifts his cup off the lever in time to hear Jamie bark a laugh in response. “Sure, yeah.” Trevor can see the TV from the refrigerator, but not the far side of the couch, where they’re sitting. He sloshes vodka over his ice, adds a splash of the first juice he sees, some pomegranate bullshit Trace left in the fridge, and rounds the corner just in time to see Cole climbing into Jamie’s lap. Kneeling over Jamie and smiling, always fucking smiling, he takes Jamie’s face in his hands and kisses him. “What the fuck?” Trevor says loudly, managing not to drop his drink on the floor. They ignore him so completely it has to be on purpose. Jamie’s eyes are closed, face tilted upward to Cole’s. Cole smiles against Jamie’s lips and rakes a hand backward through his hair, tipping Jamie’s head back so he can press in closer, kiss him deeper. Trevor knows what this is like from every possible angle. Knows what it’s like to have Cole in his lap, his smiling kisses, knows what’s under Jamie’s hands as they smooth down Cole’s back and settle on his ass. Knows what it’s like to get hard against Jamie’s stomach, feel Jamie hard underneath him. It’s like an out of body experience, seeing it all happen in front of him while he’s on the other side of the room. Jamie slips a hand under the hem of Cole’s tank top, and Trevor knows how the smooth muscles of his obliques feel, knows without even being able to see it that Jamie’s working a thumb under Cole’s waistband, rubbing it over his hipbone. He was first. He’s the tallest. And they’re just ignoring him.

i did also have some notes for the dialogue that eventually followed:

“And you could have told me you were banging your roommate now?”

“We’re not banging.”

“Oh, what are you calling it then?”

[] “Whatever you and I were doing.”

“Did Jamie get his dick sucked?”

“No?” Trevor says uncertainly, wriggling a little in Jamie’s lap. He would have sucked Jamie’s dick if he’d thought of it. That should count for something.

Jamie, patiently: “Nobody’s getting his dick sucked.”

“Trevor got his dick sucked and he owes me.”

Jamie tugs at his hair again. “I think he should pay up.”

“You can suck Jamie’s dick after. He did get silver.”

........i mean, maybe i could have made this dynamic work, if i'd gotten it written in that era. but probably not. i was much better served turning my attention to umich.

[darkaviarymc]

So why tf are you living with a zionist? And why tf did you get married to one in the first place?

I've gotten anons asking invasive questions about my relationship with Troy and why I have yet to end it, and I've deleted each one. I don't know if you're the same anon, but I'm guessing you follow me because my latest #aviisleaving post has no notes and was less than an hour old when I received this ask.

But.

Due to recent events in this fandom, abuse has become a spotlight topic. I don't know if I would call my marriage abusive or not. But whether or not it is, my situation and my reasons for staying in it for the time being is similar to what abusive victims face. There are many reasons not to leave, to bide your time before leaving, and to not be able to leave at the time or even at all, and I think it's an important discussion to have.

I'll start by explaining why I'm with him in the first place. We used to be closer ideologically. He wasn't always this far right and (this is where I make a confession that idk if I'm actually ready to make, but here we go) I wasn't always this far left. Seven years does a lot to change people, for better or worse. I was a left-leaning centerist, he was a right-leaning centerist, and we met in the middle to either compromise or peacefully agree to disagree.

We were both nerdy autistic weirdos with the same taste in music, same sense of humor, and enough ideologically in common to make peace. He got along well with my daughter and was quick to let me know that, if we ever got married, he'd consider her his kid as if she was his own.

I'm hyper-romantic. I see romance basically everywhere I look, and I fall in love hard and fast. He wasn't used to having a woman (my egg hadn't cracked yet, we'll get to that) who wasn't an absolute bitch be interested in him, so he fell harder than he ever had. We also both hated our situation at home, and I wouldn't pretend that wasn't a factor. We rushed the relationship and got married before we'd been together a year.

Everything changed for me when I realized I was queer.

I found the community I'd been denying for my whole life, and I learned a lot. He was an ally then. A flawed one, but he was willing to try. He was supportive of me when I came out, first as bisexual and then as nonbinary.

But everything changed for him when the wreck happened. He was driving with our mutual best friend in the front passenger seat when he lost control on black ice and slid into oncoming traffic. Our friend died at the scene, and Troy's injuries left him permanently disabled. He's since regained his independence, but he'll always struggle with his left arm.

We both took solace in our faith (I'd still consider myself a Christian, feel how you feel about that, I've heard it all) but he got lost in Christian Reddit, then Christian TikTok. Christian TikTok led to Evangelical TikTok, which led to transphobic, homophobic, MAGA, and zionist TikTok.

He ate that shit up. He fucking chugged that kool-aid. It gave him something besides himself to be angry at.

Grief opened my mind and closed his. It softened my heart and hardened his.

It just went downhill from there.

And now I can't live with this. I know he can't either, and the only reason he hasn't initiated a separation is because 1) there's no biblical grounds for divorce because I haven't cheated on him, and 2) he doesn't think a fat, autistic, disabled nerd in his 30s with a small dick and $30,000 in medical debt could ever find a godly wife. His words, not mine.

So if I want what's best for myself, my daughter, and yes, even for Troy, I need to be the one to leave.

So why haven't I yet?

First and foremost, money. We live in a society blah blah blah. Our society isn't friendly single mothers, queer people, or disabled people, and I'm about to be all three. I need to be 100% certain that I can support not only myself, but a high support needs autistic teen daughter who will likely never be able to live independently.

We currently only have one working vehicle, and aren't in a financial place to remedy that. I will need my own form of transportation if I'm going to be on my own.

All of my preparations (housing, transportation, moving logistics, etc) will have to be enacted quickly and perfectly. Surgical precision packing, moving, and stocking up on groceries so I don't have to leave the house for a while within 24 hours. Why? Because his family can't have any forewarning. I would not be safe. Currently, I'm not safe emotionally, but if I mess up even one step off the plan, if I'm not perfect in my exit strategy, I won't be safe physically, and neither will my daughter. I won't elaborate further on that.

Not only do I have to leave perfectly, but I have to be 150% positive months in advance that I can keep perfect. Because he has friends and family in places that could be dangerous for me, not the least of which is CPS. I fully expect to have them at my door by the end of the first month. I can't give them cause to take my daughter, even if it's the smallest, stupidest thing. Especially since they'll already have a small, stupid thing. Namely, my queerness and my disability.

Because I'm under no impression whatsoever that Troy won't out me to every single person who I can't safely be out to the instant he gets the chance. I will have no more help from (and possibly no contact with) my family. I will be completely alone. My support system will be gone forever. I have to be emotionally, mentally, and financially ready for that.

And I am none of those things right now.

And until I am, I have to do whatever I can to keep myself safe enough to bide my time for the right opportunity.