#Will I ever post art at a reasonable time: no | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ev3rm0re-q · 12 hours ago

Text

everything i didn't say.

synopsis: This camping trip was supposed to be a relaxing getaway—just a few days in the woods, swapping scary ghost stories, roasting s'mores by the campfire, maybe even squeezing in some late-night cabin sleepovers. It all sounded so perfect, right? Wrong.

Y/N ends up stuck sharing a cabin with the one person she can't stand. Fucking Choi Soobin—the guy who spent all of high school turning every assignment and exam into some stupid competition to see who's the smartest, who flashed his cocky, infuriating smirk when he beat her at their in-school debate competition she'd spent countless nights preparing for. The same guy who gave her every reason to believe he felt something for her, who blurred all the lines during their senior project—only to ghost her like none of it ever meant a thing. This has to be some kind of joke, right?

pairing: ex-academic rival!soobin x fem!reader

genre: enemies-to-lovers trope, ex-academic rivals to lovers, only one bed trope, forced proximity, angst romance filled with tension, college AU-ish, unresolved feelings

warning/s: lots of swearing, suggestive-ish

wc: 10.1K

September 2017

It had been three hours since I lugged all my stuff into Soobin’s house—project printouts, art supplies, notebooks, and my heavy-ass laptop—all piled into a chaotic mess around me.

The clock on his study desk ticked past 10 PM. I sat cross-legged on a cushion on the bedroom floor, leaning against a small wooden table, surrounded by scattered papers. Some notes were marked up with pink highlighter, others crumpled or stuck with colorful post-its.

Even the little doodles Soobin had drawn on the post-its were pinned around the table here and there, giving the chaos a strange kind of charm.

Our laptops sat perpendicular to each other, their screens casting a soft glow across the clutter. I tapped my red pen lightly against the table, eyes skimming the printed script beside me—covered in scribbles, arrows, and margin notes I could barely even read anymore.

The words were starting to blur together, familiar in that way things get when you’ve stared at them too long.

“Your part on slide nine feels a little rushed.” I said, after a stretch of quiet.

To my right, Soobin sat on a cushion of his own, sleeves of his hoodie pushed up, glasses reflecting the glow of his screen as his eyes flicked over the same PowerPoint slide.

His expression was calm—too calm for someone who was going to have his final presentation the next morning. Then he stretched, arms reaching overhead as he let out a quiet yawn, eyes half-lidded but still focused.

“You were talking too fast in other parts too,” I reminded him, not even looking up.

He let out a quiet groan. “You’ve timed me, what, three times already?”

“I’m just saying,” I replied. “You’re hitting the marks, yeah—but you’re hitting them like a robot.”

He turned to me with a raised brow. “The script’s too long for me not to talk fast, you know.”

“You’re basically rapping through the script, Soobin,” I gave him an unimpressed look.

“I read it aloud earlier. The timing was just right—You’re just the one who keeps starting the timer too early." He argued.

I raised a brow, unimpressed. “I’m not early on anything. You always leave a few seconds on the timer.”

His eyes found mine—and stayed there, just a second too long.

“So,” he said slowly, “you want me to slow down, then?”

“Just this part,” I murmured, pointing to a line with the tip of my pen. He leaned in slowly, just enough for his shoulder to brush mine, eyes following the point of my pen.

I glanced at him without thinking. His hair hung messily over his forehead, brushing the tops of his glasses. He was fiddling with the end of his hoodie string again, fingers curling around it before slipping it between his teeth, chewing on it like he didn’t even notice. All of a sudden, I realized how close our faces had gotten.

“Where?” he asked quietly, the words slightly muffled, the hoodie string still tugged between his lips.

“H-here…” I managed, barely above a whisper. I pointed with my pen to the line he needed to read. He leaned in even closer, eyes narrowing in on the script.

I instinctively pulled back, creating space between us as casually as I could manage, eyes flicking to my laptop screen like it suddenly demanded all of my attention. But I could still feel the heat blooming across my cheeks, spreading too fast to ignore.

“Yeah, these notes are good,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before. I glanced sideways, then down at the hoodie string still hanging from his mouth.

“Do you really have to chew on that?” I asked, raising a brow, trying for playful but landing somewhere between disbelief and mild concern.

I fiddled with the cap of my pen, letting the soft sound fill the space between us as my other hand hovered over my keyboard, feigning concentration. Instead of snapping back like I expected, he paused.

His eyes flicked toward mine as he slowly let the hoodie string slip from his mouth, the fabric falling softly against his chest. For a moment, he just looked at me—head tilted slightly, like he was trying to piece something together.Then came the smallest twitch of a smile.

“You always pick the smallest fights with me when you’re nervous,” he said, voice low and even.

Not teasing—just stating it, like it was something he’d known for a while. My pen stilled mid-air.

“I’m not nervous,” I muttered, eyes fixed on my screen.

There was a pause. Then, softer, "You are. But it's okay... I'm nervous about it too."

That made me glance at him, and this time, I didn't look away. He leaned back slightly, posture relaxed, like he’d peeled something back—something he didn’t usually let show.

Oh. He was talking about the presentation.

Right.

But there was something in the way he said it. Gentle. Almost like a secret passed between us. It landed in my chest like a held breath I didn’t know I was keeping.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, trying to shake off the weird flutter in my chest.

I turned back to my laptop, leaving my pen resting on the script as I switched to the PowerPoint tab, brows furrowing while I scrolled through the slides for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

"You’re overthinking again,” Soobin said, voice low and teasing.

I didn’t look at him. “Says the guy who helped me color-code our outline and triple-checked our citations.”

“Yeah, but I hide it better,” he replied, the smirk already audible in his tone.

“I just don’t want it to suck,” I sighed.

He let out a soft laugh. “It doesn’t. We’re fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He smiled—genuine this time—and reached across the table to tug my notebook toward him. Our fingers brushed for a moment. Just a graze. Nothing major. But neither of us pulled away right away.

“I don’t get why you stress so much,” he said softly, leaning forward to jot a quick note on the script with my pen.

“You always make everything better.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He handed the pen back without looking away. “The slides. The project. You just… care more than anyone else I’ve worked with.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment.

Not really.

But it made something twist inside me anyway.

I looked at him—really looked at him. The way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he always tilted his head when he was thinking, the subtle twitch of a smile he tried to hide whenever I got too worked up over formatting.

He was calm. Too calm. Like he wasn’t falling apart inside the way I was. I swallowed the bitterness tightening in my chest.

"You're weirdly nice when you're tired," I muttered, pretending to fix something on the PowerPoint.

“I’m always nice,” he shot back.

I gave him a skeptical look.

“Okay,” he laughed softly. “Sometimes.”

“You know,” I started, before I could catch myself,

“you’re really hard to read sometimes.”

He blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Some moments you’re open—easy to talk to. But then other times, I can’t figure out what you’re thinking at all.”

The room fell silent. He blinked slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“So are you,” he replied, voice quieter now.

“But I try.”

My heart did a stupid flip in my chest.

“Try what?”

He looked at me again, eyes steady. “To make it obvious.”

Then, it hit me,—all the signs I’d buried, the little things I brushed off as me being dramatic or reading too much into nothing.

Every look, every touch, every word.

My mouth went dry.

What the fuck was he trying to say?

I wanted to ask—God, I wanted to ask—but the pounding in my chest felt deafening, like my heart was trying to drown out the moment.

Oh my god, what if he can hear it too? I wondered.

So I said nothing.

I just stared at him, caught in the pull of it all—panic curling at the edges of my thoughts as hope blooms rapidly in my chest, confusion wrapping around it like a knot I couldn’t untangle.

“I—I…” I faltered, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Before I could think to move, he leaned in, eyes locked on mine. His hand rose slowly—hesitant at first—then steadier as his fingers reached for a loose strand of hair near my cheek.

He brushed it back behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my skin with a softness that sent a chill down my spine. But he didn’t pull away.

His hand lingered near my face, close enough that I could feel his warmth, close enough to see the subtle shift in his expression—something careful, something unreadable, something that made my throat go dry. Neither of us said a word.

His words from earlier hung between us like an unfinished sentence suspended in the air, and I was too afraid that if I spoke now, it would all collapse—too real, too raw.

We’d had moments like this before. Subtle ones. The kind that slipped by unspoken, but never unnoticed. Lingering glances in the hallway, the way his hand brushed mine when he passed notes, how his voice always softened when he would call me over to him.

But this? This felt louder. Closer.

"Y/N… I—" he began, voice low, hesitant.

But then, right on cue, his phone buzzed sharply beside us—the alarm he’d set earlier cutting through the quiet like a crack of thunder.

He flinched. So did I.

The moment shattered.

He moved quickly, fumbling for his phone on the floor beside him. The sound cut off with a single tap, but the silence it left behind was deafening. For a moment, he didn’t look at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the now-dark screen, jaw tight.

Then, voice quieter this time—measured, distant—he said,

“You should probably head back.”

My heart dropped.

He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Big day tomorrow,” he added, like that explained everything.

“Right…” I murmured. “Big day.”

I nodded, slowly gathering my things. Papers, pens, laptop. Anything to keep my hands busy, to ignore the weight in my chest. He reached toward my notebook beside me, the same one he’d quietly asked to borrow earlier, but his hand paused halfway—as if hesitating—before he finally picked it up.

He stood too, tidying what was left on the table with methodical care. Like if we didn’t speak on it, whatever almost happened would just fold neatly into the mess of crumpled drafts and unfinished thoughts.

Maybe that was safer.

Maybe that was us.

Almost. Always fucking almost.

I left his room without a word, not even sparing him a glance, as the quiet between us was left hanging heavier than ever.

The next morning, it was raining—a steady drizzle that blurred the campus edges and made the air feel thick with calm. He acted like nothing had ever happened.

He greeted me with that same soft smile he always wore before a presentation, handing me a printed copy of our outline. He even cracked a quiet joke about how I’d probably end up rewriting his part mid-way if I got too nervous.

But just like he said the night before—we nailed it.

The presentation went smoothly—clean, confident, every line delivered exactly as we’d rehearsed. Our professor smiled in satisfaction, expecting nothing less than perfection from us.

Our friends gave us friendly pats on the back, and compliments were thrown around—“Whoa, you guys did such a great job!” They stood by us, sharing the buzz of relief like teammates crossing a finish line.

But afterward?

Fucking nothing.

After school that day, it was like something snapped shut. No texts. No awkward small talk in the hallway.

Not even a stupid silly face thrown at me when the professor announced Soobin had gotten the highest score on our English exam.

Nothing.

He stopped showing up where I used to find him—in the library, the park, even the convenience store where we always bumped into each other.

He just stopped replying. Stopped being there.

It was like I’d never mattered beyond that stupid project. And just like that, he was gone—leaving me tangled in everything I didn’t understand.

June 2019

Two years have passed since everything between us quietly fell apart—the electric connection replaced by a silence thick enough to fill a room.

In that time, everything changed. We went from playful teasing and personal competitions to exchanging little more than sharp looks and truly hurtful remarks. It’s not like we don’t cross paths—our worlds still overlap—but somehow, it’s like we don’t really exist to each other anymore.

Standing here now, I can feel the distance—not just the space between us, but all the things left unsaid, the moments we should’ve shared but didn’t, and the memories that don’t feel warm anymore.

The rain falls in a steady downpour, tapping rhythmically against the wooden porch roof where we stand. The ground grows muddier by the second, as the trees and plants eagerly soak up the long-awaited water they craved. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine as tall forest trees towering above us, casting shadows over the clearing.

"I can't believe I managed to get stuck with you," I mutter, groaning at the sight of the tall, raven-haired boy in front of me.

His head is bowed, fingers gliding across his phone screen with quiet concentration.

He doesn’t even look up. "Trust me, the feeling’s mutual."

I roll my eyes at his comment, letting my bag and umbrella drop against the wall with a heavy thump. Digging my hands into my pockets, I glance back at Soobin.

"Do you have the key?"

He sighs annoyingly at the question before reaching into his right pocket, and silently holds out the key to me. I shoot him a pointed look before taking it from his hand and unlocking the door.

It swings open to reveal a small but cozy cabin bedroom—just enough space for two. I step inside with Soobin, opening the door to the only bathroom near the entrance and nodding in satisfaction at the sight. Behind me, I hear him move forward to inspect the rest of the room, followed by the faint sound of a complaint.

"This is a joke, right?" I hear him say.

I step out of the bathroom and find him standing in front of the queen-sized bed, staring at it like it personally offended him. He looks back at me with a disbelief expression. I shrug, casually leaning against the doorframe.

“It was the cheaper option. They were gonna charge way more if we booked each room with double single beds.” He exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. I nod toward the floor.

"The floor's always open, if you want. Though I think the racoon I saw outside might appreciate some company too."

"Haha, funny," he deadpans.

I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and sink down onto the mattress with a sigh, my mind drifting to the conversation I had with Beomgyu earlier today.

“Come on, can’t you switch with me, Gyu? You guys were roommates before, right?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Beomgyu said, tone apologetic but firm. “but I already talked to Kai earlier. I promised I’d play Cookie Run with him when we got to the room—he’s pretty excited to have me as his roommate.” I stared at him for a second, hoping he would change his mind. He didn't.

I exhale sharply, jaw tight. Of course this shit would happen.

This whole arrangement happened because someone thought it'd be a genius idea to assign roommates by picking straws—completely random, they said. An equal chance for everyone, they said. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

Yeah. Sure.

I had only agreed because, honestly, I mean what are the odds that I'd end up with Choi Soobin? The same boy who’s spent every semester of high school trying to one-up me on test scores and presentations.

The one who ran against me for class representative and won by just a few votes—probably thanks to his crowd of fangirls who couldn’t stop staring at him in class.

The boy kept sending me mixed signals the entire time we worked together on that final major project, only to shut me out right after without a single word.

It was a miracle we were even caught in the same room. Despite having mutual friends and going to the same university, our paths rarely crossed—only seeing each other at social events or the occasional group hangout.

Of course, only Yunjin knew about the mixed signals part. She was the only person I trusted enough to vent to—the poor girl was forced to sit through rants over lunch about how confusing and frustrating he was. But, unbeknownst to me, that same 'poor girl' was actually in on a plan—one orchestrated by none other than Choi Yeonjun himself.

Everyone was in on it except for Soobin and me.

The plan? To finally put an end to all the bickering, snarky remarks, and this endless tension between us.

I remember hearing Yeonjun calling from the living room earlier, telling everyone we’d be picking straws to decide who’d room with whom. Meanwhile, I was in my bedroom, too busy stuffing one last hoodie into my already full backpack.

There were two sets of colored straws—each set pairing two people together.

Taehyun managed to distract Soobin with some 'new workout tip' he was eager to share, flashing his phone in front of him. Soobin's eyes were glued to the screen, interested at this new advice his friend had given him, that he carelessly grabbed a random colored straw from Yeonjun's hand without even sparing a glance at it.

When Soobin held it up, the two boys exchanged a knowing glance. Soobin got the orange straw.

Taehyun gave Yeonjun a slight nod, and Yeonjun then strolled over to the others, quietly whispering which colors to pick to avoid the dreaded orange. Finally, Yeonjun made his way over to me, one last straw pinched between his fingers.

"You're the last one, Y/N. Orange was the only one that was left," he said, holding it out.

"Oh, that's fine. I think the orange is pretty cute anyway," I shrugged, more relieved to be done forcefully shoving that hoodie into my already overflowing backpack than anything else.

He grinned, eyes flicking to the straw in my hand. "Yeah? I think it suits you."

I flashed a quick smile in return. "Thanks, I've always wanted to match with a traffic cone."

Yeonjun chuckled under his breath and nodded toward the living room.

"C’mon, let’s see who fate paired you up with."

I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed him down the hall, completely unaware of the setup I had just walked straight into. We stepped into the living room. Everyone is raising their straws in the air, scanning the room for their partners, and others already finding theirs.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight, catching the moment Yunjin excitedly rushed over to Nari. They shrieked and jumped together with joy as they realized they both pulled the green straws.

On the couch, Beomgyu and Kai compared their blue straws, already deep in conversation about some game Kai insisted on playing in the cabin tonight. Yeonjun scanned the room before casually walking over to Taehyun. He lifted his red straw with a knowing grin before exchanging a 'bro' handshake with him.

Then it hit me. Oh fuck, no.

Then that means... I slowly turned my head, already dreading what I know I would see.

And there he was—Choi Soobin, standing a few feet away with the same orange straw in hand, staring straight at me.

I fucking hate orange.

My phone dings, and I glance down to see a text from Yunjin and Yeonjun.

Yunjin: Sorry about the roommate situation again, babe. Wish it could’ve been the three of us here. We miss you <3 sent at 20:17 pm.

Me: It's okay, it wasn't your fault. Miss you guys too! sent at 20:18 pm.

Yunjin: Think you’ll survive? sent at 20:18 pm.

Me: Yeah, just hoping I make it through the night and the rest of the trip without committing a felony sent at 20:19 pm.

Yunjin: Sending prayers and snacks! Good luck, babe <3 sent at 20:20 pm.

I smile softly at her texts before switching over to my chat with Yeonjun.

Yeonjun: How's orange going for ya right now ;) sent at 20:16 pm.

Me: Die. sent at 20:21 pm.

I glance over at Soobin, who’s already sprawled out on the right side of bed, phone still in hand.

“So, you’re taking the bed?” I ask, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” he replies without looking up. Then, with a perfectly fake smile, he adds, “Just try not to kick me in your sleep, yeah?”

The sass practically oozes from his voice.

"No promises," I mutter under my breath, kicking off my shoes a little more aggressive than necessary—just to piss him off. "Accidents happen."

He snorts quietly, still glued to his phone. “That tends to happen a lot when you’re around.”

I roll my eyes at his comment, "You've chosen the right side of the bed, then?"

��Figured it made sense. You didn’t seem in a rush to claim it.”

"Oh, I didn't realize it was a race."

He lets out a small breath, not quite a laugh. "With you? It usually is."

“Chivalry isn’t dead, after all.” I mumble, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Wow. It's just like high school all over again.

A beat passes. No one says anything and neither of us smiles. The room feels tense but somehow warmer than it did a minute ago. I can't tell if its because he turned on the heater—or because this is the first proper conversation we’ve had in a year. Well, sorta proper.

It was tense, but it felt all too familiar to the both of us. It felt almost too easy to fall back into this rhythm. I don't respond right away, I just sit at the foot of the bed, unzipping my bag—only to find my clothes soaked from the heavy downpour.

I pull out the thick hoodie I had shoved in earlier, raising it in the air as it drips water onto the wooden floor.

"Fuck me."

I hold out the wet hoodie and hurry into the bathroom, draping it over the sink. I walk back into the bedroom again, digging into my bag for clothes that somehow escaped the rain. Luckily, I find some dry jeans, pajama shorts, and t-shirts, though a few items are damp.

Unfortunately, the other sweater I had packed for the trip is completely soaked as well, leaving me with only an oversized tee to keep me warm for the night.

A notification pops up from the group chat. It was Kai sending a blurry selfie with a face mask on, while Beomgyu flips off the camera, green glob smeared across both cheeks. I shake my head at the message, before pulling off my sweatshirt and heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

I set my things down and peel off the rest of my clothes as the water takes a moment to heat up. When it’s finally hot enough, I step in, letting the steady stream wash over me—washing away the stress of the day: the rain, the long travel, him.

For a moment, everything feels still.

The sound of the shower mixes with the quiet hum of my thoughts and the steam rising from the hot water. I try not to psych myself out about being alone in the same room as Soobin again.

It literally feels like I’m trapped in some strange purgatory of old, burning tension and mountains of unfinished business

Okay, don't overreact.

When I finally step out, towel wrapped around me and hair dripping onto the bathroom tiles, I feel a little calmer than before—like I’m myself again. Or at least a version of me that doesn’t want to peel layers of skin off because of the sweat and rain clinging to me.

A version of me that might actually make it through this trip.

I dry off quickly and throw on some clothes—a loose, oversized shirt and the driest pair of pajama shorts I can find. Not great for warmth, but better than sleeping in damp, smelly jeans.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Clean feels good.

I open the bathroom door to the soft, warm glow of the bedroom light. Soobin is still there, now sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, phone casting a pale glow on his face. I quietly make my way to my side, keeping my back facing him as I start organizing the rest of my things without a word.

Behind me, the bathroom door clicks shut again, and the sound of the shower starts up. After a few minutes, the water stops, and the door opens once more—Soobin steps out.

“You done sulking yet?” I hear him ask.

“Not even close,” I reply, still facing away.

“Knew you’d say that.” He smirks.

I raise an eyebrow, pausing mid-rummage through my bag. Then I turn around—only to be met with a sight I wasn’t quite prepared for.

"What? You would've done the same if—Jesus, Soobin.”

My words halt as my eyes catch the sight of him standing by the bed. The boy only had a towel slung loosely around his waist and his chest still glistening with droplets from the shower.

His raven hair is tousled, carelessly swept back just enough to keep it from falling into his eyes as beads of water slowly trail down his neck and disappearing beneath the edge of the towel.

"You seriously couldn't have gotten dressed up inside the bathroom?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He looks up, a t-shirt hanging from one hand, completely unfazed. He shrugs. "Didn't realize it was a crime to dry off in my own room."

I scoff, tearing my gaze away, and forcing myself not to notice the faint flush creeping up my cheeks. This definitely wasn’t the same boy who used to trip over his words just asking to borrow a pen.

No—this version walks around like he owns the fucking air we breathe. I hate that I still notice the difference.

“Idiot,” I mumble, barely audible under my breath.

The rain continues to patter against the windowpane, its steady rhythm growing louder as the storm outside intensifies. He runs a hand through his damp hair, tousling it further, then pulls the clean shirt over his head. The cotton fabric stretches slightly, damp patches from the shower leaving faint gray marks on the white shirt.

I adjust my own shirt, making sure it sits right, before trying to my bury my attention on the mundane task instead of the half-naked—honestly, basically naked, considering it was just a damn towel—boy behind me.

The quiet stretches on, the sound of rain filling the room as I work. Once I'm finally done, I stand, glancing over my shoulder to find him now wearing a hoodie over his shirt, paired with loose pajama pants. I let out sigh in relief and, a tiny bit of disappointment before walking over to the bed.

I pull back the covers and settle into my side, leaning against the headboard. For a moment, I let my eyes fall shut, trying to quiet the mixed nerves and lingering tension still humming under my skin. A few minutes pass before I feel the mattress dip beside me.

I open my eyes slowly and reach for my phone, letting the screen light up my face as I begin scrolling through social media. I come across a few dumb videos that make me snort under my breath, one of them pulling out a soft chuckle.

We don’t look at each other for a while. We don’t need to. There’s an unspoken agreement hanging in the air—we’ll just try to get through this the best we can.

The bedside lamps illuminating the room with warm lighting, cutting through the dimness as the storm outside grows even stronger.

Suddenly, the lights start to flicker abruptly.

My eyes slightly widen as uneasiness starts creeping in just as Soobin and I finally exchange glances at one another.

Then, everything goes black—the power cuts out and the heater falls silent. Now, only the glow from our phone screens lights up the space between us. I softly gasp at the sudden blackout, fingers instinctively tightening around the blanket as I pull it closer to me, attempting to hide the fluttering fear building in my chest.

I watch as Soobin turns on the flashlight on his phone, then standing up from his spot to try flicking the lights on and off again.

"That won't work, you know," I tell him.

"Not bad to try, is it?"

I shift my gaze toward the window, watching the rain clash against the glass as the tree branches sway in the gusts of the storm. Suddenly, a sharp alarm rings from Soobin's phone, making the both of us jump. He scans his device, slowly taking his time to read the alert before looking back at me.

“Heavy rainfall. The power’s out in other parts of the area too. They say it won’t come back until the storm calms down.” I sigh, turning my phone’s flashlight on and sinking into the sounds of rain filling the room.

"Just when it couldn't get any worse" he comments, sitting back down on the bed.

"Right," I say quietly, not looking up. "Because sharing a room with me is clearly the end of the world."

He tilts his head slightly, glancing over. "Didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to." I exhale, keeping my voice even. "You’re not exactly subtle."

I glance down at my phone, the soft light of the screen casting a faint light across the sheets. After a moment, I move to place it on the bedside table, flashlight facing up to push back some of the dimness hanging in the room.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable—just... suspended. Like we’re both waiting to see what the other will do, but not in a hurry to break the stillness.

"How do you think the others are doing?" he asks eventually, voice lower than before.

I pause to think for a moment.

"Beomgyu and Kai are probably trying to see who can scare the other first with stupid ghost stories... or maybe watching some random movie Kai downloaded on his laptop before the trip."

He lets out a quiet laugh. "Yeonjun and Tae are probably having those deep conversations—catching up on life, figuring stuff out."

We share a quick look—something unspoken passing between us, a brief moment of shared understanding.

"Yunjin and Nari are probably the same," I add.

"Except Nari’s definitely curled up next to Yunjin by now, too scared of the thunder and lightning outside to care about the blackout."

I chuckle softly at the thought of my friends using this time to connect with each other better. It’s oddly comforting to think about them all, finding little moments like this despite everything.

A sudden flash of lightning briefly illuminates the window, casting sharp shadows across the room as the rain pounds harder against the glass. My bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, the roaring thunder outside and the blackout still gnawing at my nerves.

I bite down gently, trying to steady myself—trying to keep the spiraling thoughts from dragging me too deep into the what-ifs. Soobin notices. He doesn’t say anything, just quietly gets back into bed, pulling the covers over himself. I can feel his gaze linger as he turns to face me, his eyes settling on the faint shiver I can’t quite hide.

I force myself to stay still, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his gaze. I fix my eyes on the wall ahead, silently counting the seconds between flashes of lightning and the low rumble that follows.

Then, his voice breaks the silence—low, even, careful. "You okay?"

It's simple. Unassuming. But the question makes my chest tighten a little. I nod, almost instinctively.

"Yeah. I’m usually fine with this kind of thing. Just... this one feels different.”

A pause. Then, "You always did hate the dark."

HIs tone isn't teasing. It’s just a memory, held between his words—gentle and matter-of-fact. I glance over at him. He continues to hold his gaze at me—watching, really—not in a way that demands anything. Just... present. Like he's trying to recall a memory too.

"I didn't think you'd remember that." I murmur.

And suddenly I’m brought back to a moment during one of our late project nights, two years ago. I’d mentioned it without much thought, embarrassed as I admitted to keeping a nightlight on before I fell sleep well into high school. I’d expected him to laugh, maybe even tease and poke fun at me for it. But he didn't.

He’d just listened.

This moment feels like that version of him again. Before everything got so messy.

Soobin shifts slightly under the blanket, his voice softer when it returns. “I didn’t forget much, you know. Even when it felt like I did.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. A moment of silence lingers between us.

"You can borrow my hoodie, if you want." he suddenly offers, already tugging at the sleeve like he’s ready to hand it over. "Might help you warm up a bit."

“No, it’s fine. I’m not that cold,” I say, trying to wave it off.

He shakes his head lightly, already starting to pull the hoodie over his head. “I don’t mind. I was next to the heater earlier, so I'm still warm anyway.”

“No, really. I’m okay,” I insist, even as I curl the blanket a little tighter around myself.

He gives me an unimpressed look. “Y/N, you’re literally shivering.”

"So?" I ask. He rolls his eyes before siting up from his previous position, slipping the hoodie over his head. The fabric shifts with the motion, briefly lifting his shirt and revealing a glimpse of his waist before settling into place again.

“Stop.”

He smirks slightly, holding the hoodie out again.

“Stop what?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Being nice to me,” He shakes his head with an amused expression on his face, like he couldn't believe I was still thinking about that right now.

He tosses the hoodie toward me, the fabric landing softly on the bed between us before I can argue again. I can’t help but smile, feeling that familiar push-pull between us again—the unspoken acknowledgment that beneath the bickering, there’s something... softer.

“Just take it,” he says casually, settling back into his side of the bed like the conversation’s over.

“Don’t make me regret being nice.”

I stare at the hoodie for a second before slowly picking it up. It’s still warm. I hesitate—less because of pride now, more because it smells like him, familiar and oddly comforting. Like something I didn’t know I missed.

“Thanks,” I murmur, slipping it on. The sleeves are long, brushing against my fingertips, and the fabric is soft from too many washes.

But even as I settle into it, a little voice in my head starts nagging. What are you doing? Don’t let yourself fall for his bullshit again.

I try to play it cool, pushing that voice to the deepest part of my mind. But I can’t help the way I slow down just a little as I pull the hoodie tighter around me. I know to myself I shouldn't be letting it matter this much. But here I am, sitting in a dark room, wrapped in Soobin’s sweatshirt like it’s some kind of fragile, borrowed comfort, trying to make up for the years of unfinished business.

The same guy I’d been quietly pining over for years back in high school—the one who stood up for me whenever someone made dumb comments about me, the one who—

Okay, we get it.

Holy shit, I need to get a grip.

“You know, this reminds me of that time in junior year—when the power went out during finals week?” He cuts off my train of thought.

I blink, thrown for a second by the sudden shift. “What, in the middle of exam prep?”

He nods, a small laugh slipping out. “Yeah. You were freaking out because your notes got soaked in the rain, and the library shut early. You barged into the classroom like you were ready to fight someone.”

I let out a quiet groan, covering my face with one hand. “God, don’t remind me.”

“I remember you made the whole friend group take turns sharing notes with you. Bossed everyone around like it was your birthright.”

I peek through my fingers at him, trying not to smile. “Well, I was desperate. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“I mean, yeah. I didn’t mind.” He shrugs. His tone shifts slightly—quieter, softer. And something about it makes me glance up again.

“You never really did know how many people wanted to help you,” he adds. “I don’t think you let yourself see it.”

My throat tightens a little at that. I don’t have anything clever to say back. So I just look at him. And for a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the rain and something quietly settling between us. Something that’s been there for a long time.

"I remember when you used to ‘borrow’ my notes during our study sessions, and somehow they’d never make it back to me.” I say, a teasing edge in my voice.

Soobin casts me a glance I can’t quite read, then shifts his eyes upward to the ceiling. “They made it back… eventually.”

I raise an eyebrow. “After like two months. They were all crumpled by the time they came back to me, especially that one time you spilled banana milk on the cover of my notebook.”

“It was still readable.” He chuckles, unbothered.

"Barely. My color coded notes and neat handwriting deserved better."

Soobin smiles a little at that. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have let me sit next to you in class. That’s on you.”

I shake my head, lips twitching. “Unbelievable.”

“Resourceful,” he corrects, tapping his fingers lightly on the blanket.

I shift my body to completely face him, "You're still the same, Choi Soobin.." I chuckle softly.

Soobin mirrors my movement, turning just enough so we’re facing each other now, the space between us dim and quiet except for the rain outside and the faint hush of our breaths.

After a beat, he asks quietly, his voice softer than before, almost careful. “So… what are you thinking right now? Just between us.”

I offer a small, almost shy smile—less teasing, more real. “And what makes you think I’d just spill everything that easily?”

“Maybe because it’s just the two of us here, might as well keep things peaceful instead of turning this into another argument.”" He says, his voice soft but steady.

I’m not even sure when it all started—this endless back-and-forth between us, like kids fighting over the last piece of cake. What began as silent, resentful looks slowly turned into quiet digs, and now it’s just occasional sharp remarks whenever we cross paths.

It’s feels almost automatic now—like a reflex to sink into that sour mood when he’s around, the weight of all those old grudges clouding, filling me with disgust at the thought of Choi Soobin. But tonight, I'll take a slow breath and try to let it all go. I want to focus on staying civil, pushing all those unspoken frustrations aside, pretending for now that the tension between us doesn’t exist.

I let out a sigh. “Honestly? I’m just counting down the minutes ‘til the storm lets up and the power come back on.”

"Really?"

"Really." I lift an eyebrow, giving him a look.

"That’s all that’s on your mind?"

"What, were you expecting a secret confession or something?"

Fuck.

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “I don’t know... it just looked like your brain was running a marathon.” His voice is gentle, but there’s something curious laced in it—like he’s hoping I’ll prove him right.

I offer a small smile. “Well, I was also trying to figure out how we’re supposed to survive the next few days without driving each other insane.”

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “That’s fair.”

A quiet moment stretches between us, the steady tap of rain against the window filling the space.

“But so far… I think we’re doing okay,” he says, voice thoughtful.

Then he glances over, meeting my eyes with a hint of hesitation. "Right?"

I hold his gaze for a moment, surprised by the softness in his voice—genuine, almost unsure. The kind of tone I wasn’t used to hearing from him anymore. A small part of me wants to scoff, to brush it off with another sarcastic remark. But instead, I find myself nodding—just barely.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think we are.”

We both exchange soft smiles before breaking eye contact, the moment passing like a quiet truce.

"How about you?" I ask, voice softer now.

"Hm?" he responds, barely turning his head.

"What’s on your mind, right now?" I press gently, tilting my head slightly as I study his profile.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thinking about..." he trails on.

"How many points I lost in my game when the blackout kicked me out mid-match.”

I laugh softly, playfully smacking his arm. “I’m serious!”

“I am too! Do you know how hard it was to build up that streak?” He winces dramatically, rubbing the imaginary spot I hit. I roll my eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Yeah, I’m sure your streak is definitely the top priority right now" He chuckles at my comment, the corners of his mouth twitching in that familiar, slightly smug way.

I glance up at him, locking eyes—steady, deliberate. His expression shifts just slightly, something unreadable passing through, but I don’t look away. Not this time.

"Really." I murmur.

He pauses for a moment, just long enough to stir my curiosity. Something about the hesitation feels deliberate—but I don’t push. I stay quiet, waiting.

"I guess...” he starts, eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of me. “I was just thinking about how this feels a little like... high school again.”

I feel his words like a pang in my chest, old memories stirring just beneath the surface—unwelcome but familiar.

“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “It does feel like that.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then, more carefully, “Do you… still think about that time?”

“Sometimes,” I admit, eyes fixed on some spot beyond him.

“When I start missing how easy everything used to be. Before college got... complicated”

Before it got complicated between us, too.

"I think about it sometimes too, you know.."

"Yeah?"

“Yeah. I mean, I probably shouldn’t admit it, but part of me did enjoy the whole back-and-forth thing between us." he says quietly, almost sheepishly.

"Don't go soft on me now, Choi." I say, a teasing edge in my voice.

He grins, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Me? Never."

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, buddy."

We both let out quiet chuckles, the tension between us easing just a little. Before I can stop myself, the words slip out,

“Do you think about what happened between us?”

He freezes, just slightly. It’s quick—almost like a flinch—but I catch it. He doesn’t look at me right away. Instead, his gaze drops to the blanket, fingers absently tugging at a loose thread on the blanket.

“…I-I don’t know.” His voice is low, uncertain.

“I haven’t really thought about it in a while.”

It’s not cruel, not even cold—just distant in a way that feels practiced. Like he’s been telling himself that for so long it’s starting to sound like the truth.

“Right.” I nod slowly, even if it feels like something inside me just cracked a little.

“Seems like forgetting stuff like that doesn’t take much for you.” I try to keep my voice even.

That finally makes him look at me. His eyes search mine like he wants to argue—but doesn’t know how to without proving my point.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, quietly.

“Then what did you mean?”

He hesitates.

I can see him trying to come up with the right thing to say—something that won’t make this worse—but he doesn’t land on anything.

So I say it for him. “Don’t do that.”

His brows draw together, confused. “Do what?”

"I don't know... Be nice to me, and when you finally let me in, you just shut me out again."

“I.. I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

“I just want you to…” I trail off, frustration tightening in my chest. “I just want you to tell the truth. For once.”

I sit up from where I was lying, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“I am telling the truth,” he says, sitting up as well, his voice firm.

I shake my head. “Bullshit.”

His lips part, but I cut him off before he can say anything. I don’t want to hear the excuses.

“I get it. It’s easier to pretend nothing ever happened, right? Like we can just go back to how things were.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

He looks at me—really looks at me. His eyes trace my face like he’s trying to make sense of me.

“Do you want me to say you didn’t mean anything to me?” I freeze. I want to meet his gaze, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Is that what you think?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence between us feels heavy, like we’re underwater. I finally look up, meeting his eyes—and there it is: a flicker of something, maybe pain.

"Don't act like you know what's going on inside my head" he mumbles.

"Then just fucking tell me."

He hesitates, jaw tightening. For a long moment, nothing but the sound of our breathing fills the space between us. Then he exhales, looking away as his voice drops, rough around the edges.

“You act like you’re the only one who got hurt.”

That throws me. My shoulders tense, heart stuttering.“What are you talking about?”

He laughs once, a bitter sound that only makes my irritation flare hotter.

“You’re really going to play dumb now?” he asks, turning back to me, eyes sharp and unrelenting.

I don’t back down, my voice shaking with frustration. “No, Soobin. Fuck—I don't even know what you're talking about right now.”

He narrows his eyes, voice sharp and cutting through the tension.“What? You think I was just some asshole who ghosted you because I felt like it? That I woke up one day and decided to cut you out for no reason?”

“Yes!” I snap, louder than I mean to. “That’s exactly what it looked like! You shut me out—no call, no text, nothing. You left me to figure it out on my own.”

His face hardens, but something flickers beneath the anger—something that looks a lot like hurt.

“Stop acting so damn oblivious about it, Y/N!” he snaps, the anger bubbling beneath his tone.

“Oblivious about what?” I demand, my voice rising.

“The fucking letter!” he spits out, voice raw and desperate.

I blink, caught off guard.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my heart pounding.

His expression tightens, confusion mixing with disbelief.

“The note I left in your notebook—the one where I tried to tell you that I…” His voice falters, trailing off before he can finish.

I look at him, confusion twisting in my chest, my heart pounding louder. He didn't even need to say it. We both knew what he meant. Silence falls—long and suffocating—like the calm before a storm. Neither of us moves or speaks. It feels like the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to break the tension. I could hear my heart thump in my chest so loudly I’m sure he can hear it too. Then, like a spark to dry tinder, the tension ignites.

“So you thought I was just supposed to know?” I burst out, voice sharp and trembling.

“That I’d just magically find your stupid note and feel the same—when you never even gave it to me?”

“I did give it to you, Y/N!” he snaps.

“I left the damn notebook on top of your locker before our final presentation that morning. You can’t tell me you didn’t see it.” he explains.

I go quiet, trying to pull the memory from the haze of that day. It was raining—I remember that. I was soaked, rushing through the hallway, trying to dry myself off. I’d thrown my umbrella carelessly on top of the locker… never even looked. His voice cuts in again, bitter.

“I found it the next day,” he says quietly, “In the trash bin. Not just the note—the whole damn notebook. Like you were trying to erase everything I said in that stupid letter, like I never mattered to you.”

He continues, "And you never said a damn thing! How was I supposed to read your mind? You shut me out just as much as I did!” His eyes flashing with anger again.

What?

“Shut you out?” I scoff, stepping closer. “You fucking disappeared! Left me in the dark. And now you act like I’m the villain?”

He scoffs back, voice low and bitter. “Maybe you threw everything away the moment you decided I wasn’t worth your fucking time.”

The air between us grows tighter, heavy with resentment and repressed frustrations. The heavy pressure building in my chest is matched with the rising intensity of the rainstorm outside. The atmosphere feels even more heated, caused by the swirling mixed emotions of hurt, frustration, and something else—something electric.

Without a second thought, my hand grips the collar of his shirt, yanking him toward me. His eyes widen in surprise for just a second—then I crash my lips onto his. His hand immediately finds my face, the other wrapping itself around my waist, pulling me even closer against him like he was afraid I'd disappear. The kiss felt raw, unfiltered, like the argument had just shifted into rougher means of showing our anger toward one another.

The taste of his minty toothpaste still lingers on his lips, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo, silently begging to let it drown out every logical thought as we pour all our frustrations we had been dragging for too long into the kiss. I move instinctively, sliding into his lap, my fingers tangling in his hair.

It all felt so messy, so chaotic.

I can almost hear a tiny voice in the back of my head saying we should talk this out like rational adults—that we shouldn’t be tearing into each other like this.

Fuck that.

I don’t stop. I know I don’t want to. Not when he's kissing me like this.

His hand slides from my waist to grip one of my thighs, anchoring me to him as I shift deeper into his lap, craving the friction. He catches my bottom lip gently between his teeth, and I gasp—just enough for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth. My whole body reacts, heat pooling in my chest as my heart thunders louder than the storm outside. When we finally pull apart, breathless, neither of us moves.

Our foreheads pressed against each other, our breathing uneven, as our eyes lock into one another like we were trying our best to make sense of the situation I had pulled both of us into, not uttering a single word. Maybe we were both too afraid to break whatever this is—to say something that would snap us back into reality. A reality where we call this a mistake and pretend like this never happened, like we’ll be switching rooms tomorrow and going back to whatever we were before.

Quiet. Resentful. Or maybe.. we just don't know what the hell to say at all.

His fingers twitch slightly against my thigh before slowly loosening their grip. A flicker of disappointment stirs in me, my thoughts racing at the possibility that he might actually pull away. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to find the right version of me—one that isn’t clouded by all the assumptions he’s built up over time.

"I… I didn't know you didn't get it," he finally says, voice low and hoarse. "The letter."

I nod gently, swallowing hard. "I didn't. I would've said something if I had."

"Would you?" he asks with no accusation in his tone. Just uncertainty. His voice is wrapped in hesitation, like he's bracing himself for something.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I would've."

He exhales sharply, eyes closing for a second like something inside him just gave way. The tension hadn't disappeared. It was just softer now. Everything between us feeling a little more fragile now, like we’re standing at the edge of something that could finally make sense.

“You really didn’t know,” he says, more to himself than to me.

I shake my head. "No. I think it got tossed before I even noticed it was there."

A beat passes as we continue to hold onto each other, like we're soaking in each other's presence for the first time without all the static.

“Then everything I thought… all this time…” His voice fades, but I know what he means. I feel it too.

All the distance, the biting remarks, the resentment (as much as they were all bullshit)—it wasn’t for nothing. It was built on misunderstandings we never cleared up. Feelings we were too scared to admit out loud, even to ourselves. We’d been stuck in denial, hiding behind the label of rivals—enemies, even—just to bury whatever this was… whatever it’s always really been.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same. That you never would,” he admits quietly.

“And I thought you never cared at all,” I say. The silence returns, but it’s different now. Warmer. Less hostile. There’s a tenderness in the space between us that wasn’t there before.

I start to feel a strange warm fuzziness blooming in my chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His dark brown eyes lock onto mine as he brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingers barely grazing my skin.

“I always did,” he whispers. My heart flutters at his confession.

This time, when I lean in, it’s slower. Softer. Soon, our lips meet again, it’s not rushed or angry. It’s quiet. Vulnerable. It’s everything we never said, everything we were too afraid to feel, poured into something that finally makes sense.

We hold each other tightly—like we’re learning how to, for the first time.

The next morning, the rain finally lets up. The air is crisp, the ground outside still damp and dark beneath the trees. Inside the cabin, the quiet is soft and unfamiliar, broken only by the rustle of clothes and the occasional creak of the floorboards.

I stir at the sound, blinking against the pale gray light filtering through the curtains. Soobin’s already up—half-dressed, moving carefully around the room like he’s trying not to wake me. Or maybe like he doesn’t know what to say if I do.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.

There’s no bitterness in the silence—just a heaviness. Like the weight of everything we let slip last night hasn’t quite settled. He moves around the room quietly, slipping on a shirt, brushing his fingers through his hair. I watch him from the bed, the blanket pulled loosely around my waist, heart still beating slower than usual—like it’s unsure what rhythm to follow now.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. Not once.

Something about the way he avoids my gaze makes my chest tighten. Last night had felt like something cracked open. But now, in the soft gray light of morning, I’m not sure either of us knows what to do with the pieces.

Soon, we both step out of the cabin together, walking in silence toward the shared dining area. But the silence isn’t biting today—it’s just… tense. Like we both said too much last night and didn’t say nearly enough.

When we arrive, the others are already gathered around the long wooden table. Kai is in the middle of attempting to roll a grape down from his forehead into his mouth, much to Nari’s delight. She sits beside him, another grape pinched between her fingers, cheering him on like it was a sport.

The table erupts with laughter and exaggerated complaints about who snores the loudest. I smile at the sight.

“Look who finally made it,” Beomgyu grins, raising his cup of coffee. I roll my eyes, grabbing a seat beside Yeonjun. Soobin wordlessly takes the one across from me.

“Did you guys sleep in, or were you just avoiding us?” he adds.

I force a tired smile and settle into my seat. Soobin just nods. “Yeah. Just tired.”

"Last night’s storm kept us up pretty late.” I add.

“We didn’t sleep much either!” Yunjin jumps in. “Nari wouldn’t stop talking about the possibility of the lightning hitting one of the cabins that it got me fearing for my life too."

“I was being realistic,” Nari protests, and the table erupts again.

I laugh softly, eyes flicking to Soobin without thinking. The memory of our conversation the night before lingered at the edge of my thoughts.

I knew I made the right guess.

“We were talking about the storm earlier too,” Kai says, reaching for a slice of toast. “What did you two end up doing when the power went out?”

I see Beomgyu wiggle his eyebrows from the corner of my eye.

“Soobin lost his mind for a bit,” I say, voice light. "He got disconnected mid-game and wouldn’t shut up about some ranked streak,”

“And Y/N kept hogging the blanket,” Soobin adds, not missing a beat. “I don’t even know how she managed to wrestle with me while dead asleep.”

Groans erupt around us—dramatic and exaggerated. But underneath the teasing, something subtle lingers. A shift. They’re watching us now.

Not the way they usually do. Like they’re waiting for something. Like they know something’s changed—and they’re waiting for us to confirm it. Soobin stands abruptly and brushes crumbs off his shirt. “I’m gonna get some orange juice. You want anything?”

It’s casual. But the silence that follows isn’t. I glance up, just in time to catch how heads turn—slight, slow, like they’re trying not to make it obvious. But it is. Too fucking obvious.

They weren’t expecting that.

“Apple juice,” I reply, voice even. He nods once and walks off.

Taehyun leans in just enough to lower his voice. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired,” I repeat, too fast. Too practiced.

"Riiight," The boy hums, unimpressed, dragging the word out a little. His gaze lingers longer than it should. I don’t meet it.

I busy myself with the glass of water in front of me, pretending not to notice how the table feels quieter around me. Even Hueningkai, who’s usually the first to fill silences, pauses mid-bite to glance back and forth between us. It’s subtle, but they can tell. Everyone can.

The air between me and Soobin is heavier, different—like something broke open last night and we haven’t figured out how to patch it up again.

We don’t bicker. We don’t talk.

We were just stuck in this strange, unspoken truce, careful not to look too long or say too much.

Nari cheers suddenly, loud and triumphant.

“I did it! It actually landed in my mouth!” She beams, holding her hands in the air like she’d won a medal. Everyone laughs and claps, the attention shifting with relief. The tension breaks—but not for me.

Because a second later, I feel someone lean in from my left, too close to be casual. His voice lands soft and deliberate right at my ear.

"Orange does suit you, Y/N." Yeonjun murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

My gaze snaps to him, confused—until I see where he’s looking. Not at me. Not at my face. But at the purple mark hidden just behind my neck. Faint. Barely there. Not invisible, though.

Oh.

My heart skips, and I swallow. Across the table, Soobin sets down the two glasses—one in front of me, the other by his seat. His fingers brush the rim of mine for just a second longer than needed.

When I meet his eyes, he’s already looking at me.

There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze—something unspoken hanging between us. But instead of holding his stare, I look away first.

It feels easier this way.

a/n: heyyyy!! :D uhh im backkk akjsbfjasbf. I want to start posting wayy more like actually, like legit i promise. i'll also start replying to my requests and will open them soon again!!

anywayy, i still don't know how to feel about this fic since this is my first time writing something thats not a research paper in a hot minutee, but i hoped u guys like itt!!

(im also still trying to get comfortable writing a bit more suggestive fics, so this is my first entry on that!!)

also,, the way i kept giggling a bit to myself at the thought of Nari with her head just tilted up, mouth agape, moving around trying to catch that grape while everyone at the table sat in silence HELPP i find her soo cutee!!

34 notes · View notes