#a fragile line

[kareofbears]

a fragile line, chapter 3/3

Newt and Thomas always had something going on—even in the Maze, Gally knew right away. But never did he think it would turn into something like this; a devotion fermented. A reverence that made the chapel look blasphemous in comparison.

—

Or, as they infiltrate WICKED, Gally notices the shift between Newt and Thomas.

read the final chapter below or the entire work on ao3

Gally had never seen Thomas fight, not really. But he's just as ruthless as he'd imagined.

His lungs are on fire, the soles of his feet beginning to burn as they sprint from one end of the WICKED tower to the other, Thomas leading them with a single-minded focus. The only time he slows is to make sure that Newt is still close to him before advancing.

Masks on, boys, Gally told them as they exited the stairwell. They know we're here, but they don't know how to figure out it's us. Let's take this nice and easy and we'll get to the med wing before we know it. That was out the window as soon as Thomas took a step out the door.

The sprinting, Gally doesn't have a problem with. He did have a problem with it, in the beginning, but it was nothing compared to what came after.

The first target was a WICKED soldier who took a step in front of Thomas to stop them. He responded by shooting him in the gut with a stun gun.

Things got out of hand from there.

People started screaming. Some, astutely, turned tail and ran. But soldiers took out their own firearms, cocky and stupid and unaware that Thomas was on a warpath.

Thomas doesn't fight with any particular style or strategy but Gally still recognizes the influence from all over the place—sees Minho in his throws, sees WICKED soldiers in the brutality of his strikes, and surprisingly, sees himself whenever Thomas knocks someone down on their ass. But for the most part, he sees Newt in Thomas' movements, recognizes the false sense of calm and steady movements that coats his every move like the beginnings of a storm.

Thomas tears through their advancing ranks, shattering ranks and letting electric bullets fly from the barrel like it was limitless. Not a moment of hesitation as he mows through soldier after soldier, barely taking a glance before taking a shot. Gally is reminded that he's actually clever when he isn't being a lovestruck idiot. The ways Thomas can conceive of ways to rapidly move people out of the way was terrifying and spectacular; tossing stunners in well-positioned spots, shooting lights out so there's a temporary black out, pushing people over railings and staircases without hesitation.

The soldiers aren't used to fighting someone so fast who fights with such grit and utter lack of consideration—by the time they realize what they're up against, they're already on the ground. The wake of bodies he leaves behind him as they stalk past is a sick gingerbread trail to anyone who dares to follow them. Gally doesn't even bother telling him off. The plan's gone to shit and he can't exactly disagree with Thomas' methods considering how much ground they're covering in a short amount of time. Besides, he doesn't have the urge to see himself caught in the crossfire.

To his credit, none of his hits are lethal. When Thomas eventually runs out of ammo and pulls out a real pistol, he goes for flesh wounds. Organs missed by a mile. But Gally has a sneaking suspicion that is from efficiency than anything else—aiming for something vital might take an extra second. A second that Thomas doesn't seem keen on wasting.

He wasn't concerned with maiming or causing pain. Thomas doesn't want prisoners, no. What he wants is time.

Newt hasn't made a noise except for his constant cacophony of coughs, breaths coming out through tight wheezes. When there's a moment to spare, Gally glances at him. Newt's expression is filled with nothing but curiosity, a devastated kind of awe, and certainty.

He'll never understand these shanks.

They get on the elevator, a jingle playing above them as blood and sweat drip down their bodies.

When they get to the 21st floor, Thomas takes a deep breath, cupping his hands over his mouth as he continues his sprint. "Teresa!"

His voice echoes along WICKED's walls, climbing higher and higher until it peters out to nothing.

"Teresa!" he screams. It sounds like his throat is tearing itself apart. "Get out here!"

A handful of soldiers step out, drawn by the noise, and by the time Gally gets one of them, Thomas is already stepping over three bodies.

"Teresa!"

Newt falls in step with Gally, breathing heavy from running and skin drenched in sweat, he coughs hard enough that he almost loses his balance. "He really wants to find this Teresa girl,” he pants, complexion pale and wan. “Is Tommy alright?”

Gally tries to laugh, but he can’t even muster a smile.

Thomas nearly smashes the med wing's button into pieces, door opening obediently. Emergency lights flash red and yellow, dousing everything in tones that makes it hard to see what's blood and what's not. Even more soldiers greet them, but it seems like they've heard what happened, because they fight with hesitation and unease. They look at Thomas like he's a meteor, an inevitable force of destruction that they have no choice but to meet. At one point, an idiot made an attempt to grab Newt.

The three of them are surging forward before the body hits the ground.

Throughout the bloodshed, Thomas is screaming, again and again, as if he can personally summon Teresa through volume alone. "Teresa—" he calls, but it's nothing but a rasp at this point. Gally sees how his hands clutch at his gun like an anchor, like he'd float away if it was taken from him.

They turn the corner and stop.

His usually spiky hair is flat, his skin is gaunt, his eyes filled with a deep and unmistakable horror that Gally can see from here, but there's denying the bastard who just threw a WICKED soldier straight through glass paneling.

"Minho?" Thomas whispers, taking an unsteady step forward before rushing forward to pull him into a tight hug. "Fuck, man."

Minho turned slowly, shaking so hard it looked like he was vibrating. "Thomas?" he asks, voice brittle and hoarse, as if it hasn't been used in days. "Is this real?"

Gally's chest is threatening to spill over with pure emotion and he can't help but move to grab Minho's shoulder, not quite having the courage to go in for a hug but unable to keep himself distant. "Hey, you dumb shank."

Eyes widening comically, he has to hold Minho steady so he doesn't topple over. "Fucking Gally?"

"Just can't get rid of me, can't you?" Gally grins, and he knows they should get moving, but it just feels so good to have these three within arms reach of him again.

Three?

Gally turns and sees that Newt hasn't moved an inch. He looks pleased, but he looks pleased for them. "You're Minho, yeah?" he asks, the smile he’s attempting falling flat as his face is flushed scarlet, fever truly settling in. "Glad to see you're alive, mate. These two were worried about you."

Gally turns back in time to see the grin slip off Minho's face. "Newt?" he mutters before recognition clicks behind his eyes. Minho pushes Thomas off him with a fury. "You useless shank, you let him get the fucking Flare?

Thomas' eyes harden. "You think I wanted this?" he asks, voice low, the relief melting away for swift anger to take its place.

"What I wanted was for you—" he prods at Thomas' chest, hard. "To take care of that self-sacrificing bastard, and now—"

Newt shoves Minho’s finger away, weak but unwavering. “You don’t get to talk to him like that,” he snaps, ire dripping in every word.

Minho’s flinches and is about to retaliate when Gally cuts in. "Not the fucking time," he hisses. "We gotta go. Thomas here called enough attention for—"

He interrupts himself at the sound of the entrance door sliding open, a plethora of footsteps falling in time with each other. "Shit."

"Spread out." The voice is unmistakably Janson's. "These rats aren't going anywhere. Put this place under lockdown."

The four of them look at each other, tempers momentarily forgotten. "Run?" Newt asks.

Minho takes the lead this time, turning left and right with a confidence that Gally can almost imagine came from running the Maze for years. But despite that, he's not running with the same gait that he had before—there's no injury but he's sluggish and shaky, none of the easy confidence that Gally had associated him with.

He skids to a stop as soldiers approach him, and when they attempt to backpedal, more soldiers flank them from behind.

"Oh, shit."

Thomas grabs the handle to the door behind them and forces it open. "In here!"

They scramble in and with Minho's help, close the door off with a built-in locking pole. With the way they're banging and slamming on the metal, it wasn't going to last long.

Gally swivels around to take in the room. It looks nothing more than an average storage unit, file cabinets and medical supplies littering the shelves that go up into the ceiling. The wall opposite to them is sheer glass, overlooking the beautiful landscape of the Last City.

"Now, I may be under the impression that I'm losing my marbles," Newt starts, and relief washes through him. Newt may be losing huge swathes of his memories, but at least he's not hostile. "But I think we have a few violent bastards on our tail and we're bloody stuck in what looks like a shitty doctor's clinic."

"You used to be the optimistic one, Newt," Minho grits out.

"Can't be the judge of what I used to be, mate."

"Minho," Thomas and Gally offer in unison.

"That's what you're focusing on?"

Gally turns to glare at him. Can you quit joking around? sitting just behind his teeth. But what he sees is Newt leaning against the wall next to the door, sucking in deep breaths like he can't get enough. Black lines trail from his pulse points and crawl up to his cranium, temples lined with black as if they were sweat trails, and he barely looks like he can stay on his feet. His retort dies in his throat. Even now, always jokes, always humor.

"Newt," Thomas grabs his shoulders, peering closely at his face. "Talk to me."

“I’m fine,” he tries, but can’t even make it through his own words before he turns sideways, spitting more black liquid onto the floor. “Fine. Just fine.”

“Come on,” Thomas shakes him, insistent. “Try again.”

"Not sure what I can say, Tommy," he breathes, smile still plastered on. "Other than I'm feeling—not my best—"

"I know," he drops his forehead to Newt's for a moment. "I know. Almost, okay?"

Newt nods and Thomas pulls back, expression drenched in vitriol. Without saying a word, Thomas grabs what looks like a helium tank, and spins, using the momentum to lift it off the ground.

Gally and Minho, fully aware of Thomas' nonsensical plans at this point, just barely moves out of the way as he throws the tank straight through the window. The three of them watch as it falls, and falls, and falls, before landing clean into a deep, decorative pool, twenty-one stories below them.

Thomas looks at them expectantly. "You'll survive."

Minho gapes at him. "You're fucking kidding me."

"It's either this—" he gestures through the broken window. "Or that." The banging on the door ceases for a moment, before something that sounds horribly like a chain being started up rings out.

Thomas marches over and grabs Newt. "You two go first," he tells them. "Then we'll jump."

"Why do you get Newt?" Gally demands.

"Because if someone gets Newt, then one of you gets stuck with me."

He can't argue with that.

Minho gives Gally an odd look. "You take care of these bastards while I was gone?"

"Not like I had much of a choice."

Despite everything, he barks out a laugh. "You're alright, man."

Kicking the remaining glass out of the way, Gally and Minho nod at each other before taking a step forward, knees bent, ready to run, to jump.

He hears it before he sees it.

It's a particular sound. Newt, had he been in the right state, probably would have recognized it right away. Gally knows the sound, has broken through enough door to know the satisfying, final crunch of a lock giving up and a door sliding open.

Janson enters, eyes ablaze and stun gun cocked, eyes scanning the four of them before landing on Thomas.

Unexpectedly, Newt lets out a deep, guttural sound that almost has Gally covering his ears. It's unnervingly animalistic, violent, predatory. Inhumane. "No."

With a speed that's faster than Thomas and a strength that outstrips Minho on a good day, he launches himself directly at Janson.

Time slows down.

Minho, carried forward by his own momentum, is out of the window and can only look back at the scene in pure horror as he dives.

Newt and Janson brawl it out, Janson clearly unprepared for Newt but holding his own well enough to pull out a dagger from his back pocket.

Thomas is immediately surrounded by soldiers, screaming for Newt, arms outstretched as he gets pinned down, sections of his body aglow as he gets tased repeatedly. Just before he loses consciousness, Thomas cranes his neck at Gally, gaze loaded.

It's like he was back in the Maze again, watching as Grievers stormed into the Glade, sees his Gladers get picked off one by one and he can only fit so many of them in the Box.

Thomas would be dead weight, surrounded by three soldiers. Newt might be truly Cranking out, but he can still be convinced, and he's only against Janson. It's obvious. The choice is obvious. Not only that, but Thomas is basically handing the answer to him on a silver platter.

Still mid-jump, Gally grabs the window paneling and, using all the strength he has, redirects his momentum to swivel back into the room and sends a punch directly into a WICKED soldier's jaw.

Fuck Thomas.

With a hardened fury in his core, he kicks Janson in the abdomen, sending him sprawling out onto the floor.

Fuck Newt.

A gun cocks behind him and Gally doesn't think twice before ramming the guy straight into the wall, fumbling for the gun and throwing it out the window, hoping it doesn't hit Minho on the way down.

He's done choosing who lives or dies. He's tired of being full of grief for people who are still alive.

Someone gets a good blow in his ribs, and he hisses before he pulls out a pocket knife, sinking it deep into the guy's lungs before kicking him down.

Dammit, he misses his friends.

There's someone who's still tasing Thomas, and his vision blurs red as he grabs the taser and forcibly twists it until the man is tasing himself, over and over, until he finally collapses.

And now that he has them back, they're expecting him to choose between them? To become the executioner, when that's the only thing he refused to be back in the Glade?

Gally doubles over as someone gets another hit on him, this time in the back of his head, and the knife slips out of his hands. That's fine; The knife was getting blunt anyway. He straightens up, feels blood trickling down his nape, and squares with the soldier in front of him, fist raised. They all have their specialty—Gally's just happens to be hand-to-hand.

In ten seconds flat, the guy's on his ass, sporting two black eyes and a missing tooth.

Janson groans somewhere on the ground and Gally's about to shoot him straight through the skull when he hears the footfalls of more soldiers on the way. This irritating bastard has all the luck.

Gally spots Thomas, knocked out clean, hunched over on the floor. Newt's bent over on his knees, barely conscious, holding onto the corner of the desk like it's the only thing keeping him up. His cheekbones are bruised badly and purple fingerprints around his neck that have Gally gritting his teeth. "Newt, buddy?"

No response. Only erratic breathing sounds in the room, with the footfalls getting closer and closer.

Brute force it is. This is gonna suck.

He starts with Thomas. Sinking into a squat, he picks up Thomas with a grunt and tries tossing him onto his back, accidentally dropping him. This shank is a lot heavier than he looks. Clenching his jaw, he tries again, successfully catching his weight by holding him up by the waist. "You owe me, Greenie," he mutters, with a wry smile.

Newt's a lot easier. "I'm going to carry you," he warns him, because Newt's really the only one who's earned his kindness. "Don't Crank out on me, man."

With one arm, he pulls Newt up, relieved for his slender form, and starts dragging the three of them out the window, sweat pouring from every inch of his skin from the effort. For a second, he wonders if they would have done the same with him when they left the Maze, if they weren't taken by WICKED so soon. Would they have left him then? Would they leave him now?

It doesn't really matter. He'd do it for them, anyway.

He looks down. Twenty-one stories. Okay.

Squinting, he can just make out Minho, wading out of the water and going towards—

Gally's eyes widen as he spots a bus. A bus. The bus. Relief is so strong it almost chokes him. There’s people down there, waiting for them. Rooting for them.

He can’t fail now.

The footsteps are practically on top of them, and there's no time to waste. Nerves threaten to fray but he ignores it, steeling his hold on both of them until he's certain he can't slip from his grasp. Thomas on one side, Newt on the other. Gally bends his knees and—

A gun cocks behind them.

Not a stunner. A live pistol.

Janson, that fucker.

“As a gift, I’ll let you leave,” Janson tells him. His breathing is labored, and it sounds like every word is a struggle. “I’ll let you jump out of that window. I’ll even give you a head start before I send my men after you. In return, you leave Thomas on the ground.”

Gally doesn’t turn around. He can’t jump faster than Janson can shoot. Despite the ache in his arms, he doesn’t move to adjust the boys in his arms. Can’t reach for a weapon. “Thomas getting the special treatment, as always,” he responds eventually.

“Drop him.”

“Can’t do that, man.”

Janson fires at the ceiling, and Gally can’t hide the full-body flinch that courses through him. In his arms, Newt lets out a rasp, a slur of incomprehensible words, focus flickering back into his eyes.

“I was being kind, you know. But now,” he hears Janson take another step, glass crunching underneath his boots. “I’m just sick of you kids.”

“Let me go,” Newt grates out, almost inaudible. “Gally. Let me go.”

“Shut up,” he says sharply. He can’t deal with this right now. “No altruism for five fucking minutes.”

“I don’t know you, but you know me.” Newt twists his neck, imploring and urgent. “Trust me.”

“I do know you, and I know you’ll probably do something stupid.”

“I won’t, I can’t,” he insists, eyes darting to Thomas’ unconscious face. “Take him and jump. I’ll be there.”

“And if you’re not, then what?”

Newt only gives him a helpless look. “I’ll be there,” he repeats.

Gally grits his teeth, frustrated and bitter and so, so exhausted of having his choices dwindle again and again no matter what he does. Stop, he wants to implore him. Stop trying to leave us.

Instead of answering, he subtly nods, nothing more than a twitching of his head, before letting go of his hold on Newt.

It’s strange how the Flare affects its victims. Death, the obvious one. Darkened veins and memory loss, heightened strength and rage. But what’s strangest of all is its speed.

Newt moves almost faster than Gally can follow, hurling towards Janson like a comet. Dodges the first shot, dodges the second.

A speed that’s monstrous, inhumane, yet is identical to that of Thomas. As if he can’t look at Newt at his worst and see Thomas, over and over; a body and its shadow, inseparable in every way.

Gally doesn’t hesitate. He jumps, Thomas in his arms, and hears a third shot, imploring the universe that Newt dodged that one, too.

“Jump, Newt!” Gally screams, begs, as they fall, wind whooshing in his ears until he can barely hear himself. Grief, once again, threatens to eat him alive. “Please.”

—

He doesn't even feel the impact when they hit the water. His body was cold longer before the landing.

It's only his body's instinct that has him kicking his feet, tightening his hold on Thomas as he all but seeps the very last bit of his energy to take them to the surface.

Are they alive?

It’s that question that gets him moving again, to go past his limits and drag Thomas’ body up, up, up, until someone dives in and grabs Gally and Thomas by their harness and drags them up to the surface. When they break free, Gally gasps, sucking in the air that his lungs are begging for.

Brenda’s dragging him to the edge of the pool. "Missing one,” she gasps, hair flat and breathing hard to the point where she can only let out a few words at a time. “Where?”

"Janson came in—" Gally had to stop, air too scarce in his lungs to speak. “Self-sacrificing idiot. Said he’ll jump—”

Still holding onto the two of them, she wades to the edge of the pool where Minho was pacing, droplets falling with every move he makes. "Newt?" he demands.

Gally pulls himself out and points up, trying to calm the shake to his voice. “Any minute now.”

They haul Thomas onto the concrete first, Gally pulling himself up. They crane their necks, seeing only blackness through the broken window. From this distance, they can’t hear anything even if they strain. “Should we go up there?” Brenda asks anxiously.

Minho shakes his head. “It would be too late.”

“Don’t say that,” Gally interjects, unblinking as he refuses to tear his gaze away from the dark square above them. “It’s Newt. He said he’ll jump.”

“He said he’ll try,” she rebukes. “Right? There’s a difference.”

Minho's eyes flash with pain. "Does—" he glances at Thomas. "Does he know?"

Gally shakes his head.

They all fall silent.

"Shit," Brenda says, summing up their thoughts.

It was at that moment that Thomas' eyes fluttered open. "Newt?" he rasps before he can even take a full breath.

In a moment of hope, or stupidity, or a sliver of childishness that he just can’t get rid of, Gally expects Newt to come flying out of the window.

Instead, silence reigns.

"Newt." Sitting up, he grips Gally's neck, voice low and sinister. "Where is he?"

Gally swallows, and opens his mouth to answer, when the speakers blare out a tune. An announcement.

It was at that moment that he knew Newt wasn't jumping down. A dull ache, the sharp blade of truth. Wave after wave of grief, and in this moment, he drowns.

"Thomas," Janson's voice rings out, brooding yet tinged with amusement. "I hope you enjoyed the lovely swim just now. You kids are just so clever, now aren't you?"

Thomas' grip on Gally slackens as utter horror eclipses his face. "No," he whispers. "Please, no."

"But you can’t leave. Not without him." Janson goes on, and he actually lets out a laugh this time. "Newt? The Crank? You do know how to pick them, don't you?"

Unsteadily, Thomas gets on his feet, staring at the sky, like Newt would be written in the skies, somewhere.

"It's simple. I want you to come back here, alone, and I'll consider giving him back to you. How does that sound?"

"Thomas," Brenda mutters. “Don’t.”

"If I find out that you brought anyone along—any of your little rats for pals, vermin for allies. Well, I suppose your Newt here won't have much time left, either way." A pause, as if he was savoring the moment. "You have half an hour."

The tune plays again before the world falls back into quiet.

Gally closes his eyes, mind spinning as adrenaline shoots through every inch of his body, like it was preparing to fight. But there’s no fight—that would be too easy, a mercy, to use his fists or knives or guns for this. Words are not his weapon to wield. That’s always been Newt’s, Thomas’. The way they can embroider syllables into tapestries of new meanings, can twist and embellish a conversation until it’s in an entirely new direction. He can’t do that.

But fuck, he said he’s going to care. And this is care.

Squaring his shoulders, he faces Thomas. “I’m going with you.”

Either Thomas doesn’t hear him or chooses not to. He goes to a nearby WICKED soldier, unconscious and half-sunk into the pool, and rummages through his pockets, shoving various items into his own. His movements are efficient, clinical.

"You can't go alone," he insists. "It’s a trap.You’ll die, he’ll die. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Thomas’ response is picking up a stun gun and checking its voltage, nodding to himself.

Gally clenches his jaw. "I know you don’t want to test Janson’s threat. I know what Newt means to you. But Thomas, if you go, you're dead. You get that?"

No response.

“Newt would die. For nothing.”

Thomas turns to him, face contorted and eyes bright with tears, unspeaking

“And it would be your fault.”

It was like all the air around them was sucked away, with how Thomas gasps and begins clawing at his own throat. He collapses onto his knees, hard, holding so tightly to the gun that it seemed almost an extension of him.

Gally sits next to him, his joints screaming in relief at the momentary respite. “You’ll let us come?”

Instead of answering, Thomas reaches into his breast pocket and hands Gally the note.

Gingerly, he plucks it from his fingers. It’s wet, on the verge of ripping, but still intact against all odds. With a delicate tug, it reveals Newt’s careful calligraphy staining the page:

To Newt,

Don’t be a twat to this one—Tommy is the love of your life.

Your Crank self, Newt

“A note,” Thomas finally says, the rhythm of his words are cut with unsteady pauses like the first few droplets before a raging typhoon. “If a note is the only thing I have to remember Newt by...”

The implication enters Gally as if through a vein, the reality settling into his bones.

Thomas isn’t going to change his mind.

Minho marches forward, pulls the note from his hands, crumples it up, and throws it into the pool. Somewhere behind them, Brenda lets out a slew of shocked expletives. Thomas only stares at where it steadily sinks underneath the water.

Grabbing Thomas by the forearm, he pulls him up, getting right in his face. "Listen to me, you dumb idiot,” Minho spits, harsh and violent, like it would be enough to erase his own despair. “I've been gone awhile, I know, but I'm going with you to help Newt. I'm saving him. A note? To remember him by? There’s no fucking way I heard that right, because that sounds like you’re giving up.." He shakes him roughly. "Are you giving up?"

Thomas slowly looks up at Minho. "Never.”

“Good—”

“If a note is the only thing I have to remember Newt by,” his expression is almost calm. “Then you can stop worrying about me. You never have to worry about me again.”

Minho pauses, suddenly unsure.

“If I go alone," Thomas says in that same strange tone. "You'll stop me?"

"Yes, obviously—"

Quicker than he can process, Thomas pulls up his stunner and tugs on the trigger on Minho. He collapses on the ground, seizing, before he stills.

Gally stares down at Minho’s unconscious face and can’t muster surprise. Cold dread coats his nape.

“Thomas—” Brenda starts. Scared, Gally notes idly. She’s scared.

He turns to her, expressionless. "Put him on the bus. Take him to Fry, with the kids."

She's about to speak, but he shakes his head. "You can't leave him here." And, with a stillness and poise that he isn't used to seeing on Thomas, he points to stunner on Gally. "You chose me?" he whispers, words edged with a silent fury. "When you promised you'd choose him?"

Gally clenches his jaw. "I chose both of you," he admits. "But Newt—he saw an opportunity and he—"

Thomas' mouth twists and his features form into something oddly, gut-wrenchingly familiar. It's the exact same look that Newt has whenever he loses his memory, just before he loses himself to something that’s definitely unhuman. “Thanks. For everything until now” Thomas takes a deep breath. “But you can’t come, Gally. I can’t risk losing him. You know I can’t.”

It’s a concession, almost. It comes as a sudden truth that Thomas isn't doing this because he hates Gally. He's doing this to save Newt. And for that, Gally finds that he can't really fault him in doing this.

The pull of a trigger, and every inch of Gally's body is encompassed by wave after wave of electric current, until his vision falls into a blissful dark.

[mmelolabelle]

Armand is someone who has been has been trained (in brothels, by Marius, and by 500+ years worth of life experience) to adapt himself to what the people around him want. Throughout seasons 1-2, different people get very different versions of Armand, depending on who they are and who’s retelling the story at the time.

It’s the primary way Armand protects himself, whether he’s a teenage sex slave or the oldest, strongest person in the room. It’s how he controls people. Fundamentally, it’s the only way Armand knows to make people love him (an approximation of love at least). Worse, it’s the only way Armand knows how to love �� by twisting and contorting himself into whatever form he thinks his current obsession wants or needs him to be. He even does it to his victims for crying out loud.

And then here’s Daniel, who is constantly seeking authenticity and truth. Who’s bullshit detector is never “off”. Who cannot tolerate any kind of masquerade, manipulation or lie – no matter how kind or well intentioned. Not out of any moral or ethical objection, but because Daniel simply cannot leave things well enough alone once something attracts his attention. He has to know. He has to see where it goes and how it ends.

“It’s my job, I’m built this way”

“It’s in your nature, Mr Molloy. Couldn’t get out the door without lobbing one more bomb.”

Daniel knew something was off about “Rashid” from the beginning, so he began to pick the situation in Dubai apart until Armand revealed himself. And then he kept going until he completely destroyed the narrative Armand had spent 77 years constructing.

Daniel deliberately and systematically pulled “Armand, Amadeo, Arun” apart and laid him bare with nothing but but a laptop, some free time, a near-suicidal disregard for his own personal safety and a mouth that just wouldn’t quit.

There’s power in being seen, in being known, ugly parts and all. What would it feel like, to be completely exposed like that for the first time in centuries?

So yeah it makes sense to me that Armand, who puts on all these acts and artifices to draw people in, but which only serve to ensure they’re kept at a distance, would turn his big sad orange eyes on the person who blew them all to smithereens and be all “…I wanna do this forever, actually.”

[just-nc-tea]

do you think i'm f͟r͟a͟g͟i͟l͟e͟? ☆ ͡ ⊹

⭑.ᐟ The coaches daughter -  Lee Heeseung A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost—and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ genre. College sports aus, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, fluff, a lot of falling asleep in the same bed, some good old family drama .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, car crash, Y/N just had surgery and is using crutches, partying, some making out .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 30.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹  ᝰ an.I haven't written or published anything in like 8 years i think! And back then everything i wrote was in German so this was my first time propperly writing in English! I am not 100% pleased with this but i kinda also wanted to finally post this

The sound of crunching metal and the violent jolt of impact were the last things you remembered clearly from that day six years ago.

You had been sitting in the front seat, your legs tucked comfortably into the seat as your dad drove through the light rain on a Saturday morning. “Soobin’s got nothing on me once I perfect my wrist shot,” you told your father excitedly, looking at him in the driver's seat. He nodded and briefly glanced at his phone in the cub holder, frowning when he saw a new message. He shifted in his seat, his focus divided.

You noticed the change in his expression but tried to keep the conversation light: “I was thinking... maybe you could watch the scrimmage today? I’ve been dying to show you how much better I’ve gotten.” Your voice held that hopeful edge, the one you always used when you wanted his approval.

“I’ll try, kiddo,” he said, though his tone was distracted. Before you could respond, your father’s eyes flicked back to the road—and froze. Ahead of the two of you, a truck skidded wildly through the intersection, its tires screeching on the wet pavement. Time seemed to slow as your father’s hands gripped the wheel, his mouth opening in a shout of warning that came too late.

The impact was deafening.

In the split second before the collision, you felt your father’s arm shoot out in front of you in a reflexive, futile attempt to shield your body from impact. Then, all at once, the world turned upside down. The sound of metal smashing against metal rang in your ears, so loud it felt like your head was splitting. Your body was thrown violently against the side of the car, your head slamming into the window with brutal force. You heard the crack of glass, the sharp crunch of bones, and then... pain. Blinding, searing pain exploded through your body, radiating from your foot up into your chest. It stole the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping, choking on your own breath.

Everything was chaos. The car spun, tipping slightly before jerking to a stop. For a moment, everything was still—then the world came rushing back in a torrent of pain and noise.

Your vision blurred as you tried to move, but your body wouldn’t respond. Your leg was pinned beneath the crumpled car door, and every tiny shift sent fresh waves of agony through your body. You could barely register the sound of your father’s frantic yelling, the way the rain tapped softly on the cracked windshield, the music that was still playing. You blinked, your vision swimming as your father freed himself from the wreckage. You saw him stagger out of the car, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, his expression panicked, desperate. He tried to open your door, but it was crushed inward, trapping you in place. You heard him shout your name, but the sound felt distant, muffled, as though you were underwater. Seconds later everything went dark.

You sat between Soobin and Minji, the faint hum of your mother bustling in the background. The whole room smelled of the kimchi stew your mom cooked for dinner. She placed the final dish down, her apron still tied loosely around her waist. “Soobin,” she said, smoothing a stray hair from her forehead and handing him a bowl of rice. “How was class today?”  

Soobin scooped a generous spoonful from the bowl, a smile spreading as he dug in. “It was fine. Professor Kim’s still trying to crush our souls with assignments, though. I’ll probably have to pull another all-nighter.”  

Minji snorted, leaning across the table with a teasing grin. “When do you not pull all-nighters?” Soobin shot her a mock glare but didn’t argue. “The grind doesn’t stop,” he quipped.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “What grind?” you teased, nudging his shoulder with your own.  

The light banter bounced around the table, filling the room with laughter. Minji had just launched into a story about her teacher tripping during class when your father cleared his throat. The sound sliced through the warmth like a blade, dragging all attention toward him.

His focus was zeroed on you. You felt the weight of his question before he even opened his mouth. 

“How’s physio going?” he asked, his tone more like an accusation than a question.  

You kept your eyes on your plate, your fork idly pushing your food around. “It’s fine,” you said, trying to sound neutral. “I had a good session yesterday. I’m starting to put some weight on my foot.”  

Your father’s fork froze mid-air, his expression darkening: “You’re already putting weight on it?” he asked, his voice tightening with disapproval.  

“Yes, Dad,” you replied, bracing yourself. “That’s how rehab works. I don’t just stay on crutches forever.”  

His hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. “You’re rushing it. I’ve been around injuries my whole career. Just because the therapist said you can doesn’t mean you should.”  

The fork in your hand trembled, and you set it down with a clink. The heat of frustration prickled at the back of your neck. “I’m following the plan they gave me. They know what they’re doing.”  

Your father leaned forward, his voice rising. “No, they don’t. They don’t care about your long-term recovery. They just want you off their caseload so they can move on to the next patient.”  

Anger surged in your chest, hot and sharp. “You’re not a doctor,” you snapped, your voice cutting through the tension like shattered glass. “I trust them more than I trust you when it comes to my body.”  

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Minji’s hand hovered over her bowl, frozen mid-bite, while Soobin stared at his plate, his jaw clenched. You met your father’s gaze, refusing to look away.

His voice dropped to an icy calm, each word deliberate and cutting. “I’m just trying to keep you from making a mistake. But if you think you know better, fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re back in surgery.”  

His words struck like a slap, but you swallowed the hurt, refusing to let it show. You clenched your fists under the table and took a big breath. Soobin glanced at you and nudged your foot with his in a silent sign of support.

“Actually, I was thinking about something that might help you,” your father continued in a casual tone, as if the argument moments ago hadn’t happened.  

You blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt pivot. “What?”  “The athletic department needs someone for PR for the men’s hockey team,” he said, his voice laced with an almost forced enthusiasm. “It’s a great opportunity for you to earn the credits you missed last semester.”  

Your stomach churned at the suggestion, the tension in the room amplifying tenfold. “No,” you said firmly.  “Dad, I really don’t want to do that. I’m not into hockey anymore. You know that.” “Why not? It’s a great way to get back into it. You did love it before the accident.” he pressed.

“You just answered your own question, Dad. Before the accident, I did love it.” You felt the frustration bubbling inside, fighting against the facade of calm you tried to maintain. 

Your mother interjected, her voice firm but caring. “Woosung, you need to ease off. Pushing her into this isn’t the answer. We talked about this before.” 

“Pushing? I’m just offering her a way back into something she once loved!” he snapped, his frustration mirroring your own. 

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, a mix of anger and hurt. “Mom, I appreciate you sticking up for me, but I can handle this. I do not want to do it, Dad.” 

Your father leaned back, crossing his arms. “I thought you might appreciate having something to focus on, a way to ease back in.” 

“It’s not about easing back in. It’s about not wanting to be part of that world anymore. I don’t want to help with hockey PR. I just want to focus on my studies and figure things out on my own,” you asserted, frustration edging your voice. 

Your father’s expression hardened, but you could see the concern behind it. “I just wanted to see you succeed. I thought this could help.” “It’s not what I need!” you exclaimed. “I’m tired of everyone expecting me to dive back into hockey just because I had so much potential. I don't have it anymore, okay? I need to figure out who I am without all of that. Helping with the team won't help me at all.”

“Fine,” he said curtly. “Do whatever you want.”  

The rest of dinner passed in an unbearable silence, the warmth and laughter from earlier now a distant memory. The clink of dishes and the faint hum of the kitchen fan were the only sounds as you counted the seconds until you could leave.  

When you finally stood to go to your room, your father called out from the living room, his voice gruff. “Y/N, just… don’t overdo it, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt again.”  

You paused in the doorway, the faint light from the hallway casting shadows across the room. “I know,” you muttered, the words hollow.  

As you made your way upstairs, the tightness in your chest refused to ease. In the sanctuary of your room, the air felt no lighter. You leaned back against your pillow, the familiar ceiling staring back at you. 

The sound of skates scraping against the ice echoed faintly through the arena as Heeseung leaned against the boards, catching his breath. Practice had just wrapped up, and the team was filtering out of the rink, chattering about drills and weekend plans. Coach Choi stood near the bench, his clipboard tucked under his arm, his sharp gaze following the last few stragglers off the ice. “Heeseung, got a minute?” the Coach called, his deep voice carrying easily over the ambient hum of the arena. Heeseung turned, brushing a gloved hand over his damp hair. “Sure!” He stepped off the ice, his blades clinking against the rubber flooring as he approached. His Coach gestured for him to sit down.

“I have been thinking about the team’s image,” the Coach began, his tone casual but deliberate.  

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Image?”  

Coach nodded, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Yeah. You boys are doing great on the ice, but you’re not just players—you’re prospects. Scouts, sponsors, even alumni donors—they pay attention to more than just your games. They want to see personalities, professionalism, something marketable for their teams.”  

Heeseung crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the boards. “I am aware, sir. But what does that have to do with me?”  The Coach gave a small smile, the kind that hinted at plans already set in motion. “I’ve been in touch with the athletic department. They agreed we need someone to handle the team’s social media—build a strong public image, keep things polished.”  

Heeseung tilted his head, curious. “A PR manager?”. He wasn’t aware that the team had the funds to hire a person to post a few pics of them on instagram to appease the sponsors. As the captain he was included in quite a few organizational meetings and has had to endure endless lectures about how the boys are not supposed to go overboard when partying because it shines a bad light on the whole team and how it could compromise the career of everyone there. But never had he heard anything about a PR manager. 

“Exactly. I was thinking of Y/N,” Coach said, nodding, “she is missing a few credits and this would be an easy and quick solution. That way we dont have to do interviews, since I do know my daughter quite well.” 

Heeseung blinked, caught off guard. He knew you, if only vaguely. You have met at a few team events over the last year and at a few parties. Soobin introduced you as his sister and warned everyone that you were off-limits. He knew that Beomgyu was quite close to you, so he assumed you weren’t off limits for everyone. The few conversations you had with him gave him the impression that you were quite fun. He also knew that you were hot. He respectfully checked you out a few times and then mentally bleached his eyes, when he realized whom he was looking at.

“Your daughter?” he asked your father, his coach.  

The Coach nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She knows hockey inside and out. And she’s good with this kind of stuff—social media, PR, that kind of thing. It’ll be good for her, and it’ll help the team.”  

Heeseung hesitated. He didn’t know you well enough to have an opinion, but he could guess that working alongside the team—especially under your father’s watchful eye—wouldn’t be simple. Soobin had told him that his father was quite overbearing with his sister after a car accident and how it's annoying the whole family. “Are you sure she wants to do this?” Heeseung asked carefully.  

Coach’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “She’ll do fine. She’s been looking for something to focus on, and this is a good opportunity for her. Plus, it’s not like she’s starting from scratch—she grew up around this sport.”  

Heeseung nodded slowly, still uncertain. “Okay. What do you need from me?”  

“I need you to help make this transition smooth,” Coach said, his tone firm. “She’s going to be around a lot, and I don’t want her feeling like she’s an outsider. Make sure the guys treat her with respect, and if she needs anything, you help her out.”  

Heeseung frowned slightly. “You’re not asking me to babysit her, right?”  

Coach let out a low chuckle. “No, she doesn’t need babysitting. But you’re the captain. It’s part of your job to make sure the team stays cohesive. She’s here to help, not to be a distraction or a target.”  

Heeseung considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Got it. When does she start?”  

“Next week,” Coach said, his tone decisive. “The athletic department’s finalizing the details, but she’ll be here soon enough.”  

As he walked away, his thoughts lingered on the unexpected news. He knew having you around would be an adjustment for the team—and maybe for you, too. But if Coach trusted you to take on this role, then he’d make sure to give you a fair shot.  

“Y/N! Over here!” Chaeryoung exclaimed when you entered the small café on campus the next day. The café had been closed for a few weeks after the original owner passed away, and his son had taken over. Many students visited the old barista more than once a week, and everyone had been distraught by the news of his passing. When his son reopened the café, getting a seat had become quite a challenge.

You slid into the booth opposite Chaeryoung and carefully set down your crutches, making sure they were out of the way of the bustling café. The warm aroma of coffee and fresh pastries enveloped you as you took a moment to soak in the familiar atmosphere. “Hi, guys! It's so nice to be back here. How was Kinesiology today? Did your presentation go well?”

“Ugh,” Yeji groaned, dramatically resting her head on your shoulder. “I don't even want to think about it. I thought I was okay until Sunghoon and EJ presented. Now I feel utterly incompetent.”

Chaeryoung chuckled, shaking her head with a teasing smirk. “You’re being dramatic! What did you expect? They’ve got that whole jock thing going for them.”

“Not to feel like an idiot because some utterly pretty hockey players have the time to create a more or less perfect presentation even though they don’t have time for anything but training and partying?” Yeji retorted, her voice rising in exasperation. She turned to you, her expression softening. “We already ordered for you. I hope you’re alright with hot chocolate?”

“Sure! Thank you, love. Also, Sunghoon isn’t a hockey jock, he’s an ice skater,” you reminded your friends with a knowing grin.

“Hockey, skating, yada yada, it’s all the same. They spend a lot of time on the ice,” Ryujin shrugged.

Lia leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of ice hockey players, I had international law with Jay today. He looked like he was going to slam his head into the table when Professor Binns started handing out the grading sheets for the exams. Did their game not go well last week?”

You shrugged, the corners of your mouth twitching up as you recalled the conversation with Soobin. “Considering my dad told Soobin relatively harshly he’s supposed to get his head back in the game, I assume it didn’t go well"

“Oh, bummer. That’s probably why they didn’t go to the swimming team’s party last weekend. It was wild!" Chaeryoung nodded, her enthusiasm infectious.

“What party?” you asked, genuinely curious, since you’d been out of town visiting your aunt in Riverfield.

“Felix invited us to a party at their house. Well, it started as a small meetup, but suddenly it wasn’t small anymore,” Chaeryoung explained, her eyes widening at the memory.

Yeji waved her hand dismissively. “You didn’t miss out on anything, though. We ended up leaving early because it got a little too crazy for my taste,” she said, accepting the steaming drinks from the waitress. 

You opened the door to your families house. The aroma of the reheated Samgyetang from the day before wafted through the air, instantly making your stomach growl.

“Hey, you’re back!” Soobin called from the living room, where he was sprawled on the couch, game controller in hand. He glanced up, pausing his game. “Did you bring me anything?”

You shook your head, laughing. “If you wanted something from Corner's Creek, you should have told me when we saw each other in the cafeteria.”

“Pfft, why should I even have to ask?��If I were you, I’d bring my precious brother some cake without him having to ask,” he replied, flashing a cheeky grin. “How was the café? Still as good as when Mr. Yoon was there?”

“Yeah. His son changed a few of the drinks on the menu, but they sounded nice! And they now do those cookie croissant waffle thingies? Amazing, honestly.” You plopped down on the sofa next to your older brother, carefully lifting up your leg into a more comfortable position. Soobin made an interesting noise at the thought of eating one of those.

“Did you think about the internship offer Dad gave you? I heard him talking to Heeseung about it. How you’re missing credits and how he wants you to take it,” your brother asked, tone careful.

“Don’t get me started on it. He’s been pushing this internship with the hockey team on me like it’s life or death,” you said, stirring your chili absentmindedly.

“Maybe he just wants to connect with you.” Soobin’s tone softened. “He might think this internship is a way to bridge the gap. You know it’s his world—and it was yours too, before the accident.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You’re starting to sound like him. Honestly, Soobin, that’s not supposed to happen until I’m an aunt to your kids. I just don’t care about hockey anymore. It feels like every time I turn around, it’s all about hockey, hockey, hockey.”

“Look, Y/N, I get it. But if you need those credits to graduate, maybe it’s worth considering.” He crossed his arms, looking at you earnestly. “If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll have your back. I’ll just remind them that I’m still the older brother and boss around here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly. “Right, you’ll just walk in and be like, ‘Watch out, boys! Y/N’s brother is here!’” “Exactly!” He chuckled, and for a moment, the tension eased. “But seriously, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. If you can handle what you’ve been through, this internship is nothing.”

“Maybe. I just wish it didn’t feel so… forced,” you replied, blowing on the steaming food on your spoon. “I want to find something I’m passionate about. Also, it feels unfair to others who actually care about it. I’d be something of a nepo baby.”

“It’s just one semester. If you hate it, you can quit. But at least you’ll know you tried. Plus, who knows? You might end up being the best hockey PR person out there. I mean, what do you think I hear? Coach’s son playing in his team, the co-captain? Nepo baby runs in our blood."

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, there was a hint of a smile. “I’ll think about it, okay? But I’m not making any promises.” “Fair enough.” Soobin shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just promise me you’ll at least consider it. Besides, it’s not like you have any better options right now.” You nodded slowly, knowing he was right. “Yeah, I guess.” After a night brooding over what Soobin said, you decided to go with it and accept the offer. He was right—if anything, it was just one semester, right? You’d get your credits, your dad would get off your back, and you’d have Soobin and your father, the literal coach, as backup if you needed it.

So after your last class the day after, you went to the ice rink and carefully knocked on the door to your father’s office. “Come in,” your father called through the closed door. You opened the door and pressed your lips into a tight smile when you saw him hunched over some documents

“Y/N,” he stood up, “how can I help you?”

You walked closer to his table and sat down in the chair across from his desk. “I talked to Soobin yesterday. About the internship.”

A moment of silence stretched on as your father waited for you to continue. “Did you decide to take up my offer?” he asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I decided to give it a shot. Just for one semester, though. I’m not promising anything beyond that.”

Your father’s expression shifted from anticipation to a mixture of relief and disappointment. “That’s great, Y/N! I really think this could be a good opportunity for you. You’ll learn a lot about PR and social media, and you might even discover a new passion.”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling the frustration bubbling up inside you. “Dad, it’s not about discovering a passion for hockey or PR. I just need the credits to graduate. I’m not expecting some life-changing revelation from this.”

“Then why even bother?” he retorted, crossing his arms defensively. “If you’re going into it with that attitude, you won’t get anything out of it.”

“Because I don’t want to keep disappointing you,” you shot back, your voice rising. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you think I should be involved in hockey somehow. This is just a way to keep the peace, right?”

Your father clenched his jaw, visibly frustrated. “I’m not trying to force you into anything, Y/N. I just thought you’d want to be part of something that means so much to our family. This isn’t just about hockey; it’s about being part of a team, a community.”

You leaned forward, your palms pressing against the cool surface of his desk. “But I don’t want to be part of that community, Dad! Not anymore! All I ever hear from you is hockey, hockey, hockey. I care about things other than hockey.”

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. “I didn’t mean to put that pressure on you. But you need to understand that I’m proud of what I do, and I thought you’d want to be a part of it. I thought maybe being around the team would help you feel less isolated."

You stood too, feeling a mixture of anger and hurt. “It’s not about your pride, Dad! It’s about my life and my choices. I don’t want to feel obligated to fulfill your expectations. I just want to be me. And for the record, I am not isolated. I have friends and a life! It’s just not hockey.”

He softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. “I know, Y/N. But you have to understand that I’m coming from a place of love. I want the best for you. I thought this would help you find your way, especially with how difficult things have been for you.”

“Maybe you need to let me find my own way instead of trying to steer me down the path you’ve laid out,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. For a moment, silence hung between you, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice quieter. “I’ll back off. But I hope you give this a real chance, for both our sakes.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and uncertainty. “I’ll try, Dad. But just know I’m doing this for me, not for you.”

He offered a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You arrived at the rink an hour earlier than scheduled, more out of nervousness than necessity. The familiar smell of the ice, mixed with the faint hum of the arena’s machinery, makes you stop for a second. Standing near the glass, you watched a few players skate laps. The sounds of blades cutting into the ice reverberate in the empty rink, and for a moment, you feel a pull in your chest. You press your crutches into the ground, standing straighter as you try to shake off the creeping frustration. You've gotten good at suppressing it over the years, convincing yourself that you’ve moved on.

“Are you lost or something?” You blink and turn to see Heeseung, standing a few feet away, looking amused. Lost in thought, you didn’t hear him approach until his voice interrupted your moment of self pity. You turned around and caught the moment where he recognized you.

“Y/N? Didn’t expect to see you here this early.” He settled his bag down next to you.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess the captain needs to be the first one on the ice, right?”

Heeseung grinned and shrugged. “Part of the job,” he said, then nodded towards the rink. “Are you already trying to figure out how to make those losers good on Tiktok?”

You shifted your weight slightly, gripping your crutches a little tighter. “Something like that,” you muttered, glancing back at the ice.

He looked at you. “You sound thrilled.”

“Yeah, I am absolutely thrilled,” you said, your voice cool.

“Did your dad convince you to do this?”, his eyes softened a bit.

You didn’t know how much Heeseung already knew about your situation, how much Soobin or his friends that you were also close to have told him so you just shrugged: “Honestly? Kinda. But what can I say, I am here now so there is no turning back, right?”

“God wait until you get to know the others. You will regret your decision. I don’t think we have a lot of potential to be the Tiktok star your dad wants us to be.”, he chuckled

“God Hee, don’t remind me.”, you lean your head onto the glass that separated you and the rink, cringing at the cold sensation. He laughed out loud and patted your back. Someone shouted his name and he grabbed his gear from the floor, while you leaned back again.

“Alright,” he said, watching you with a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’ll leave you to do your very important PR duties. But, uh, if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” He pushed his hair out of his face and winked at you. You just rolled your eyes and bid him goodbye. 

Your office was a small, window-lit room with one side dominated by clutter. On the messy side, stacks of papers, unopened mail, and scattered office supplies covered multiple surfaces, including an old wooden filing cabinet. A half-empty bookshelf leaned under the weight of folders, some piled haphazardly on top of one another. Boxes of miscellaneous items were stacked in a corner, threatening to topple. In one corner stood a seemingly clean desk, which you assumed to be the one you would be working from. You settled in, trying to ignore the mess on the other side of the room, while pulling out your laptop to take a look at the team’s social media accounts. 

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting in front of a flipchart, surrounded by notes and scribbles of ideas for content. Your research had turned up dozens of trends and challenges that could work for the hockey team’s social accounts, but your enthusiasm was running low. The chair you were sitting on felt like it was designed for maximum discomfort, and you were seriously considering bringing your wheelchair the next time. You sighed, shifting your weight in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position. Your hip started aching about 20 minutes ago.

Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and Heeseung’s head popped in. “You surviving in here?"

Without looking up, you muttered, “Barely. What do you want, Heeseung?”

He chuckled and stepped fully into the room, leaning casually against the wall. “Nothing much,” he said, flashing his trademark grin. “Just thought I’d check in. You know, make sure the new PR girl isn’t drowning in spreadsheets or choking on influencer jargon.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not drowning. Yet.”

“Well, that’s good,” he replied, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step closer to the desk. “Though you kinda look like you’re this close from walking out of here and never coming back.”

You snorted despite yourself, leaning back and stretching your arms. “Trust me. This chair? Torture. It makes me want to get out of here asap.”

As he moved closer, you noticed a faint, fresh scent—like soap and something woody, maybe a hint of citrus. He must have just showered. His hair was still damp, a little messy. He looked very attractive in the annoyingly bright light of your office.

Heeseung pulled up a chair for himself and sat down across from you, resting his arms on the table. “So, what’s the plan? Are you trying to turn us into TikTok stars?”

You shrugged, gesturing to the flipchart. “That, or I’ll at least try to make sure you guys don’t look like total idiots online. There’s a fine line. A good start would be acceptable Instagram accounts. Tell me why some of you post random pictures of food with 20 filters slapped onto them.” You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore how nice he smelled, but it was hard not to notice. You weren't sure why, but it was definitely a little distracting. Get a grip, Y/N.

“Ah, come on,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “We’re already halfway to ‘total idiots.’ You’ll just make us look... what? Funny idiots? Also my Instagram is pretty and aesthetic!”

“Something like that,” you muttered, unable to suppress a small smile. “I found some trends, figured we could hop on a few of them. I’ve got ideas for locker room Q&As, pre-game routines, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan,” Heeseung said, nodding as he scanned the notes. “So, when do we start?”

“We?” you scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Last I checked, I’m the PR person. You’re just the guy with a stick trying to hit a rubber thingy.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, Y/N. You’ll need my charming face to pull off half of these ideas.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though it was becoming less from irritation and more out of habit. “Oh yeah, because that’s exactly what’s going to save this campaign—your charm.”

“Admit it,” he teased, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know I’m right.”

“Admit what? That you’ve got an ego the size of this rink?” you shot back, shaking your head. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Heeseung grinned, clearly unfazed by your sarcasm. “Hey, can’t blame a guy for knowing his strengths.” You let out a soft chuckle. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Heeseung."

He stood up, stretching lazily, and you noticed how his shirt pulled just slightly across his chest. You quickly averted your eyes, but not before catching the way his muscles shifted beneath the fabric. Okay, yeah. Definitely kind of hot. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your spreadsheets and dance challenges. But seriously, if you need anything—or, you know, some extra ‘charm’—you know where to find me.”

You smirked, shooing him toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go away, I’ve got real work to do.”

He threw you a mock salute as he backed out of the room. “Yes, ma’am. Just don’t forget to give me a heads-up when you need me to be the face of your operation.” “Don’t hold your breath,” you called after him, shaking your head as the door closed behind him.

The next day, you were sitting at a round table in the student library, your textbooks spread out in front of you, trying to focus on the notes for your upcoming exam. Chaeryong sat next to you, furiously typing something into her laptop, while Beomgyu, who had already given up on studying, leaned back in his chair with his phone in hand, holding your injured leg on his lap. You sighed and leaned back in your chair, finally breaking the silence. "I took that internship, by the way."

Ryujin looked up from her screen, raising an eyebrow. "The hockey one?"

You nodded. "Yeah, the PR thing for the men’s team. Dad convinced me, and Soobin kind of guilted me into it too. It’s only for a semester, so I figured I might as well."

Beomgyu snorted, glancing up from his phone. "Oh boy, you’re going to be stuck with us now. We’ll have to treat you like royalty, Coach’s daughter."

You rolled your eyes. "Please don’t. The last thing I need is people treating me any differently."

"Don’t worry," Beomgyu grinned, his eyes playful. "I’ll make sure the team knows to mess with you as much as possible. No special treatment."

Before you could continue, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey, there you are!” Soobin’s tall frame came into view, followed closely by Yeonjun, who stopped behind Chaeryoung to press a kiss onto her head: ”Hi baby.”

She glanced at them, unimpressed. “What’s this about?"

“We’re kidnapping them,” Yeonjun said with a smirk, gesturing at you and Beomgyu. “Coach needs everyone at practice, and Y/N here has a meeting with the team.”

Beomgyu groaned, half-joking as he packed up his things. “And here I was, hoping to spend my afternoon in peace. Guess not.”

You, however, were a little more reluctant. “Wait, I thought I didn’t have to do anything with the team until later this week? I haven’t finished on collecting my thoughts? I am starting from 0 and i am not investing my free time into research?”

Soobin shook his head, grinning. “Nope, the sooner you meet everyone, the better.”

Chaeryoung leaned back in her chair, laughing. “Good luck with that, Y/N. You’re going to need it.”

You shot her a look before standing up, grabbing your crutches, and letting Soobin lead the way.

The locker room door swung open and the noise (and borderline disgusting smell) hit you all at once— talking, laughing, skates clinking. Yeonjun clapped his hands together and announced dramatically, “Alright, listen up! We have a very important guest today.”

Beomgyu chimed in, “Try not to scare her off, okay? She’s family. Like in a literal and theoretical way.”

You rolled your eyes at their antics but couldn’t help smiling. These two were practically brothers to you—they spent so much time at your house growing up that your mom would always joke that she had three sons instead of one. When all three of them got accepted into the sports scholarship Delicis offered your parents threw a party for their sons, which ended in all of you crashing over at Yeonjuns place after you all drank a bit too much of the sparkling wine. Just the thought of the day after made your stomach upset. 

Heeseung, sitting on a bench tying his skates, looked up and spotted you. He grinned at you as he stood up, leaning casually against the lockers. “Hey, if it isn’t our new PR expert. Early again. You sure you’re not secretly excited to be here?”

You scoffed, leaning into your crutches a bit. “No, Heeseung, I’m not excited to be here. I was kidnapped and should be studying econ right now.”

Jay, who was in the same economy course as you, groaned. "Please don't remind me. I feel like I am at least 10 weeks behind and the semester started four weeks ago."

A few of the guys laughed, but Soobin interrupted them: “Alright, listen up,” he said, his voice carrying authority. “Y/N’s going to be helping us with PR this season. Treat her with respect and do what she says, got it?”

Trying to ease your own discomfort, you forced a smile and crossed your arms. “Look, I’m just here to do my job. I won’t annoy you all too much!”

One of the players, EJ?, leaned back against the lockers with a smirk. “Does that mean we are going to be the next Charlie D’amilio?”

You laughed, unable to help yourself. “That depends. Can you dance?”

Jake, still sitting with his skates half-done, quipped, “I’d pay to see EJ try to pull off one of those TikTok dances.” The room erupted in laughter and you felt some of the tension in your shoulders release at the sound.

A few days later, you opted to skip class after an especially grueling session of physiotherapy. You lay sprawled on the worn sofa in Ryujin’s appartment, breathing in the comforting aroma of spaghetti carbonara simmering in the kitchen.

You called out over the sizzling bacon, “I swear to God. I can feel the bruises coming. My legs and my left ass cheek are going to be black and blue tomorrow. I won’t be able to properly sit down!”

“Nobody is seeing your legs or your ass, girl. Just wear a pair of pants, and the problem is solved,” Ryujin shot back, stirring the pan with a wooden spoon. The warm, buttery smell mingled with the salty scent of bacon, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

“Unless you want to show someone your ass?” she teased, glancing back at you with a playful smirk.

“Not really. Who would want to see my blue and black scarred arse unprompted? Do you want to see? I’ll undress just for you, baby. Magic Mike style. Magic Y/N!” You wiggled your eyebrows, shifting the frozen chickpeas from your ankle to heave yourself into your wheelchair.

Ryujin rolled her eyes, laughing as she scooped the cooked pasta into the pan. “I love you, and I have seen plenty of your naked ass already, but I don’t need you to erotically strip for me, Y/N. You are not really my type, I’m sorry.”

You clutched your chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Ryujin!”

“Ha ha! I’m sure we can find someone who would like to see your ass. There are plenty of hot guys on campus that are horny 24/7,” she shot back, glancing over her shoulder as she added a sprinkle of cheese to the mix.

“Sure. And 25 of them are on the hockey team,” you deadpanned, your mind wandering to the group of boys you were now working with. The thought of the players made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, sure. But all 25? Soobin is part of that horny group as well?” Ryujin handed your cutlery.

“Honestly? Yeah. I mean, Dad is pretty strict with him and Minji about dating since he thinks they would get distracted, but Soobin definitely appreciates some good-looking arses. Not mine, though. That would be disgusting.” You shuddered at the thought.

“Girl. Ew,” Ryujin replied flatly, shaking her head, and you both burst into laughter.

A few hours later, you rolled into the rink, greeted by the sound of skates scraping against ice and the faint scent of sweat. The boys’ training session was already in full swing, punctuated by grunts and your dad’s authoritative voice barking out encouragement and critiques. Navigating your way through the rink was fairly manageable in your wheelchair. You opted to maneuver around the rink rather than suffer through sitting on that demonic seat in your office for a few hours, especially after gaining a few bruises on your behind and legs. Seriously, your physiotherapist could have not put her entire body weight on her elbow. You didn’t care that it would help your muscles relax? About every muscle in your body was tensed while she tried to relax one in your arse?

You had asked your dad for a few items from home to make the room feel a bit more inviting. You made him buy some more plants and a floor lamp for a more comfortable light source.  A cherry and a pink dinosaur sonny angel were sitting on your desk alongside the greenery. You brought printed pictures of your friends and various art prints, but without your crutches, you decided to leave the task of hanging them up for another day. If you were to work here for the next six months you could definitely personalize the room a bit. 

You were mid-scroll through your R&B playlist when you heard a light knock on your office door. Without looking up, you called out, “Come in!”

Yeonjun poked his head in, flashing his usual grin. “Hello my dearest Y/N!”

Behind him, Soobin and Beomgyu strolled in, still in their sweaty practice gear, looking completely worn out. Beomgyu flopped dramatically into the chair near your desk that Heeseung never put back. “Yeah, sure, come in and just take over my whole workspace with your stinky gear,” you teased, though you didn’t mind the company.

Beomgyu groaned, stretching his legs out like he owned the place. “This break isn’t long enough. Coach is killing us out there. I swear I’m going to die.”

Soobin rolled his eyes, perching on the edge of your desk while Yeonjun leaned against the wall. “You’ll survive. We’ve had worse drills.”

Yeonjun smirked. “Speak for yourself. I’m not built for this much cardio.”

You laughed. “Maybe you should stick to dancing for TikTok, Yeonjun. You know, where you can actually breathe.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s where my talents really shine. Wait until you see the TikToks I’ll be making for the team.”

When it was time for the boys to go back into the rink all three of them groaned. Beomgyu let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not moving from this chair. I don’t care that its uncomfortable.”

Yeonjun glanced around the room, raising an eyebrow at the mismatched furniture. “Speaking of uncomfortable... this office is seriously lacking. We need to get Coach to clear out the second half of the room so we can put in a sofa or something.”

You glanced at the cluttered back half of the office, filled with old sports equipment, boxes, and random items. “You’re not wrong. This place could use some serious cleaning.”

Beomgyu perked up. “Oh, a sofa would be amazing. We could take naps during breaks.”

You grinned, but gave Soobin a playful push toward the door. “Okay, okay, design committee. Go back to practice before Dad drags you out of here himself.”

As they shuffled out, Beomgyu gave you a lazy salute. “We’ll be back with a proposal for the Coach!” You laughed, shaking your head as they left the room, leaving you in the quiet once again

Heeseung had been at the rink longer than usual tonight. After practice had officially ended, he stayed behind for some extra drills, working on his shots while his mind wandered.

He was standing in the shower after, letting the hot water wash away the tension from his muscles. The clean scent of soap and his woodsy cologne clung to him as he dressed, ready to finally head home. He was on his way out, thinking about his bed, when he saw the light still on in your office room.

He peered through the open door and saw you still at your desk, your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop. He hadn’t expected to see you there so late. Most of the team had left, and the rink was practically deserted. What were you still doing here?

He knocked lightly on the doorframe. “You’re still here?” You glanced up, looking more exhausted than surprised.

“You too?” you shot back, though there was a flicker of warmth in your tired eyes. “I thought everyone had gone home by now.”

“I did some extra laps,” he said with a lazy smirk as he stepped inside, making his way over to your desk, his damp hair falling slightly into his eyes. His eyes drifted across the various decorations you had brought into the office. He picked up one of the tiny figurines from your desk and turned it over in his hand with a grin. “What’s with these little guys? A personal touch?”

You gave him a mock glare, clearly more amused than offended. “They’re called sonny angels, and yes, this office was depressing. I needed to liven it up.”

Heeseung laughed softly, putting the figurine back down carefully. “Why would you bring naked angles.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Don’t make fun of my babies. Besides, I’m pretty sure a pink dinosaur would look amazing in your locker. Might even give you a few extra goals on the ice.”

Heeseung laughed, setting the figure down gently. “Oh, for sure. Nothing screams ‘fearless hockey captain’ like a pink dinosaur mascot.”, he sat down on the edge of your desk, “So, what’s keeping you here so late?”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Just finishing up a presentation for the team. It’s taking longer than I thought.”

Heeseung glanced over at the cluttered desk, noting the piles of papers and sticky notes you were using. “And you couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Nope. I like torturing myself,” you said dryly, then raised an eyebrow as he continued to toy with one of the angels. “Are you done judging my office decor now?”

Heeseung twirled the figurine in his fingers, then squinted at it. They did look cute, somehow. “I mean, I’ve got questions. First off, what’s up with this one?” He held up a small pink angel wearing a dinosaur costume. “Did you really choose this? And why is the other one naked?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “No! I wanted the red dinosaur one but kept getting the pink one instead. Three times! So, this is what I’m stuck with. And honestly I am not sure but they are cute.”

Heeseung laughed, genuinely amused by the annoyance in your voice. “So you’re telling me this cute little thing is the result of failure? That’s tragic.” He shook his head, mock-sympathetic, before placing the pink dinosaur angel thing back on your desk with exaggerated care

“Tragic doesn’t even cover it,” you replied with a deadpan expression. “I have one in my room, one in my car, and now this sad thing is stuck here, reminding me of my poor luck every day.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Well, pink dinosaur or not, it’s got character.” You just laughed at that. He watched you for a moment, noticing how your shoulders were slightly hunched. His gaze dropped to the wheelchair you were sitting in. He hadn’t seen you in it much before today. You usually relied on crutches when you were out and about. His curiosity got the better of him: “You alright today?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Saw you using the chair earlier. Tough day?”

You hesitated, and for a moment, he thought you wouldn’t answer. But then you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Physio was brutal. Sometimes it’s just easier to use the chair instead of crutches. Less strain, you know?”

Heeseung nodded slowly, processing your words. His chest tightened a little at how nonchalantly you explained it. Like it was just another part of your day, no big deal. He wished he could ask more—about what happened, how you went from being an athlete to sitting in this chair—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t his place, and he wasn’t about to make you relive something painful just to satisfy his curiosity. He couldn’t imagine having to adjust to something like that, especially after living a life as active as yours. Soobin claimed you were good—like, really good, that you had a future in hockey, but... He shook the thought away, not wanting to dwell on what you had lost. It didn’t seem fair, and it wasn’t something he could fix.

“You know,” he said, looking around in the room. “This office still feels so crammed and uninviting. You need a couch or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, your playful smirk returning. “A couch, huh? You are the second person to tell me that today?”

He grinned, setting the picture back down. “Actually, Yeonjun and I were thinking about it even before you had the office. We need to get Coach to clear out the junk on the other side of the room so we can move in a couch. You’d have a nice place to chill while pretending to work.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “And by ‘chill,’ you mean take naps, right?”

“Exactly. I’d probably use it more than you.” He made a mental note to talk to the Coach and Yeonjun about it. The two of them almost had the Coach to approve of their idea before it was decided you would move into this room. Honestly it was probably better for them to not have a sofa here. He got a headache when he thought of the prospect of finding people doing something unholy here.

Heeseung glanced at the clock. It was late—too late for you to still be working and for him to still be in the rink. He frowned, leaning back on the desk. “You’re not staying here alone, right?” he asked, his voice a little more serious.

You looked up. “I’m almost done. I’ll leave soon.

“Yeah, no,” Heeseung said, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself. It’s dark, and the rink is practically empty.”

You gave him a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “You’re not seriously going to babysit me, are you?”

He crossed his arms, standing firm. “Pretty much. I’m not letting you argue your way out of this.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood to fight him on it. “Fine,” you relented, though he could tell you weren’t really annoyed. “But I’ll be here a while. I still have some things to finish.”

He grinned, leaning back on your desk like he had all the time in the world. “I’m great company, remember? Besides, someone’s gotta make sure your pink angel dinosaur thingy doesn’t run away.”

You laughed, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “I think I can handle my own angels, but... thanks.” He plopped himself down in your empty office chair, watching as you worked, occasionally teasing you about the presentation or critiquing the décor you’d added to the room.

When you stepped into the rink after your classes on Thursday, the first thing you noticed was Jay, EJ, and Beomgyu hauling the old wooden filing cabinet that had been collecting dust in your office. They were making quite the effort, each one grunting as they maneuvered the bulky piece of furniture toward the exit. All three were struggling, shouting different variations of "Hey!" as they saw you walk in.

“Hi! What's going on here?” you called out, laughing a little at the sight.

Beomgyu glanced back at you, a proud grin on his face. “We’re upgrading your office!” he shouted, nearly dropping his end of the cabinet as they stumbled toward the exit.

“Oh?” you scrunched your nose in confusion.

On your way to your office, you passed a couple more of the boys—Taehyun, Jake, and even Sunghoon—all carrying random bits of old furniture and equipment that must’ve been living in your office forever. The rink seemed unusually lively for an off day.

When you finally stepped into your office, you were met with the sight of Soobin, Heeseung, and Yeonjun cleaning the floor of the cluttered side of the small room. While Jay was reading the instructions to the frame of a ikea sofa, which was still in its parcells leaned next to the door.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, seriously… What’s going on?”

Soobin shot you a sheepish grin. “Well, I figured that after Dad basically forced you and I guilt tripped you into accepting the internship, the least we could do is make this place less awful.”

“So we talked to Coach Lee,” Heeseung added, clearly amused by the situation. “And your dad.” He grinned, standing with his arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. “And guess what? You’re getting a sofa. A nice one too.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, well,” Soobin jumped in, “Coach Lee kind of convinced him. Said you needed a place to rest. And since Dad’s all for you being extra careful, he gave in. Reluctantly. He wasn’t thrilled, but he said yes.”

Yeonjun smirked from his spot against the desk. “So, congratulations on your sofa.”

You blinked, still trying to process. “You really convinced him to get you your sofa? For the record, that was fully your idea, I did not wish for one.” You looked around, almost not believing it.

Yeonjun, who had been lounging on the cleared desk, leaned forward. “Hey, we’re doing this for you, alright? You deserve a place to chill. But, you know... if a nap happens here or there...”

“Yeah, I figured,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “of course. You’re all just so thoughtful.” But despite your playful tone, you really were touched. They’d gone through the trouble of getting permission from your dad, which was no easy task, and now they were basically transforming your workspace into something a lot more comfortable.

Soobin shrugged, feigning indifference. “Hey, at least now you won’t be stuck in this depressing office.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung chimed in, his grin growing wider. “And now you’ll have even more space for your red dinosaur angel collection.”

Yeonjun gasped theatrically, hand over his heart like you’d just broken some unspoken rule. “Wait, wait, wait—you pulled the red one and didn’t tell me? What kind of betrayal is this?”

You groaned, already regretting letting them see your desk decorations,“They’re Sonny Angels!" You sighed, shaking your head. “I didn’t pull the red one, Yeonjun.”

Heeseung chuckled, walking over to your desk, picking up one of your Sonny Angels. “Well, when you do, make sure to put it right here. It can be the centerpiece of the whole office.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the teasing was making it hard to stay serious. “I’m not turning this office into a shrine for my Angels, but thanks for the suggestion.” Jay snickered from where he was now heaving one parcel towards Heeseung.

Soobin knocked his shoulder into yours, “Honestly, Y/N. Your office was lacking big time. We gave it some character!”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun added with a grin, “and when we’re not napping in here, you can totally use it too.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Gee, thanks. I’ll make sure to reserve my own office for whenever you’re not busy.”

Despite all the teasing, you felt your chest warm with appreciation. The fact that they went out of their way to make sure you’d be comfortable, going as far as convincing both the coach and your dad—meant a lot.

“Seriously though,” you said, looking between them, “thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Heeseung waved you off, but his smile was genuine. “Hey, anything for the team’s PR girl. You are able to ruin everyone's reputation in here.”

“And we can’t let you suffer in this sad office,” Soobin added with a smirk.

Jay stretched dramatically, shooting you a wink. “Now you can suffer in comfort.”

Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow after the grueling training session, his legs heavy and tired from the extra drills. It was as if your dad had dialed up the intensity after seeing the boys have a bit of fun with you earlier. Heeseung chuckled at the memory of EJ’s goofy dance moves, knowing full well that your father had caught wind of their little behind-the-scenes moment. "No fun allowed," he thought wryly, shaking his head. Heeseung wasn’t the Coach’s biggest fan. He was too strict, especially when they lost, and lately, his overprotectiveness toward you had only made things tenser. Heeseung got it, though. It couldn’t be easy to see his daughter in a wheelchair after being an athlete herself, but still, the coach’s comments were always a little too pointed, a little too controlling.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Heeseung found himself walking toward your office, knowing that even though the rest of the rink was quiet and nearly empty, you’d probably still be there, editing videos or catching up on schoolwork. It had become a familiar routine over the last few weeks—after most of the team had left, Heeseung would often wander up to find you, usually hunched over your laptop, absorbed in your work. Sure enough, when he knocked lightly and poked his head in, there you were. Your wheelchair was parked near the desk, and you had your laptop open with a few TikTok videos you’d been editing playing on repeat.

"Hey," Heeseung greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Still working?”

You glanced up from your screen, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, just editing some stuff for the ‘Get to Know the Player’ series. I can’t believe I got EJ to do that dance.”

Heeseung laughed at the memory, throwing himself onto the sofa that had recently appeared in your office.

"I am just trying to make sure I don’t accidentally make EJ look too good at dancing.”, you shrugged and replayed the video.

Heeseung snorted, pulling up a show he’d been watching lately. “You couldn’t make him look good at dancing even if you tried. He’s a lost cause.”.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you saved your work. “I think it’s charming. And it’s getting views, so…”

“Of course it is,” Heeseung said, grinning. “The team’s already loving the content. They’ll do anything for their fifteen seconds of fame.”

He stretched out on your sofa, letting out a loud, exaggerated groan as he sunk into the cushions. You smiled but kept your focus on the screen. Heeseung clicked on the latest episode of the new season of The Walking dead he’d been binge-watching, fully knowing he should probably be writing his essay on whatever topic his professor had picked out instead. But the idea of opening his laptop right now made him feel even more exhausted.

As the show played, Heeseung made occasional comments under his breath, reacting to the twists and turns of the plot. You were typing away, seemingly ignoring him, until he let out a surprised “No way he died!”

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes. “Heeseung, don’t spoil anything! I’m not caught up yet.”

He looked at you with mock innocence. “I didn’t spoil anything! I just… reacted.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you muttered, trying to focus on your work. But Heeseung did not want to keep quiet. He quite enjoyed your attention on him so he occasionally gasped and muttered exclamations, making you groan in exasperation. “Heeseung, seriously! Shut up! If you spoil anything for me, I’m never letting you nap in here before training.”

Heeseung laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! No spoilers, I promise.”

You fell into a comfortable silence again, with Heeseung watching his show and you finishing your work. He was trying to pay attention, but his eyes kept gazing over and he was about to fall asleep. It wouldn't be the first time that he actually took advantage of the sofa to take a nap. Last week he had a free period before his training session and decided to go to the rink to train on his own a bit. Instead of training you lured him into your office with the offer of cupcakes you baked and after talking for a bit you continued working on an essay and he took the chance to take a quick nap.

“You good?” you asked, saving your work and closing your laptop.

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I mean, I guess. I’m just tired. Like, really tired.”

You looked at him sympathetically. “Long day?” “Yeah, and school’s just... killing me right now. I’ve got so much work to do, and I’m so behind. But I can’t seem to get motivated to do anything. I was supposed to write an essay tonight, but I’ve been lying here watching Netflix instead.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it feels like there’s just too much going on all at once.”

Heeseung rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the weight of everything he hadn’t done start to press down on him again. “It’s just... I don’t know. Between hockey and school, and trying to keep up with everything else, it’s exhausting. And I know I should be doing more, but sometimes I just want to do nothing.”

You tilted your head, giving him a soft smile. “You’ve been doing a lot, though. You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Heeseung. It’s okay to take a break.”

He gave you a grateful smile but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, after a pause, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I just… don’t want to let anyone down, you know? The team, my professors, the coach, everyone expects me to be perfect.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” you said gently maneuvering your wheelchair to the sofa, “I don't think you’re letting anyone down. You’re doing your best, and that’s more than enough.”

Heeseung let out a long breath, nodding slightly as he made space for you to sit down next to him. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“It's been a rough day for you too? If you are sitting in the wheelchair?” Heeseung asked, steering the conversation away from himself for a moment.

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “I’m just tired. Physio’s been rough lately, and I guess it’s catching up to me. My dad’s been extra… you know, ‘Dad’ about it all.”

Heeseung hummed, understanding what you meant. The coach could be intense. You smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were quiet for a moment before speaking again, your tone a little more subdued. “It’s been rough. I try not to complain too much, but… today’s just one of those days.”

He nodded, feeling a small pang in his chest. He wanted to ask more, to understand what exactly you were going through, but he didn’t want to pry too much. Instead, he carefully asked a question that had been lingering in his mind since Soobin had mentioned it in passing. “I know this might be a bit personal, but... Soobin told me you used to play before the accident.” he said carefully, gauging your reaction. “I mean, with your family, it makes sense, but… I don’t know. It must’ve been hard, having to stop.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, and for a moment, Heeseung wondered if he’d crossed a line. But then, to his surprise, you nodded. “Yeah, it was,” you said quietly, your voice a little strained. “I did. I was on the ice all the time. It was my life, honestly. And then… well, then the accident happened.” You paused, seeming to gather your thoughts. Heeseung stayed silent, letting you continue at your own pace. “It was a car accident. We were hit by a drunk driver,” you said, your voice tightening slightly, as you pull your uninjured leg towards your chest. “I-most of my left leg was jammed up and stuck in the wreck. And that was it. No more ice hockey. No more running around. Everything changed after that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung said softly, not really knowing what else to say. His heart clenched at your words. He could only imagine how hard it must’ve been for you, growing up in a family so deeply rooted in hockey, only to have that taken away after the accident. He’d seen firsthand how strict and overprotective your dad could be.

You gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it. Doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. I mean I was pretty lucky.”

Heeseung nodded, wanting to say something that would make it better, but knowing there were no magic words that could fix something like this.

You shrugged: "It’s tough sometimes, but I’m finding new things to love. Like, I never thought I’d enjoy editing TikToks and running the team’s social media, but it’s been fun.”

Heeseung smiled back at you, “Well, for what it’s worth, we’re all really glad you’re here,” he said sincerely. He was glad you were there but he wanted to kick himself for saying something as cringe as that.

You blinked, a small smile playing on your lips. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging between you, but it was a comfortable silence—one that came from understanding, from knowing they didn’t have to say everything all at once.

Finally, Heeseung broke the quiet. “Alright, I’m gonna shut up and stop spoiling.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Thanks. But seriously, don’t you dare spoil anything. I’ll never forgive you.”

Heeseung grinned, leaning back on the sofa, feeling a little lighter. “Deal."

"Coffee? Or hot chocolate?”

Heeseung looked up from his textbook, startled as you stood in front of him, holding out two cups. His brows furrowed, clearly confused. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know,” you cut him off quickly, setting the cups down beside him. “But you looked like you needed it.”

He blinked at you, processing for a moment. “Thanks,” Heeseung finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, relieved smile. “But… why?”

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling a little more at ease now that he wasn’t brushing you off. “Last night,” you said, shifting on your feet, “I figured I owed you something after you waited for me and drove me home even tho you were dead tired.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, taking the coffee cup from the table, but his expression softened. “You didn’t have to do that. I wasn’t even that bothered.”

“I know,” you mumbled, “but it felt like I should do something. To, you know, thank you.”

He took a sip, then paused, a playful look flashing across his face. “Coffee’s fine.” He took a sip.” What would you have done if I’d taken the hot chocolate?” He gave you a knowing smile. “I know you don’t drink coffee.”

Your stomach dropped for a moment, and you tried not to look as flustered as you felt. How did he even know that? “Wait—how did you...?”

Heeseung’s smile widened, leaning back in his chair like he’d just won something. “You didn’t think I’d notice? You tend to bring tea or hot chocolate to the office. No matter how late.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you looked away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You hadn’t realized he’d paid that much attention. “I—well, I would’ve managed,” you replied, shrugging a little too nonchalantly. “But I’m glad you took the coffee because, yeah, I don’t like it.”

Heeseung chuckled, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual. “What, you were really going to choke it down just to make me feel better?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “I was trying to be nice, okay?”

His laughter softened, his expression turning more gentle. “Sure, the brave Y/N drinking coffee just for me.”

“Hey!”, you hit him softly and tried to ignore how warm your cheeks felt. You were praying that your foundation did its job properly today.

Heeseung grinned, and the atmosphere between you shifted slightly, the playful teasing replaced with something more sincere. “Well, thanks for the coffee,” he said, his voice softer now.

You glanced at Heeseung’s open book, his pages cluttered with scribbled notes and highlighted passages. “You’ve been here a while, huh?” you asked, leaning forward to peek at his notes, feeling guilty for distracting him.

Heeseung sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, midterms are killing me. I’ve been staring at this stuff for hours, but I swear, none of it’s sticking.”

You tilted your head, sympathizing. “I feel that. Econ made me want to throw my laptop out of my window yesterday and i had to resign to finish a episode of TWD. Are you done with the season?”

At that, Heeseung’s face brightened. “Oh, I finished the last episode last night. I swear i didn’t think—”

“If you spoil it, I will fight you,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

Heeseung burst into laughter, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, no spoilers! But seriously, you need to catch up soon. I want to know your reaction.”

You bit your lip, debating for a moment before offering, “Well... do you want to rewatch the last like 5 episodes? You could see my reactions in real time then?"

His eyes lit up at your suggestion, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. “I’d love that! How about we do it tonight? I could whip up some snacks, and we can binge-watch the last few episodes.”

You hesitated, suddenly aware of how casual he was making it sound. “Uh, yeah, but only if we actually study before we watch. I have a few things I want to get done today.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, nodding seriously, though a smile tugged at his lips.

The idea of going over to his place made your heart race a little faster. “Alright. Then I’ll see you later,” you said, glancing over at him once more, trying to ignore the warmth rising in your cheeks.

What was he thinking? Heeseung couldn’t believe himself. He had invited you over and casually mentioned he could whip up some snacks?

After his last class of the day, he raced into his dorm, the realization hitting him like two hours too late. Jake and Jay were sprawled across the dinner table with their books and laptops, completely oblivious to the chaos about to unfold. Heeseung nearly slammed the entrance door against the wall as he burst in. “Guys, I might have messed up!”

Jake blinked a few times, confusion etched across his face. “What happened?”

“I invited Y/N over to watch The Walking Dead,” he said, sliding off his coat. “And I told her I’d whip up some snacks. But our dorm is a disaster, and my room is even worse! She can’t come over!” Panic surged through him.

Jay stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the drama. “So you want us to speed clean so you can impress the coach’s daughter?”

“Yes!” Heeseung exclaimed, already kneeling down to pick up the shoes littering the entrance. “Please, help a guy out. I can’t let her see this place!”

“Sure,” Jake said with a chuckle, standing up and grabbing the takeout boxes scattered around him. “Our dorm needs a cleaning session anyway. And honestly, I’m so done with thermodynamics right now. If I see another heat transfer mode, I might bang my head into a wall hard enough to skip out the next semester. I am suffering.”

Jay joined in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll take the living room and vacuum. Hyung, just focus on your room. I think we have chips in the pantry, so just use that as a snack.”

“Jay, you’re a genius. Thank you,” Heeseung said, practically sprinting to his room.

Once inside, he was greeted by the mess that was his room: clothes sprawled across the floor, bed, and desk, a collection of empty water bottles. On top of that, his hockey gear is spread all haphazardly around the room - gloves, sticks, and bags. He immediately began tackling the mess, grabbing clothes, checking which ones were clean which needed to be folded and put away. He picked up a discarded hockey glove and tossed it into a corner before realizing he’d have to deal with the smell somehow.

By the time he emerged from his room, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than what it had been. He glanced over at Jay, who was in the living room, vacuuming with an exaggerated flourish. Just that second the shrill noise of their doorbell pierced through the air. 

You stood in front of Heeseung’s dorm building, your gaze drifting up toward the tall, sleek structure. The place looked expensive—not surprising, given what you knew about his background. Heeseung’s parents were wealthy, and while you came from a comfortable home as well, this dorm definitely seemed a cut above.

As you approached the entrance, you felt a slight flutter of nerves you hadn’t expected. Pressing the elevator button for the twelfth floor, you shifted your weight onto your good leg, adjusting your crutches slightly. You didn’t really need your crutches anymore. Enough time has passed since your surgery for you to be able to walk only on your cast but you decided that going about your day and actually walking quite a bit was too much of a risk and took them with you anyway.

The ride up seemed to stretch on, giving you too much time to think. Over the past few weeks, you had grown used to Heeseung hanging out in your office, almost like it was his second home. Some days, he was already there when you finished your last class, quietly studying or taking notes. His presence had become a strange comfort, one that didn’t bother you. If anything, it helped you stay focused. But this—being invited into his space—felt like a new step, one that made your heart race a little. When you reached his door, you hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath. You could hear muffled voices and the sound of something being moved around inside. Whatever nervousness you felt, you quickly pushed it aside before ringing the doorbell.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Heeseung, his warm, easy smile greeting you. Behind him, you could see Jake lounging in the kitchen and Jay standing nearby, holding a vacuum cleaner.

“Hi, Y/N!” Heeseung said, stepping aside to let you in, the others offering casual waves.

“Hey,” you replied, carefully stepping inside with your crutches. The moment you entered, your eyes quickly took in the space—it was neat. Really neat. Surprisingly neat for a guy’s dorm.

Heeseung must have noticed the slight lift of your eyebrows because he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “Yeah, uh… we did a little tidying up.”

“A little?” you echoed, amused as you glanced around again. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think your dorm would be this... organized.”

Before Heeseung could respond, Jake snorted from across the room, biting into a chip. “Yeah, sure. We always live this clean,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, earning a pointed side-eye from Heeseung.

You laughed, the sound easing the last bit of tension in the room. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like a dig. It’s just—well, I’ve seen my brother’s room?”

“You’re giving us too much credit,” Jay chimed in, leaning the vacuum against the wall.

Once you were in his room, you sat on the edge of the bed, noticing how tidy even his space was. The bed was made, his hockey gear wasn’t strewn everywhere like Sobbing usually is, and the usual hockey player smell was faint, replaced with something cleaner. You caught a subtle hint of Heeseung’s familiar cologne, woody but fresh.

You moved to sit on the bed but hesitated, leaning on your good leg. “Uh, mind if I sit? I don’t want to mess up your bed with my outside clothes.”

Heeseung waved it off with a casual shrug. “I don’t care about that. But if you’re worried about it, I can give you a pair of my joggers?”

You blinked, not really expecting that offer. “Oh... uh, are you sure?”

“Yeah, no big deal,” he said, already moving to his closet. He pulled out a pair of gray joggers and handed them to you with a smile. “Here, these should be comfy.”

You threw the joggers over your shoulder, feeling a bit strange but also kind of grateful. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

After changing in the bathroom, you returned, feeling a little more at ease wearing his clothes, knowing you wouldn't mess his bed up with your outside clothing. You did care about that. The joggers hung low on your hips, the waistband slightly too big, but they were warm and comfortable. When you sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, Heeseung flopped down next to you, pulling out his iPad. “Alright, let’s get some studying done before we watch anything, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” You laughed, pulling out your own notes, though your focus was already wandering. The smell of his freshly laundered sheets, mixed with his subtle cologne and aftershave, was distracting you almost as much as his presence next to you.

For the next hour, you both settled into study mode. Heeseung was focused on his music theory notes, occasionally mumbling something about chord progressions or sound mixing, while you tried—really tried—to get through corporate governance. But after what felt like an eternity, your brain was officially fried. With a frustrated sigh, you tossed your notebook aside. “This is impossible. I need help with this. Do you think Jay’s busy?”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “He’s probably still studying in the living room.”

You huffed and slid off the bed and made your way into the living room, where Jay was still hunched over his books. Jake had his headphones on, seemingly lost in his own world of equations.

“Hey, Jay, can you help me with something? Corporate governance is killing me,” you asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

Jay looked up, grinning. “Sure thing. What part are you stuck on?”

What was supposed to be a quick five-minute explanation stretched into ten, then fifteen. You had the gift to ask the right question to make everyone insecure in their explanations and answers and now Jay and you were confused. Great.

Eventually, you noticed Heeseung joining you. “You guys still going at it?” he asked, pulling up a chair next to you. “We’re just about done,” Jay said, pushing his notes aside.

Heeseung laughed. He settled in, flipping through his book, and soon enough, all four of you were studying together at the dinner table. It was surprisingly productive.

After a while, though, you leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms. “Okay, I’m officially done. My brain can’t take any more.”

Heeseung set his book aside, looking just as exhausted. “Same here. Ready for some TWD?”

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar excitement bubble up again. As much as you tried to play it cool, you’d been looking forward to this part all day. Annoying Lia during your shared class and Beomguy during your break about how excited you were.

Back in his room, you climbed onto the bed again, this time letting yourself sink fully into the pillows and pulling the blanket over yourself. As you did, you caught that same scent of Heeseung’s cologne again. The coolness of the evening was creeping in, and without thinking, you shifted closer to Heeseung, stealing a little more of the blanket. He glanced at you with a small smile but didn’t say anything, his focus returning to the screen.

Heeseung shifted slightly on the bed, stretching his legs as the second episode ended. He turned his head to ask you if you wanted to start another one, but when he glanced over, his breath hitched.

You were fast asleep.

For a moment, Heeseung just stared, not quite sure what to do. You had curled up against the pillows, still wrapped in his blanket, one arm tucked under your head. His heart skipped a beat.

You looked so peaceful. He didn’t want to move or make any noise that might wake you. Heeseung swallowed nervously and tugged at his own shirt collar, feeling a little too aware of everything suddenly—his breathing, the quiet hum of the room, the weight of the blanket. What was he supposed to do? Wake you up? Ask if you wanted to go back home? In a flash of pure panic, he grabbed his phone and opened up a text to Soobin.

Heeseung Hey man, Y/N fell asleep at my place. Is it cool if she stays over? I don’t want to wake her up.

Heeseung bit his lip, waiting for a reply, his eyes darting between the screen and your sleeping form. You looked so calm, your breathing steady, you looked so soft. It made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t used to this, if he had girls over it wasn’t for watching TV Shows, nor did they just fall asleep. 

A soft buzz broke his thoughts as Soobin replied.

Soobin Hyung (New) She’s an adult, dude. I’ll let my parents know she’s sleeping over, though. Just tell her she owes me for covering for her.

Heeseung exhaled a sigh of relief, slumping back against the headboard. At least he didn’t have to deal with the wrath of an angry captain tonight. He stared at your peaceful face again, and a small smile tugged at his lips. You really were out cold. Carefully, he shifted closer, trying to tuck the blanket more securely around you without disturbing your sleep. He sent a quick thank you text to Soobin.

Heeseung tried to get comfortable, though he couldn’t ignore the fact that his heart was beating a little faster than usual. He was overthinking every tiny movement, wondering if shifting just a little might accidentally wake you up. Glancing over at you, the rise and fall of your chest was slow and steady, and he felt that strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest again. He had no idea what to do with it. You were just there, peacefully sleeping, wrapped in his blanket, wearing his joggers, and somehow that made the moment feel more significant than it should. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You were off limits. He shifted a little closer to the edge of the bed, carefully trying to give you more space without disturbing you. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it, worried that it might be your brother again, but when he checked, it was just a message from Jake into their groupchat.

Puckin' Legends and Sunghoon  Jakey Jakey So? How’s the TV date going hyung Jeongsongie You owe us for cleaning the dorm in record speed. I dont think i ever vacuumed so quickly? Heeseung She fell asleep??  She is so cute tho But thanks for the help. Dorm looks way better now. And don’t call it a TV date?? We were literally studying before this.

He didn’t really mind the teasing—not anymore. At first, when they’d made comments about him spending a bit too much time with the coaches daughter, he’d felt awkward. But now, with you lying beside him, snuggled up under his blanket, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His phone buzzed again.

Hoon I still cannot believe you try to bag your coaches daughter. Jakey Jakey I don’t think the coach can believe it either Jeongsongie I cant believe how gone he is for her??? Did anyone read the she is so cute????

Heeseung rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, setting his phone down without replying. He wasn’t about to engage in that conversation right now. The soft light from the TV illuminated your face just enough for him to see. The way you’d tucked your hand under your cheek, your hair falling slightly over your face—it was… cute. His mind wandered back to earlier, to the way you’d laughed at his teasing or the look of concentration on your face while studying. You had a way of being fully in the moment, and it made him want to stay in those moments with you for as long as possible.

Heeseung closed his eyes, knowing that sleep wasn’t going to come easy, not when his brain was buzzing with thoughts of you. He took one more look at you, tucked under his blanket, your crutches leaning against the wall in the corner of his room. 

You stirred awake, the room dark except for the dim glow of the TV screen that had long since gone idle, casting soft shadows around you. It took a second to remember where you were: Heeseung’s room. His bed. The blanket wrapped around you wasn’t yours. For a split second, panic rose—shit. You fell asleep in Heeseung’s bed? What time was it? How long had you been out? You turned slightly, glancing at Heeseung. He was still sitting next to you, back against the headboard, his eyes closed. You wondered if he had fallen asleep too. Rubbing your face in exhaustion, you felt a rush of embarrassment. This was the first time you were ever over at his place, and you had fallen asleep? Well done, Y/N. Truly.

Glancing at his dimly glowing alarm clock, you realized it was way past midnight. You tried shifting slightly, hoping to find a more comfortable position, but your leg wasn’t cooperating. Every attempt to adjust it left you either more uncomfortable or closer to waking Heeseung. Eventually, you gave in, trying to reposition your injured leg one last time. However, the slight rustling of the blanket stirred Heeseung beside you, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he looked confused, as if he’d forgotten where he was too.

“Y/N?” His voice was low and heavy with sleep, but still warm. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on you. “You okay?”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty for waking him. “Yeah, sorry. My leg just… won’t get comfortable.”

He shifted beside you, rubbing his eyes. His hair was messier now, and his face carried the remnants of sleep. “Want me to help? Or… do you need a pillow or something?”

You shook your head, adjusting the blanket around you. “No, it’s fine.”

His expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Now I know why you need half an eternity to finish the season. You knocked out pretty hard after just two episodes,” he said softly, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

You laughed quietly, feeling a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he said quickly, his voice warm. “I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed really comfortable.” Comfortable. You were. Too comfortable, honestly. You glanced down at the blanket wrapped tightly around you, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

“Did I miss much?” you asked, your voice still quiet.

“Nah, just the end of the episode,” Heeseung replied, glancing at the TV. “You didn’t miss anything important. I was going to ask if you wanted to watch another one, but, uh…”

“But I was out cold,” you finished for him, chuckling.

“Exactly.”

There was a pause, a soft, almost peaceful silence hanging between you. You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to leave the comfort of his bed, his blanket, or this moment. You could feel his presence next to you, his arm brushing yours slightly as you both sat there. “So…” you began, hesitating for a moment. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything right away. He shifted slightly, and you thought you caught a flicker of something in his expression, but it was gone too quickly to tell.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice careful. “I mean, if you’re comfortable here, it’s late… Also, Soobin’s got you covered. He said your parents will survive you crashing here for the night.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You texted Soobin?”

Heeseung’s smile was sheepish. “I didn’t want your parents to freak out when you didn’t show up. So yeah, I let him know. He said you’re an adult but added that he’d let them know you’re safe.”

You sighed, a mix of gratitude and amusement rising in your chest. “Thanks, Heeseung. Really.”

He shrugged, his easy smile still in place. “Anytime. I just figured I should let someone know.”

You began to move out of your blanket burrito,”I’ll migrate to the sofa then! I don’t want to hog your bed. You have training tomorrow and you should get some proper sleep before then!”

His gaze shifted to you, a little more serious now. “Hell no. If you’re gonna stay, you are going to sleep here. If you feel uncomfortable I can go to the sofa.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his casual offer. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” you protested, even as part of you was tempted.

Heeseung tilted his head, his eyes soft and teasing. “Then I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Just scoot over, and I’ll lie down too. We can both be comfortable.”

A beat of silence passed as you considered it, but then you nodded, scooting over to give him room. Your heart pounded just a little harder as you adjusted yourself, settling more comfortably against the pillows. Heeseung shifted too, lying down on his side, facing you. The bed suddenly felt smaller than it had moments ago, the space between you somehow feeling both large and almost nonexistent.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft as he looked at you.

You nodded. “Yeah. Much better.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You found yourself more aware of everything—the blanket, the smell of Heeseung’s cologne lingering in the air, and the soft, even rhythm of his breathing.

“Good,” Heeseung murmured, his eyes closing again.“Just… wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

You smiled softly, watching as his breathing slowed, his expression relaxed as sleep pulled him back under. It was strange, this feeling of being so comfortable, of having someone care enough to make sure you were okay. You could not believe what was happening right now but you were also too tired to think about it right now. So you just closed your eyes again, the weight of the day and the warmth of the moment making it easier to drift off. And as sleep began to claim you once more, you felt a quiet contentment settle in your chest. 

The sun was barely beginning to rise as Heeseung wiped the sweat off his brow, the air in the rink still heavy with the lingering chill of the early morning. Their training session had just wrapped up, and the team was scattered around the locker room, chatting and peeling off their gear. Heeseung sat on a bench, untying his skates when he felt someone approach.

“Soobin.” Heeseung looked up, surprised to see your older brother standing in front of him with a serious expression.

“We need to talk,” Soobin said, his tone calm but firm. Heeseung immediately sensed that something was up and he straightened up, suddenly more alert. Soobin didn’t usually pull him aside like this, and the shift in his demeanor was hard to miss. Heeseung’s heart rate quickened, but he kept his face neutral, unsure of where this conversation was going. He stood, following Soobin outside to a quieter part of the rink, away from the rest of the team.

Once they were alone, Soobin crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Heeseung’s gaze. “You're gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Y/N?” Soobin asked, voice stern but not hostile.

The question hit Heeseung like a puck to the chest (pun intended), and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Scratch that he knew what he wanted to say but saying it out loud made it too real.

He thought about the evenings spent in your office, long after practice had ended, when the rink was quiet, and it was just the two of you. Most nights, it started with something simple—you finishing up work while he lingered, not really wanting to go back to the dorm. You would end up on the sofa in your office, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

He could picture how you would sit, your back nestled into the corner of the sofa, one knee pulled up to your chest while the other, still recovering, rested comfortably across his lap. You were so casual about it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to drape your leg over him like that. And somehow, it was. You would chat for hours sometimes, and he found himself looking forward to those nights more than he ever admitted. Seeing the way your eyes lit up when you got excited about something, or the way your lips quirked into a small smile when you said something you thought was clever. There was a comfort between the two of you that made everything else fade into the background.

On days where your physiotherapist, whom you claim to love with all of your heart, went a bit harder on you leaving you exhausted and in pain he would be trying his best to cheer you up a bit. You never complained but he could tell. Your leg would stiffen up, and you would move with a slight limp, your jaw tight as you tried to brush it off like it was nothing. He remembered the first time he noticed it—how you had tried to hide the discomfort, laughing off his concern with some joke about how you have “had worse.” Without thinking, he had reached out and placed his hand on your leg, gently massaging the tense muscles. You hadn’t said anything at first, but you didn’t pull away either. Instead, you had leaned back into the cushions, closing your eyes for a brief moment, as if allowing yourself to relax in his presence.

That morning, when he got up for training, you had still been there, your hair spilling over the pillow in soft waves. He had whispered for you to stay, to sleep in and leave whenever you wanted, and a small part of him had hoped that when he returned, you’d still be in his bed.

Soobin waited, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Heeseung, don’t make me ask twice.”

But what was he supposed to say to Soobin? You were his sister. He couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing, especially not when he was still trying to figure it all out himself.

“Nothing’s going on,” Heeseung replied, though even as he said it, he knew it sounded weak. “I mean, we’re friends.”

Soobin’s jaw clenched, clearly unsatisfied. "Friends, huh? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like there’s more to it than just being friends. And don’t give me that ‘nothing’s going on’ line. I’m not stupid, Heeseung."

Heeseung swallowed. Soobin wasn’t the kind of guy to be brushed off easily. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his damp hair. “I…” He started, his voice a little shaky, but he forced himself to meet Soobin’s eyes. “I think I like her. A lot, actually.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed, and Heeseung felt his heart rate spiking. “You think? Or you know?”

“I know,” Heeseung admitted, his voice more certain now. “I like her more than just a friend, Soobin. I’ve liked her for a while. It’s not just…” He paused, searching for the right words, trying to explain how he felt about you. “It’s not just some fling or whatever. It’s… more. Or at least for me it is.”

There. He’d said it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before—how his feelings for you had slowly shifted, deepening with each shared moment, every lingering glance, every time he found himself thinking about you when he wasn’t supposed to. But saying it out loud and not just gushing to his friends about you made it real in a way that he wasn’t fully prepared for.

Soobin stayed silent for a long moment, his gaze hard but thoughtful. Heeseung���s stomach twisted. But when Soobin spoke again, his voice was calmer, though still edged with that protective tone.

“Look, I get it,” Soobin said slowly, his gaze locked on Heeseung’s. “Y/N… she’s been through a lot. You know that. The last thing she needs is someone messing with her heart. So if you’re not serious about her, if you’re just playing around or you’re not sure what you want, you need to back off. Because if you hurt her, Heeseung… I swear—”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Heeseung interrupted, his voice firm, surprising even himself with the certainty of his own words. “I would never do that, Soobin.”, his chest tightening at the thought of hurting you. “I wouldn’t. I won’t. I just… I don’t want to complicate things for her. But I can’t help how I feel.”

Soobin stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of his words. Finally, he let out a small sigh, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “I believe you,” he said, though there was still a note of caution in his tone. “But I’m warning you—if you break her heart, you’ll answer to me.”

Heeseung nodded, knowing that Soobin meant every word. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, if he were in Soobin’s shoes, he would’ve done the same thing.

As Soobin walked back toward the locker room, Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

With a sigh, Heeseung headed back inside, his skates dangling loosely from his fingers. As he stepped into the locker room, his mind wandered back to his dorm. He wondered if you were still there, still curled up in his bed like you had been when he left. You were probably already gone, but a small part of him hoped you were still there.

“A little bird told me you didn’t return home last night,” Beomgyu teased as he plopped down into the empty seat next to you in the library, dropping his hockey gear with a soft thud. He had no trouble finding you among the maze of bookshelves and antique paintings - you were in your usual spot, struggling through an international law essay. You looked up and sighed, already bracing yourself for his relentless teasing.

“I didn’t,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “Did that little bird also tell you I fell asleep after studying and watching, like, one and a half episodes of The Walking Dead? Or did he conveniently forget to mention that part?” You knew exactly who the “little bird” was—your brother.

“He did mention that, actually,” Beomgyu smirked, shaking his damp hair free from his hat. “But I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “You had the perfect opportunity to get something going with,” he paused for effect, “a hot guy that Yeonjun hyung, Soobin hyung, and I fully approve of—and you did nothing? And don’t give me the ‘I’m not interested in Heeseung’ excuse. I know all about your little evening sessions in your office.”

Your face heated up at the mention of Heeseung, but you quickly dismissed it. “We’re just friends, Gyu. Friends,” you emphasized. “When he comes to my office, we’re actually studying. It’s peaceful there, no one interrupts us.” You crossed your arms, trying to hide the sudden, unwelcome flutter in your chest.

“Sure, sure,” Beomgyu grinned, clearly not buying it. “But you slept over. That’s new.”

You sighed, glancing back at your laptop. “I slept over because I fell asleep. He had to get up early for practice, so he let me sleep in. When I woke up, he was already gone. It was no big deal.” You said it like you were reminding yourself more than Beomgyu—because it wasn’t a big deal, right? You were just comfortable around Heeseung. That’s all.

“Uh-huh. Sure, it wasn’t a big deal,” Beomgyu leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “Jake and Jay weren’t exactly quiet about it during practice this morning. And now the entire team, including your dad, knows about your ‘sleepover.’ Your dad wasn’t thrilled, by the way. Might want to prepare for an awkward conversation later.”

You groaned, letting your head fall onto the old wooden desk with a soft thud. “Of course he’d freak out. How is he so worried about me being lonely but still loses his shit whenever I’m near a guy?” You turned your head to the side, pouting.

Beomgyu patted your head sympathetically. “Your dad’s a scary guy. I can’t help you there. But seriously, are you sure you’re not into Heeseung?”

You straightened up, an annoyed huff escaping your lips. “I’m not interested in Heeseung like that,” you insisted, though your mind betrayed you with memories of how you’d felt waking up in his bed this morning. The way the sheets still held his warmth, how his cologne lingered faintly in the air... But no. It wasn’t like that. You had just fallen asleep while watching TV, that’s all. It wasn’t a date. Just two friends watching a show, nothing more.

Beomgyu wasn’t buying it. “I’m just saying, you spend a lot of time with him. Almost every other night, actually. And don’t even get me started on the way he naps in your office all the time. That sofa is supposed to be my personal napping spot.”

“I mean, first come, first serve,” you shot back, forcing a lighthearted tone. “Yeonjun’s slept on that couch plenty of times too.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see you staying over at Yeonjun’s place,” Beomgyu countered with a sly grin. “Face it, you’re into Heeseung.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but inside, his words echoed. You and Heeseung had gotten close, yes. Maybe closer than you’d expected. But that didn’t mean anything, right? You were just... comfortable around him. There was nothing more to it.

“Gyu, I’m really not interested in dating right now,” you said, turning back to your laptop in an attempt to end the conversation. “I just want to get this essay done. Jay and Lia asked me to proofread theirs, and I won’t have time if I don’t finish today.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. But I’m keeping an eye on you two.”

“Oh no, I’m so scared,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Now, can I please focus on this essay?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this conversation is over. I’m just getting started.” You managed to ignore Beomgyu’s incessant teasing for a while, but the fluttering thoughts about Heeseung kept creeping back in, much to your annoyance. It was like a small nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering things you didn’t want to hear. Things like how nice it was that he let you stay in his bed, how considerate it was of him to slip out quietly in the morning so you could sleep in, and how warm his side of the bed had felt when you rolled over into it. Stop it, you mentally scolded yourself.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Nope. No. Stop. You shook your head slightly, forcing yourself to focus. You had way too much going on to be distracted by feelings—or whatever this was. The coming weeks were packed with deadlines, presentations, and a social media campaign for the team that was eating up all your free time. Not to mention the upcoming games, which meant more PR work for you. You didn’t have time to analyze whatever was happening between you and Heeseung. Not that there was anything to analyze.

The final whistle echoed through the arena, and you were still trying to process what had just happened. Heeseung had scored the winning goal - on his birthday, no less. The crowd roared, players rushed onto the ice, and you could barely keep your camera steady as you captured the celebrations for the team’s social media. But your thoughts were still stuck on the way Heeseung had glanced up into the stands after scoring. Pointing at you. Dedicating the goal to technically the teams fans. He’d joked with you before the game that it would be perfect PR if the “birthday boy” scored the winning goal. 

You stood in front of the changing rooms, waiting for the boys to finish up after the game. The arena was still buzzing from the victory—Heeseung’s last-second, game-winning goal had the whole place on fire. You could hear the muffled celebrations from behind the door, the players’ laughter and shouts of excitement as they reveled in their win.

You leaned against the wall, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone as you waited for them to emerge. But before you could even think about your next move, the door to the changing room swung open, and Beomgyu poked his head out.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his grin as mischievous as ever. “Come on, get in here!”

Before you could protest, he gently pushed you into the locker room. The smell of sweat hit you all at once, and the noise of the players’ post-game celebrations was deafening. The boys were in various stages of undress—some half-naked, some wrapped in towels, others already pulling on their post-game clothes. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling a little out of place.

“Uh, I’m not really supposed to be in here -” you started, but Beomgyu waved you off.

“Nonsense! You’re part of the team too,” he said, nudging you further inside. “Besides, someone’s gotta document Heeseung’s birthday win for the fans, right?”

You smiled at his enthusiasm, but your attention was quickly diverted to Heeseung himself, who was standing by his locker, shirtless, toweling off his hair. Your eyes involuntarily scanned over him, taking in the toned muscles of his chest, the curve of his collarbones, the way the light from the overhead lamps cast soft shadows across his skin. He was talking to one of the other players, a relaxed smile on his face, but you couldn’t help but be distracted by the way his shoulders flexed as he moved, the muscles in his back rippling as he dried off. Fuck. You caught yourself staring and quickly averted your gaze, your face growing warm. Get a grip, you scolded yourself.

“Watch out Y/N. You are about to drool.” Beomgyu teased, suddenly reappearing at your side. His grin was knowing, and you could tell he hadn’t missed the way your eyes had lingered on Heeseung.

“Shut up,” you muttered, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. Beomgyu just chuckled. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still racing. You glanced back at Heeseung, only to find that he was already looking at you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. The noise of the locker room, the boys’ laughter, even Beomgyu’s teasing all became background noise as you held his gaze. There was something in the way he was looking at you, something warm and intense that made your breath catch.

A slow, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of Heeseung’s lips, and you felt your stomach flip again. You suddenly felt like you couldn’t stand still, like you needed to move, do something to break the intensity of the moment. But before you could, Heeseung looked away, returning to his conversation with a teammate, breaking eye contact.

After a while, the players finished up and started getting dressed, and you slipped out of the changing room, glad to have a moment to collect yourself. The victory high carried on as the team headed to a nearby bar to celebrate. You tagged along—PR duties and all. Your original plan was to go back to your and Soobins Hotel room to study a bit but Yeonjun threatened to spoil the end of Prison Break if you wouldn’t tag along. That and the fact that Heeseung had his arms around your shoulder in such an aggravating casual way as soon as he came out of the locker and was pouting when you told him about your study plans was pretty convincing. Heeseung kept finding excuses to be near you even after you left the rink. Every time you looked up, he was there—handing you a drink, making a joke, his arm bushing yours as he leaned in to talk.

You found yourself glancing at him more often, watching the way his lips curved when he laughed, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. But every time you tried to be subtle about it, you’d catch him already looking at you, making your pulse quicken and your cheeks rosy red. He would lower his head slightly, his eyes being hidden behind his hair and smirking at you until you couldn't take it any longer and the intense broke eye contact, blushing like a little school girl. 

You were sitting at a booth with some of the players when Beomgyu sidled up to you, a mischievous grin already in place.

“So… birthday boy scores the winning goal and dedicates it to you? That’s a bit more than a coincidence, don’t you think?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. “It was just a joke, Beomgyu. Heeseung was dedicating it to the fans, not me.” You were praying that the noise around you was loud enough for Soobin, Yeonjun and Jay to not hear what the two of you were talking about.

Beomgyu leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, Y/N. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just a joke.”

Your face flushed, warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial,” he shot back, leaning back in his seat and giving you a smug look. “I’m just saying - maybe it’s time to stop pretending.”

You tried to brush it off, but his words lingered. You have been telling yourself that you were imagining things and that you were a bit delusional when thinking about Heeseung - not talking, hell your friends cannot know about your little crush - but maybe just maybe did Beomgyu have a point.  

Heeseung slid in next to you, and immediately, you felt the heat of his body radiating toward you. He was so close, not closer than usual, but you could smell the faint hint of his cologne—something warm and woodsy that made your head swim a little. You liked it a little too much, and you had to fight the urge to lean in closer, to let yourself get lost in the warmth of his presence. Like you have done on his bed plenty of times in the last weeks during your strictly friendly studying-and-binge-watching-not-dates-dates that sometimes turn into sleepovers. (Yes, you have your own toothbrush at his place and a designated set of PJs. And yes, in hindsight you are a lost causes and Beomgyu has been right about everything but you would never tell him that.)

As you sipped your drink, trying to keep your thoughts in check, Soobin’s gaze was on you, watchful and a little too knowing. You could feel his eyes darting between you and Heeseung. It made you even more self-conscious, and you prayed Heeseung didn’t notice. When Heeseung put one of his hands on your thigh while talking, Soobin looked like he was ready to punch his captain in the face. Yeonjun shot Soobin a look and discreetly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Relax, man,” he muttered under his breath, though you heard it clearly.

You silently thanked Yeonjun for the intervention, but you still couldn’t shake the nervous energy building up inside you. You kept your focus on the conversation, laughing along with the others, but the whole time, all you could think about was the way Heeseung’s leg was pressed against yours under the table, the steady heat of his body next to you, his hand on your thigh and his thumb that started caressing it slightly. The skin under his hand was tingling.

The way back to your hotel felt significantly longer than the way there. You were busy giggling  together with Jake about a dumb joke Jay made while walking rather slowly towards your hotel. Having had one or two drinks while relying on crutches may have not been the best idea.

“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” you pouted as you squeezed into the elevator with the others, leaning your head against Jay’s shoulder. Heeseung and Jake swayed as they stepped into the cramped space, followed by a few of the other players and their girlfriends.

“I swear I am out as soon as my head hits the pillow”, Jay yawned and patted your head causing you to giggle.

You giggled. “Ohhh,” you teased, fake pouting, “you didn’t get your nap today! Poor Jay must be exhausted.”

“Ha, ha,” Jay replied dryly, grabbing Jake’s arm as the latter swayed dangerously. “Might I remind you that I played a phenomenal game today? That’s exhausting, you know.”

“Sure, Park,” you said with mock seriousness, lips pursed as you nodded.

At your floor, you bid the boys a quick goodnight and shuffled toward your room. Inside, Soobin was standing in the middle of the room clad in nothing but boxer shorts, toothbrush in hand, his mouth full of foam. He turned to you with a confused expression.

“Whaf are you doin’ hewe?” he mumbled around his toothbrush, his words muffled as foam threatened to dribble from the corner of his lips.

“What do you mean?” you asked, flopping onto your bed and ignoring the fact that you were still wearing your outside clothing “We’re sharing this room, remember?”

Soobin rolled his eyes and ducked into the bathroom, his voice muffled as he spit into the sink. “Yeah, but I thought you were going to give Hee his present?”

You blinked, sitting up. “Oh. I was thinking I’d do it tomorrow or maybe next week. Didn’t want to give it to him in front of everyone.”

Soobin emerged from the bathroom, drying his face with a towel, water droplets scattered across his chest and shoulders. “No. Do it today. It’s his birthday. I’m sure he’d appreciate some one-on-one time with you.”

You froze for a second. You weren’t entirely sure how Soobin was thinking about whatever was going on between you and his friend and captain, but you hadn’t expected him to ask about Heesung. Especially after the glare he had sent Heeseung’s way at the bar. “I mean, I already talked to him and said happy birthday…” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

“Y/N.” Soobin said flatly, crossing his arms, “Go downstairs and give him your present and spend some time with him. You have my official blessing. Just be careful.”

“I-You-What?”, you gawked at him,, feeling your face flush.

“Do you really think i am that stupid?”, Soobin asked with a shake of his head, grinning at you, “You look at him the same way you did look at your Taemin poster. All heart eyes. It's almost embarrassing.”

Your jaw dropped as his words sank in, your face now fully flushed. “Soobin, that’s not—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, tossing the towel onto a chair, “just go.”

Ten minutes later you found yourself standing in front of Heeseungs hotel room door, your heart pounding in your chest as you worked up the nerve to knock. When he opened the door, already clad in his pyjama pants only, his hair messy, his eyes widened in surprise, but a slow smile spread across his face.

“Y/N,�� he said, stepping aside to let you in. “What’s up?” You held out the small box in your hands, feeling a bit shy and honestly still a bit embarrassed. You did not give Heeseung herat eyes. Those were for Taemin and Taemin only. “I, uh, got you something. For your birthday.” You were looking into his face and tried to ignore that he was standing there half naked.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly, but he was already reaching for the gift.

“Just open it,” you insisted, your heart beating faster as you watched him unwrap the small package.

“Come in first.”, he ushered you inside and closed the door behind you.

Heeseung’s fingers carefully peeled away the colorful wrapper, his eyes flickering between you and the small box in his hands. He laughed slightly when he saw the packaging and you couldn’t help but smile. He was holding a Sonny Angel dinosaur special edition box you had Soobin buy a few days earlier when he went to the mall. When Heeseung finally opened up the small plastic bag and revealed the figurine inside, his eyes widened in disbelief. It was the red dinosaur.

“No way,” he breathed, turning the figure over in his hands, a wide grin breaking across his face. “Is this the one you wanted?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice soft. “I’ve been trying to get it forever, but I guess it was meant for you.” Heeseung’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at the small figure, his smile never fading. Then, his gaze lifted to meet yours. The way he looked at you had your heart racing in a concerning way.

“I offer one red dinosaur for a pink one. This one fits you better anyway. And the pink one would have a cozy home in my locker.” he said, his voice low.

You just laughed softly and nodded, “Sure scary captain. It will be honored to live in your stinky locker.” The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows across his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes.

Over the past two months, you’d come to realize that yes, Heeseung was undeniably hot and effortlessly charming, but there was something about him with messy hair and a sleepy smile that completely stole your heart.

“Thank you,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice still soft. “Really, this is... it means a lot.”

You smiled, trying to steady your heartbeat. “You’re welcome,” you breathed out.

Heeseung set the figure on the nightstand beside his bed, then turned back to you, his gaze lingering on your face. “I still can’t believe you got me the dinosaur,” he said, his voice a little lighter now, though his eyes were still on you, unreadable but intense.

You chuckled, trying to shake off the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I had no idea it was in there,” you admitted, glancing at the little red figure on his nightstand. “But I’m glad it was. Birthday luck, I guess.”

Heeseung nodded, his smile softening. “Yeah, I guess so.” He hesitated for a moment, then shifted on the bed, patting the space next to him. “Wanna sit? I’ll put on Prison Break.”

You blinked, feeling your heartbeat pick up again, but you nodded, moving to sit beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours as he grabbed the remote and queued up an episode.

As the show began to play, you tried to focus on the screen, but it was hard with Heeseung so close. His arm brushed against yours as he settled in, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air between you. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore, your skin tingling wherever you felt his presence.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and as the minutes passed, you felt yourself relax just slightly, letting the comforting hum of the TV and the warmth of Heeseung beside you lull you into a calm state. You tried to focus on the show, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The longer you sat there, the more aware you became of just how close he was, has been the whole evening. His thigh and arm was touching yours, you could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest with every breath. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the way his features softened in the dim light, his attention half on the screen and half... somewhere else.

Just then, he turned his head, his eyes meeting yours, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Your pulse quickened as his gaze flickered down to your lips for just a second, then back up to your eyes again. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry, your heart pounding in your chest. Heeseung’s lips parted as if he was about to say something, but the words never came. Instead, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. The only sound in the room was the faint murmur of the TV in the background, but even that felt distant now, drowned out by the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Your breath hitched in your throat as Heeseung shifted again, just slightly, his knee brushing against yours under the blanket to reach up and tuck one of your hair strands that fell out of your braid behind your ear. His hand grazed your cheek slightly and you were sure he could not only see but also feel how warm your face grew under his intense gaze.

The moment stretched on, the air thick with tension, and for a second, you were sure he would lean down and kiss you. But instead of closing the distance, he just smiled—soft, almost teasing—and turned his attention back to the screen.

You blinked, trying to calm yourself, not sure if you were just imagining things or not. You nodded slightly, attempting to focus on the show again, but your thoughts still whirled, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Minutes passed, and slowly, you began to feel tired. The weight of the day—watching the game, the excitement of the win, the celebration afterward—began to settle in. You could feel your eyelids growing heavier by the second. Your head involuntarily tilted toward Heeseung, resting lightly against his shoulder. You froze for a moment, worried you’d overstepped, but he didn’t move or say anything. Instead, he shifted around a bit. His arm was now fully pressed against yours, and the quiet rise and fall of his chest was soothing.

You let out a small breath, letting your body relax, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. The steady sound of the TV mixed with the warmth of Heeseung beside you, lulling you into a daze. You could hear the faint murmur of the characters on screen, but your focus was completely on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting thrum of his presence beside you.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut, you felt Heeseung shift again, his arm lifting slightly, as if hesitating. Then, gently, his arm rested behind you on the bed, his hand barely brushing your shoulder. And as you drifted further into sleep, your head nestled against his chest, the last thing you felt was Heeseung’s fingers gently brushing the edge of your arm. Yeah. Beomgyu was definitely right. This might be more than just a little crush.

The night had already been one big adrenaline rush. It was the final day of the midterms week and Heeseung and his teammates had just won another game earlier in the evening, so the hockey team came into the swimming team’s Halloween party riding the high of their victory.

Heeseung wasn’t usually the frat party type, but after a win, he didn’t mind letting loose a little. He had already knocked back a couple of drinks with his teammates, and the tipsy warmth was settling in his body. He mingled with the crowd, greeting friends and teammates, celebrating their victory. Jeongin had been bragging about his game-winning goal to anyone who would listen, while Jake and Jay were deep in conversation with some girls dressed as cats. Heeseung had been enjoying himself too, wandering around, chatting here and there.

But then he saw you.

You weren’t hard to spot—how could you be when you were dressed like that? Heeseung blinked, not sure if it was the alcohol, the lighting, or maybe a mix of both, but you looked... really good. No, scratch that, you looked hot. You were wearing a vampire costume that hugged your curves in ways he’d never quite allowed him to notice before. The dark lipstick and fake fangs were surprisingly fitting, and the way the red fabric of your dress shimmered under the lights made it hard not to stare.

The crowd shifted, and suddenly you were right in front of him, your face lighting up in drunken enthusiasm as soon as you recognized him. "Heeseung!" you called out, stumbling a little as you reached him.

He grabbed your elbow instinctively, steadying you. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary. “Hey, careful.”, he laughed and then realized something, “You’re not using your crutches?”

You grinned, tipsy and a little wobbly. “My physio human,” you slurred, “said I could start walking a few days ago! Isn’t that awesome?”

Heeseung blinked, feeling a little hurt that you hadn’t mentioned this to him. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t wanna jinx it!” you said, giggling like it was no big deal. “I’ve been walking at home but didn’t wanna try it in public until I was more confident. And look! I’m walking! No crutches, baby!”

Heeseung couldn’t help the way his heart clenched. He should’ve been excited for you, but a part of him was bothered. Why hadn’t you shared this with him? You spent so much time together lately, and yet, this felt like something important he should’ve known. You were practically glowing with excitement, your face flushed from the alcohol, and the way you kept swaying made him nervous.

“Just… be careful, okay?” Heeseung said, his voice softer than he intended, the sting in his chest dissipating when he saw how genuinely happy you were.

You leaned closer your face dangerously close to his, the warmth of your breath brushing his cheek, “I promise! Look, I’m a vampire now! I’m unstoppable!” You twirled, your dress swirling around you, and Heeseung couldn’t help but smile despite the growing tension in his chest. His gaze followed your every movement. The red dress clung to your body in ways that felt unfair, making his thoughts wander into a dangerous direction. But he quickly pushed the thought away.

“Yeah, but even vampires need to be careful,” he replied, teasingly.

Before he could say anything more, a rowdy group called for a beer pong game, and you were swept away in the chaos, your laughter trailing behind you. Heeseung watched as you joined the game, the way you threw your head back in laughter. It was impossible for him to look away, but Jay came up to him holding a bottle of Malibu, saying something about needing alcohol for a confidence boost.

After the two of them finished the bottle and won a game of beerpong against some cheerleaders, Heeseung stepped away from the crowd to get some air, letting the noise fade into the background as he sat down next to Mark Lee onto one of the many chairs in the yard. He needed a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts and was glad that Mark was apparently sleeping. He did check if he was breathing, just in case. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good you looked, how much he wanted to kiss you. The way you layed there, eyes big, lips slightly parted and looking so so soft. It hasn’t left his thoughts all week. Every time you came close to him today, you cupped his face in your hands to speak into his ear, your proximity sending his emotions spiraling. His hand would instinctively settle on your hip or the back of your neck. One wrong move and he knew he’d lose all control, closing the small distance and kissing you.

Eventually, he felt a little more sober and not like he was about to run inside to ruin your lipstick. He returned to the main area. That’s when he caught sight of you again. You were perched on a sofa, laughing animatedly with some guy from the swimming team while sipping on a colorful drink. A weird feeling flared up in him, and as he watched you lean in closer to the guy. Heeseung’s jaw clenched as he watched the guy lean closer as well.

His feet moved before his brain could catch up, and the next thing he knew, he was walking toward you. As he approached, you spotted him, and your entire face lit up. "Hee!" you called out excitedly, as you reached for his hand and practically pulled him down onto the couch next to you. The closeness sent a spark through him, his skin tingling where your skin touched his.

Heeseung shot the guy a look that clearly said back off, and thankfully, he took the hint and left.

“Hee! I haven’t seen you in days!” you whined, your words slightly more slurred from alcohol than it was the last time he talked to you but bright with excitement. “I missed you! You’re not hanging out in the office anymore. What’s that about?” Your body was warm, and you smelled sweet, like vanilla with a hint of alcohol.

Heeseung chuckled, putting his arm on the backrest behind you. “You haven’t been there either! I thought you were avoiding me.”

Since that morning in the hotel room last week, Heeseung hadn’t seen much of you. You’d been busy working during the day and noticeably absent from the rink during your usual hours. He couldn’t shake the nagging worry that he might have overstepped, that something he did had made you uncomfortable. Instead of reaching out, he chose to give you space.

You shook your head dramatically, fake fangs peeking out as you grinned. “Noooo! I was just doing physio. You know, walking practice. But my therapist only had evening sessions!” You wiggled your foot with the cast and looked down at it. “The bathrooms are all messed up tonight,” you said, your cheeks flushed.

“Bathrooms?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden change in topic, reaching out to tuck a stand of hair behind your ear. Slightly caressing your face.

“I tried to pee earlier, but every bathroom was closed when I went the first time,” you explained, giggling at the absurdity of it all, leaning your head into his hand. “Then I tried again, and this very disheveled couple came out. I mean”, a hiccup interrupted you, ”they looked like they just had a wild night.”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like you had quite the adventure.” He was tempted to ask how many drinks you’d had and reached for your cup, his brows knitting together. “Can I have a sip of that?”

“Sure!” you said, handing it over with a smile. 

As the night wore on you slowed down on the drinks, after Heeseung refused to get you another one when you asked him to but you still accepted nearly every shot offered to you. He could’ve spent the rest of the night just watching you laugh, but as the crowd grew louder and wilder, he realized you were a bit drunker than he had originally thought.

You were now fully leaning into him. The proximity made his pulse quicken. His hand rested next to your head and he was occasionally smoothing over your hair. His mind kept drifting back to how you looked tonight. How you’d pulled him onto the couch with such excitement as if he was the best thing you have seen all day. How much he still wanted to ruin your stupid lipstick. He couldn't stop staring at your lips.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled, and before he could react, you nesteled your face onto his chest, moving your body while doing so and lifting your legs to hand over his thights.

He watched as your eyelids grew heavy. “You should stop drinking,” he said gently, gliding his hand along your back. You shuttered slightly and he was loving the effect he had on you. How reactive you were even though we was barely doing anything.

“I know,” you sighed, looking up at him. The sight made his heart race, and he fought to keep his expression neutral despite the way his pulse quickened at your gaze. Soobin and Yeonjun were sitting next to the two of you. “But it’s just so much fun!”

“I can take you home,” Heeseung offered, the protective side of him kicking in.

You shook your head. “No, I am staying at Lia and Ryujin’s. But they’re not answering their phones. My dad would freak if he saw me without my crutches. He’d lose his mind.”

Heeseung paused, running a hand through his hair, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Okay, then come to my dorm.”

“Your dorm?” you repeated, eyes brightening slightly. “Is that really okay? I don’t want to crash your night.”

“It’s fine. I mean, Jake and Jay probably won’t be back until morning, anyway,” he reassured you, trying to keep his tone light.

You contemplated it for a moment, and Heeseung held his breath, hoping you’d say yes. You nodded, a small smile creeping across your face. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” Heeseung replied, helping you up, saying bye to your brother and his friend. 

The walk back to Heeseung’s dorm was slow and a bit wobbly, as you swayed gently on your feet. The chill in the night air didn’t seem to bother you. He offered you his jacket, but you denied claiming that you were so warm and you didn’t want to sweat into his jacket.

“Hey, can we take a quick pit stop?” you asked after a while, stopping mid-step and glancing around. “My foot is hurting, and I just need to sit for a second.”

“Alright,” Heeseung replied, his brows knitting together slightly with concern. He really did not want to let you sit down on the cold and slightly wet concrete floor in the middle of the campus. “You want me to give you a piggyback ride?”

“What? You want me to ride on your back?” you said, your eyes wide.

“It’s either that or a bladder infection for you,” he said, lifting his arms in mock surrender. “Your call.”

After a moment of hesitation, you grinned and climbed onto his back. When you wrapped your arms around his neck, the warmth of your body pressed against his back, Heeseung’s heart raced. The feel of your breath on his neck, the softness of your body against his—it was intoxicating.

He took steady strides, feeling your laughter vibrate against his back.

“You’re really strong!” you said, your voice muffled slightly against him. “I could get used to this!”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he replied, trying to sound serious but failing miserably.

Once inside, he gently set you down on his bed. You flopped back onto the mattress dramatically, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “This is amazing. I don’t wanna move anymore.”

Heeseung chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “Don't you want to get out of that dress? It looks tight, and you’ll be uncomfortable if you sleep in it.”

You pouted, staring up at him with those stupidly adorable doe eyes. “But it’s so comfy here.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes playfully. “Come on, I’ll help you. We can’t have you sleeping in that.You don’t even like sleeping in leggings and I don't want you to complain all day tomorrow.”

With a little more coaxing, you reluctantly sat up, the slight sway in your movements reminding him how tipsy you still were.

“Okay, I might need help,” you admitted sheepishly.

He just laughed and took your cheek onto one hand and caressed it softly, “Alright. Just let me know what to do.”

As you turned your back to him, he helped you unzip the dress. “Just a little more,” he whispered, and he pulled the fabric down gently, letting it fall to the floor.

The sight of the scars on your back caught him off guard for a second. He knew they were there but you were keen on not letting anyone see any of your scars, wearing high waisted pants or skirts all the time. You have told him before, that you were quite insecure over them. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to make you uncomfortable. Instead, he focused on peeling the dress off of your body, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers.

“There you go,” he said, reaching for your set of pajamas in his closet. “Much better, right?”

“Mhm”, you nodded. Heeseung felt a warmth spread through him, watching as you nestled into his bed, claiming your space. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his sudden flustered state.

“Good, we need to hydrate,” he said, already moving toward the small fridge he kept in the corner. He rummaged through it and grabbed a bottle of water before heading back to the bed. “Drink up.”

You took the bottle eagerly, gulping down the water like it was the most refreshing thing in the world and flopped down onto his bed again, shielding your eyes with your arms. Heeseung chuckled at your actions and changed into his own pajamas. He coaxed you to go to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

As you brushed your teeth, you stumbled a little while rinsing, giggling as Heeseung steadied you.

When you finally returned to the bed, you carefully adjusted yourself into a position that wouldn’t hurt your leg and snuggled into him. He felt your warmth seep into him, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around you.

“I feel so sleepy,” you murmured, your voice slightly muffled as you nestled closer.

“Then close your eyes and sleep, Y/N,” he replied quietly, resting his chin on top of your head, feeling your breathing slow down.

You put your hand onto his waist and squished your face into his chest. He was praying you didn’t notice his racing heart. He started tracing up and down your naked arm and just as he closed his eyes, he felt you sigh contentedly, your breath warm against his skin. “Heeseung?” you murmured, half-asleep already.

“Yeah?” he answered softly, glancing down at you.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you mumbled, and within moments, he could tell you’d already drifted off into sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open, immediately assaulted by the glaring sunlight streaming into the room. You winced, instinctively trying to turn away from the light, but you couldn't move. Something was holding you down. Or, more precisely, someone. A familiar warmth, a scent you’d recognize anywhere - Heeseung. His chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and rhythmic, the sound of his slow breathing soothing against your ear. You were completely wrapped around him, using him like a full-body pillow—your head on his chest, arms draped over his torso, and your leg casually resting on top of his. His other arm was curled around you, holding you close. His head rested lightly on yours, his messy hair brushing against your forehead.

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up like this. In fact, it had happened more times than you cared to admit. But each time felt like a new wave of confusion crashing over you. Friends didn’t wake up like this, right? Yet here you were again, tangled up in Heeseung’s arms, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You sighed deeply, letting the warmth of his body seep into you as you tried to ignore the slow, dull pounding in your head. The light was making it worse, far too bright for your sensitive eyes. Carefully, you slid out of his arms, lifting his arm from your waist with a soft, reluctant tug. The cool air hit your skin, and you immediately missed Heeseungs warmth.

You winced slightly as you stood, your recovering leg was hurting more than it usually did after waking up. Maybe going all out with the cast on wasn’t the brightest idea. You pulled the curtains shut, dimming the room and giving your poor head some relief.

A quick glance back at the bed confirmed that Heeseung hadn’t moved an inch. He was laying there, still peacefully asleep, his hair tousled and his lips slightly parted. You hated how good he looked, even now, first thing in the morning. Last night at the party, when he had shown up in his stupidly perfect Greek god costume, you hadn’t been able to take your eyes off him. And it wasn’t just how he looked. It was everything. The way he was always so caring, so thoughtful. Despite being surrounded by people, he kept checking in on you—making sure you were okay, that you weren’t overdoing it with your cast. In Rihanna's words: he did make you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up, you made your way back to Heeseung’s bed, your heart giving an involuntary flutter at the sight of him still sprawled out, completely at ease. He hadn’t moved since you left, still lost in sleep, his chest rising and falling gently.

As you slid back into the bed, careful not to disturb him, Heeseung stirred. Without hesitation, his arm found you again, pulling you right back against his chest. A sleepy groan rumbled through him as he snuggled closer, his nose brushing against your hair. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing were comforting, almost enough to make you forget the pounding in your head and the dull ache in your leg.

You let your eyes wander over his face, taking in the soft curve of his lips, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, and the way his lashes fluttered slightly as he dreamed. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed, and so ridiculously hot, even now, sprawled out in his bed probably not nursing a hangover but still. It was unfair, really.

You buried your face against his chest, breathing him in—the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly Heeseung. It was comforting. Addicting, even. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in it, to pretend that this was normal, that waking up with him like this could be your reality. But even as those thoughts tugged at you, the real reality remained the same: you and Heeseung were still just friends. Friends who somehow found themselves waking up tangled together, friends who shared the kind of closeness that made your heart race.

As you lay there, snuggled against Heeseung’s chest, you felt him stir beneath you. His breath hitched slightly before his body shifted, his hand gently trailing down your back as he woke up. You tried not to move, eyes still closed, but you could feel his sleepy gaze on you.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled softly, voice low and husky from sleep.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Morning."

He blinked lazily, his warm brown eyes still heavy with sleep, but a soft smile spread across his face as he looked down at you. His hand brushed through your hair, his fingers grazing the nape of your neck in a way that sent little shivers down your spine. You were hyper-aware of how close you were to him, of the way his chest pressed against yours.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice still quiet, almost a whisper as if not to disturb the moment.

Your stomach growled at that very second, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teased, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

You groaned, burying your face into his chest out of embarrassment. “Starving,” you admitted, muffled against his shirt.

Heeseung shifted underneath you, slowly sitting up and gently moving you off his chest. “Alright, I’ll see what we’ve got.” He stretched, running a hand through his messy hair, and threw you a playful look before getting up and heading for the kitchen.

As he left the room, you took a moment to compose yourself, sitting up in his bed with a soft sigh. The warmth of the bed still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel a little empty now that he was no longer lying next to you. You shook your head, trying to shake off the butterflies that seemed to be fluttering in your stomach, and made your way to the kitchen.

When you got there, Heeseung was already at the counter, holding up a box of Froot Loops with a playful grin. “It’s not much, but breakfast is served.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Perfect.”

The two of you sat down at the kitchen island, munching on the cereal together in comfortable silence. Every now and then, your eyes would meet across the table, a small smile shared between you.

As you finished your bowl, the sound of shuffling footsteps caught your attention. Jake stumbled out of his room, his hair a complete mess and his eyes half-shut. He grumbled something unintelligible, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

You watched, amused, as Jake poured himself a cup, taking one long sip before practically collapsing onto the couch. He barely made a dent in his coffee before lying down and pulling a blanket over his head.

“Good morning to you, too,” you called over to him, stifling a laugh.

Jake groaned in response, clearly not in the mood to be social. "Too loud," he mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter over his head.

You and Heeseung exchanged a look, sharing a quiet chuckle. Heeseung finished his cereal and stood up, stretching. “I’m gonna wash up. You good here?”

“Yeah,” you replied, stifling a yawn of your own. "I think I’ll head back to bed for a bit. It’s too early to be awake.”

Heeseung smirked, tossing his bowl into the sink. “Good idea.” He ruffled your hair lightly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Curling up in his bed felt like sinking into a cloud. His scent lingered on the pillows and sheets, a mix of clean soap and something distinctly him, and it was so comforting that you didn’t bother trying to fight the pull of sleep.

Heeseung returned to the room, fresh and looking even better after his quick wash-up. He smiled when he saw you curled up in his bed and slid in beside you, careful not to disturb you too much.

“Wanna watch Prison Break?” he asked softly, picking up the remote.

You nodded sleepily, cuddling closer to him as he pressed play. The intro music started, but your focus drifted more toward him than the screen. The warmth of his body, the way his scent surrounded you—it was impossible to focus on anything else. One of your hands was resting on his chest. You were carefully tracing the design that was printed on his shirt, trying to distract yourself enough to not fall asleep.

You froze as Heeseung’s fingers wrapped around yours, his hand warm and steady against your own.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rough and low, sending shivers up your spine. His fingers left yours, only to trail upward, brushing against your arm before settling gently on your face.

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. His palm cupped your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart stutter, his thumb grazing your skin in slow, soothing circles. The intimacy of the gesture sent your senses into overdrive. His hand was warm, his touch light, but the closeness between you was almost too much to handle.

You dared to glance up, meeting his eyes. His gaze flickered downward, lingering on your lips for a beat too long before returning to yours. The proximity was dizzying. You could feel the faint brush of his breath against your face and it made your head spin.

“You’re making it really hard to focus,” he murmured, his thumb continuing its gentle path along your cheekbone.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whispered, but your voice was unsteady.

Heeseung’s lips tilted into a small, knowing smile. His other hand came up, cradling your face fully now, his fingers curling lightly around the edges of your jaw. He tilted your face up slightly, his thumb brushing over your chin in a way that left you breathless.

“You are,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours as his voice dropped even lower. “You always do.”

“Heeseung…” you tried, your voice barely audible, but whatever you wanted to say evaporated as his fingers shifted, tilting your head just enough that his eyes could lock on yours completely. You were pretty sure that his expression was comparable to the one you gave your Taemin poster back in highschool.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, the words so quiet they almost didn’t register.

You didn’t want to stop. The thought of pulling away was laughable. Instead, you gripped the front of his shirt. “I won’t,” you breathed, the words barely leaving your lips.

That was all he needed. He closed the gap between you, his lips hesitantly brushing against yours. It was soft at first, almost testing, but the moment you leaned into him, the kiss deepened.

You melted into him, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, and he groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through you. His fingers danced across your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every brush of his lips, every touch, sent electricity through your veins. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss even more. A soft sound escaped you, and you could feel him smile against your lips..

You responded instinctively, your hand brushing against his chest, then sliding down to the hem of his shirt. The sensation of his warm skin under your fingertips made your breath hitch, but before you could let yourself get lost in the moment, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You okay?” His voice was low, a little strained, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded, still breathing a little heavier than normal. “Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

You gave his hair a small tug again, bringing his lips back to yours. Heeseung’s lips never left yours as he slowly, almost reverently, moved you so that you were straddling him. His hands rested on your waist, his thumbs brushing softly against the exposed skin just above your hips, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers gently graced the angry red scars along your hip.

“I—Sorry,” you muttered against his lips, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your face away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I didn’t mean for you to see those.”

Heeseung’s gaze softened, his fingers stopping at the hem of your shirt. He gently cupped your face with one hand, tilting it upward again so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Heeseung’s fingers gently brushed over your scars again, this time intentionally. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “All of you.”

“Heeseung…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your gaze flickered down to his lips and then back up to meet his eyes again.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving with a slow urgency. His hand, now fully under your shirt, splayed across your stomach, fingers tracing your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel his warmth radiating against you, every touch, every movement, setting your skin on fire. His lips left yours, trailing along your jawline, down to your neck, kissing, nipping at the skin there. You could feel the heat of his breath against your throat, each kiss igniting a fire that spread throughout your body.

“Can I take your shirt off Y/N”, he breathed out.

You just nodded and he carefully lifted you shirt up, revealing your upper body. He threw your (his) shirt off the bed and gently shifted the two of you, laying you back against the pillows. His lips hovered over yours, his breath warm against your skin as his eyes searched yours. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with emotion. “You’re so hot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the unexpected comment catching you off guard, but the sound was quickly swallowed by him pressing his lips to yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

His hands began to explore your body again. His fingers grazed the curve of your waist, drifting higher, brushing the edge of your bra. The sensation drew a soft gasp from your lips, and the sound seemed to spur him on. His lips left yours to trail kisses along your jawline, down your neck, and lower. You felt the warm press of his lips against the scars along your hip. He kissed each mark with care, as if they were something to be cherished. Your breath hitched as his gaze flicked upward, meeting yours. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes. Unable to find the right words, you carefully reached down, your fingers brushing against his jaw as you guided his face closer to yours. Before you could speak, a sudden, sharp pounding on the door shattered the moment.

“Heeseung! I hate to break up whatever’s going on in there, but the coach wants us at the rink in, like, 30 minutes,” Jake’s voice rang out through the closed door.

Heeseung groaned, his forehead falling against yours as his lips curved into a reluctant smirk. “Of course,” he muttered, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. “The world’s worst timing award goes to your father.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly.

As Heeseung and Jake arrived at the rink, a heavy tension hung in the air. The team was scattered around the locker room, each member in a different state of exhaustion.

“Dude, yesterday got crazy after you left,” EJ muttered beside him, still rubbing his temples.

Nicolas, nursing a bruised cheek and offering a wry grin, added, “Not exactly our fault though. Kim Yeoso started it.”

Before Heeseung could ask for more details, the Coach’s voice echoed sharply across the room. “Line up. Now.”

The room fell silent, and a collective weight seemed to settle on everyone as the Coach’s gaze traveled down the line of players. His pacing was slow and deliberate. “Last night was a disgrace. I don’t care who threw the first punch or how it started—this is my team, and I don’t want this kind of attention.”

His glare seared through the team, and though he moved down the line, his eyes rested on Heeseung a beat longer than the others, his silent accusation unmistakable. Heeseung felt the full weight of the words, as if they were directed solely at him. His chest tightened, but he kept his face neutral, silently bracing himself as the Coach continued. Finally, your fathers eyes flickered back to the team with an almost weary finality. “Meeting’s over,” he said, dismissing the rest of the team. “Not you, Heeseung. Stay a minute.”

The players exchanged wary glances as they filed out, each one offering him silent nods of support. Heeseung turned to see the Coach shut the door, his expression shifting from professional disappointment to something far more personal.

His voice was colder than ever when he started speaking: “I’ll ask you once, Heeseung, and I expect a straight answer. What’s going on between you and Y/N?”

His jaw clenched as he quickly composed himself, being caught off guard by the question. “With all due respect, Coach,” he started, his voice calm but firm, “my personal life and Y/N’s are private. I don’t feel it’s appropriate to discuss this with you.”

The Coach’s face darkened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You think I’m just some overprotective dad, Heeseung?” he bit out, his tone cutting. “She’s barely recovered, and getting involved with you is a distraction she doesn’t need. If you care about her as much as you seem to, you’d understand that.”

Heeseung felt his hands clench at his sides, the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “I understand what she’s been through, Coach. But Y/N is stronger than you’re giving her credit for. And I’m not backing off because it makes you uncomfortable.”

The air between them turned icy. Your fathers expression hardened. “Then you’re making a mistake,” he warned, his voice low, barely contained. “Because if you don’t back off, I’ll make sure there are consequences. And that’s not a threat, Heeseung—that’s a promise.”

Heeseung’s pulse pounded as the gravity of Coach’s words settled in, but he stood firm, his voice unwavering.

“I’m sorry, Coach Choi. But with all due respect, I’m not going anywhere.”

No matter what Coach threatened, Heeseung knew he wouldn’t step back. He was already drafted and chose to go back to college hockey, so the Coach had nothing on him.

Your father held his gaze a moment longer, his expression unreadable but filled with a disappointed resolve. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Then don’t expect me to go easy on you.” Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving Heeseung standing alone in the empty locker room.

“It’s not about whether or not you think you’re fine!” Your fathrs voice is sharper than ever, frustration bubbling over as he paces in front of you. “You’re ignoring your own recovery. The doctors said you could walk without crutches, but they didn’t say to push yourself to the point of needing another surgery. What are you thinking?”

The accusation stinged, sharp and unexpected. You blinked, willing yourself not to let him see how much that hurt. Another surgery. He knew, maybe better than anyone, how terrified you were of that possibility. And here he was, throwing it in your face as if it’s something you’d choose—like you’d ever risk it on purpose.

A mix of disbelief and anger rose within you, and you stood up, meeting his intense gaze. “You know I don’t want that. You know better than anyone what I’ve been through, and you think I’d risk more just for one night? I’m not being reckless, I’m just… living my life.”

“Living your life?” he snapped back, his tone filled with frustration. “Living your life means ignoring everything you’ve fought to rebuild, just for a night of fun? I’m trying to keep you from setting yourself back.”

“You’re acting like I don’t take this seriously! Like I haven’t been doing everything I can to heal. I know my body better than anyone, Dad. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you treating me like I’m made of glass.”, your voice was shaking in anger. When your father and Soobin returned from the rink you weren’t even able to properly greet them, before your father started berating you.

Soobin’s voice cut through the tension, calm but unwavering. “She’s an adult, Dad. Y/N knows her limits. You can’t keep controlling everything.”

Your dad turned sharply to face Soobin, his gaze hard. “This isn’t about what she thinks she can handle, Soobin. It’s about being realistic, about protecting her from making choices she’ll regret later.”

Soobin didnt back down. “But you’re treating her like she’s fragile when she’s proven over and over that she’s not.”

“I just don’t want her making reckless decisions,” your dad insited, but his eyes slide back to you. Your dad’s tone was sharp as he moved past your injuries.

“And then there’s Heeseung.” The way he says his name makes you flinch. “He’s a distraction, Y/N. You’re already pushing yourself too hard, and now you’re getting involved with someone who won’t be there when things get difficult. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose focus on everything that matters. And in addition to that you are distracting my captain from his duties.”

Before you could respond, Soobin stepped forward, his voice firm. “Dad, you’re being unfair.”

Your dad turned, surprised, but Soobin stood his ground. “You know Heeseung. You were the one who made him captain because you trusted him to lead. He’s responsible, he’s focused, and he cares about Y/N, more than you’re giving him credit for.”

Your dad’s expression hardened, and he crossed his arms. “He’s a good player, Soobin. But he’s young, and he doesn’t understand what Y/N needs right now.”

“And you think you do?” You countered, voice tight with frustration. “I am an adult. I know what I'm doing. And Heeseung’s been there for me, supporting me, making sure I am taking care of myself. He’s never pushed me into anything that would risk me recovery.”

Your father hesitated, his gaze moving between you and Soobin, a flicker of doubt finally creeping into his expression. But he quickly brushed it off, his jaw set in a familiar look of stubbornness. “You’re not seeing the big picture. I’m trying to protect you, to keep you from making choices you'll regret later.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. “The only thing I’m going to regret is not standing up for what I want and what I know I can handle. Heeseung isn’t the problem here, Dad. And if you would actually talk to me, you’d know that he’s been nothing but respectful and supportive.”

Soobin looked at your father, his tone more measured. “I trust Heeseung, Dad. You should, too. And more than that, you need to trust Y/N. She knows her limits better than anyone else here.”

Your father’s silence spoke volumes. Finally, he lets out a slow breath, his gaze softening just slightly. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, Y/N.”

“I know,” you said, your voice steadier now. “But I’m not going to let fear control me.”

For once, he didn’t argue, and though the silence remains strained, there’s a glimmer of something that felt like reluctant acceptance. Soobin squeezed your shoulder in quiet reassurance.

You and Soobin sat cross-legged on Yeonjun's living room floor, surrounded by discarded pizza boxes and half-empty soda cans. You let out a frustrated groan and leaned back, resting your head against the couch right next to Beomgyu's thigh, who patted your head in solidarity.

“Maybe you should just… move out? Like properly," Beomgyu suggested, his voice gentle but with a hint of urgency. "If he sees you’re capable on your own, maybe he’d finally get that you’re an independent adult who knows what she’s doing.”

You sighed. “I’d love to, honestly. But how am I even supposed to manage that?” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “It’s not like I have a job—he’s always insisted that I focus on school, hockey, or ‘recovery.’ Everything’s paid for by him. So if I tried to move out, I’d probably have to ask him for rent money anyway. I’m not really independent.”

Soobin, sitting cross-legged beside you, crossed his arms. “Mom would definitely cover your rent if you asked. She’s offered to help me plenty of times.”

Yeonjun, lounging on the other side of the room with a slice of pizza in hand, smirked. “Yeah, and Soobin, you should really take her up on that sometime. You’ve crashed on my couch way too many nights,” he teased, nudging Soobin’s leg with his foot. “Maybe I could ask her.” You shrugged, the thought of moving out felt a bit daunting.

“Trust me, we’ll find you a place that works,” Yeonjun assured, with his usual casual confidence. He reached over and tousled your hair, smiling as he added, “And hey, if nothing else, my couch will always be happy to host any Choi family member.”

“Thanks, Yeonjun,” you laughed, feeling a little lighter.

In the end, you decided to stay at Yeji’s and Ryujin’s dorm for a few days. You weren’t ready for the full commitment of moving out just yet, but the space away from home was a welcome relief. Their couch became your temporary refuge, a safe distance from the constant arguments and suffocating expectations. 

And it seemed your dad got the hint after a few days of you not coming home and keeping conversations strictly professional at work. You noticed his glances lingering a bit longer than usual whenever he’d pass you at the rink, sometimes with a sigh or a hesitant pause, as if he wanted to say something but held back. Each time he tried, though, Soobin, your (now official) boyfriend, or one of their friends would step in, steering you away from him, often under the guise of needing help with some “urgent task.” 

Heeseung was sprawled out on the couch, fingers deftly moving over the controller as he focused intently on the game playing out on the screen. The familiar sounds of COD echoed through the apartment. You had just returned from physiotherapy, and the session had left you exhausted. You rested your head in Heeseung’s lap, the soft fabric of his sweatpants cushy against your cheek.

“Gotcha!” Heeseung exclaimed suddenly, his excitement pulling you out of your sleepy haze. Just as you began to relax back into the soothing rhythm of him playing, the ringing of Heeseung's phone cut through the peaceful atmosphere. He frowned, glancing down at the screen.

“It’s Jay,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully. He answered the call, holding the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

You shifted slightly in his lap, burying your face into his stomach, seeking more comfort. Heeseung chuckled, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?”

As Jay spoke on the other end, Heeseung’s face lit up with a smile. “Oh, curry sounds good!”

At the mention of curry, you stirred, raising your head to look at him. “Oh yes curry.” you mumbled sleepily, your voice muffled against his shirt. Heeseung raised an eyebrow at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Want curry?” he asked, repeating your question back to you. You nodded slowly, still feeling heavy with tiredness, and you buried your face deeper into his stomach as if hiding from the world. You nodded sleepily, and he relayed the message to Jay. “Y/N’s here, and she’s definitely in for some curry,” he said, laughing at how cozy you looked all curled up against him.

After hanging up, Heeseung glanced down at you, his expression softening. “Jay is bringing over curry, is that fine with you?”

You nodded, still half-asleep. “Yeah.”

He chuckled softly, running his fingers through your hair. You shifted again, resting your cheek against his stomach, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment longer.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, feeling the vibrations of his laughter through your body.

Heeseung’s hand continued to play with your hair, a peaceful silence settling over the room again. “You know, if you keep this up, we might miss dinner and just sleep until tomorrow,” he teased, and you just nodded, not responding anymore.

As sleep began to take hold, Heeseung gently scooped you up in his arms and carried you to his bedroom, tucking you under the blankets. The last thing you felt was his warmth beside you, and then you were out like a light.

You awoke to the sound of animated voices and the smell of food. Blinking against the light, you felt slightly disoriented. As you stepped into the kitchen area, you latched onto Heeseung’s back, burying your face into his shoulder. He chuckled softly, clearly amused.

“Well good evening, nice of you to join us,” he said, leaning back into you.

Jay and Jake turned, both bursting into laughter at the sight. “Look at you two! So cute,” Jake teased, leaning against the counter with a smug grin.

“Heeseung’s gotten so soft, it’s actually embarrassing.” Jay added, shaking his head in mock disbelief. 

As you took a seat at the table, Jay served up generous portions of steaming curry, filling the kitchen with a delicious warmth. You nestled into the chair beside Heeseung, pulling his hoodie sleeves over your hands to keep cozy.

Jake leaned back in his chair, digging into his food. “Not gonna lie, this curry tastes like heaven after today’s practice,” he said, letting out a small groan of appreciation.

Heeseung nodded, laughing. “Tell me about it. Coach was on us the whole time, especially after the last game. I can still feel the bruises from blocking shots in the scrimmage.”

Jake joined in with a laugh. “Y/N, you should’ve seen him. Dude was practically diving in front of pucks like it was a championship game.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Absolutely no chill.”

“Hey, that ‘no chill’ gets results,” Heeseung shot back, grinning before glancing at you a little more seriously.

“Actually… speaking of practice. Your dad stopped me today. He asked about you.”

You paused mid-bite, meeting Heeseung’s gaze. “ What did he say?”

“Nothing pushy,” Heeseung said, clearly choosing his words carefully. “He just asked if I’d seen you and if you were doing alright.”

You took a moment to process it, unsure how to feel. “I mean, he has been calling. And he has been asking Soobin and Minji where I am. Soobin just told to guess where I am.”

Jay gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, maybe he is trying to fix things?.”

Heeseung gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “I think Jay has a point. Maybe it’s worth giving him a chance to apologize.”

You sighed, your eyes drifting down to your half-finished plate. “It’s just… every time we have a conversation, he manages to make it feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m throwing away his idea of the perfect future, or like my decisions don’t matter. I don’t know if I want to go through all that again.”

Jake, who had been quietly stirring his drink, chimed in with a thoughtful look. “Maybe this time you don’t have to go through all of it. Talk to him on your terms. You don’t owe him anything more than what you’re comfortable with.”

Heeseung nodded. “Exactly. You can set boundaries. I’ll even be there if you want—or, you know, Soobin could tag along for backup moral support.”

Jake chuckled, giving you a reassuring smile. “Just let him do all the talking. Sometimes people need to hear themselves to realize how ridiculous they sound.”

You exhaled slowly,”I’ll think about it.”

You entered the rink together with Jays girl (space) friend, ready to capture the day’s events. The hockey team had organized a special event where they would teach local kids the basics of hockey, and you were there to film some PR content. Heeseung crouched down, demonstrating how to hold a stick while surrounded by a group of eager kids. You couldn’t help but smile as you filmed, completely enchanted by how cute he looked in his hockey gear, patiently explaining everything while the kids watched with wide eyes.

After a while, Heeseung noticed you filming from the sidelines and excused himself from the kids. He made his way over to you.

“Hi baby.” he greeted you, gently taking your face in his hands, tilting it up toward him. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and then he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was sweet and tender, and you melted into him, completely forgetting about the cameras and the kids for a few blissful seconds.

“Ew. Boo! Get a room!” Beomgyu called out from the sidelines, pretending to gag dramatically, his face scrunched up in mock disgust. You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry, Beomgyu. Didn’t know you were such a romantic,” you shot back.

Heeseung chuckled. “Don’t be jealous, Gyu. Just appreciate the love in the air.” Heeseung pecked your lips again and went back onto the ice, regrouping the kids for another round of activities. 

Heeseung made his way up to your office when the event ended. He knocked at your door and peaked his face into the room: “Let’s go home babe. The kids are all gone.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll be done with the Tiktok recap for today.”, you said, softly smiling at him.

“Sure thing.”, he plopped down onto the sofa in your office and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

As you wrapped up the editing, you couldn’t help but glance over at him. Heeseung was focused, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, and you felt a rush of affection. When you finished, you got up and sat down on his lap, surprising him.

“Hey there,” he said, a smile breaking through his concentration. His hands found their way to your sides, his touch warm.

“Hi Love.” You leaned in closer, caressing his cheek gently. “I gotta say seeing you with kids? Might be one of the best things ever.” you teased, inching your lips closer to his.

Heeseung’s eyes sparkled, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Oh yeah? I guess I’ll have to volunteer more often, then.”

“You just might have to,” you replied, leaning in closer, letting your hand drift to his cheek, your thumb brushing his skin.

He closed the gap between you. The kiss was soft at first, just a gentle brushing of lips, but it quickly deepened as he pulled you closer, his hands resting firmly on your waist. You melted against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you lost yourself in the moment. You tilted your head to the side and gasped when Heeseung traced your lips with his tongue. His hands started caressing your thighs as you broke the kiss to breathe for a second. He directed his focus onto your neck, kissing it softly.

You closed your eyes and whispered his name, when a sharp knock on your door made you jump apart. “Y/N? Do you have a minute for me?”, your fathers deep voice came from the other side of the door.

You threw a panicked glance at Heeseung, who was frantically trying to smooth his hair and pull his sweatshirt into a more composed position. If your ears were even half as red as his, your father would definitely know what he’d just interrupted. With a quick attempt to brush your own hair back, you got up, meeting Heeseung’s sheepish smile with a reassuring one of your own.

Finally, you took a steadying breath and walked to open the door. “Sure, Dad. Come in.”

Your father stepped inside, taking in the two of you with an expression that looked almost nervous? “Y/N,” he began, his voice hesitant, “can I talk to you for a minute? Both of you, actually.”

You exchanged a quick, curious look with Heeseung before nodding. Heeseung sat up straighter, and your dad took a deep breath before sinking into the office chair opposite you.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” your dad started, his hands clasped tightly together. “About everything… about how I’ve treated you since the accident.” His voice cracked slightly, and you felt your chest tighten.

“I’ve been so hard on you, Y/N. Pushing, hovering, nagging… It’s like I’ve been trying to fix something I can’t undo.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his vulnerability. “Dad…”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted gently, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t forgive myself for what happened. I feel like I failed you. You’re so young, and you’ve had to deal with so much—too much. And instead of helping you heal, I made things worse by trying to control everything. I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of you hurting, and I thought that if I stayed on top of everything, it might somehow fix things.”

The raw emotion in his voice left you speechless.

“I was wrong,” he continued, looking up at you now, his eyes glassy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved someone who could help you without suffocating you.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Dad, I—”

“And Heeseung,” your dad continued, turning his attention to the boy at your side. The tension in the room seemed to double.

Heeseung straightened, his jaw tightening as if bracing for a blow.

“I was hard on you. I know that,” your dad admitted.

“When I found out about you and Y/N, I wasnt exactly happy.”

You winced at the memory, glancing at Heeseung, who gave a small, humorless smile.

“I didn’t want her getting hurt,” your dad said, his voice softer now. “But I realize now that I was wrong about you.” He paused, running a hand over his face before meeting Heeseung’s gaze again. “You’re not just a great captain. You’re a good man. And I couldn’t ask for anyone better to be with my daughter.”

Heeseung looked stunned, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process the words. Finally, he managed a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

Your dad gave a small, rueful smile. “You’ve earned it. Both of you have. And I hope you’ll forgive me for the way I’ve handled things. I know it’ll take time to rebuild some of the trust I’ve broken, but I just wanted you both to know how sorry I am.”

For a long moment, silence hung in the air. You felt Heeseung’s hand brush against yours, grounding you, and you reached out to take your dad’s hand.

“Thank you, Dad,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m still mad at you, a little. But… I’m glad you said this. It means a lot.”

Heeseung nodded beside you, his own expression softening. “We appreciate it,” he said sincerely. “Really.” Your dad gave a small, watery smile.

The hotel room was softly lit, the glow from the bedside lamp casting a golden hue. You were at the small vanity, adjusting your earrings. Behind you, Heeseung was sprawled out on the bed, still in his undershirt and slacks, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

“You’re not even close to being ready,” you teased, catching his reflection in the mirror.

Heeseung smirked, locking his phone and stretching out lazily. “I’m waiting for you to come help me with this dumb tie. You know I suck at it.”

“You could have learned by now,” you chided, turning to face him. “But no, you just like making me do it for you.”

“Maybe,” he said, sitting up. “But it’s also an excuse to keep you close.”

You rolled your eyes but crossed the room anyway. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased, sitting up and letting his knees part slightly so you could stand between them.

Heeseung grinned, holding the tie up like a peace offering. You took it from him, carefully looping and pulling it into a neat knot. He watched you the entire time, his eyes soft and unwavering.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled, focusing on his tie.

“Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply.

Your fingers faltered for a second before continuing, looping the tie around his neck and starting to knot it.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” he quipped, echoing your usual response.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, watching you with that warm, unrelenting gaze that always made your heart skip. As you finished the tie, your fingers brushing against his chest, he reached out to grab your hand, stopping you before you could step back. “Are you sure I look good enough to be seen with you?”

You arched a brow, feigning consideration. “Hmm. Maybe. You clean up okay.”

“Just okay?” he asked, tugging gently on your hand to pull you closer. His other hand slid to your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles against the fabric of your dress.

“Better than okay,” you admitted softly, feeling his warmth seep through the fabric.

“That’s more like it.” Heeseung’s voice dropped an octave. His free hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers traced lightly down the side of your neck.

“You’re staring again,” you murmured, your voice unsteady under his gaze.

“Can you blame me?” he said, his lips quirking into a grin. “You’re stunning.”

“Flatterer,” you mumbled, though your cheeks flushed at his words.

“You’re blushing,” he teased, leaning in until your noses were almost touching.

“Stop it,” you whispered, half laughing, but you didn’t pull away.

“Make me.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours, soft at first, just a gentle brush. But the moment you leaned into him, he made a low sound deep in his throat, and the kiss shifted—growing hungrier, more urgent. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, while the other cradled your face. One of his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, the simple gesture making your heart race even faster.

You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped you when he deepened the kiss, his tongue tentatively exploring as though he was savoring every second. Your hands instinctively flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer. He groaned at the sensation, his fingers tightening slightly against your back. A soft whimper escaped your throat when he tilted his head, adjusting the angle to kiss you even deeper. His lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a mixture of passion and care that made your heart race. The hand on your back shifted, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles that made your skin tingle even through the fabric of your dress.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to draw in a breath, but his forehead stayed pressed to yours. His eyes were hooded, his pupils dark with something that made your stomach flip. His thumb grazed your lower lip.

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“Right back at you,” you whispered, but before you could catch your breath, he leaned back in, capturing your lips again.

This time, the kiss was slower but no less intense, his lips lingering as though memorizing the taste of you. His hand drifted upward, tangling lightly in the hair at the nape of your neck, while yours tightened their grip in his. The small tug you gave his hair made him groan again, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a delicious thrill down your spine. His free hand slid along your waist, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your dress as though he couldn’t decide whether to hold you closer or take his time exploring. A small, breathless sound escaped you, and he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You taste like vanilla,” he murmured, his voice husky and low.

“Is that a complaint?” you asked, your voice breathless, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Not even close,” he whispered before diving back in, his lips capturing yours with a renewed fervor.

When he finally pulled away, his lips hovered just above yours, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face.“Still think we’re going to be late?”

You laughed, brushing a hand through his hair to smooth it. “Definitely.”

“And I don’t even feel bad about it,” he said, leaning in to steal one more kiss before letting you go.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your clutch from the nightstand. “Get your jacket. We’re already pushing it.”

He hopped up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. As you turned toward the door, he caught your hand and pulled you back to him. “For the record,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, “I don’t care if we miss the gala entirely. I’ve already got everything I want right here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re impossible.”

“I am just lucky you love me.” he said, flashing you that boyish grin as he opened the door for you.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love

[shanastoryteller]

Shana, your tags on this post ...I need to know more! What exactly was the plan for Supernatural season 3 if it hasn't been for the writer's strike??? And how haven't I heard about this already?? I need the deets!

i'm so glad you asked :)

the original plan for season 3 was for sam to descend into using his demon powers to get dean out of the deal, and for dean to never go to hell. then the writers strike happened, the season got cut from 22 eps to 16, with only 4 after the strike, and that wasn't enough time to establish sam's spiral and powers, so changed the ending. it's on the wiki and there are some articles around about it

this was, in my opinion, the worst fucking decision they could make

it ruined the characters in a lot of ways and really unbalanced everything in a way the show never recovered from

the thing is that this arc is so well set up!

literally at the end of season 2 we get

"You're my big brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care, I'm going to get you out of this. I'm going to save your ass for a change."

sam has evaded azazel's every attempt to corrupt him. his shitty home life, all the demons he's exposed sam to, killing jessica, taking away his father, putting him in a literal life or death hunger games scenario. each time sam refuses to play ball

(sam's incorruptibility is what makes him qualified to be king of hell, but that's a different post)

he's the moral compass between him and dean. always has been. there is nothing in sam's messed up, twisted life that has pushed him pass mercy

but dean could do it. there's nothing sam wouldn't do for his big brother

john told dean that he had to either save sam or kill him. except he's never needed to save sam, because it's literally always sam making the measured, compassionate, merciful call. he's the one holding dean back, not the other way around

and sam straining towards darkness for the first time, for dean, would kill him. we'll come back to this

mystery spot, as an episode, is actually pointless if the plan was for dean to go to hell. because sam's sneak peek into what his life is like after dean doesn't do anything. i love this ep, but it's narratively pointless now

however

with the og plan, mystery spot is the turning point. it not only tells sam how miserable he'll be after dean is gone, but it also establishes what he's willing to do to get him back - pretty much anything. it's not theoretical pain, it's not theoretical grief. mystery spot is the thing that pushes sam towards being hard, away from the moral sweetness he's embodied for the past two and half seasons.

the next ep, jus in bello, shows this. sam is considering doing the terrible thing. he's now capable of considering the terrible thing in a way he wasn't before mystery spot. this is when his descent starts, when sam decides he's willing to trade his humanity for his brother's life

and then the writer's strike happened

right when it's getting good, right when sam's arc is ramping up, we lose it. and instead of picking it back up, pushing dean's deal to next season and giving it the weight it deserves, they say fuck it, and send dean to hell

but this fucks it all up. we have sam's "descent" with ruby and demon blood. except not really because he's not even hurting anyone. and dean's back, but not because of sam. sam didn't save him

this fucks it all up

because deans anger and fear and desire to save sam should have been tempered with the knowledge that he did that to save dean's life. that once more someone dean loves has made a terrible sacrifice for him, which he can't stand, which he hates. he has the self esteem of a gnat and the best people he knows keep destroying themselves for his benefit

i think the og build up was sam strengthening his powers to kill lilith, doing it, and then releasing lucifer at the end of s3. sam unwittingly starting the apocolypse to save his brother (does he regret it, dean wonders. it would be easier if he did)

and now everything is shit and dean's drowning but here and his brother has turned himself into something that's not unlike the kid dean loves so much it almost killed him, but not exactly the same. and now he understands john, because this is the sam that dean has to either save or kill, except he could never kill him. he loves him (and how can he kill sam for doing this when it's dean's fault, when dean made the deal that doomed his brother when all he wanted was to save him)

this is the flip that the show has been building towards. dean having to be the moral center for his brother for once. dean being the one saved. dean finally having to face his father's words and deciding once and for all if he's john's son or sam's brother

but instead dean goes to hell. and he's no one moral's center. because he broke in hell, he tortured people and he enjoyed it. they ruined dean with this. because instead of fighting and growing from his violence, they push him into it, and then they call him a righteous man. dean was the one harming people, he's the one that descended into darkness, not sam. sam and his demon blood had still only been trying to good, and in the end did do good, far more than anything dean did in hell, or has done since. his moral outrage, his anger, his disgust towards sam isn't only wildly out of character, it's hypocritical as hell. sam remains the moral, compassionate one, even through this. it never slides to dean. neither of them are really forced to grow or change, only to become twisted into each other in ways that hurt them both

this should have been the story of what sam would do to save his brother (anything) and what dean would do to save his brother (anything)

they should have saved each other

[justaz]

arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.

the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.

[sysig]

Rainbows (Patreon)

[royalarchivist]

Fit: Where are you, Pac? I got you, I got you, I gotchu!

Pac: I'm in- I'm in- I'm in heaven, Fit! I'm in heaven...

Fit: No, you're not in heaven yet! You're not going to heaven, no no no–

Pac: I'm gonna go for... I'm going- I'm going to the light, I'm going to the light...

Fit: Stay with me, stay with me! Stay with me.

Pac: I'm going for the light– [Sighs in relief as he's revived] I'm here.

Fit: You're good, you're good.

[Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

Tina: Wow, the radius for that is huge.

Pac: [Steps on a mine and gets blown up] Whoa!

Fit: Oh, those are all mines, arent' they? Those are all mines, you bastard.

Aypierre: Let- let- let me fix this road... [He starts placing blocks]

Foolish: See? This is why mines need to be allowed, they're too fun.

Fit: [Laughs]

Pac: Yeah, actually.

Aypierre: Look, look– it's perfect, it's perfect.

Pac: [Steps on one of the blocks Aypierre placed, which was a mine, and immediately blows up]

Fit: Pac! No, Pac–! NOOO!!!

Pac: [Laughs and then shouts at Aypierre]

Aypierre: Where are you, Pac?

[Time skip]

Foolish: Did you get your stuff, Tina?

Tina: I will... I'll find a way... [She steps on a mine and blows up] AAAAAAAAA–

[Fit and Pac laugh]

Tina: PLEASE!

Fit: Those are all mines!

Tina: No, please! My stuff! I gotta go– [She gets lit on fire and screams again] PLEASE!

Pac: God damnnit!

Tina: Please, I just want my stuff back!

[They all laugh]

Fit: Jesus.

Tina: I'm gonna go get it! I'm gonna get it! Aghhhh–

Foolish: [Jumping in after Tina] Wait, there could be another landmine!

Tina: I want my things, Foolish!!!

Pac: [Jumps in too and steps on a landmmine, which immediately downs him] AAAAA!!!

Fit: Sht– Where are you, Pac? I got you, I got you, I gotchu!

Pac: [Overlapping with Fit] I'm in- I'm in- I'm in heaven, Fit! I'm in heaven...

Fit: No, you're not in heaven yet! You're not going to heaven, no no no–

Pac: I'm gonna go for... I'm going- I'm going to the light, I'm going to the light...

Fit: Stay with me, stay with me! Stay with me.

Pac: I'm going for the light– [Sighs in relief as he's revived] I'm here.

Fit: You're good, you're good.

Tina: Oh god... I'm scared, I'm scared!

Foolish: You did it!

[3liza]

look I know it's part of a much larger and trickier issue but in a vacuum, "gay people shouldn't own firearms because they will just get depressed and kill themselves" is like something my 80 year old Vietnam veteran father would remark casually during some sort of family gathering and then get REALLY surprised when absolutely everyone got mad at him

[purplebass]

shades of magic & threads of power color palettes

[chrisbangs]

Bang Chan .:. TOPLINE (Feat. Tiger JK) M/V

[lucreziaces]

when lucrezia asks "and when will I marry?" and cesare responds "never if I can help it" through gritted teeth, thinking he means it from the perspective of a protective older brother, but really he means it from the perspective of a possessive lover. "surely it is good to marry, cesare" and instead of agreeing with her, he plants seeds of doubt in her mind about marriage. "as the pope's daughter, you will have every prince of europe vying for your hand," with his pointer finger, he guides her to look at him, "they may care very little for your heart" he says, staring into her eyes, his eyes saying what his mouth does not, that he is the only one who cares for her heart. and then lucrezia reflecting this idea that only they can love each other the way a husband and wife should in 1x03 when she tells him "for I shall never love a husband the way I love you, cesare" WHATTTTT INSANITY I LOVE THEM I WOULD HAPPILY SUFFER IN HELL FOR SHIPPING THEM ONLY INCEST SHIP I WILL THROW ALL MORALS OUT THE WINDOW FOR GODDDDDD THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME

[kareofbears]

a fragile line, chapter 2/3

Newt and Thomas always had something going on—even in the Maze, Gally knew right away. But never did he think it would turn into something like this; a devotion fermented. A reverence that made the chapel look blasphemous in comparison.

—

Or, as they infiltrate WICKED, Gally notices the shift between Newt and Thomas.

read on ao3 or below the cut

Thomas and Newt had come up to Gally with a fresh idea and a fresher bruise to match.

The plan is changing, they told him, clutching that battered notebook in their hands like it were a manual for how to barge into WICKED’s impenetrable tower. They spoke quickly, efficiently, nearly cutting each other off with how they finish each other’s thoughts, neatly tacking more details as they recount their changes. It isn’t the first time that Gally’s listened to Thomas labor through a plan, but it’s the first time he’s seen Thomas share that stage with Newt—or rather, sees Newt share that stage with Thomas. Words are as part of Thomas’ arsenal as much as his speed is, but where Thomas is practiced in its art, Newt has long since perfected it.

When they finished, Gally only had one question: “Seems like you shanks already got it under control. Why’d you bother bringing it to me?”

They both frowned at him, as if the answer should already be apparent. “We want to know what you think.”

Once they’re in the city, they split off with Brenda without so much as a wave. Too many eyes on them for a proper goodbye. True to his word, Newt slows his gait until he shuffles into the crowd of fellow WICKED soldiers, intermingling with them until Gally can’t tell which one’s him, little more than someone in a crowd. Despite that, he watches Thomas linger on a specific figure for a long moment before tearing his focus away.

They enter the tower without issues, and a variety of scientists, soldiers, and administrative personnel swirl around them like sharks. A bead of sweat rolls down his nape.

Like this, none of them speak, letting the thrum of their heartbeats merge with the ceaseless noise of people working around them. He has his eyes glued in front of him, as if straying his sightline would be a dead giveaway that he doesn’t belong, that he’s an intruder, that he deserves to be killed and sucked dry like any Immune that enters this facility.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Teresa studying him, and he resists the urge to tell her to cut it out. Every once in a while, someone in a white coat brushes past her, grins easy and familiar, some even offering her a friendly wave. He grips his stun gun a little tighter. For once, they were all playing in her field, and she has the advantage here. Not for the first time, he imagines her screaming for help, exposing them all until Ava Paige herself sticks a needle in their arm to drain them for everything they have left.

“Nobody comes back until you find them.” The words are rumbled high above them and spoken almost playfully; it parts the white noise of the facility easily. “And if you don’t find them—well. Let’s not talk about that quite just yet.”

Janson.

Gally risks a glance upwards, sees how he’s leaning over the glass bridge above them, arms splayed wide against the railing and overlooking the entire lobby, that nasty smirk resting on his face. Carefully, Gally casts his eyes back down, sees how Thomas is staring right up at Janson, and can imagine all too well the ripple of maddening fury spasming behind the mask.

With no amount of care, Gally shoulders past Thomas, rough and insistent. “Focus.”

Thomas takes a deep breath, and takes a step forward, and another, each more stiff than the last; as if smoothing out his stride would cause him to snap in half.

The flurry of activity around them is ceaseless, everyone either gearing up to a long night of testing cure variants or on their way to hunt down the escaped Immunes who are less than a few meters from where Gally is standing. Newt, on the other hand, is taking the long way around Sub-Level 3.

The bigger the group, the more likely we'll get caught, Thomas had said. Newt would be our eyes, make sure no one suspects anything. There's the sound of someone clearing their throat, and Thomas rolled his eyes. Yes, Newt, I know it's the only time you and I are being separated. Reconvene at Sub-Level 3 and keep your radio on.

They get to the power box without issue and Gally gets to work. Without saying a word, he pulls out his hacksaw without saying a word, sparks flying incessantly while Thomas radios Newt.

"Status update?"

"Absolutely radiant. You boys see Janson on your way in?"

"Yeah. Where's he headed?"

"Going up, by the looks of it. Careful—from what I've seen, those elevators could go straight down to the Sub-Levels. When I meet up with you, I'll lose eyes on him."

"Janson or not, you have to be here with me." A semblance of a smile ghosts his features. "Non-negotiable, right?"

"You're getting it now, Tommy."

The air is thick with sparks as he works, blinding him until his vision is nothing more than stars that are mere inches from his face. It’s tough work, cutting metal, and his wrist groans with the effort of digging, digging, digging, until, with a satisfying thunk of a heavy lock hitting the ground, he swings the box open and doesn't hesitate to rewire it until the harsh red pings into a pleasant green.

Gally signals—they're good to go. "We're done here," Thomas reports.

"Good that. Just saw Janson go up. Hopefully that ugly bastard locks up in his office for an hour or so. I'll make my way to you."

"Good that. See you soon."

"Over and out, fellow soldier."

They ditch the tools as they take the stairs down, Teresa leading them. Her face is still crestfallen and slightly glazed, but she's still moving in the right direction, at least.

The glowing signs on the wall indicate where they are. Sub-Level 1, Sub-Level 2, Sub-Level 3. Gripping the door handle, he peers in, feels his heart stutter in his chest, before letting it close again.

"What?" Thomas whispers, eyebrows already raised in accusation.

Gally ignores him, turning to Teresa. "You hide it from us on purpose?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Sub-Level 3 isn't just where they keep the hostages, and the serum," he hisses out. "It's where they keep everything valuable and fucking dangerous."

Thomas' eyes widen as he lets the implication settle in. Guns, drones, tasers, cuffs, grenades. Everything that could capture them. Before this, they were under the impression that it would be similar to a medical ward.

At least, that's what they were led to believe by the person who gave the building's schematics.

Teresa takes a step back, pupils shaking. "I swear, I didn't mean to," she stammers out. "I just forgot."

"Save it." Gally turns to Thomas, brows furrowed. "Warn Newt, but plans won't change."

Thomas' mouth twists in displeasure. "This could get ugly."

"This has been ugly," he shoots back. "We just need to lie lower than usual." He grips Thomas' forearm. "Do you understand, you temperamental shank?"

Thomas rips away from him, stare venomous as he pulls out the radio. "I get the idea," he spits before updating Newt.

Gally allows himself one, massive eye roll before straightening up, mustering calm, and entering Sub-Level 3.

—

Gally didn't just sit on his ass while the rest of them were traipsing in the Scorch.

He's a soldier now. It doesn't really matter that he's not happy about that development—he's alive, and he should just be grateful about it. But the past six months have been dedicated training, discipline, and giving himself up to the art of war. Or at least, the scrappy version of it. Lawrence's men don't have any funds, and most of the weapons they can get their hands on is from ripping it straight from the hands of WICKED themselves. Resources were scarce; knives were blunt, gas was limited, and bullets above all else were a rarity—Gally never even shot a loaded gun until three months after he was trained to pull the trigger.

So seeing Sub-Level 3 was both a nightmare and a fever dream for him.

Layers and layers of machine guns are stacked through bulletproof glass, grenade belts hung up like it was someone's closet. Daggers, knives, machetes, all plastered against the backs of soldiers with more hidden underneath the fabric of their jumpsuits. All of it sharpened to a tee.

Sweat coats his hands but he doesn't wipe it off. Someone could be watching and sniffing them out. Instead, he focuses on making his stride strong and confident, shadowing Teresa and keeping an eye on Thomas, the fall of their footsteps matching the thud of Gally's heart.

They turn a corner and stop in their tracks. A drone is airborne in the middle of the hallway, hovering as if it were a mini Berg. Beside it, someone in a lab coat was instructing everyone to move around it. "Just doing some repairs!" he yelled. "Apologies everyone, we just needed a space to do some testing. Please move around the drone."

Gally and Thomas share a look before advancing, warily keeping an eye on the drone. It helps that other soldiers looked equally as unwilling to go near the drone as they are. Machine guns with wings, Lawrence's men had called them. A buggy drone, exactly what they needed.

Not for the first time, a sick feeling of premonition coats his skin. He can't tell if it's paranoia, panic, or some kind of sixth sense he's developed when it comes to WICKED. But it's the feeling he got the first time he laid eyes on Thomas. It's the feeling he got the day he found them on the outskirts of the Last City.

Everything in Gally's life has been ripped away from him one way or another—everything but himself. And he's learned to trust himself.

Going against his own advice to Thomas, Gally lifts his radio to his lips until he can speak into it with nothing more than a mutter. "Did you secure the bus?"

"Yeah," Brenda responds, equally hushed. "Pretty quiet down here. You?"

"If you left for a few minutes, do you think it'll still be secured?"

"Uh, probably?" Even through the static of the radio, her quizzical tone is audible. "There's enough buses that if someone takes this one, I can grab another." There's a pause, and then she groans. "You're going to ask me to do something."

"I need you to steal a lab coat and get to Sub-Level 3." Thomas whirls on him, and even the mask can't conceal his incredulity. "I have a bad feeling."

"What are you, five?"

Gally represses a retort. "I just—" he tries, racking his brain for logic like he always does, use the pragmatism that he knows they associate him with, but he comes up blank. "I need you on shift right now."

There's a longer pause. "Fine."

He lets out a sharp breath. "Thanks."

"Heading out."

Thomas continues to give him a look, and Gally can't muster anything more than a shrug. "Don't like taking chances."

"Sure you don’t."

They give it a wide berth as they skirt around it, but with every step that Thomas takes, the camera on the drone seems to follow him, shifting its barrel to be pointed directly at Thomas.

Step, shift. Step, shift.

Gally glances around, sees other soldiers staring at Thomas, bewildered and apprehensive, wondering the same thing as Gally. Why was the drone following him?

An idea slides into his brain and Gally swivels at Teresa, looking gaunt. He watched her remove Thomas' tracker like she did with everyone else, and saw it with his own eyes. But is it possible that she left something there on purpose?

"Just doing some repairs!" they repeat.

Coincidence or planned?

"Nothing to worry about folks!"

When they reach the halfway point of skirting the drone, it begins to glow a bright, sinister red.

Teresa turns to Gally. I don't know, she mouths, distressed, and Gally doesn't trust her, will never trust her, but he saw her remove it, helped Thomas clot the bleeding himself.

"Keep on walking!"

The drone, slow and steady, begins to clank. Gally pivots to Thomas, and even with the masks, he knows what they're both thinking. If that drone turns on, Thomas is as good as dead. But if they do something about it, it'll attract an insurmountable amount of attention.

Propellers stutter, erratically falling down just to fly up again, and the light only grows bright, then brighter still, and Gally knows what that means. He's been warned of it too many times, had seen it with his own eyes too many times, had seen people fall to it too many times.

"Run," he breathes to Thomas, as the rifle of the drone twitches.

But before anyone can move a muscle, before Thomas can even take another step, a loud gunshot sounds out. The drone falls to the ground, camera shot clean through.

Silence falls throughout the floor.

A single look at where it was shot tells Gally everything he needs to know. One bullet, clean through the core machinery of the drone. A steady hand, knowledge of the anatomy of rifle drones, and most of all, done to protect Thomas. This precision in aim was famous back in the Glade.

"Oh my," a voice speaks behind them, humor-infused and mocking at the same time. "What could have happened here?" It's like a bucket of ice water fell down his back, and Gally turns to see Janson standing there, eyebrows raised as he peers at the group of people huddled around the drone like it was an impromptu funeral. "An unfortunate malfunction, I presume, but I do believe WICKED enforces a strict rule of not firing on any Sub-Level, am I correct?" His eyes light up. "Hello, Teresa. I see you're getting in the middle of this mess, same as I am."

Nobody speaks. Teresa doesn't even look like she's breathing.

Janson claps his hands together. "Who is it, then? Who shot it?" It's quiet, only the scuttling of shoes against the squeaky clean floors. It looks like Janson is going to speak when someone takes a step forward. "You then? Come closer."

A million thoughts barge into Gally's brain in the moment, all fighting for a chance to be first.

There's a few dozen WICKED personnel surrounding them, with about half of those carrying firearms. If Newt speaks, his voice will give them away. If Newt takes another step forward, he risks showing his limp. If Newt doesn't give the right answer, it would reveal that he's not actually a WICKED soldier at all.

Above all else, if Janson even breathes in Newt's direction, Thomas might actually just blow this place up.

Without thinking about it too hard, Gally moves in front of Newt. "Director Janson," he greets, gesturing to his black uniform. "I'm his superior. Unfortunately, there's been a tech issue and he's fairly new to the Sub-Levels. Isn't aware of the regulations here. We'll be sure to reteach them accordingly." For emphasis, he grabs Newt by the arm and shakes him, ignoring the heat from Thomas' glare behind him.

He's seen this enough times to replicate it. Gally had spent the better part of the past six months trying to get into the facility, had memorized and engrained the way WICKED personnel work—how they greet each other, the rankings, the military positions, shift work, weapons, anything he can get his hands on. To beat these assholes, he has to become one of them. It's not something he thinks about too often.

It also helps that Gally is presumed dead.

Janson clicks his tongue. "Then I suggest you begin supervising a little bit better, then." Pointing at Newt, his tone is deceivingly light-hearted. "Not again."

Newt stays deathly still.

Then Janson leans back, grinning wide. "What's everyone standing around for? We have Immunes to hunt, don't we?"

Immediately, everyone disperses, eager to get away from Janson's prying eyes. They take it as an opportunity to slink away, wanting to merge into the shuffle. Everyone except Thomas, who decides to bump into Janson on purpose, before continuing his gait.

Never again. Gally is never, ever working with Thomas again after this.

As the door to the Immunes gets closer, Gally leans close to Thomas, but gets cut off.

“He’s going to be looking a lot fucking closer now."

Thomas slams the button open with the butt of his taser. "Then let him look."

—

With the guards miserably unprepared for their assault, it takes a shockingly short time to take control of the Immunes room.

The air is still thick with static and floor littered with bodies as Gally rushes to the vault, tossing the extra hacksaw to Newt so he can start freeing the Immunes. “You know how to use one of those?”

“I’ve had my fair share of lock breaking, thanks,” Newt replies, kneeling as he starts working the metal with sure, steady hands, melting through it twice as fast as Gally can. For a moment, he wonders when he learned to do that, before chalking it up as yet another thing Gally missed out on in the past six months. He'll ask when this shit show is done.

"Done, Newt?" Thomas interrupts, ripping his mask off, expression antsy. "Give me the saw, I'm breaking into the serum vault."

Newt doesn't even look up. "You're too slow with it," he says, curt. "Leave me alone. Help Gally when he's done."

Despite everything, Gally cracks a grin. "You tell him, Newt."

Grumbling, Thomas squats next to Gally. For a long moment, neither of them speak. When he hits the halfway point, Thomas mutters, voice quiet. "Thanks. For earlier."

He eyes Thomas before focusing back on his work again. "Don't sweat it."

"You saved Newt." His voice cracks near the end, before becoming almost too soft to hear. "That's everything."

Newt's door opens and he peers in, unintelligible muttering as he approaches the kids, tone soothing but firmly urging them to get up.

Gally's own metal door breaks free, and swings open, revealing a dozen terrified kids. Thomas straightens up, and although it's brittle and fading and accidentally comes off as bellicose in a certain light, his smile is genuine. "Come on," he coaxes. "We're going to get you out of here." Turning, "Newt, now that you're done—"

Newt whirls on Thomas, and gone is the calm that he was directing towards the Immunes. "I'm on it," he snarls, militant and venomous all at once. "Fucking hell. Give me some room, mate."

Gally stills.

Thomas looks like the floor fell underneath him. Then his expression hardens, focused. "Who am I?"

There's a beat, where Newt and Thomas are studying each other before Newt’s eyes flutter close, mouth twisting in concentration. “I know you, I know I do. You’re someone I trust, someone I’m safe around. I just don’t—“ he falters. “I just can’t quite remember exactly who you are.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas’ tone is delicate, as if his syllables danced on eggshells. “It’s okay.”

"And I'm supposed to get that," he nods at the serum vault. "Open, because I know whatever's in there is important to you."

"It should be important to you, too," Thomas reprimands gently. He reaches into his breast pocket and offers a folded piece of paper to Newt. "Here. You wrote this for yourself."

Newt's brows scrunch as he reads it, expression blurring into a handful of emotions, recognition shining through before settling into shame. "Tommy," he breathes out.

"Don't apologize," Thomas mutters. "We knew this would probably happen." Taking a step forward, Gally almost averts his gaze when Thomas presses his lips to Newt's temple, tender and devout, and pulls away. "Now, open the damn vault."

Newt gets to work as Gally glances around, belatedly realizing that something is very wrong. "Minho."

"Shit," Thomas closes his eyes, thinking hard, before stalking forward. Action oriented, always. "Teresa, where the hell is he?"

Gally lets them figure it out, opting to approach Newt. His shoulders are tense, and even if his hands are still steady, he knows Newt's tell often manifests through what he says—or what he doesn't.

"Want to swap?" he offers.

Newt shakes his head and doesn't say anything. Gally lets him have his brief moment of quiet, orchestrated by the quick, harsh tone that Thomas and Teresa are throwing at each other like knives behind them.

Tries not to think about the implications of Newt's health. Fails.

The Flare is inevitable. He's seen it happen to anyone who isn't an Immune. It rips everything away from the person like paint stripper, seeping the saturation out of someone until all that's left is a thin layer of what it used to be. Reduces someone into something animalistic, uncontrollable, monstrous, vile, unthinking. How long does Newt have? Enough for the mission? Enough to find Minho? Enough for the next half hour? Gally's never fucked around when it comes to the Flare, but seeing Newt forget Thomas is somehow the most harrowing thing he's seen the virus do.

It doesn't matter, really. The current cure may not be perfect, but there's a serum on the other side of this door that'll give Newt time, no matter how short.

"—soon as Newt gets the serum, you're taking us there," Thomas is saying, words quick and sharp.

"Okay," Teresa says, still searching the monitor in front of her. "What about the Immunes?"

"Gally's—"

Suddenly, the door slides open slightly, and immediately all of them have their tasers out. Pointed, still, silent.

"I didn't come all the way out here to be threatened," a familiar voice grumbles. "Put that shit away."

"Brenda," Thomas breathes. "Almost shot you."

"Yeah, yeah. I think everyone in this room has been threatened by you one way or another." She walks in, wearing a lab coat and—is that glasses? She must have really been trying to sell the role of a scientist. "Except for your Newt, of course."

"Of course," Thomas agrees.

Brenda glances around, taking in the Immunes huddled along the walls. "Hey," she greets. Most of them are still cowering from fear, but a few braver ones give her a wave. "What do you need from me, Gally? Still need me to clean up after your mess?" she teases, but her eyes are serious.

Gally rises to his feet. "Minho's not here," he cuts to the chase. "We have to get him. Can you get the Immunes down to the bus?" After a moment, he tacks on: "Please. And thanks."

"A little manners go a long way," Brenda says. "When can I expect you boys?"

"Give us as long as you can," Gally replies, vision straying to the Immunes. For a split-second, he sees Chuck's face in one of theirs. "But if things go south, just take them and go."

Brenda frowns, but doesn't disagree. Facing the kids: "Alright. Not great with kids, but you guys seem promising. You three—" she points at a few Immunes. "Grab the guns from these unconscious bastards and arm yourselves. Don't fall behind, and don't do anything stupid." Brenda stops herself, suddenly unsure. "And don't be scared. It'll be okay."

They do as she says, one girl looking particularly excited at the chance to be holding a pistol. A boy nervously puts his hand up. "This guy doesn't have a gun," he squeaks out. “Or any weapons, actually.”

Brenda scowls at him. "Then don't pick that guy then, kid."

"Thanks," Gally repeats, letting sincerity bleed through this time. "Seriously."

She smiles before gesturing for the kids to go. "See you soon," she says, giving him a fist bump. "Bye Gally, Newt. Thomas—don't blow the place up." He simply waves in response, and Brenda leads them out the back exit, the door closing with a sense of finality.

"Here we go," Newt mummers, the lock finally falling away with a clatter that sounds almost like victory.

Thomas immediately surges forward, a newfound energy almost making his eyes glow. "It's open?" he exclaims. "That's great. Come on, let's get this serum in you."

Newt flashes a wide grin, and Gally can't help but notice how much younger it makes him look. Can’t help but notice how much life he has in him whenever he looks at Thomas. “Wow, Tommy, I was just thinking we chuckled the vials out on the Scorch, how about it?”

“So funny,” Thomas deadpans, mood undamped as he hauls Newt on his feet and sets him aside with ease. “Serum, then Minho.” He pulls the vault door open and his mouth splits into a smile that matches Newt.

“It’s not perfect yet,” Teresa says quietly, and they all ignore her. “Thomas, I think it’s your blood—“

Thomas darts into the vault with the duffel. “Newt,” he calls over the sound of clinking glass. “Roll your sleeve up. I’m not wasting a single second.”

Newt rolls his eyes but obliges. “You talk like the vials are suddenly going to fly away into thin air.”

“Who the hell knows, nowadays.” Thomas walks out, bag significantly more full and pure joy coating his features, practically skipping as he approaches Newt. “We didn’t even know about the Flare until—“

The door slides open again, and Gally turns, ready to retort. “You forgot something, Brenda—?”

His voice dies in his throat, replaced by his heart beating in overtime.

“I knew there was something a little odd in the works,” Janson says, voice lilted as a dozen WICKED soldiers march in, surrounding them. “Thank you for the heads up, Teresa.”

Slowly, they all turn their heads. Teresa gazes at the ground like she wants nothing more than to sink into it.

“Thomas,” Janson takes a step towards him, gun pointing at Thomas, who immediately takes a step closer to Newt, partially blocking him. “You know you need to give me that bag.”

He doesn’t speak. His eyes are darting everywhere, in all directions: up into the ceiling, down at the floor, left to the soldiers, right to their weapons. It’s as if he’s trying to look for a way out by looking hard enough. Gally concedes that it worked well enough in the maze. Slyly, he sees Thomas’ hand cover his holster.

“You don’t want to do that,” Janson chides. Thomas stills for a second before rushing to pull out his pistol. “I said,'' Janson stretches other the vowels lackadaisically, shifting his aim so that it’s directly on Newt. “You don’t want to do that.”

That gets Thomas to stop moving. Gally notes with the idle, dazed part of his mind that Janson knows exactly how to get to Thomas. Or maybe Thomas is just really obvious about Newt.

“Good.” Janson takes a lap around the room, surveying the damage. “You take a good portion of my men and move the Immunes. Now, you're going to—"

But Janson doesn't know the new Thomas quite as well.

With a speed that Gally's long-since associated with him, Thomas yanks a stun grenade from his belt, unclips it and throws it directly at Janson. Duck."

Newt grabs Thomas and Gally and pulls them into the serum vault just as it goes off, the sound of bodies hitting the ground almost satisfying. They stay still for a few seconds before Gally peeks out. "Nice one, Greenie. Who knew your crazy methods would actually—"

Something catches his eye, and Gally frowns as something rolls into the vault with them, before his eyes widen. "Fuck."

There's no time to move, no time to run. The only thing Gally can do is use his body to shield Newt and Thomas from another stun grenade that goes off only a few feet in front of him.

The last thing he sees is Teresa's hand still outstretched, expression unreadable.

—

He feels like a Griever just sucker punched him to the gut.

Every inch of his body is sore, with random points of his body twitching at unexpected moments. Vaguely, something smells like it's burning, and Gally thinks it might just be from being fried by a stun grenade.

His eyes flutter open as confusion hits him. That stun grenade should've killed him. Unless—

There's the sound of someone shuffling near him, and it takes all of his remaining energy to twist his neck sideways. It takes a second for him to realize that they're not in the same room anymore. Floor to ceiling of cold concrete, his best guess is they're in some stairwell somewhere.

Teresa is kneeling next to Thomas—still knocked out—careful hands holding a syringe as she extracts blood from his arm, brows creased in concentration. It's as if his vocal chords are tangled up, and it takes him a few tries before he croaks out: "You use a non-lethal stunner?"

Her eyes flicker to him briefly before focusing on Thomas once more. There's already one, full vial of blood tucked into her coat. "The medical wing," she starts, voice quiet but sure. "Take the door on your right. At the end of the hall there'll be an elevator. Go up to the 21st floor. Turn left, there'll be a portion of glass walls. You can't miss it."

He stares at her. "Shouldn't you kill us?"

She lets out a sharp breath. "I never wanted you guys dead, you know. I just wanted to find a cure."

"You're on WICKED's side—"

"I'm on the side that would help me find a cure." She finishes up with Thomas, gently bandaging his arm almost affectionately. "WICKED had the funds and the access to Immunes. It was a no-brainer." She glances around Thomas, then Newt, then Gally. "You recovered quickly," she tells him. "You get hit with stun grenades often?"

If he had any liking towards her, he would've offered that it was part of his training. Non-lethal stunners were something they were expected to endure on a daily basis while patrolling the outer wall. As it was, Gally stayed silent.

Teresa nods to herself, as if expecting the cold shoulder. "Janson's still out there. Had to choose between killing him or getting you three out of there."

"You'd kill Janson?" he rasps out. "Would killing him help you get the cure?"

"No." Her index finger gently traces Thomas' bandage, but she carefully avoids touching his skin. "But it would keep Tom safe."

A pang of pity strikes deep in his chest. "Thomas is Newt’s," he says bluntly. It's the closest thing to mercy that he can offer her. "That's not changing anytime soon. Or ever, really."

Teresa lets out a huff. "Thanks. I think I picked up on that." She gets on her feet, pocketing the second vial into her coat, the two bottles clinking against each other almost rhythmically. "The other two should be up in the next minute, and you'll be able to move again in the next ten. You'll probably get your strength back quicker than them."

She moves to the door, and as she's about to leave, she hesitates. "Tell Thomas I'm sorry. I think it got caught in the crossfire, during the chaos."

Gally scrunches his brows. "What?"

"Just tell him to find me. I'll be in the labs, somewhere, but I need to hide from WICKED, too. Tell him I think I might have the cure. The real one." She swallows, and pain flashes on her features before smoothing it out. "His need to protect Newt should be enough to outweigh his distrust of me, at least."

With that, she walks out the door, leaving Gally to stare up at the ceiling to wait out the stunner.

—

It doesn't take long for Thomas to rouse.

He scrambles on his feet, only for him to immediately throw up on the staircase. Gally can sympathize. "Where—"

"Chill out Greenie," he mollifies. He eventually found the strength to sit up, letting the wall support him. The soreness in his body is subdued and he can shift around without groaning out loud. "Newt's behind you."

Thomas turns and sinks to his knees, where Newt's eyes are still closed and relaxed. He watches, feeling almost voyeuristic as he touches the black veins on Newt's jaw. "Why isn't he up yet?"

"Not sure. Teresa said he'll be up soon."

At that, Thomas' hand stills. "Teresa," he mutters, like he's just remembering where they are right now. "Teresa. The cure. The serum."

Thomas pivots to Gally. "Where's the duffel?"

Gally hesitates. "Greenie..."

He stands, eyes lighting up as he spots the duffel bag sitting on the bottom stair. "Did you already inject—"

"Thomas."

Thomas opens the bag before his entire frame stills, motionless.

Gally's mouth flattens into a thin line. He knows exactly what Thomas is looking at—broken glass swimming in bright, blue liquid, sloshing within the bag. Not a single vial left untouched.

All the serums broke.

For a long, long moment, it doesn't even look like Thomas is breathing. Slowly, he reaches into the bag and cups a handful of wet, shards of glass, thoughtless of the pain. "Do you..." His voice is a terrible thing, crackling with grief. "If I separate the glass, then maybe..."

Gally is shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "I don't think so."

"Okay." Bit by bit, one hand clutching the fragmented pieces and the other still clenching tightly onto the dripping duffel bag, he settles next to Newt. "Okay."

He watches as Thomas looks at the ceiling, then to his hands, blue serum mingling with the red of his blood, before staring at Newt. The concrete walls provide a blissful quiet from what Gally's sure is a hectic facility mere meters from where they're sitting. Like this, he can hear Newt's steady breathing and Thomas' erratic exhales, with the faintest sound of glass clinking against one another as Thomas' hands shake and falter.

Like a bad surgeon, he sees how Thomas, impossibly, pulls himself together stitch by stich until he becomes something that functions again; tangled, knotted, limbs jumbled, but forced to function. He takes a deep breath before turning to Gally once more.

"What did Teresa say?" he asked, voice steady and monotone. His expressionless face giving nothing away, but his eyes swirls with something like darkness, thick and heavy.

"She told me where the medical wing is." Gally sees Newt's fingers twitch. "She also said she thinks she has a cure. Took some of your blood."

Thomas' expression doesn't shift. "A cure."

"That's what she said."

"A cure," he reiterates, like he was tasting the syllables on his tongue, like it was an effort to speak. Almost thoughtlessly, Thomas lets go of the duffel and sinks his fingers into Newt's thick hair. "A cure."

Gally leans forward. "Thomas." He keeps his words neutral, steady. This is how he speaks, in the rare moments where he's involved in hostage situations. Who the hostage is, he's not sure. "We can't trust Teresa, remember?"

Thomas' eyes lift. They're bloodshot and vicious. "The cure needs to exist."

For a moment, Gally wants to argue. Weren't you the one who blew up at her? Weren't you the one who was itching to kill her not long ago? Weren't you the one she hurt the most? Instead, he watches as Thomas continues to comb through Newt's hair, mummering to him softly, like softness is enough to remove the Flare from his veins.

"It needs to exist," Gally echoes.

Eventually, Newt's eyes flutter open before immediately lurching sideways, retching. Even from this angle, Gally can see the black liquid splatter on the floor.

"It's okay," There's none of the violence present when he looks at Newt; only worry and warmth in the cold stairwell they're all hiding in. "Don't get up too fast, but we need to go soon."

Slumping back into the floor, his voice has a shake to it that he isn't used to hearing. "Tommy."

"Yeah?" he replies, still combing through Newt's hair.

"Your name is Tommy."

The hand stills, before continuing. "Yeah, it's Tommy."

Newt sits up, Thomas helping him as he does so, and looks at Gally with that peculiar expression. "It's Gally," he says, beating him to it. "How much do you remember this time?"

"Where are we?"

"The WICKED facility. We're getting your serum and Minho, then we're getting the fuck out of here." At the tilt of Newt's head, Gally tries again, a twinge in his chest as he has to explain, "Minho's our friend. We need to save him."

"We must really like this guy then." Newt raises a hand and Thomas helps him stand. "What do I need a serum for?"

There's silence for a moment. "We should hurry," Gally says instead. "Newt, are you good?"

"I kind of feel like I got beat up," he rolls his shoulder, wincing. "But otherwise, I can walk."

"I got you," Thomas says gently. "Just stay close to us."

Gally cracks the door open, peering out, and feels someone behind him. "Don't you think it would be better if we had him meet up with Brenda?" he asks without turning around. "We can bring the serum to him afterwards."

"With the way he's going now, I can't risk delaying the serum. And besides," he paused. I promised him we'd stay together. No matter what."

A rush of irritation brushes down his spine. "And that promise is more important than keeping him alive?"

"You know that's not true," Thomas snaps. "But Newt and I talked about this beforehand. He wants to stay, so he's staying."

"Thomas—"

"Gally," his tone is final. "I have to trust Newt."

"Even now?"

"Especially now." Thomas yanks the door open, looks both ways, before leaving. Newt, confused and slightly feverish, follows him without question.

[mercurialskiies]

I don’t care what anyone says, but

“There is nowhere you go,” said the Antari to her prince, “that I cannot follow.”

was an absolutely banger line that, now in CONTEXT, hurt me on a spiritual level

They make me so absolutely ILL

Thanks miss schwab

[kazoo-the-demjin]

Neil really put all of Riko's crazy ass work in front of Ichirou in the car and had the gall to say "I am not saying your brother is out of line"

[melit0n]

I love Jaws with all my heart, so, here I come with a little analysis again!

First off, the title. Bite my neck, drink my blood and make us one type vibes. Sleep Token in general has a massive thing with biting, teeth, consumption and chewing (there's a massive post on Reddit with all the times it's been mentioned, which, if I remember correctly, is around twenty), across their discography, and Jaws is the immediate beginning of this trend.

Jaws are a sign of power, destruction, love, sadness and joy. We bear our teeth when we're happy, when we're angry and when we eat. It is the ultimate metaphor for so many emotions. You don't know someone until you've seen them destroy something, to shout and scream and chew and bite, hence the line "show me those pretty white jaws; show me where the delicate stops". He's asking to see the real them, whoever they are.

All the lyrics have this underlying religious tone, as most Sleep Token songs do, but here it's more directly addressed. "Stained glass" is almost always associated with Churches and Cathedrals, and presents 'them' as something Holy; something that can and will be worshipped. However, the line "Whites of your eyes burn" completely removes all the ideas of safety that surrounds a religious figure. Of course, when it comes to divinity and sin, fire is a massive symbol we have to talk about. To burn is to suffer, but to be cleansed. It's this double entendre that presents this figure of safety as one who is also a threat. A predator.

Then, of course, we have "And I'm not here to be the saviour you long for". Unfortunately, Vessel seems to be in this constant battle of 'I can fix them; we can fix eachother. We're gonna be fine!' and 'I fucking hate you; leave me be or I'll have at you', which is what's seen in this one. Neither of them are the saviour the other one yearns for, yet Vessel still tries. He asks, and then repeats over and over, creating the tone of begging and pleading, for them to show him what they've lost and, in turn, show him love.

He's asking them for the two things they can never genuinely give, but he never stops trying because God forbid the things he'd do if he was alone again.

[marypsue]

>checks care tag >"hand wash cold or dry clean ONLY!!!" >checks fibre content tag >"100% plastic! :) :) :)"