#a study in miscommunication | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

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“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him.

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces.

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions.

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you? “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos.

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?”

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time.

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds.

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes.

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.”

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?”

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t.

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers.

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation.

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs.

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is.

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off.

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you.

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are.

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to.

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open.

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length.

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while.

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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won4kiss · 1 month ago

Text

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────UH OH, I’M FALLING IN LOVE.

𝓢YPNOSiS. you and heeseung have been rivals for as long as you could remember, constantly competing for the top spot in school—basically everything. living next door to each other only added to the fire, the tension between you, especially when heeseung’s cocky aura never seems to waver. but one single encounter shifts the entire dynamic, leading to confusing emotions arising, jealousy, and new surprising revelations. what happens when rivalry starts to feel like it’s growing into something more?

୨୧ 𝓟AiRING. academic rival! lee heeseung x fem! reader, e2l, platonic jake sim! x reader.

୨୧ 𝓖ENRE. frenemies to enemies to lovers trope, neighbours trope, slowburnish, she fell first, he fell harder, angst but vv happy & fluffy ending!! non!idol au.

୨୧ WARNiNGS. profanities, mean girl harassing yn, slight miscommunications, overthinking, heeseungs’ unfortunately vv dumb T-T, kissing, jealousy, insecurities, not proofread so expect spelling errors :3!!

୨୧ WORD COUNT. 10,283 | 10.2K

𝓟𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗟i𝗦𝗧 ﹕ labyrinth, taylor swift, let the light in, lana del rey, white mustang, lana del rey, i love you, i’m sorry, gracie abrams, nobody gets me, sza, fishtail, lana del rey, bel air, lana del rey, intro (end of the world), ariana grande, daydreamin’, ariana grande.

NOTE. after three days it’s finally complete:3 this is my first 10k+ work and i’m really proud of it!! feedback is always appreciated<3 ig this is another (late) birthday post for heeseung bc ilhsm!! ㅠㅠ

YOU HAVE ALWAYS HATED LEE HEESEUNG IN ALL YOUR YEARS OF LIVING.

or at least, that’s what you told yourself after your crush on him in freshman year, long before he decided he didn’t wanna be friends anymore—everyday as you stared at the back of his head in class, as you watched him stride confidently down the halls, or caught a glimpse of him outside your window, you knew you hated him.

it wasn’t hatred in the traditional sense, but rather an intense, gnawing resentment that had grown over the years.

he was your biggest rival—had been since childhood.

every achievement, every reward you earned, was always tainted by the fact that heeseung was right there, just a step ahead or a breath behind, competing with you for the same crown.

for as long as you could remember, it had been you and heeseung battling for the title of “number 1” in everything.

academics, sports, student council—if there was something to win, one of you would, and the other would be left second place, seething with anger.

you both knew it, and so did the rest of the school—the rivalry between the two of you was practically legendary.

and it didn’t help that you were neighbors.

from your bedroom window, you had a perfect view into heeseung’s room.

the distance between the two houses was just a few meters, and if you opened your windows at the same time, you could practically hear each other breathing.

there were nights when you could see the dim glow of his desk lamp as he studied late into the evening—no doubt working just as hard as you were, trying to maintain his title over you.

heeseung was infuriating, cocky, arrogant, and—worst of all—talented.

it wasn’t enough that he was smart—he was also athletic, charismatic, and effortlessly incredibly popular.

he’d never let you forget it, either, there wasn’t a day that passed without him throwing a smug comment your way about how he’d beat you in the last exam or how he scored higher in a math test by a single point.

“you almost had me that time,” he’d say with a smirk, as if being second place wasn’t a knife in your chest.

so, naturally, you’d responded in a way anyone else would, throwing curses and insults his way whenever you could.

it was a defense mechanism, a way to keep the bitter rivalry alive.

but deep down, you had to admit, there was something almost exciting about it.

heeseung pushed you to be better, to work harder—and while you loathed the look he gave you every time he won, there was something about his presence that you couldn’t quite shake off.

then, one morning, everything changed.

it was a normal tuesday, and you were getting ready for school as usual.

the sun was barely rising, casting a soft golden light into your room.

you were standing in front of your mirror, adjusting your uniform, when something caught your eye from the window—more specifically, someone.

heeseung.

at first, you didn’t think much of it—after all, his window was right across from yours, and you’d seen him countless times getting ready for the day.

but then you realized—he wasn’t just standing there, he was shirtless.

your heart skipped a beat—you froze, eyes wide, as you took in the sight of him.

his hair was still messy from his slumber, and his skin was glowing softly in the glow of the morning light.

you’d never really thought about heeseung in any way other than as your obnoxious rival, but seeing him like this—bare and vulnerable—you couldn’t deny that it did something to you.

you tried to tear your eyes away, but for some reason, you couldn’t.

you felt your cheeks grow hot as you stood there, practically staring at him.

and that’s when he turned his head.

he caught you.

heeseung’s eyes flickered toward your window, and for a split second, you thought maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t notice.

but then his lips curled into that familiar smirk, the one that always made you want to punch him, and he raised an eyebrow.

slowly, he stepped closer to the window, clearly amused by the fact that you’d been caught staring.

your heart hammered in your chest, this was the most mortifying moment of your life.

before you could react, heeseung opened his window, pushing it up with a soft creak.

his smirk widened as he leaned against the windowsill, his bare chest still on full display.

and then, he did something you didn’t expect—he motioned for you to open your window.

for a moment, you just stood there, frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

every fiber of your being screamed at you to ignore him, to pretend this never happened.

but there was something about the way he was looking at you—something playful, something almost… flirty? it sent your brain into a whirlwind of confusion.

with shaky hands, you hesitated, then slowly cracked open your window, just enough to hear him.

“what? did you enjoy the view?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

your face flushed even hotter—this was not happening. lee heeseung was flirting with you?

he had never flirted with you before—he was usually busy insulting you or trying to one-up you.

but now? now he was standing there, shirtless, with that stupid grin on his face, teasing you like this was some kind of game.

“i—what are you even talking about?” you stammered, trying desperately to regain some sense of control. “i wasn’t staring, freak!”

heeseung chuckled softly, the sound sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

“sure, you weren’t. it’s okay to admit it, you know? i get it. i am pretty hard to resist.”

you gaped at him, utterly speechles, was this really happening? was he seriously being… flirty?

your brain couldn’t handle it—without thinking, you slammed your window shut, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air.

your heart was racing as you quickly yanked the blinds down, cutting off any possibility of him seeing your red, embarrassed face.

you leaned back against the wall, your hand pressed to your chest as you tried to calm down.

what the hell just happened? was this some new tactic of his to throw you off your game? to mess with your head right before exams?

or… was it something else entirely?

for the first time in years, you found yourself truly confused about lee heeseung, and that terrified you.

you tried to push the incident out of your mind, but it clung to your thoughts like a stubborn stain you couldn’t scrub away.

that strange encounter with heeseung left you feeling unsettled, his cocky grin and the way his eyes lingered on you making you feel things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

flirting. it was definitely flirting. but why? what was his angle?

in the days that followed, things got even weirder.

heeseung, your sworn academic rival, the bane of your existence, had suddenly… softened.

the mean remarks, the casual taunts—gone.

instead, he’d been acting almost… considerate?

you noticed it first when you were walking into class one morning, arms full with textbooks and a coffee in hand.

normally, heeseung would be the first to slip in front of you and let the door slam shut in your face—just to get under your skin, of course.

but that morning, he held the door open for you, his eyes meeting yours briefly as he gave you a small nod.

“thanks,” you mumbled, confused but too caught off guard to say anything more.

he didn’t say anything either—no smug response, no condescending smile.

he just let you walk through the door and quietly followed you inside. the whole thing was… unnerving.

then, during class, he didn’t try to one-up you during discussions, didn’t toss his usual gloating looks your way when he answered a question right before you could.

he was just sitting there, minding his own business.

you couldn’t understand it. this wasn’t the heeseung you knew—the heeseung you’d spent years battling, exchanging insults, and outdoing each other.

this version of him, quiet and strangely kind, threw you off balance, and it only got worse.

in the hallways, heeseung started greeting.

not with his usual sarcasm, but with a simple, “hey.” sometimes, he’d even smile at you—an actual smile, not that infuriating smirk he usually wore.

you didn’t know what to do with it. your brain felt like it was short-circuiting every time he looked at you, like you couldn’t reconcile this new heeseung with the one who had spent years making your blood boil.

it wasn’t just you who noticed the change, either—your friends started giving you weird looks every time heeseung passed by without some snarky comment.

one day, your friend mina leaned over during lunch and whispered, “what’s up with heeseung? he’s been acting like… different lately.”

“i don’t know,” you muttered, stabbing at your food with more force than necessary. “maybe he’s finally grown up.” mina raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“or maybe he’s just tired of pretending to hate you.”

you nearly choked on your drink. “what?”

“come on,” mina said, smirking. “it’s obvious. heeseung’s been obsessed with you for years. he’s probably just finally figured out that he actually likes you.”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “that’s ridiculous. heeseung hates me. we’ve been rivals since we were kids.”

mina shrugged. “rivals, sure. but that doesn’t mean he hates you. sometimes people use rivalry as an excuse to get close to someone.”

you didn’t want to believe it. you couldn’t believe it. heeseung liking you? it made no sense.

he was obnoxious, arrogant, and had made your life hell for years.

there was no way he suddenly had feelings for you. no. it was all some game—some twisted strategy to throw you off your game. right?

but then there was that nagging feeling deep inside, the one you didn’t want to acknowledge— the same ones you felt not too many years ago.

the one that kept reminding you of how your heart had skipped a beat when you saw him shirtless through the window.

how your pulse quickened every time he smiled at you now, even if you hated to admit it.

the realization was creeping in slowly, like a slow, dread filled idea building in your chest.

the truth was, heeseung had always been more than just your rival. he’d always been the one person who could get under your skin in ways no one else could.

and maybe, there was something there—something that went beyond the rivalry.

but before you could make sense of it, everything had changed again.

a few days later, you noticed a new face in school.

she was striking—tall, with long, dark hair and a bright smile that seemed to light up the room.

she moved through the hallways with an air of confidence, making friends effortlessly.

within days, it felt like everyone knew her name—you quickly learned her name too: haerin.

at first, you didn’t pay much attention to her.

she was new, sure, but you had more important things to worry about—like the upcoming exams.

but then you noticed something that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t explain.

heeseung was spending time with her—a lot of time.

you saw them together between classes, walking side by side, talking and laughing.

heeseung, who had been oddly nice to you lately, now seemed to be focusing all his attention on this new girl.

it was subtle at first—just casual conversations, a friendly smile here and there—but soon, you started seeing them together all the time.

and it wasn’t just their proximity that bothered you. it was the way they were so… touchy.

heeseung would lean in close when he talked to her, his hand brushing her arm casually as he laughed at something she said.

she’d playfully nudge him back, her eyes sparkling.

it was the kind of easy, natural closeness that made you feel sick to your stomach.

jealousy was a foreign emotion for you—especially when it came to lee heeseung.

you’d never thought you’d care about who he spent time with—but seeing him with haerin, seeing how comfortable they were together, made something ugly and bitter rise in your chest.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being replaced.

that whatever strange connection you and heeseung had been developing was being overshadowed by this new girl.

as much as you tried to ignore it, the jealousy gnawed at you.

you couldn’t help but compare yourself to haerin—she was charming, effortlessly likable.

she fit in with heeseung’s world in a way that you never could.

you were his rival, his equal in competition, but haerin? she was someone who made him smile without the sharp edges.

you hated it. hated how it made you feel. hated how you started to question if heeseung had ever really changed at all, or if he had just been playing some long game with you.

days passed, and heeseung’s attention on haerin only seemed to grow.

they were inseparable now, and every time you saw them together, your heart clenched painfully.

the worst part was, heeseung barely even looked at you anymore.

he had stopped greeting you in the hallways, stopped holding the door for you, stopped leaving those lingering glances that had started to make your stomach flip.

it felt like you were disappearing from his world.

but maybe that was for the best, you thought—maybe heeseung was never meant to be anything more than your rival.

and maybe you were just fooling yourself into thinking there could be something more.

you had always prided yourself on your confidence.

in all the years you spent locked in competition with heeseung, you’d never doubted your abilities.

sure, he was good—annoyingly good—but so were you.

you matched him step for step, beat him sometimes, and when you didn’t, you got back up, ready to fight again.

but now, something was shifting, and it had nothing to do with grades or exams.

it had everything to do with haerin.

insecurity was new for you, but it was impossible to ignore, everywhere you looked, she was there—laughing with heeseung, brushing against him like they’d known each other for years, not just a couple of weeks.

they were so casual with each other, so comfortable.

you told yourself it didn’t matter, that heeseung’s friendships didn’t affect you.

but it did. it was starting to eat away at you, piece by piece.

what was worse was that you found yourself wondering why it wasn’t you.

why had heeseung been so kind to you one minute and then completely shifted his attention to someone else?

had all those smiles, those lingering glances, meant nothing? maybe you’d misread everything.

maybe it had never been anything more than a temporary truce in your endless battle.

but no matter how much you tried to brush it off, the truth was impossible to deny—you were jealous.

you hated that it felt like haerin was taking your place in heeseung’s life.

you hated the way she made him laugh so easily—and most of all, you hated how small and insignificant it made you feel.

and then came the final straw.

it was a friday afternoon, the cafeteria bustling with noise as students crowded around tables for lunch.

you were sitting with your usual group, mina chatting about some drama she’d seen on tv, but your attention was elsewhere—locked on the sight of heeseung and haerin across the room.

they were sitting together, as usual—haerin was leaning in close, whispering something that made heeseung throw his head back in laughter.

your chest tightened at the sight—you tried to look away, to focus on mina’s story, but it was impossible.

that green, bitter feeling of jealousy twisted in your stomach, making you feel sick.

“are you even listening?” mina’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you blinked, turning back to her.

“yeah, sorry,” you muttered, forcing a smile. “just… tired, i guess.”

mina raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but before she could say anything, someone approached your table.

it was haerin.

you looked up, startled to see her standing there with a carton of milk in hand, a sweet smile on her face.

but there was something about her expression that felt… off.

her eyes gleamed with a certain smugness that sent warning bells ringing in your mind.

“oops—” haerin’s voice was sickeningly sweet as she ‘accidentally’ tipped the milk carton over, sending the liquid spilling across the table and right into your lap.

your entire body stiffened as the cold milk soaked through your clothes, shock momentarily paralyzing you.

the cafeteria seemed to go quiet around you as everyone turned to look at the scene unfolding.

haerin’s smile didn’t waver for a second.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, though there wasn’t a trace of sincerity in her voice. “that was totally an accident!”

you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears as your mind raced to process what had just happened.

the milk was cold, seeping into your uniform, but that was the least of your concerns.

you knew it wasn’t an accident. haerin had done it on purpose, and judging by the look in her eyes, she wanted to humiliate you in front of everyone.

for a second, you felt frozen—the room was watching, the sound of whispers starting to make its way through the crowd as they waited to see what you would do.

“it wasn’t an accident,” you said, your voice sharp and louder than you intended.

you stood up abruptly, glaring at haerin. “you did that on purpose.”

haerin’s smile didn’t falter—she tilted her head, feigning innocence as she blinked at you.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. it was just an accident, really. no need to get so upset.”

the fake sweetness in her voice set your teeth on edge.

anger bubbled up in your chest, mixing with the hurt and insecurity you’d been bottling up for days.

“that’s a lie,” you snapped. “you’ve been trying to mess with me since you got here.”

the whispers around you grew louder as people leaned in, watching the confrontation unfold.

haerin’s eyes flickered with amusement, but before you could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“hey, what’s going on here?”

you turned to see heeseung standing a few steps away, his brows furrowed in confusion as he looked between you and haerin.

for a moment, relief washed over you. heeseung had seen everything, right? he’d understand what was happening, and for once, he’d take your side.

but then haerin turned her wide, innocent eyes on him, her lower lip jutting out in a perfect pout.

“i accidentally spilled milk on her,” she said, her voice soft. “but she thinks i did it on purpose. i don’t know why she’s so mad…”

you watched in disbelief as heeseung’s expression softened.

he glanced at you, but there was no anger in his eyes—only frustration.

“come on,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “it was an accident. don’t make a big deal out of it.”

your heart sank.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing—heeseung was taking her side? after everything you’d been through, after all the strange kindness he’d shown you in the past few days, he was choosing to believe her over you?

“that’s not what happened!” you shouted, your voice breaking with frustration. “she did it on purpose! you saw—”

“just drop it,” heeseung said, cutting you off—his tone was tired, as if this whole situation was just an inconvenience to him.

“you’re seriously overreacting.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. overreacting? he was dismissing you—again.

something in you snapped—without another word, you turned on your heel and bolted from the cafeteria, ignoring the whispers and stares that followed.

the humiliation, the betrayal—it was too much to bear.

you found yourself in the empty janitor’s room, the quiet darkness swallowing you whole.

you slid down the wall, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.

everything hurt—your pride, your heart, and the foolish hope you’d had that heeseung might actually care about you.

the cold, dim room was silent, except for your quiet sobs.

you tried to keep them in, biting your lip, but the tears just kept coming.

your hands trembled as they gripped your knees, pulling yourself into a ball on the floor of the empty janitor’s room.

it was the only place you could think to hide, the only place where no one would find you in this humiliating state.

you couldn’t believe how things had turned out—everything was a mess.

not just the milk soaking into your uniform, but the betrayal from heeseung, the stupid jealousy you felt toward haerin, and the way the entire cafeteria had seen you break down.

your head spun with anger and sadness, and no matter how hard you tried to calm yourself, the tears kept flowing.

then, there was a soft knock on the door.

you stiffened, wiping your face furiously with the back of your sleeve.

whoever it was, you didn’t want them to see you like this.

but before you could pull yourself together, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.

“hey… are you okay?”

jake sim?

you blinked up at him, confused, you hadn’t expected anyone to come looking for you, least of all jake—heeseung’s rival on the basketball court and someone you’d barely spoken to outside of class.

he closed the door behind him, giving you a soft, understanding smile as he crouched down in front of you.

you sniffed, quickly wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice still shaky. jake shrugged, sitting down beside you on the cold floor.

“i saw what happened in the cafeteria. i figured you might want to be alone, but… i also thought you could use some company.”

you looked away, embarrassed that he’d witnessed everything—the last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this, but at the same time, the quiet sympathy in his voice was oddly comforting.

“i don’t need company,” you muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

jake chuckled softly. “maybe not, but i’m staying anyway.” for a few moments, neither of you said anything.

jake sat beside you in silence, giving you space to collect your thoughts—it was strange how easy it felt to be around him.

even though you’d never been particularly close, his presence wasn’t overwhelming or intrusive. it was just… there, solid and dependable.

finally, you sighed, leaning your head back against the wall. “it was her,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“haerin. she did it on purpose.”

jake nodded. “i figured. she’s been hanging around heeseung a lot lately. guess she thought picking a fight with you would get her more attention.”

you clenched your fists, feeling the anger bubble up again. “and heeseung… he just believed her. he didn’t even listen to me. he just… told me to drop it, like it didn’t matter.”

jake was silent for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“yeah, that wasn’t cool of him. i don’t know what’s going on with heeseung, but what he did today was wrong. you deserved better than that.”

the simple validation of your feelings made something inside you crack open.

you hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear that—how much you needed someone to understand what you were going through.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

jake smiled at you, the kind of smile that felt genuine and warm. “anytime.”

for a while, you sat there in silence, letting the tension of the day slowly nib away in jake’s quiet company.

it was strange—this was the first real conversation you’d ever had with him, but somehow, it felt like you’d known him for longer.

there was no awkwardness, no pressure to fill the silence with unnecessary words. he was just… there.

after a while, you finally spoke again. “why are you being so nice to me?” you asked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

jake chuckled softly. “is it that surprising?”

“a little,” you admitted. “i mean, we’ve never really talked before.”

he nodded thoughtfully. “true, but i’ve seen you around. we’re in the same class, and you’re heeseung’s biggest rival. i guess i always admired how you handled him.”

you raised an eyebrow, surprised. “admired?”

“yeah,” he said with a smile. “heeseung can be a lot to deal with, but you never back down. you’re tough, and you’re not afraid to butt heads with him. that’s not something everyone can do.”

you blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

no one had ever put it that way before—most people saw your rivalry with heeseung as petty or competitive, but jake seemed to see something more.

something you hadn’t even realized about yourself.

“thanks,” you murmured, unsure of what else to say.

jake gave you another easy smile. “no problem. and hey, if you ever need someone to vent to, i’m here. heeseung might be my rival on the court, but that doesn’t mean i’m on his side when it comes to this.”

for the first time all day, you felt a small, genuine smile tug at your lips.

jake’s kindness, his quiet reassurance, was exactly what you needed.

he didn’t try to fix everything or offer empty words of comfort. he just listened, and somehow, that made all the difference.

“thanks, jake,” you said softly. “i really do appreciate it.”

“anytime,” he replied with a grin, standing up and offering you a hand to help you off the floor.

you hesitated for a moment, then took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

as you both made your way out of the janitor’s room, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, like some of the weight on your chest had lifted.

jake’s unexpected kindness had done more to heal the hurt than you’d expected.

and as you walked side by side back to class, you realized that maybe, this was the beginning of a new friendship.

over the next few days, something unexpected happened—you found yourself spending more time with jake.

jake made everything feel a little easier, a little lighter, and you didn’t feel the constant pressure to put up walls around him.

at first, it was just small moments here and there, like passing each other in the hallways and exchanging knowing smiles, or sitting together during lunch when mina was busy.

with jake, there were no mind games, no intense competition, and definitely no betrayal.

the first time you laughed with him in class, you almost forgot the sting of what had happened with heeseung—almost.

it was small things at first. jake would crack a joke when you were feeling down, or lean over during study periods to ask a random question that had nothing to do with school but everything to do with making you smile.

he had this easygoing charm about him, the kind that made it impossible to stay mad or sad for long.

and, of course, heeseung noticed.

it was hard not to. you and jake had started walking to and from classes together, and every time heeseung passed by, you could feel his eyes on you.

he didn’t say anything at first, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your skin prickle—like he was trying to figure something out, something that was just out of his reach.

one afternoon, you were sitting with jake outside, taking in the rare moment of sunshine between classes.

jake had just told a terrible joke, the kind that made you laugh even though it was ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, playfully nudging his shoulder.

“really, jake? that’s the best you’ve got?” you teased, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye as your laughter faded.

“hey, i don’t see you coming up with anything better,” he shot back, grinning.

his smile was infectious, and you felt a warm comfort wash over you.

it was nice, being able to relax like this—something you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

but then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

heeseung stood a few feet away, watching you and jake with a look that was hard to read.

his jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw something close to frustration flash across his face.

you immediately straightened up, the laughter dying in your throat as you met his gaze.

heeseung didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but the tension between the three of you was thick.

jake noticed too, his smile fading slightly as he glanced between you and heeseung, clearly picking up on the strange energy.

“heeseung,” jake greeted casually, though his tone was a little less cheerful than before. “you need something?”

heeseung’s eyes flickered from jake to you, and for a brief second, you saw something in them—something sharp and raw.

he shook his head, his expression unreadable. “no,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “just passing by.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say.

there was an awkwardness in the air, a tension that hadn’t been there before, and you couldn’t help but feel like something unspoken was simmering beneath the surface.

but before you could figure out what it was, heeseung turned and walked away without another word, leaving you and jake in a strange, uncomfortable silence.

jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “heeseung sure knows how to kill a vibe, huh?”

you tried to laugh, but it came out weak and forced. “yeah…”

but your mind was already elsewhere—on the look in heeseung’s eyes, the way his shoulders had tensed when he saw you and jake laughing together.

heeseung had never been one to back down from anything, but now it seemed like he was avoiding you.

and it didn’t make sense—one minute, he was pushing your buttons, flirting with you through the window, and the next, he was… distant. cold.

you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you two, and you didn’t know how to fix it.

worse, you didn’t even know if you wanted to.

that night, as you sat at your desk pretending to study, you caught a flicker of movement outside your window.

your heart skipped a beat, and before you could stop yourself, you glanced over to see heeseung’s figure illuminated in the soft glow of his desk lamp.

your eyes locked for a moment.

then, heeseung did something that took you completely by surprise.

he reached down, grabbed something from the floor, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed a small rock at your window.

it hit with a soft tap, not loud enough to startle you, but enough to catch your attention.

you hesitated, unsure of what he wanted.

heeseung hadn’t thrown rocks at your window since you were kids, back when your rivalry was less serious and more playful— back when you could actually call lee heeseung one of your best friends.

now, the gesture felt strange—almost nostalgic in a way that made your chest tighten.

still, you couldn’t ignore him—you pushed the window up, letting in the cool evening air, and leaned out slightly, your voice low as you called over to him.

“what do you want?”

heeseung’s face was mostly in shadow, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the edge of his window as if he was holding something back.

“i need to talk to you,” he said, his voice quieter than you expected. “now.”

you frowned, your heartbeat quickening. “about what?”

“just open your window,” he muttered, his voice strained. there was something different in his tone—something vulnerable, almost desperate.

it wasn’t like the confident, cocky heeseung you knew. and that was what made you hesitate.

but after a long pause, you sighed and opened the window a little wider, waiting for whatever he had to say.

you stood at your window, the cool night air brushing against your skin, as heeseung’s figure shifted in his room across from yours.

he was still gripping the windowsill, his posture stiff and tense.

the silence between you stretched, uncomfortable and heavy, until finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“what do you want, heeseung?” you asked, your voice coming out sharper than you intended.

the wound from the cafeteria incident was still fresh, the memory of him siding with haerin burning in your chest.

for a second, heeseung didn’t respond, his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched tight as if he was struggling with what to say.

then, finally, he let out a long breath, and his shoulders slumped, just a little.

“why are you hanging out with jake?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

you blinked, caught off guard by the question. “what?”

heeseung’s hand ran through his hair in frustration.

“jake. you’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately. laughing with him, spending time with him…” his voice trailed off, and when his eyes met yours again, there was a flash of something vulnerable in them—something you hadn’t seen before. “why him?”

anger flared inside you—after everything that had happened, after he had humiliated you in front of everyone, this was what he cared about? who you were spending time with?

“why does it matter?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “what, you’re allowed to spend all your time with haerin, but i can’t hang out with jake?”

heeseung winced at the mention of haerin, but he didn’t back down.

“that’s not what this is about—“

“then what is it about?” you shot back, your voice rising with frustration. “because from where i’m standing, it seems like you’re just jealous.”

heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say it out loud. “jealous? of jake?”

“yeah,” you said, glaring at him. “you have no right to question who i spend time with. especially after what you did.”

his brows furrowed in confusion. “what are you talking about?”

“the cafeteria, heeseung!” you practically shouted, the hurt finally spilling over.

“you took haerin’s side, you embarrassed me in front of everyone, and you didn’t even bother to hear me out! and now, you’re mad because i’ve been hanging out with jake? after you made it pretty clear you don’t care about me at all?”

the words came out harsher than you intended, but once they were out, there was no taking them back.

the raw truth of how much heeseung had hurt you was now laid bare between the two of you, hanging in the air like a thick fog.

heeseung’s expression crumpled. for a moment, he looked utterly lost, his eyes wide with regret and something close to panic.

“i—” he opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from yours. “i didn’t know. i didn’t realize…”

you let out a bitter laugh, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“of course you didn’t heeseung, you’ve been too busy with haerin to notice.”

heeseung’s face twisted with frustration. “it’s not like that with her.”

“really? because it sure seems like it.” your voice was trembling now, the emotional weight of everything threatening to crush you.

“you’re always with her. you don’t even look at me anymore. and when you did have the chance to stand up for me, you didn’t. you humiliated me, heeseung. and you didn’t care.”

the words hit him like a slap. you could see it in the way his eyes widened, how his hands balled into fists at his sides.

heeseung took a step closer to the window, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “you think i didn’t care?”

you stayed silent, your heart pounding in your chest.

heeseung’s jaw clenched, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “i’ve been an idiot. i know that now.” his eyes were locked on yours, and for the first time, you could see the depth of his regret.

“you’re right. i didn’t stand up for you, and i should have. i hurt you, and i hate that i did. but it’s because…”

he hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

“it’s because i’ve been trying so hard to ignore how i feel about you,” he finally confessed, his voice thick with anxiety.

“i’ve spent so long thinking of you as my friend—then my rival and enemy, as someone i had to beat, that i didn’t realize… i didn’t want to admit that it was more than that.”

your breath caught in your throat.

“i’ve been feeling odd—weird around you for a long time,” heeseung continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“but i didn’t know how to deal with it. i pushed you away, acted like a jerk because i was scared. and then haerin showed up, and i thought if i focused on her, maybe i could forget about you—get rid of this feeling, but i couldn’t.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

you wanted to be angry, wanted to hold on to that hurt and betrayal, but hearing heeseung’s voice crack with vulnerability made it harder.

his words, the way he looked at you, made you feel things you had been trying to deny for so long.

“but why didn’t you defend me?” you asked, your voice breaking.

heeseung’s expression crumpled. “i don’t know,” he whispered. “i was stupid. i thought if i stayed out of it, it would just go away. but it didn’t. and now i’ve ruined everything.”

you stared at him for a long moment, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

heeseung was standing there, tears welling in his own eyes, and for the first time in all the years you’d known him, he looked completely vulnerable.

“i don’t know if i can forgive you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “not right now.”

heeseung nodded, his lips pressed tightly together as he swallowed hard.

“i understand,” he said softly. “but please… don’t shut me out.”

without another word, you shut your window, turning your back on him and collapsing onto your bed, emotions swirling inside you.

even though you had closed the window on him, part of you still wanted to reach out.

the next morning, you woke up feeling emotionally drained.

the conversation with heeseung played over and over in your mind like a broken record player, his voice echoing in your head, repeating those words.

“i’ve liked you for a long time.”—you had wanted to be angry, to stay angry, but now, all you felt was confusion.

did it even matter? he’d hurt you, after all.

that should’ve been enough to keep the walls you’d built between the two of you intact.

but something inside you had softened at seeing him so vulnerable, so broken.

you’d seen a side of him you weren’t sure anyone else had ever seen.

as you made your way to school, you told yourself that things would go back to normal.

you’d ignore heeseung like you always did, keep your distance, and focus on the things that mattered—your studies, your friendship with jake, anything but heeseung.

but the moment you walked into the classroom, all of that went out the window.

there, sitting on your desk, was a small carton of strawberry milk—your favorite.

you stopped in your tracks, blinking in confusion—the bright pink carton stood out against the plain wooden surface of your desk, and for a moment, you thought it had to be some kind of mistake.

but then you saw it— a folded note tucked underneath the carton.

with cautious fingers, you reached for the note and unfolded it. the handwriting was familiar, neat and precise.

“i’m sorry.”

that was it—no explanation, no signature, but you didn’t need one.

you knew exactly who it was from. your heart gave an involuntary flutter, and you quickly stuffed the note into your bag before anyone could see it.

your eyes darted to heeseung’s seat across the room.

he was already there, sitting with his head resting on his hand, staring at the window as if he hadn’t just left a peace offering on your desk.

he didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you, but you could feel the tension radiating off him, like he was waiting for you to react.

you bit your lip, unsure of what to do—you wanted to stay mad at him, wanted to cling to the hurt and anger from yesterday, but this… this small gesture of apology tugged at something deep inside you.

heeseung wasn’t one to apologize easily. you knew that. he was proud, stubborn, and always had to win. but this? this was different. it wasn’t much, but it was something.

before you could figure out how to feel about it, the bell rang, and the classroom began to fill with students.

you slid into your seat, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as the day began.

over the next few days, it became a pattern.

every morning, when you arrived at school, there was something waiting for you on your desk—a carton of strawberry milk, a small packet of your favorite snacks, even a neatly folded handkerchief after gym class when you’d been sweating.

each gift came with the same simple note—“i’m sorry.”

it was starting to drive you crazy.

heeseung didn’t say a word to you during class, didn’t try to talk to you between periods, but his quiet gestures of apology were impossible to ignore.

the other students had started to notice too, whispering to each other whenever they saw the latest offering on your desk.

“what’s going on with you and heeseung?” mina asked one day at lunch, her eyebrows raised in suspicion. “he’s been acting so… weird lately.”

you shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “i don’t know. he’s just… apologizing, i guess.”

mina’s eyes widened. “apologizing? for what?”

you hesitated, unsure of how much to tell her—mina didn’t know about the confrontation in the cafeteria, didn’t know how much heeseung’s words had hurt you.

and honestly, you didn’t feel like reliving it. so instead, you just sighed. “it’s complicated.”

mina gave you a look, clearly not satisfied with your vague answer, but thankfully she didn’t push it.

instead, she glanced over at jake, who had been sitting quietly beside you, picking at his food.

“what do you think about all this?” she asked, nudging him playfully. “you and heeseung have always been rivals too, right?”

jake glanced up, his expression thoughtful “yeah, we’re rivals on the court,” he said, his voice casual. “but i don’t really care about that. if he’s apologizing, maybe he’s finally realized he messed up.”

you looked over at jake, feeling a wave of gratitude for his support.

he had been there for you when you needed someone, and now, more than ever, you appreciated his calm, steady presence.

he didn’t make a big deal out of the situation, didn’t push you to confront heeseung before you were ready. he just… understood.

jake caught your eye and smiled, and for a moment, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

but of course, that peace didn’t last long.

later that afternoon, as you were walking through the hall with jake, laughing at one of his dumb jokes, you felt someone grab your wrist.

you stopped, your laughter dying on your lips as you turned to see heeseung standing there, his grip firm but not painful.

his eyes were intense, his jaw set in determination.

“come with me,” he muttered, his voice low and urgent.

you blinked, confused. “what? where—”

“just… come on.” heeseung didn’t give you a chance to argue. he tugged you along, pulling you toward the stairwell that led up to the rooftop.

jake called after you, his voice tinged with concern, but you were already too far down the hall to stop.

your heart pounded in your chest as heeseung led you up the stairs, the quiet intensity of the moment making your head spin.

when you finally reached the rooftop, he let go of your wrist and turned to face you, his expression conflicted, like he didn’t know whether to yell or beg for your forgiveness.

“what are you doing, heeseung?” you asked, your voice shaky with confusion and anger.

“i need to talk to you,” he said, his voice quiet but desperate. “about everything.”

the rooftop was quiet, other than the soft rustling of the wind and the distant chatter of the school below.

you stood there, facing heeseung, your heart pounding in your chest.

the tension between the two of you was thick, and the silence stretched on, filled with the weight of everything unsaid.

“what are we doing here?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

you were still reeling from the suddenness of it all—one moment you’d been laughing with jake, and the next, heeseung was dragging you up here like something urgent was at stake.

heeseung ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face.

“i needed to get you away from him,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“from jake?” you asked in bewilderment, your anger flaring up again. “what does jake have to do with this?”

heeseung finally looked at you, his eyes dark and intense. “everything. he’s—he’s not the one you should be with.”

you stared at him, stunned. “excuse me? what gives you the right to say that?”

“i know,” heeseung said quickly, holding up his hands in a gesture that almost seemed like surrender.

“i know i don’t have the right. but i can’t stand watching you with him any longer.”

your chest tightened as his words hung in the air—you didn’t know what to say.

part of you wanted to snap back, to tell him that he had no business being jealous after what he did.

but the other part of you— the part that had been waiting for him to say something—was finally starting to understand.

heeseung’s voice softened, and he took a small step closer to you. “even if we’re enemies, even if we’ve always been rivals, i would never side with jake. i would never choose someone over you.”

you blinked, your mind racing. his words made no sense. “then why didn’t you defend me in the cafeteria?” your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded, but the hurt was still there, sharp and raw.

heeseung flinched at the question, his jaw tightening. “i told you— i don’t know,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“it was stupid. i didn’t realize how much i was hurting you. and when i saw you with jake…”

he trailed off, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand what he was struggling to say.

“when you saw me with jake, what?” you pushed, your voice quieter now, the anger fading away into something softer.

heeseung swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving yours.

“when i saw you with him, i realized how much i messed up. i realized that i was losing you, and i didn’t know what to do.” he took another step closer, his eyes filled with regret.

“i’ve been trying to ignore it for so long—these feelings i have for you. but i can’t anymore.”

your breath hitched at his confession, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

heeseung, the person you’d spent your entire life competing with, the person who had always been rude and cocky, was standing in front of you, confessing that he liked you?

“feelings?” you echoed, your voice barely audible.

heeseung nodded, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“yeah. i’ve liked you for a long time, but i didn’t know how to handle it. so i pushed you away. i made everything about our rivalry because i didn’t know what else to do.”

his words hit you like a wave, crashing over you and leaving you breathless.

you didn’t know how to process it, didn’t know how to reconcile the heeseung you’d always known with the one standing in front of you now, baring his soul.

“i hurt you,” heeseung continued, his voice trembling slightly. “and i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. but i can’t stand the thought of you being with someone else. i don’t want to be your rival anymore. i don’t want to lose you.”

you stared at him, your heart pounding, your mind racing with thoughts.

this was everything you’d been trying to ignore, everything you’d pushed aside because you didn’t want to acknowledge the feelings that had been building up between you.

but now, standing here, with heeseung looking at you like he was afraid you were going to slip away, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

“i…” your voice faltered, your throat tight with emotion. “you’re an idiot.”

heeseung blinked, startled. “what?”

“you’re an idiot,” you repeated, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escaped your lips.

“you spent all this time pushing me away when you could have just told me the truth earlier.”

heeseung opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, you closed the distance between you in one fast motion, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss.

for a second, heeseung froze, clearly shocked by your sudden move.

but then, he kissed you back, his hands coming up to gently cup your face.

the kiss was soft, slow at first, but it quickly deepened as all the tension between you melted away.

it was like everything you’d been holding back, all the unspoken words, all the bottled-up emotions, were finally being released in that moment.

heeseung’s lips were warm and gentle, and he kissed you like he’d been wanting to for a long time—slowly, sweetly, as if he didn’t want the moment to end.

your heart raced in your chest, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you poured all of your frustration, confusion, and affection, into the kiss.

when you finally pulled away, breathless, you stared up at him, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding.

heeseung’s eyes were wide with surprise, but there was a small, almost dazed smile tugging at his lips.

“i… i didn’t expect that,” he whispered, his voice shaky.

you smiled, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. “you’re such an idiot,” you said again, but this time, there was no bite to your words—just warmth.

heeseung let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “yeah,” he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. “i am.”

without thinking, you kissed him again, softer this time, more sure of yourself.

and as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, you realized that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

the next day at school, everything felt different. it was subtle at first—a kind of quiet shift in the air that made you hyper-aware of heeseung’s presence the moment you walked into the classroom.

you weren’t used to this��the ease, the softness that seemed to have settled between you overnight.

after years of rivalry, the shift from enemies to something more felt almost surreal.

but then you saw him—heeseung sitting at his desk, already glancing over at you the second you stepped through the door.

his usual smirk was gone, replaced by a small, almost shy smile, and it sent a warm flutter through your chest.

you smiled back, the tension from the day before melting away as he held your gaze for just a moment longer than usual.

it was like the rivalry had evaporated overnight, leaving something softer in its place. and yet, the familiarity of your banter remained.

you slid into your seat, feeling a little lighter than you had in weeks.

there was no strawberry milk waiting on your desk this time, no snacks or apology notes, but the absence didn’t bother you.

the fact that heeseung had taken the time to talk to you, to open up the way he had, was more than enough.

still, you couldn’t help but notice that people were whispering.

it wasn’t loud or obvious, but every so often, you’d catch someone glancing your way, their eyebrows raised in curiosity.

mina, of course, was the first to bring it up.

“what’s going on with you and heeseung?” she asked as soon as you sat down for lunch.

her eyes were gleaming with excitement, clearly having picked up on the shift in dynamics. “you two are acting so different!”

you shrugged, trying to play it off as casually as you could. “we talked. that’s all.”

mina narrowed her eyes. “you talked? come on, you can’t tell me something didn’t happen. you guys have been enemies for, like, forever, and suddenly you’re all… smiley. it’s weird.”

you felt your cheeks heat up, and you looked down at your tray, trying to hide the small grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “it’s complicated.”

before mina could press you further, someone else slid into the seat next to you.

you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was—jake, with his usual easygoing smile and relaxed posture, leaned back in his chair as if he owned the place.

“so, you and heeseung, huh?” jake asked, his tone teasing.

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “not you too.”

jake chuckled, nudging you with his elbow. “hey, i’m just happy for you. i mean, after everything that happened… well, it’s nice to see you smile again.”

you peeked at him from between your fingers, grateful for his kindness.

jake had been there for you when you needed someone, and you’d grown closer over the past few weeks.

but now, things were different, and while you appreciated his friendship, you couldn’t deny the new fluttering feeling that came with thinking about heeseung.

still, you couldn’t resist teasing jake a little. “you’re not jealous, are you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

jake laughed, shaking his head. “nah, i could never compete with heeseung. that guy’s got it bad for you.”

the teasing tone in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you were about to reply when someone cleared their throat behind you.

you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—the shift in the air—the quiet intensity—was unmistakable.

heeseung stood there, his gaze flickering between you and jake, his jaw clenched slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“what’s going on here?” he asked, his voice casual but with an underlying edge of jealousy.

jake grinned up at him, completely unfazed by the tension. “just talking, man. relax.”

heeseung didn’t move, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “right. well, we’ve got plans after school, don’t we?” his tone was directed at you now, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight possessiveness in his voice.

you blinked, caught off guard. “plans?”

heeseung’s lips quirked up into a small smile, his eyes locking onto yours with a look of softness that made your heart race. “yeah. walking home together, remember?”

you tried not to smile too widely, but it was impossible to hide the way your heart fluttered at his words.

jake, ever the instigator, raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“oh, so it’s like that now?” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “guess i’ll have to find someone else to walk home with.”

heeseung shot him a look that was almost a glare, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “yeah, you will.”

you rolled your eyes, though a small giggle escaped your lips. “heeseung, you’re being ridiculous.”

heeseung leaned down, resting one hand on the back of your chair as he looked down at you with a grin.

“maybe,” he admitted, his voice softer now, “but i don’t like sharing.”

the possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, but instead of feeling annoyed, you found it… oddly endearing.

you nudged him lightly. “you’re such a child.”

heeseung chuckled, the sound low and warm, before he straightened up, glancing once more at jake. “you’ll be fine without her, right?”

jake waved him off, laughing. “i’ll survive, don’t worry.”

just as you were about to stand up and leave with heeseung, a voice interrupted the playful atmosphere, slicing through the lightheartedness like a cold breeze.

“heeseung.”

you looked up to see haerin standing a few feet away, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes that made your stomach twist.

she glanced between you and heeseung, her lips pressed into a thin line before she focused on him. “can we talk? alone.”

heeseung’s body tensed beside you, but instead of acknowledging her request, he tightened his grip on the back of your chair, his attention still fixed on you.

“no, i’m good,” heeseung said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

haerin blinked, clearly not expecting the rejection. “i just wanted to—”

“i’m with someone right now,” heeseung cut her off, his voice firm but calm. “and i’d appreciate it if you left us alone.”

the sting of his words was evident in haerin’s eyes, but she didn’t argue.

after a moment, she let out a quiet scoff and walked away, her shoulders tense as she disappeared into the crowd.

you stared at heeseung, surprised by how easily he had brushed her off.

heeseung, who had spent so much time with her recently, was now acting like she didn’t even exist.

“was that necessary?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

heeseung shrugged, his expression softening as he looked at you. “what can i say? i’m done with all the games.”

you felt a warmth spread through your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but smile.

the possessiveness, the way heeseung had stood by your side without hesitation—it all made you realize just how much had changed between you two.

as the day went on, the whispers and curious glances from your classmates only grew louder.

everyone seemed to be talking about you and heeseung, but you didn’t mind.

in fact, you kind of liked it. for once, the focus wasn’t on your rivalry—it was on something else, something sweeter.

at the end of the day, as promised, heeseung was waiting for you by the school gates.

you spotted him leaning casually against the fence, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but the moment he saw you, his face lit up with that soft smile that made your heart race.

“ready to go?” he asked, falling into step beside you as you started walking together.

you nodded, glancing up at him. “you know everyone’s talking about us, right?”

heeseung chuckled, shrugging. “let them talk.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a lightness to your steps as you walked side by side.

it felt easy, natural—like this was how things were always supposed to be.

and for the first time in a long time, the space between you and heeseung wasn’t filled with tension or competition.

it was filled with something warmer, something that made your heart feel full.

as you walked, you noticed heeseung’s hand brush against yours, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and intertwined your fingers with his.

heeseung glanced down at your hands, a look of surprise crossing his face before his smile widened, his grip tightening around yours.

neither of you said anything for a few minutes, just enjoying the silence and the feeling of walking together.

but eventually, you cleared your throat, glancing up at him with a teasing smile.

“so… are we, like, official now?”

heeseung slowed his pace, looking down at you with an amused grin. “official?”

“you know what i mean,” you said, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “boyfriend and girlfriend.”

heeseung’s expression softened at your words, and he stopped walking, turning to face you fully.

he gently cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“yeah,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “i want us to be official. if you do, too.”

your heart swelled at the tenderness in his eyes, and you felt a soft smile spread across your lips. “i do.”

heeseung’s eyes sparkled with something like relief and joy, and before you could say anything else, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

it was slow, gentle, and filled with all the unspoken promises of this new chapter you were beginning together.

when he pulled back, you were both smiling, a quiet warmth settling between you.

“good,” heeseung murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “because i’m not letting you go.”

you laughed softly, your heart feeling lighter than it had in ages. “i’m not going anywhere.”

with that, the two of you continued walking home, hand in hand, your steps perfectly in sync.

and as the sun shimmered down lower in the sky, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful—something that had been building for far longer than either of you had realized.

heeseung was no longer just your rival—he was your boyfriend.

and honestly? it felt perfect.

❝ PLEASE REBLoG AND LiKE .ᐟㅤ 💌

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