#ah taylor. i am so sorry

[rolandkaros]

TAYLOR TOWNSEND [USA] & KATEŘINA SINIAKOVÁ [CZE] in their runners'-up speeches || WTA FINALS RIYADH DOUBLES FINAL || 11 09 2024

[saythenametotheworld]

You Are In Love | y.jh (18+)

A life-changing event caused you to escape to the countryside—a coastal village with a small population of mostly old people and women. It was there that you found peace in your turbulent life and an unexpected connection with Yoon Jeonghan.

Genre: mistaken identity, strangers to lovers, smut Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader Warning: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), NOT PROOFREAD! Canceled out the angst bcs, just bcs. Notes: 19k words, song prompt was You Are In Love by Taylor Swift. I miss Hannie sm. Why can't he be like jaehyun and taeyong who appear in public from time to time? jk, obviously. I'm not complaining (I am). Guys it's been a while! Although, I'm sure you're already used to me popping in and out randomly. Just wanna let yall know that I see your asks all the time and most of them make me giggle. I'm just a little shy so I don't interact much. I'll try tho :> Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor do I claim they would ever act irl the way they are portrayed in this story.

Playlist: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift, Star Blossom - Doyoung x Sejeong, Magnets - NIKI, Starlight - Taeyeon Enjoy~

After four hours on the road, you finally passed the sign marking the entrance to the small town. The coastal highway had felt endless, a stretch of asphalt lined with rolling hills, but now, the ocean breeze was carrying the freshness of the countryside and the faint scent of salt. You drove through gentle hills before reaching the heart of the village, where a few modest establishments lined the narrow streets.

You knew what was waiting for you—a small, idyllic town—but even so, the retro charm of the downtown area caught you off guard. No buildings rose taller than four stories. It was like a pocket of time frozen in place, with shopfronts displaying modern signs over worn wooden frames. The colors faded but were still vibrant in the afternoon light.

You drove past the last few storefronts, through rows of homes and wide open fields until you reached the guest house. It looked much like the other houses in the neighborhood—simple and unassuming, save for the bright red roof and the wooden signpost by the gate.

The gates were open, so you let yourself in, taking a moment to soak in the quiet surroundings. The house had a traditional Korean setup, with a low table outside, a shed of large clay crocks (probably holding kimchi or fermented soybean paste), an outdoor cooking area, and other signs of daily life scattered around.

Then, the front door swung open, and a petite elderly woman stepped onto the porch, dressed in a floral blouse and loose pants. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, her sharp eyes scanning you before she broke into a warm smile.

“You must be the city girl,” she said, hands on her hips. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked at her bluntness but caught the teasing glint in her eyes. You smiled apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. Something came up, so I had to delay for a day. Is the room still available?”

“Of course! We don’t get many guests here. Haven’t had a single one this year until you.” She waved you inside. “Come. I don’t usually take in long-term guests, but I liked the way you spoke on the phone. You seemed polite.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in, wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. Something was cooking in the kitchen, filling the space with a savory aroma.

“You must be starving. Lunch is almost ready,” she called from the kitchen.

“Thank you. I’ll just grab my things from the car,” you said, pointing toward the door.

She nodded. “Ah, right. Let me help you with that.”

“No, it’s alright—”

“Hannie!” she called out, ignoring you. “Come out and help our guest with her luggage.”

A moment later, a figure appeared at the doorway. Tall, dark soft-looking hair trimmed just above the shoulders framed her delicate features—a straight nose, lips, and sharp, striking eyes with long lashes that would make anyone jealous.

There was something boyish in the way she moved. Her stride was quick and heavy, her clothes were loose and simple. A plaid button-down over a plain white t-shirt,  and pair of dark sweatpants. Not exactly the dainty look you might’ve expected from someone with a face like that, but it suited her.

“Hannie,” the elderly woman called again, motioning to the car outside.

She only hummed in response before stepping down from the porch and heading straight for your trunk. You followed after her, popping the trunk open just as she reached it.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can get the heavier ones,” you offered, out of habit more than anything.

Hannie barely spared you a glance before hauling out your largest suitcase like it weighed nothing. “It’s fine.”

You blinked. Okay, strong girl.

A small duffel bag dangled from her other hand as she turned back toward the house, moving easily despite the weight. You had to admit, you were a little relieved to know there was another girl your age in the house. You’d expected to spend most of your time with elderly folks—nice as they were, they didn’t quite offer the same kind of connection. But with Hannie here, at least you’d have someone to talk to.

Shutting the trunk, you grabbed the rest of your bags and followed her inside.

The first three days passed uneventfully. You quickly became familiar with the routine in the house: the sounds of cooking from the kitchen, the fluttering of old curtains in the breeze, and the occasional gathering of the elderly ladies just outside the gates of the guest house. You had been expecting peace, but this was something else entirely—a rare kind of mundanity, where time seemed to stretch and slow down. You loved it more than you had anticipated.

Hannie, the granddaughter of the house, was always present in some way but never fully there. She rarely spoke, her gaze slipping past you instead of meeting your eyes, and she was gone for long stretches of the day. You sometimes wondered where she went—perhaps to town, perhaps somewhere even quieter than here—but it wasn’t a question you felt the need to ask. It didn’t seem like she would answer, anyway.

When you did cross paths, the interactions were brief. A polite nod from her, a quick greeting from you. Occasionally, you’d catch her in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove, or stepping onto the porch with a towel slung over her shoulder, hair damp from a shower. Once, when you mumbled a sleepy “good morning” while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you thought you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward before she disappeared out the door.

You assumed she was just a little shy. Maybe reserved. That was fine with you. It was oddly nice having another girl around who didn’t expect constant conversation.

The guest house owner—Gram, as she liked to be called—was warm and thoughtful, though she saw your lack of movement as odd. She often encouraged you to explore, to go into town, to at least take a walk.

“Most people get restless after a day or two,” she said one morning, watching you sip your tea at the low table outside. “You, though, you act like you’ve been waiting your whole life to sit still.”

You grinned. “Honestly, Gram? I have.”

She clicked her tongue, unconvinced. “Hannie, why don’t you take her into town today? Show her around. The store won’t burn down without you for a day.”

At the mention of her name, Hannie, who had been quietly peeling fruit by the water pump, finally glanced at you. Her expression was unreadable, but her head tilted ever so slightly, as if sizing you up. Then, just as quickly, she shrugged. “Sure.”

It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic invitation, and you didn’t want to force anything. “Thanks, Gram, but I promise, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself.”

Gram sighed, shaking her head. “If you say so. But if you change your mind, just tell Han.”

You nodded, and across the table, Hannie met your gaze again, her lips pressing into something like a faint smile before she went back to peeling.

Still, Gram refused to let you be completely idle. Every day, she gave you a small task—flipping sun-dried herbs at noon, covering them before sunset. It wasn’t much, but it made you feel like a part of the household rather than just a passing guest.

Hannie never commented on your meandering presence in the house. Sometimes, she’d walk past you on the way out, sometimes you’d catch sight of her returning in the late afternoon, looking effortlessly graceful yet somehow boyish in the way she moved. 

As the days passed, little things about Hannie started catching your attention—details that didn’t quite match the soft-spoken, delicate image you’d formed of her at first. Her voice, though quiet, had a low, steady timbre. Occasionally, she’d roll her shoulders or rub the back of her neck in a way that felt oddly... rugged. There was something in the way she leaned against doorframes too, hands stuffed in her pockets, with a relaxed posture. And yet, she still looked as graceful as ever, dark hair soft against her skin, her features almost too pretty. 

The contrast was interesting, but you didn’t think much of it—so what if she was a little rough around the edges? Plenty of girls had tomboyish sides.

Strong, you thought idly one afternoon, watching her haul in a sack of something from outside. Strong for someone so pretty.

But you didn’t dwell on it. More than anything, it was just nice having another girl around. She wasn’t unfriendly, but she wasn’t exactly inviting either. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it suited the peacefulness of the guest house. You weren’t looking for company, and Hannie didn’t seem eager to offer it. But of course, living together would make people grow closer.

One morning, you found yourself at the kitchen table, lazily flipping through a magazine Gram had left lying around. Hannie stood by the sink, rinsing a handful of freshly picked persimmons.

“Do you eat these?” she asked.

You looked up. It was the first time she’d spoken to you without it being a response to something you said first. “I like them, but I never really had them fresh like that,” you admitted.

She grabbed a towel and started drying one. “They taste better chilled.”

“Oh?” You watched as she set a few aside and placed the rest in the fridge. “So you like them cold?”

She shrugged, placing one on the table in front of you. “Try it later.”

After that, you noticed other little things.

When you forgot your slippers outside one evening, you found them neatly placed by the door the next morning. The first time you struggled to lift one of Gram’s large water jugs, Hannie walked past, muttered, “You’ll hurt your back,” and hoisted it up with ease before you could protest.

“Thanks,” you said, surprised.

Gradually, your paths started crossing more. If she was already outside when you went to dry the herbs, she’d sit nearby, scrolling through her phone while you worked. If you ended up in the kitchen at the same time, she’d slide you a cup of whatever she was drinking without a word.

The conversations stretched a little longer, too. One weekend morning, you found her on the porch, sitting quietly under the sun. Without thinking, you sat beside her, stretching your legs out and basking in the sunshine.

“Gram says you haven’t gone to the beach yet,” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s been trying to get me out of the house since day one.”

Hannie smirked slightly, eyes still on the road. “She’s not used to people who like sitting still.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You talked about the weather, the best place to buy snacks in town, how the local stray cats had more attitude than city ones. They weren’t deep conversations, but they were comfortable.

Hannie still wasn’t overly talkative, but she started meeting your eyes more, responding with more than just a nod. And sometimes, when she thought you weren’t paying attention, you’d catch a small, amused smile on her lips.

It wasn’t much, but you were getting used to each other.

On a cool Saturday afternoon, you sat cross-legged at the low wooden table outside, with a basket of vegetables sitting between you and Hannie. Gram had roped the both of you into helping with dinner, which, in her words, “would taste better with young hands working on it.”

You didn’t mind. It gave you something to do.

Hannie, across from you, was peeling potatoes efficiently. You, on the other hand, were going slower, carefully stripping the skin from each one with a small knife.

“How long have you been staying here?” you asked.

Hannie didn’t look up from her task. “I live here.”

“Like, since birth?”

“Maybe,” she said, lips twitching.

You gave her a flat look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She considered for a second before finally saying, “I wasn’t born here, but I grew up here. I left a few years ago, but I came back.”

You nodded, filing that away. “Where did you go?”

She flipped a potato in her hand. “Seoul.”

“You lived there?”

“For a bit.”

“You’re very specific,” you said dryly.

She smirked. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Of course. I have to know who I’m living with.”

“Mm.” She switched to peeling carrots. “Your turn, then. I have to know who I’m living with, too. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

You rolled a potato in your hands. “Depends on the question.”

Hannie shot you an amused glance but didn’t push. “Why’d you come here?”

You shrugged. “I wanted a change of pace.”

She peeled another strip from the carrot. “That’s a vague answer.”

“The specifics are boring,” you said through gritted teeth, unwilling to divulge anything.

She let out a small huff of laughter. “Fair enough.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, just continuing your work. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, and you were realizing once again why they called this guest house The Sunset House. The smell of something simmering in the kitchen drifted through the air.

“What do you do all day, anyway?” you asked, breaking the comfortable quiet. “I always see you coming and going, but you never say where you’re headed.”

Hannie hummed. “I go to work at the grocery shop.”

You nodded. “So you’re not just freeloading off your Grandma, then?” you teased.

She snorted. “I have my own money and I know how to work for my meals.”

“Okay, but I have a real question,” you said, squinting at her. “What’s your skincare routine?”

Hannie blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “My what?”

“You have really nice skin,” you said matter-of-factly. “Like, it’s annoyingly flawless. I need to know what you’re using.”

She chuckled. “I just use whatever’s around.”

You frowned. “Liar.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, looking far too entertained.

“No fancy routine? No expensive products?”

“Nope.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but she just kept peeling, smug as ever. You huffed. “This is so unfair. Your skin is prettier than mine and I have like, a ten-step skincare routine.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You grabbed a potato and chucked it at her arm. She caught it easily, shaking her head with a grin.

The conversation continued, flowing from one topic to another with no real direction—just small questions, half-answers, and the occasional amused remark. It wasn’t deep, but it didn’t need to be.

By the time you finished, the basket of peeled vegetables was full, the sun had lowered into a deep orange, and you had learned just enough about Hannie to know there was still more to figure out.

It was hard to ignore the nagging thought in your head ever since you arrived in town. While you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that you deserved this break from your turbulent city life, the anxiety that you should be doing something more productive lingered in the back of your mind. 

It was probably because your mind and body were so used to being on high alert all the time, functioning at full capacity every day for the last several years that you start getting anxious when you’re not doing anything and just relaxing. You could feel an odd sense of suspicion, nagging at the back of your mind like, “Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

Watering Gram’s garden plants was enough to push away all these thoughts, though.

As you stood under the gentle heat of the morning sun, you maneuvered the hose expertly, a result of doing the chore every day for the last few weeks. You let out a slow breath, feeling oddly content with the simplicity of it.

“Are you planning to drown my plants?”

You startled slightly as Gram’s voice rang out. Turning, you found her watching you with a hand on her hip. “Come here,” she said, beckoning you over to the low wooden table. “I have a better use for those hands.”

You shut off the water and wandered over, only to be greeted with a rice cake shoved into your hand. “Would you like to come to the beach today?” she asked.

“The beach?”

“There’s a new teacher at the daycare center. Seola, a very lovely lady. She arranged a picnic with the elderly and the children.” Gram gave you a pointed look as she patted your hand. “You should come. You need to socialize with someone your age before you forget how to hold a conversation.”

Before you could respond, Hannie stepped out onto the porch in her usual shirt-over-tee combo and denim jeans, brushing her hair back with her hand, she slung a bag over her shoulder, acknowledging you with a brief nod before passing by.

“Gram, I’m off,” he said.

“Alright, see you later,” Gram replied. She waved him off before giving you another look. “Han will be there too, so you don’t have to worry about being around people you don’t know.”

Not that you needed much convincing. You had already planned to explore town today anyway. You finally had enough of the idle days, and you were now ready to see and experience the quaint charm of this small town.

So at noon, just before lunchtime, you drove to the beachside with Gram, the car packed with the food she had heartily prepared all morning.

The beach was lively with old and young voices, laughter, conversation, and the sound of waves rolling against the shore. You helped Gram set up the food, spreading it out on the picnic blankets as she introduced you to the small group already gathered there—a few elderly folks, some parents, and a handful of kids darting around with beach toys and shells. It felt like stepping into a family reunion, where everyone knew each other and shared years of memories you could only imagine.

Gram introduced you as a temporary resident. “She’ll be here for six months,” she explained, smiling as curious eyes turned your way. “Let’s all be nice to her. She’s from the big city.”

“Ah, so that’s why you look so pale,” an older woman teased, squinting at you. “You need some sun on you, dear.”

“She should eat more, too,” another one chimed in, eyeing you like she was already planning to pile food onto your plate.

“You’ll love it here,” one of the older women assured you. “Life moves slow, but there’s always something to do if you know where to look.”

Another joined in with a chuckle. “A bit of gossip now and then, a trip to the market, a walk by the coast… it doesn’t take much to stay busy here!”

They were warm, welcoming, and funny, and their playful remarks had the same lightheartedness as Gram’s. You found yourself smiling more than expected, caught up in their conversation as they asked about your stay. You also met Seola, the new daycare teacher who moved to town just two months ago. She was the same age as you were, and you felt a sense of kinship with her as someone who came from the big city yourself.

At one point, a little boy ran up to you out of nowhere, his face bright with excitement as he held out a shell. “Look! This is the best one I found today!”

You knelt down, taking the shell from his hands to admire it. “Wow, this is a good one,” you said, humoring his enthusiasm. He beamed, launching into a detailed explanation of why it was superior to all the others. You nodded along, half-listening—until something just past his shoulder caught your eye.

Out by the water, Hannie emerged from the waves, hands pushing through his soaked hair, slicking it back from his face. Droplets clung to his skin, sliding down sharp cheekbones and along the lines of his jaw. You blinked, something about the sight snagging on a thought you couldn’t quite place.

Then she stepped fully onto the shore, reached for the hem of her wet shirt, and pulled it over her head. And your mind went blank.

Time seemed to slow as your eyes registered the defined shoulders, the abs, the arms that clearly belonged to someone used to physical labor. The sunlight played across his skin, highlighting every line and shadow. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare.

Hannie wasn’t just a little masculine. Hannie wasn’t just oddly strong. Hannie… was a man.

Your breath caught in your throat, and an unexpected heat rose to your cheeks. The boy in front of you was still talking, but you couldn’t hear a word of it anymore.

How could you have missed this? It was as if every little sign from the past several days were suddenly lining up like pieces of a puzzle. The deeper voice, the way he carried himself, the fact that he had never once actually referred to himself as a girl. And then there were the times Gram had mentioned her grandson—the one you thought you’d never met, yet had been living with all along. He had never corrected you. And you? You had been so sure—so certain you knew exactly who you were living with.

As you stood there, still absorbing the shock, two teenage girls approached you excitedly.

“What’s it like living with Jeonghan?” one of them asked, practically bouncing on her toes.

“Who?” The name threw you off entirely.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” the other girl chimed in, as if it were obvious. “You’re staying at Gram’s guest house, right? Isn’t he amazing? He’s like the pride of our town.”

Jeonghan. The name sounded foreign to you, yet as you watched him crouch down to help one of the kids collect shells, it suddenly seemed to fit him perfectly. 

“I thought his name was Hannie?” you asked, though the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how foolish they sounded. Hannie—it wasn’t his name. Just a nickname, something his grandmother must have been affectionately calling him.

The girls giggled, exchanging amused glances. “That’s just what the grandmas call him.”

One of them leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing a juicy secret. “He’s kind of famous, you know? We run a fan page for him—it’s almost at 100k followers.”

“He gets a ton of idol trainee offers. Some people even come all the way here just to see him,” the other added. “But he always turned them down. Now, he works at the store downtown. Everyone loves him.”

Jeonghan. Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan.

You blinked, still grappling with the idea that the quiet, elusive Hannie was actually Jeonghan, the town’s golden boy. Before you could think of what to say, Gram’s voice called out, interrupting the conversation.

“Lunch is ready! Come here and eat!”

The girls scampered off toward the picnic mat, giggling about something you couldn’t quite catch. You turned to follow, but your thoughts were still spinning.

“Kids! Hannie!” Gram called again, waving him over. “Come on, let’s eat!”

Jeonghan straightened, brushing sand from his hands before jogging up the beach. The sunlight glinted off his skin, drawing your gaze before you could stop yourself. Heat crept up your neck again.

He reached the mat and, without hesitation, plopped down next to you, his damp hair falling casually over his shoulder.

“You’re here too,” he said, smiling at you before grabbing a bottle of water. He seemed completely at ease, oblivious to the turmoil running through your mind.

Lunch was a lively affair, the mat spread under the shade of a large tree, bowls and plates of food passed around as conversations overlapped. The elders were particularly chatty, most of their attention—unsurprisingly—focused on Jeonghan.

“You know, our Hannie here was top of his class in university,” one of the grandmothers boasted, nudging the woman beside her. “Always so clever.”

“And so hardworking,” another added, her tone exaggerated in a way that felt suspiciously rehearsed. “Had all sorts of offers after graduation. He even worked in Seoul for a bit.”

“Really?” Seola, the teacher, perked up with interest, chopsticks pausing midair.

You, however, narrowed your eyes slightly. There was something oddly deliberate about how they were talking about him, as if… as if they were trying to sell him.

Jeonghan, sitting beside you, seemed completely unfazed. He took a sip of water, then casually met your gaze. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

You blinked, realizing that you had been staring. “I was just wondering why they’re talking about you like you’re a prized cow.”

Jeonghan nearly choked on his drink, turning away with a cough. Beside him, one of the elders clapped her hands together, unaware of your remark. “And! He’s very good with children,” she announced, nodding toward the group of kids playing nearby. “They all adore him.”

Seola chuckled. “That’s rare. Most guys aren’t patient enough with kids.”

“Exactly!” The older woman beamed. “That’s why any girl would be lucky to have him.”

Your eyes flickered to Jeonghan, curious as to how he’d react, but he was busy picking the green onions out of his soup. As if this whole matchmaking attempt had nothing to do with him.

You stifled a laugh. “You seem very popular, Jeonghan.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, finally looking at you. “Are you convinced?”

“Of what?”

“That I’m a catch.” He tilted his head, the corner of his lips twitching up just slightly.

Your chopsticks hovered over your plate. The way he said it was so casual, but something about his tone—low, smooth, just teasing enough—made your stomach flutter. 

You masked it with an eye-roll. “I don’t know. You don’t seem that impressive to me.”

Gram clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it onto your plate. “Clearly, you need to spend more time with him.”

“Gram?” you questioned, genuinely perplexed by the insinuation in her tone.

The lunch continued in the same direction, the elders throwing more praises, Seola responding with polite interest, and Jeonghan humoring them without ever actually engaging. It was almost funny how unfazed he was—until you caught a few of the older women exchanging glances as if they were mentally taking notes on how both you and Seola were responding.

Oh god. They weren’t just selling Jeonghan. They were matchmaking him.

You needed some air.

As the meal wrapped up, you slipped away from the group, stepping onto the shore where the waves lapped at your feet. The realization of the past hour was still in your mind—not just about the elders’ intentions but also the fact that your whole perception of Jeonghan had shattered today.

And, of course, just as you were attempting to collect yourself, he appeared beside you. “Escaping?”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

“Sort of.” Jeonghan walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, letting the wind ruffle his damp hair. “Figured you’d need company.”

You hesitated before blurting, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a guy?”

Jeonghan stopped mid-step. “What?”

“The whole time, I thought you were a girl, maybe a little masculine or a lesbian, but biologically, a girl. I’ve been calling you ‘Hannie,’ but that’s not even your real name. Your name was Jeonghan. You never corrected me.”

His expression shifted from confusion to pure shock. “Wait.” He turned fully to you, blinking rapidly. “You thought I was a girl?!”

You crossed your arms. “You’re really pretty with equally pretty hair. Your grandma calls you Hannie.”

Jeonghan ran a hand down his face, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Oh my god.”

“I mean, can you blame me?” You gestured vaguely at him. “Look at you.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at himself as if seeing what you saw. Then he exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You smirked. “I think it’s kind of funny.”

Jeonghan shot you a look, smirking. “I bet you do.”

You basked in the comfortable silence as you continued walking. The waves were cool against your feet, and the voices behind you grew distant. Every now and then, you caught Jeonghan glancing at you, as if still processing what you had just confessed.

Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “A girl.”

You grinned. “I’d say I’m sorry, but…”

“But you’re not.”

“Not even a little bit.”

Jeonghan let out a sharp laugh, the kind that came from deep amusement rather than disbelief this time. You got the feeling he wouldn’t let this go anytime soon.

The next morning, Jeonghan was heading downtown for an errand, and Gram suggested you go with him. “You should get out more,” she said, nudging your arm. “Let Han show you around. It’ll be good for you.”

You didn’t see a reason to refuse. The town was still unfamiliar, and a trip to the market sounded more productive than another slow morning at the guest house. Plus, you figured you might as well start your car after letting it sit idle for so long.

Which was how you found yourself in the passenger seat, watching as Jeonghan adjusted the mirrors before smoothly pulling out onto the road. He drove leisurely, one hand resting on the wheel, his other elbow propped against the window.

By the time you reached the market, the streets were busy. Stalls lined the sidewalks, vendors calling out to passersby, with the scent of fresh produce, grilled food, and sweet treats. Jeonghan was greeted warmly at every turn, engaging small talks with vendors who seemed genuinely happy to see him. He was polite, smiling when an elderly woman at a vegetable stand patted his arm and called him “our handsome Jeonghan.”

Then she turned to you. “And who is this?” she asked with a teasing smile. “Have you finally brought a girlfriend home, Hannie?”

Before you could react, Jeonghan laughed. “She’s not, but she wished she was.”

“No, I don’t!” you exclaimed.

“No need to be shy, dear,” the vendor said, grinning. “If I were a few decades younger, I’d wish I was his girlfriend too.”

You groaned while Jeonghan bit back a laugh, handing over the money before gently steering you away.

“I can’t believe you have fans in every age group,” you scoffed.

“Well, it’s a small town,” he replied, chuckling.

After finishing the errand, Jeonghan led you to a small café tucked between two shops. The place had a cozy charm—wooden tables, hanging plants, and an old vinyl player in the corner playing soft jazz.

A man behind the counter beamed when she saw him. “Jeonghan! It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Joon. I’ll have the usual,” he greeted, then turned to you. “You?”

You looked up at the menu hanging overhead, wondering what to order or if you wanted coffee at all.

Joon’s gaze flicked to you. “This must be the pretty guest Gram was talking about.”

You glanced at him, curious. Jeonghan waved a hand. “Yeah. She doesn’t get out much. I’m showing her around town.”

“You should come more often. We make the best coffee in town,” Joon said proudly. “Not that there are any other coffee shops around,” he added, chuckling. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, I’ll have what he’s having,” you said, smiling politely at him.

“Coming right up!”

Jeonghan led you to a vacant table by the window. “You come here often?” you asked.

“Now and then.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from you, resting his forearm against the table. “The owner, Joon’s mom, used to sneak me free pastries when I was a kid. I feel obligated to keep giving her business.”

Your lips quirked up. “Bribed into loyalty. Classic.”

He just laughed, watching you for a moment before asking, “What do you think of the town so far?”

You thought about it and then shrugged. “It’s charming and peaceful. Everyone seems to know each other. It’s kind of nice.”

He hummed, stirring his drink lazily. “It has its charms.”

“Well, they seem to adore you,” you noted.

He shrugged. “I’m very likeable,” he said smugly, making you laugh.

Minutes later, Joon set two iced drinks on your table before slipping away. You took a sip and raised a brow. “Oh, this is sweet. Vanilla latte?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Decaf. You don’t like sweet?”

“I do,” you admitted. “But I didn’t peg you as the type.”

Jeonghan took a sip of his own drink. “And what type did you peg me as?”

You tilted your head, pretending to analyze him. “Black coffee. No sugar. Maybe a shot of espresso if you’re feeling adventurous.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Do I look like I hate myself?”

You laughed. “No, but,” you shrugged, making him smirk.

“I’ll have you know I like nice things. Why would I suffer through bitter coffee when I could enjoy this?” He lifted his drink in emphasis.

You smirked. “So you have a sweet tooth.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Do you care what about I think of you?” you asked back, narrowing your eyes playfully.

Jeonghan just took his drink and looked out of the window, ignoring your question entirely. You didn’t press, enjoying the coffee instead and the nice ambience of the cafe.

Before heading home, Jeonghan made one last stop at the grocery store. It was bigger than you expected, with stocked shelves and a steady flow of customers.

“You work here?” you asked as you followed him inside.

He nodded. “I own it. Well, not really. It was my grandpa’s. After he passed, someone had to take over.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause. “Is that why you came back?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. He picked up a basket, taking his time as he strolled past the produce section. “You could say that,” he said eventually. “I came back because Gram would be lonely by herself. She’s old now, someone has to be here and make sure she’s alright.”

You glanced at him, noting how his expression didn’t change, but something about his voice softened.

“She still works at the pear farm,” he added, shaking his head fondly. “She said she’d go crazy if she had nothing to do, so someone has to be around to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.”

Hearing that made you feel like you understood them both a little more. The quiet life they had here, the small routines that kept them moving forward—it all made sense now. You became more curious about them, but you didn’t want to pry, so instead of asking, you just took what he told you and left it at that.

As you trailed behind him, your gaze landed on the skincare aisle. “Alright, spill. Which one is it?”

Jeonghan followed your line of sight, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still on this?”

“You’re ridiculously pretty,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair that I find out how.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, then reached out, grabbed a random product, and handed it to you. “Here.”

You examined the label. “This is a body wash.”

“Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re lying.”

He smirked. “You’ll never know.”

“And if I sneak into your bathroom later?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, then smirked before saying, “I guess I'll see you there, then. I take really long showers at night, you see.”

You blinked rapidly, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation. Clearing your throat, you put the bottle back and turned away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

The days that followed were more eventful than the previous ones. You still helped Gram around the guesthouse, still found time to sit outside with her in the afternoons, listening to the occasional stories she decided to share. But now, there was something different about your days—Jeonghan.

He wasn’t just around anymore. He was in your space, in your routine, slipping into your life as if he had always been there. Like how he took it upon himself to be your unofficial tour guide, showing up outside the guesthouse just as you were about to head out.

“Where are you going?” he’d ask.

“I’m not sure, but I’m going around town again today,” you’d say, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

His eyes would glint with amusement. “You’ll get lost.”

“No, I won’t.”

But you always did. Turning one too many corners in the winding streets, ending up somewhere you hadn’t planned. And somehow, Jeonghan was always there, lounging by a store or leaning against a wall like he’d been waiting for you the whole time.

“You have a terrible sense of direction,” he’d say, grinning.

“And you have too much free time,” you’d shoot back, but you never minded when he fell into step beside you.

He took you everywhere. To the best lookout point in town, where the cliffs met the endless blue of the sea. To the hills, where wildflowers bloomed in untamed clusters, swaying lazily under the afternoon sun. To the pear farm, where you met Gram’s friends—hardworking women who took one look at you and started teasing.

“She’s the one staying at the guesthouse?” one of them asked Jeonghan, squinting at you. “You’re showing her around, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Jeonghan replied, glancing your way with a smirk.

“Ah, what a handsome pair,” the woman sighed dramatically. “You look great together. You’d make the most beautiful babies.”

You choked on your own breath while Jeonghan just laughed, handing you a pear like nothing happened.

There was also the day he dragged you onto a boat. It wasn’t planned. You had only gone to the dock to look around, but Jeonghan had other ideas.

“Ever been boating?” he asked.

You eyed him warily. “No.”

“Great.” That was your only warning before he pulled you toward a small boat, casually untying it from the dock.

“Wait—what if I get seasick?” you protested.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckled, offering a hand to help you board the boat.

You hesitated, but you took his hand anyway. He had never done anything to disappoint you so far, so you trusted him. And despite your initial wariness, you had to admit—it was nice. The air was crisp, the water was calm, the reefs below were beautiful, and the silence between you was comforting.

At one point, Jeonghan leaned back against the edge, stretching his arms. “You like it here, don’t you?”

You glanced at him. “I do.”

He smirked. “I’d bet fifty bucks you never leave.”

You scoffed. “Never leaving is a stretch. Maybe I’d never want to, but I will anyway because I have to.”

Jeonghan flashed a mischievous smile as if you had just challenged him. “A hundred, then. You will never want to leave, and you never will.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now you’re making me want to leave just so I can take your money.”

“Are you gonna play or not?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t need it.”

Jeonghan sighed nonchalantly. “Fine. But I know I’m right.”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between stolen pears and getting lost in town, between late afternoon coffees and spontaneous boat rides, you had started to enjoy his company. And maybe he had started to enjoy yours, too.

That afternoon, as you and Jeonghan strolled back home, he glanced at you and asked, “You free tonight?”

You arched a brow. “Why?”

“It’s Joon’s birthday,” he said. “He’s having a small party at the café. Just us and some friends. He invited you too.”

You hesitated. “He did?”

Jeonghan smirked. “He mentioned it the other day. You probably forgot.”

You did remember Joon casually saying something about it, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A small celebration at the café didn’t sound bad, and truthfully, you weren’t opposed to seeing other people your age, too. Most of the people you’d seen around were old enough to be your grandparents.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll come.”

“Good. We can go together.”

Later that evening, you followed Jeonghan to the café, which was livelier than usual. Warm lights glowed from the ceilings, the scent of coffee still permeating the air though none of it was being served now. All you could see on the table were bottles of soju and beer, spicy and fried food, and a cake sitting at the center.

The small space had been rearranged to fit a gathering, with a handful of tables pushed together. A few people were already there, chatting, laughing, clinking glasses. Most of them seemed around your age, and it didn’t take long to notice that many of them were couples.

“Jeonghannie hyung!” Joon’s voice rang out the moment you stepped inside. He grinned, wiping his hands on a towel before pulling him into a quick hug. Then he turned to you. “And look who actually came. Finally.”

You scoffed. “Happy birthday, Joon. And I do go outside, you know.”

“Only because Jeonghan drags you everywhere,” he teased, earning a snicker from Jeonghan himself. “Come in. Let me introduce you.”

You met a few of Jeonghan’s friends. You barely remembered their names, but it didn’t take long to notice that most of them had grown up together—and many had ended up marrying each other. Seola was also there, curled up beside a guy, her arm draped lazily over his.

“You made it,” she said, smiling when she saw you.

“I did.” You nodded toward the guy beside her. “Boyfriend?”

She nodded. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “Joon said he invited you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.”

You shrugged. “Figured I should experience the town’s nightlife at least once.”

Seola laughed. “This is about as lively as it gets.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “So, you and Jeonghan, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not this again.”

“What? You don’t like him?”

“He’s fine, but he annoys me a lot.”

She laughed. “That’s how you know he likes you.”

Before you could protest, Joon clapped his hands together. “Alright, drinks are on me tonight. Eat, drink, have fun!”

“Happy birthday, Joon!”

The evening unraveled in a blur. There was food, laughter, and lots of conversation. At some point, someone turned on music, and people started to sway along. Jeonghan stuck to your side for most of the night, occasionally teasing you, occasionally offering you bites of his cake as if you didn’t have your own. You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until a few guests started nodding off in their seats, the conversations had grown louder, and the laughter became more unrestrained over the clinking of bottles and half-finished drinks.

Joon was already passed out on the table by the time you and Jeonghan decided to leave. His friends—still rowdy despite the late hour—bid you both a noisy farewell, slurring words and waving exaggeratedly as they walked you out the café doors.

The night air greeted you like a sigh of relief, cool against your warmed skin. You stretched your arms above your head, exhaling contentedly. “It’s nice out.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the two of you strolled down the quiet village road. “Yeah. I should thank you for coming tonight. Because of you, I wasn’t assigned to take care of Joon. He gets drunk so quickly and I have to clean up after him most of the time.”

You laughed, tilting your head toward him. “You’re welcome? I guess? I thought he could hold his liquor because he kept insisting he could outdrink everyone.”

“Well, he’s also the best liar among all of my friends too, so…” he replied, making you chuckle. The alcohol had settled pleasantly in your system, making it easy to laugh at whatever nonsense he spewed.

“You held your liquor pretty well,” he remarked, side-eyeing you with a smirk.

You grinned. “I have a high tolerance.”

“Almost as high as mine.”

“Almost?” You scoffed. “I was drinking at your pace all night, and I’m still standing. Do you see me stumbling into ditches or tripping over my own feet?”

Jeonghan smirked, challenging. “Well, not yet.”

You gasped, feigning offence. Eager to prove him wrong, you stepped ahead, turning to walk backward easily. Arms spread wide, you gave him a smug grin. “Look at that. Not tripping.”

That made him laugh and shake his head fondly as he beckoned you back to his side. “Alright, fine. You can walk.”

“I’m not even drunk at all,” you said, falling into step beside him.

“Yeah? How’s your balance?” he asked just before bumping his shoulder into yours, playful, teasing.

You almost tripped over yourself, but regained your balance in time. Scoffing, you nudged him back. He nudged harder, almost making you lose your footing again. Huffing, you shoved him, but he didn’t budge. Before you could react, Jeonghan caught you by the shoulders, pulling you flush against him. 

The sudden closeness sent a jolt through you—not from surprise, but from the unmistakable heat of his body against yours.

And you didn’t pull away.

Maybe it was the alcohol making you more uninhibited, or maybe you simply wanted this too. You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to think about it too much.

Neither of you spoke,as you both continued walking. His hands remained firm on your shoulders, like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. And you basked in the warmth of it, not even noticing that you were gradually leaning closer against him.

But then a sharp bark split through the silence, making you flinch and pull away from him. A dog stood behind a fence nearby, watching you both with wary eyes, still growling slightly. You held your breath, staring back at it. Then it barked once more, and you squealed.

“Run,” said Jeonghan, but you were already bolting.

The two of you raced through the empty streets, feet pounding against the road, breathless laughter echoing into the night. He nearly overtook you, but you darted ahead at the last second, reaching the guesthouse gate just before he did.

Panting, you turned to gloat—only to freeze when you realized how close he had stopped. Face-to-face, no, face-to-chest with Jeonghan, who was also catching his breath. You stood there, chest rising and falling, staring at each other in the dim glow of the streetlamp. 

He looked ethereal under the yellow light, his hair slightly tousled from the wind, his lips parted as he exhaled. There was something almost dreamlike about the way he gazed at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, as if he were seeing something in you he hadn’t before.

The cool night air did nothing to ease the heat creeping up your skin. You were still drunk, or maybe just lightheaded from the run, but it was hard to focus on anything except how close he was—how easily he could reach for you if he wanted to.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

Maybe you were. But you were also a little drunk. And he was very, very handsome.

So you said it. “You’re so handsome.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d told him that, but this time, he didn’t laugh like he usually did. Instead, he stared at you with a soft expression on his face. Then, slowly, his eyes dipped lower, stopping on your lips. You did the same, your eyes landing on his plump lips, so pretty, so inviting.

For the first time, the thought crossed your mind.

What would it feel like to kiss him?

Would he be slow about it, teasing? Would he pull you in lazily, like it wasn’t anything special? Or would it be something else—something that would leave you breathless and light-headed?

“We should get inside,” he said, eyes still fixed on your lips.

You nodded. But neither of you moved. He didn’t touch you, but you felt it anyway—the intensity of his gaze, the way he stared at your lips.

Would he kiss you if you leaned in first? The thought was dangerous. But you couldn’t help it, not when he looked at you like that, like he was thinking the same thing.

Jeonghan exhaled deeply, like he had just come to a decision. He took a slow step toward you to close the distance and your entire body awoke with anticipation. Just as he was about to reach for your face, the gate rattled loudly.

Both of you jumped as it swung open, revealing a very awake, very confused Gram. “What are you two doing standing there?” she asked, peering at you both suspiciously.

Jeonghan, ever the smooth talker, recovered first. “We were just about to go inside, Gram.”

Gram squinted at him before clicking her tongue. “If you’re gonna flirt with our guest, at least do it inside where it’s warm.”

Your face heated instantly. “We weren’t—”

“Mm-hmm,” she cut you off, unimpressed. “Come on in, it’s late.”

She turned, leaving the gate open for you to follow. You swallowed, glancing back at Jeonghan who was watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured toward the door.

“After you,” he murmured.

You weren’t entirely sure what had just happened between you. But you had a feeling it wasn’t nothing.

You had barely finished setting down Gram’s breakfast tray when she sighed and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I swear, I feel fine,” she insisted, but the slight rasp in her voice and the warm touch of her skin told a different story.

“Gram, you have a fever.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “A slight fever never kills anyone.”

“Should I take you to a clinic?” you asked, but she shook her head.

“No need. I just need some rest,” she said, patting your hand. At that moment, Gram’s friends arrived with hearty chatter and warm smiles.

“How are you feeling?” one of them asked, squinting at Gram sprawled on the couch.

“I’m fine, but I’m worried about Hannie. He’s at the farm handling the inventory today, but it’s too much for one person,” Gram said, sighing almost too dramatically.

“Oh no, the poor boy,” said another who turned to you with a suspicious grin on her lips. “You should go help him.”

Another grandma agreed. “Oh, my. Yes, dear. You should.”

You hesitated. “I don’t wanna leave Gram alone—”

“She won’t be alone. We’re here,” said another, already nudging you out of the way.

“Go on, dear. Fret not.  We’ll take care of her. We’ll make her soup.”

“She’ll be fine. You think we don’t know how to take care of one of our own?”

You hesitated, looking back at Gram, but she only chuckled weakly. “Go on. You’ll be more useful there than fussing over me.”

So you went. Jeonghan looked genuinely surprised when you arrived at the farm. He was sitting on a crate with a clipboard in one hand and a pen on the other. He took one look at you and cocked his head.

“Hi. What are you doing here? How’s Gram?”

“She’s fine her friends came over. She sent me here to help,” you said, brushing past him. “Said you had too much to do alone.”

Jeonghan snorted. “Did she now?” He leaned back, arms crossed. “Was it her or the other women?”

You frowned. “Um, all of them? Why does it matter?”

He smirked. “You’ve been tricked.”

“Tricked?”

“They’ve been trying to marry me off for years. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d do. Trick a poor, unsuspecting woman into spending time alone with me."

“Excuse me?” You blinked, thrown off. “And you just… let them?”

“They mean well. Just desperate to see me settled. Been at it for about four years now. And there’s not much I can do.” He shrugged, tapping the pen against the clipboard. “Besides, it doesn’t happen often. There aren’t that many women around my age who are still single. So when someone new shows up, they start getting ideas. Poor Seola kept getting baited on her first week here.”

That sent a rush of heat up your neck. You looked away, pretending to inspect the baskets of pears stacked nearby. “Well, sorry to disappoint them, but I’m only here to help.”

“Right,” he said, his voice laced with something teasing. “Strictly business.”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “Strictly business.”

“You’re not here thinking about how you almost kissed me a few nights ago.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, indignant. You pointed a finger at him. “You almost kissed—” then pointed the finger at your chest— “me. Get your facts straight!”

Jeonghan chuckled but didn’t push it further. Instead, he handed you a clipboard and gestured toward the stacks of wooden crates. “If you insist on helping, you can double-check these counts while I finish up the rest.”

You huffed but took the clipboard anyway, moving toward the crates while he returned to his own work. The quiet stretched between you—not uncomfortable, but filled with a hyper-awareness that had been there for days now, ever since that one drunken moment outside the guest house.

You focused on counting and scribbling notes, but every so often, you caught glimpses of Jeonghan moving nearby. He worked with efficiency, sleeves rolled up, hands deftly sorting through the inventory. The sunlight filtering through the trees left patterns over his skin, making him look almost too picturesque for a man just organizing pears.

At one point, you were so absorbed in pretending not to be aware of him that you lost your footing, nearly stumbling over a crate. Jeonghan glanced up from where he was standing, just as you had steadied yourself.

“Careful,” he said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want Gram’s ‘strictly business’ helper to break something.”

You shot him a glare. “I tripped over a crate. Nothing to break here.”

He smirked. “Still, I’d be devastated if you got hurt on my watch. What would the old ladies say? Probably accuse me of mistreating my future wife.”

You groaned. “Can you not bringing that up?”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

Yes. Maybe. A little. You weren’t sure. But instead of answering, you tossed a pear at him. He caught it effortlessly, turning it over in his hand.

“You’re very defensive,” he mused, biting into the pear.

“And you’re very annoying,” you shot back, before returning to your clipboard.

The work continued. He teased you every  now and then and you’d retort but mostly tried to drown him out. By the time you finished your part of the task, you felt the kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.

Jeonghan stretched, rolling out his shoulders. “I think that’s good for today.”

“Great,” you said, setting down your clipboard. “Then I’ll—”

Before you could finish, rain started falling. It was so sudden that you both stood there for a second, blinking up at the sky as the cool droplets hit your skin. Soon, you realized it wasn’t stopping, and Jeonghan nudged your arm.

“Run to the warehouse,” he said, pointing to the warehouse which looked so far away. “Go,” he repeated, and you started running.

You reached it in no time, but not without getting soaked. Inside, the space was dry, the scent of cardboard boxes and ripened pears filling the air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking off the water clinging to your skin. Jeonghan leaned against the doorway, watching the rain with furrowed brows.

He glanced at you a few moments later. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, rubbing your arms. “The weather was so nice today. I didn’t think it would rain.”

“Well, the weather likes to be unpredictable sometimes,” he said, gaze drifting over you before he reached for something on a nearby shelf—a folded blanket. He tossed it over your shoulders without a word.

You blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“Emergency stash,” he said simply. “Most of the workers here are old women. They prepare for anything and everything.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling it tighter around yourself.

Jeonghan just hummed, still watching the rain. And for a while, neither of you spoke. The world outside was misty and gray, but in here, it was warm and quiet. The warehouse was fairly large, but the space between you felt small. And it may be because the place was packed with endless crates of pears and shelves of pear products.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that before he turned toward you fully, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“You really don’t mind being here, do you?” he mused.

You frowned. “Well, I didn’t but if I had known it would rain, I wouldn’t have come up here at all.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant in this town. At the guesthouse. Helping out on some pear farm.”

You thought about it, about the slow mornings, the sense of peace you’d been trying to chase, the way you’d felt so much more at ease these days.

“I don’t mind,” you admitted, leaning back against the wall. “It’s… nice. No deadlines to chase. No stuck-up superiors breathing down my neck. No endless stack of workload to bury my face in.” You sighed in relief, smiling absentmindedly. “It’s really nice.”

“What happened?” he asked, joining you in your corner. “Back in the city?”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged. “I’m just taking a break from corporate life.”

“I see,” he replied, unconvinced but knew better than press for answers you weren’t ready to share.

The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof of the warehouse and soaking the ground outside. You could hear the soft trickle of water running off the edges of the roof, pooling into the dirt. The crates of pears sat forgotten outside, and you wondered if they’d be fine, though seeing Jeonghan not worrying about it made you assume they would be.

You noticed how Jeonghan shivered slightly, damp clothes clinging to his skin. “Cold?” you asked.

He shook his head, but you could tell he was lying. You scooted closer to him and draped the blanket over his shoulder, too. It was then that you realized that it was a small blanket, just enough to wrap around you but too small for the two of you.

Jeonghan chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t think this is helping.”

“Right?” you replied, chuckling.

He shifted slightly, lifting one arm and draping it over your shoulder. You hesitated at first, but you let him pull you closer, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. He rubbed your arm with his hand, squeezing gently in an attempt to fight the cold against your skin. It worked, though not well enough.

“How long do you think this rain will last?” you asked, slowly leaning against his chest.

Jeonghan hummed, and you felt his chest vibrate. “Not too long, I think. An hour at most. Maybe half.”

“My car is just below the hill. I should have driven it all the way up here,” you sighed, closing your eyes.

“You didn’t know this would happen,” he said, rubbing your shoulder. “Did you see my pickup down there? I didn’t drive up, too.”

You chuckled, pulling away to look at him. You were gonna say something, but the way he was looking at you made you hold your breath.

His gaze was steady, searching, as if something was fascinating about your face. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just looked, and something about it sent a slow, burning heat in your chest. Your gaze drifted lower. His lips were slightly parted, and you knew—just as you had known that night outside the guesthouse—that this was going to happen.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One moment, there was space between you; the next, Jeonghan was leaning in, and your fingers had curled against the fabric of his shirt. His lips met yours. A slow, quick peck. Barely a kiss at all—just a taste. But then you exhaled, and he was kissing you again, properly this time.

Soft and lingering like he was savoring the moment, like he had thought about it and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to rush. His lips were warm, even with the cold outside. You responded without thinking, tilting your head, pressing closer. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. He hummed against your lips, low and pleased, his other hand finding the small of your back and pressing you closer. The blanket slipped from your shoulders, but you barely noticed.

Jeonghan angled his head, his hand sliding up to your jaw, thumb stroking just under your ear. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing you into parting for him. A quiet sound escaped you, something between a sigh and a gasp, and that was all it took for him to press you back against wall, his body flush against yours.

The heat between you burned hotter than the cold rain. His hands roamed, brushing over the curve of your hips, slipping under the hem of your shirt to find the warmth of your skin. You gasped against his mouth at the sensation, fingers tightening in his shirt.

He took that as encouragement. His lips left yours only to trail lower, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the way he touched you. Your own hands moved, pushing beneath his damp shirt, palms pressing against his stomach. He let out a quiet, surprised laugh before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier.

The rain outside blurred into nothing. It was just him. His lips, his hands, the heat of him against you. But then, he stopped, pulling away just enough to look at you. His fingers flexed against your waist, as if holding himself back. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply as he asked, “Is this okay?”

The words sent a jolt through you, cutting through the haze of heat and desire clouding your thoughts. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and for the first time since kissing him, you could hear the rain again—the steady downpour, the distant rumble of thunder.

Reality came crashing in, making you pull back slightly with a shaky breath. Your hands gripping his shirt loosened. His gaze searched yours, unreadable but patient. He was waiting.

“I…” You swallowed, looking away. “We shouldn’t.”

There was a second of silence, Jeonghan’s hand leaving your waist and reaching up to tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then he planted a soft kiss on your forehead and said, “Okay.”

You weren’t sure if the cold you felt now was from the rain or from something else entirely. But it was gone as soon as he pulled you into a hug.

“But we can do this, right?”

You chuckled lightly, closing your eyes and basking in his warmth. “Yeah,” you replied, wrapping your arms around him too. “Yeah, we can.”

You tossed and turned all night, replaying every moment at the warehouse. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he touched you with veneration, the addicting heat that had consumed you. All of it.

It was just the heat of the moment, you told yourself. Just a fleeting lapse of judgment, nothing more. But the longer you lay there, the more you realized you were lying.

You wanted it. You liked it. And you liked Jeonghan.

It wasn’t just your imagination. You didn’t imagine the way your heart raced when he kissed you. You didn’t imagine the sparks of pleasure dancing on your skin when he touched you. You didn’t imagine the way you melted in his arms when he held you close until the rain stopped.

You were still trying to come to terms with it when you heard faint voices outside. Curious, you pushed yourself up and peered through the window.

Outside, it was the early hours of dawn. In the dim dawn light, Jeonghan stood with Gram by the shed, lifting the lids off large clay crocks. Even though you couldn’t hear them, it wasn’t hard to guess what they were doing—Gram was transferring kimchi into a large container, with Jeonghan helping her.

As if sensing your gaze, he suddenly glanced up and caught you watching. You froze when his gaze met yours. But Jeonghan just smiled and raised a hand in a lazy wave, which you returned sheepishly.

Then he sent kisses your way, gestured that it was still too early, and mouthed that you should go back to sleep. Clearly, he had no idea you hadn’t slept a wink yet.

You huffed but nodded anyway, and just as you pulled back from the window, you heard Gram say something. Jeonghan turned to her, his head tilting in mock innocence, and you could imagine her scolding him for slacking off. Smiling to yourself, you shut your window and crawled back into bed.

As expected, you woke up late the next morning. It was almost noon, but it was the weekend, so you knew Jeonghan and Gram would be home all day. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Gram told you over lunch that he had gone to the city to visit his parents. You only nodded in response, pretending it didn’t affect you. But as the day stretched on, you found yourself missing him.

Which was stupid.

He was just a guy—a good-looking guy, yes, but that didn’t mean anything. Good-looking guys had a way of making you think you liked them when you really didn’t. Besides, liking Jeonghan wasn’t part of the plan. You had come here for peace and quiet—to breathe and to heal, not to get swept up in whatever this was.

So you spent the day distracting yourself—helping Gram in the kitchen, reading in the shade, taking a walk along the shore. Anything to push thoughts of him away. The more you did, the more you convinced yourself that you didn’t like him that much.

You weren’t that attached to him. You didn’t care that he wasn’t around, didn’t notice the way the day felt quieter without him. You weren’t thinking about the way he always leaned too close when he talked or how he made even the dullest moments entertaining.

Would he be back today? Tomorrow? Would he have texted you if you had exchanged numbers?

Stop it. This wasn’t you. You didn’t get flustered over a guy. You didn’t sit around waiting like some lovesick idiot. You were better than this.

You were fine. Your thoughts kept circling back to him, but you were fine. You just needed to reset. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’d be back to normal.

So you sat outside on the porch after dinner, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him. You were just enjoying the evening air after a hearty meal. You weren’t glancing at the road every few minutes. You weren’t hoping he’d arrive before you ran out of reasons to stay outside.

Then, as if answering an unspoken wish, Jeonghan’s pickup came rolling into view, kicking up dust along the quiet road. The second you saw it, the day seemed brighter, and your heart felt lighter, warmer.

Oh. 

So this was it. This was what it felt like to really like someone.

Jeonghan parked his truck and hopped out, already smiling from ear to ear as he walked over to where you were sitting on the porch. “Waiting for me?” he asked, opening his arms as if he was waiting for you to jump into them.

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “No. I’m just getting some air.”

Jeonghan raised his brows. “You could’ve just lied and said you were. You’re hurting my feelings here.”

“I— what?”

He sighed, pouting. “I’m hurt because you’d been on my mind all day, and I couldn’t wait to come home and see you again.”

You blinked, suddenly feeling too warm despite the cool night air. The way he said it so smoothly, so easily, like it was just a simple fact, left you scrambling for a response. But nothing came.

Neither of you spoke.

Instead, you just stood there, staring at each other in the warm porch light. He didn’t even try to laugh it off or take it back so your heart thudded a little harder, unsure what to make of this.

Then, the front door creaked open, and Gram stepped out. “Hannie, you’re back so soon,” she greeted, eyeing him up and down. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“I did,” he answered, stepping back slightly. “I picked up something to eat on my way here.”

Gram huffed. “You should get some rest, then. You must be tired. Why didn’t you just spend the night at your parents’ house? Driving back and forth like that—” She gave him a knowing look, voice lilting with mischief. “It almost seems like you were excited to come home for some reason.”

You caught the implication immediately. Jeonghan did too, if the way he smirked was any indication.

“You’re right, Gram,” he said without missing a beat. Then, with a glance at you, he added, “Actually, I was wondering if I could take the reason out for a stroll.”

Gram barely spared him a glance as she waved a hand dismissively. “Do whatever you want.” She turned back toward the house, muttering, “Young people these days. So forward. Too liberated.”

And just like that, she was gone. You, however, were still standing there, completely dumbfounded.

You turned to Jeonghan, who was watching you with an all-too-pleased expression. He tilted his head toward the road.

“So? You coming?”

You walked in silence for the first few minutes. You were expecting Jeonghan to start the conversation because, obviously, he should be the one making conversation. There were plenty of things he could start with, like clarifying what he meant when he implied that you were the reason he chose to come home right away despite the long drive.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” he finally asked, leaning down slightly to peek at your face.

You turned away. “No. What would I even say to you?”

Jeonghan straightened up, huffing. “I practically spelled it out for you, and you have nothing to say?”

You stopped in your tracks, exhaling sharply as you ran a hand over your nape. “Okay, what the hell is this? How about communicating clearly and more openly like grown adults  instead of whatever this is?”

Jeonghan turned fully to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was light when he said, “I like you.”

For a second, your mind went completely blank. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then let out a breath. “Are you sure?”

His brows furrowed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean—” You gestured vaguely. “It’s not just because of yesterday? Maybe it’s a momentary lapse of judgment. We kissed, and there was…” You hesitated to say it. “...a moment, and now you think you like me because of it.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, then asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No.” You shot him a look. “Jeonghan, I’m serious.”

He chuckled, but when he spoke again, he was serious. “No, it’s not just because of yesterday. I don’t pull something like that on just anyone. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“Why?”

He grimaced, like he couldn’t believe you had to ask. “What do you mean why? Because I do. You’re pretty and nice. You’re smart. You’re good with kids, good with elders.” His voice was steady, without hesitation. “I’m not in love with you or anything. Not yet, at least. I just think you’re… amazing. And honestly, I wasn’t planning to act on it.”

You frowned. “Then why are you?”

“Because,” he said, watching you closely, “I think you like me too.”

Your pulse quickened. “No, I don’t,” you lied, shamelessly.

Jeonghan’s was menacingly confident. “Yes, you do.”

You rolled your eyes and walked ahead, heading straight for the beach. He followed closely behind, undeterred. “Come on, I’m being honest here.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?” you asked, not even glancing back.

“Nothing. Just—” He caught up to you and slipped his hand into yours. “At least tell me you heard what I said.”

“I did.”

“So? What do you think?”

You sighed, pulling your hand back. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

And truly, you hadn’t. You liked him too, yes. But what to do about it? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Did you want a relationship with him? Were you going to act on your feelings or pretend none of this ever happened? You haven’t decided yet.

That didn’t seem to discourage him, though. If anything, his smile turned triumphant. “So you’re gonna think about it?”

“Even if I do, there’s no guarantee that—”

“It’s alright,” he cut you off, grinning. “I know I can change your mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re making me want to reject you just to spite you.”

Jeonghan laughed, his head tipping back as he did. “You can try, but you wouldn’t want to.”

That made you laugh, too, though you weren’t sure if it was because it was funny or because he was right. Either way, it didn’t matter. You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “You’re really confident, huh?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “It’s not confidence. I just know I’m right.”

You scoffed, lightly kicking sand at him. He dodged with a laugh, but you caught the way he was still looking at you—like he already knew what you’d decide.

You weren’t sure exactly when Jeonghan decided to start his little mission, but once he did, it became impossible to ignore. Maybe it was when he started showing up more often, always finding excuses to be around you. Maybe it was when he started helping you without being asked—fixing the latch on your door when it got stuck, carrying things before you could, slipping you an extra slice of fruit without a word.

Or maybe it was when he stopped being subtle about it.

“You’re really going all out with this, aren’t you?” you asked him one afternoon when he took the heavy bag of groceries from your hands. One moment, you were struggling with the weight, and the next, he was lifting it effortlessly—like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“This isn’t even half of it.” He flashed you a smile. “Date me for real, and I’ll show you what all-out really means.”

At first, it was playful, something you could brush off. Jeonghan was naturally charming; he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to fluster you.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I might get the wrong idea,” he’d tease whenever you so much as glanced his way.

But then there were moments when the teasing fell away, leaving something else in its place.

One evening, after a long day, you sat on the porch, stretching your legs and watching the sky change from gold to deep blue. Jeonghan appeared beside you, holding two cups of tea. He handed you one without a word, then sat down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” he said, propping himself on his hands. “Gram told me you liked this kind.”

You turned to look at him, but he was already watching you. The usual mischief in his eyes had softened into something else. You looked away first.

But if his actions weren’t enough, he made sure everyone else knew he liked you, too.

It wasn’t over the top—no grand declarations or dramatic gestures. Jeonghan was smoother than that. He let people assume what they wanted and simply confirmed it with a smile. He wove it so naturally into conversations that it left no room for argument.

“You’re a good boy, Jeonghan,” a man at the market told him one day. “I should introduce you to my niece. She’s a lovely girl—smart, well-mannered—”

Jeonghan barely let him finish before shaking his head. “Ah, that won’t be necessary,” he said, glancing at you. “I already have someone I like.”

The man’s gaze flickered between you both before he let out a knowing laugh. “Oh, I see. You two make a nice couple.”

Before you could open your mouth to correct him, Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “I know, right? But she’s making me work for it.”

“Well, keep at it then.”

You groaned, moving to another stall before he could make it worse. But it didn’t stop there. As you browsed through vegetables, another vendor—a woman in her forties—raised an eyebrow at you. “You two seem close,” she said knowingly. “Are you finally together?”

Jeonghan sighed again, this time heavier, as if burdened. “Not yet. She’s making me suffer.”

You turned to glare at him. “Oh my god, stop saying that.”

The vendor laughed. “Smart girl. Make him work for it, dear.”

You let out an embarrassed chuckle. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

At the market, the vendors chuckled and nodded approvingly when he sighed about how hard he was working to win you over. At the café, the barista raised an eyebrow when Jeonghan ordered your drink before you could even say it.

“He’s already ordering for you,” she mused, sliding the cup across the counter. “Boyfriend privileges?”

Jeonghan took the cup and handed it to you without missing a beat. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

You swatted his arm. “Why do you keep telling everyone that?”

“What? It’s true.” He looked at the barista. “She is making me work for it.”

The barista laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a good shot.”

“Exactly.” He flashed her a grin before steering you toward a table.

Then there were the aunties. The older women in town had a habit of doting on Jeonghan whenever they saw him, always fussing over how handsome he was, how polite. And, naturally, they always tried to set him up with their nieces or granddaughters.

“You’re not seeing anyone, right, Hannie?” one of them asked one afternoon as you both helped carry groceries to her house.

“No, but I’m trying,” Jeonghan replied.

The auntie’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, dear, you should consider it. He’s a catch.”

Jeonghan turned to you, smirking. “Hear that? I’m a catch.”

You rolled your eyes and walked off, pretending not to hear the rest of their conversation.

But despite all his teasing, despite how easy he made it seem, you could tell he meant it. The way he always lingered close, the way he took things from your hands without asking so you wouldn’t have to carry them, the way he looked at you—warm, steady, reassuring. He wasn’t playing around.

Soon, three months had passed and the town’s founding anniversary festival came. The celebration took place at the townhall by the beach, with tables stretched across the clearing. The scent of grilled fish and food blended with the salty breeze, and children ran barefoot across the sand, shrieking as they chased each other. It was the kind of gathering that felt timeless, a tradition that was part of the town itself.

You watched from the shade of a large tree, with a cup of cold barley tea in your hands. The scene before you was lively, familiar now, yet something inside you was restless.

Jeonghan was at the center of it all.

You weren’t sure when you lost track of him, but now, across the clearing, you spotted him with a group of aunties fussing over him. One of them reached up to pinch his cheek, scolding him for not eating enough, and he only laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder and promising to come by for dinner next week. Not far from them, a group of kids tugged at his sleeves, demanding that he join their game. He let them drag him off with a grin, playfully ruffling a boy’s hair as they ran.

He was so at home here. And a strange feeling twisted in your chest as you took it all in—the way people naturally gravitated toward him, the way he moved through the crowd like he belonged, because he did. He had a place here, something his, something permanent.

And you… you were just passing through. A guest in their steady everyday life.

Strong breeze rustled the trees overhead, and you exhaled, as if trying to shake the thoughts away. It shouldn’t matter. You knew from the start that this was temporary, that eventually, you’d have to leave. Which was why the idea of starting something with him felt so selfish.

Across the clearing, Jeonghan’s gaze caught yours and the smile that tore across his lips made your heart melt. You smiled back as he chased the kids away and started jogging toward you.

“Why do you look like that?” he asked as soon as he was sat next to you.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He carefully grabbed the cup from your hand and took a sip. “Like you’re about to cry.”

You huffed, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan crouched beside you, resting his forearms on his knees, watching you carefully. “You’re thinking too hard about something,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” You looked away, but he reached out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re a bad liar.”

You sighed. “It’s just… it’s really nice here,” you admitted, gesturing toward the gathering. “You’re really part of this town, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Of course. I grew up here.”

“Exactly.” You let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “You belong here, Jeonghan. This is your home. And I’m just a guest.”

He studied you for a second, then said, “Is that what this is about?”

You shook your head, but it was unconvincing, even to yourself. Jeonghan exhaled, then reached up, lightly flicking your forehead. 

You winced. “Ow—what was that for?”

“For being stupid.” He rested his chin on his hand. “You think just because I’ve lived here longer, that means I belong here more than you?”

“You do, though,” you muttered.

“Maybe.” His gaze softened. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because wasn’t that the problem? No matter how much you loved this town, it wasn’t yours. And if you started something with him, would it really be fair, knowing you’d have to leave eventually?

Jeonghan must have sensed your hesitation because his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I can’t help it,” you chuckled.

“It’s okay.” He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Just don’t talk yourself out of liking me.”

Shaking your head with a grin, you said, “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he replied, still holding your hand, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin.

You were staring at each other when someone called your name. “Enough with the eyes! Come help us with the lanterns,” one of the women called, waving you over to where a group of ladies sat beneath a pavilion.

Jeonghan rose to his feet, patting his knees as he said, “Go on, then.” 

But before you could pull away, he leaned in to press a quick peck to your cheek. Your skin burned as a chorus of delighted gasps and giggles erupted from the women.

“Oh my,” someone cooed.

You turned to glare at Jeonghan but he was already walking away with a satisfied grin. “I’ll see you later,” he said casually, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just done that in broad daylight, in front of an entire audience.

You inhaled sharply, willing your face to cool before reluctantly stepping toward the pavilion. It didn’t help that all eyes were on you, their smirks making it painfully clear that you were about to be teased the moment you step under that shade.

“Oh, look at her,” one of them teased, nudging another. “Her face is all red.”

“About time, don’t you think?” another woman drawled, folding the paper carefully over the frame. “They’ve been at it for weeks now. It’s a wonder why they’re not dating yet.”

“You’re not?” asked one, turning to you with curious eyes.

You blinked, chuckling awkwardly as you sat down. “No. We’re not.” 

You glanced around at the lanterns in progress, carefully folded and held together with thin wooden frames. “So how does this work?” you asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Ah, you’ve never done this before?” one of them asked, already making space in front of you. “Here. let me show you.”

“Flying lanterns are part of the festival. Every year, we make these, light them up at night and send them out to sea,” another explained, demonstrating how to fasten the frame together. “Most people make wishes on them before letting them go.”

You nodded, watching her hands. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” she agreed. “Some people write their wishes down, but most just send them off and let fate handle the rest.”

The conversation wandered after that. The women shared stories about past festivals, about childhood memories, about their work, their families. Some had left the town for a time but eventually returned. Others had never left at all and found both their purpose and their love in this small town.

“Isn’t it funny how life works?” one of them mused. “Some of us spend years wanting to leave, only to realize later that there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.”

A few nodded in agreement, their expressions wistful. You listened quietly, fingers tracing the smooth paper of your lantern. 

You never thought about staying, not once. This town had been an escape, a peaceful pause in your fast-paced life. But somehow, it kept drawing you in. You used to feel like a visitor passing through, but then there were mornings spent sipping tea with Gram, evenings watching the fishermen return with their catch, and nights when laughter—yours and Jeonghan’s—echoed through the town. Eventually, it got to a point where when you looked up, the sky was no longer unfamiliar. The people here weren’t strangers anymore.

And Jeonghan…

“You know,” another woman started, glancing at you with a knowing smile, “there’s a popular myth about these lanterns.”

That got your attention. “A myth?”

“It’s probably just that, a myth with no truth to it,” she said lightly, her hands expertly tying a knot, “but it’s been passed down longer than anyone can remember. They say that you can make wishes when you send out a lantern, but if you send one with your lover, it’s a wish to stay together forever.”

You smiled, finding it unsurprisingly typical but interesting nonetheless. “That’s… romantic.”

“That’s why couples always do it together,” another woman added, grinning. “It’s tradition.”

The first woman turned to you again. “Has Jeonghan asked you to send one with him yet?”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Then again, you should have expected the conversation to take this turn. Before you could answer, another woman let out a laugh. “Of course he has! He wouldn’t miss the chance.”

You pressed your lips together, knowing there was no way out of this. If you admitted that Jeonghan hadn’t asked, they’d tease him mercilessly. If you denied everything outright, they wouldn’t believe you. So instead, you focused on your lantern, pretending to be engrossed in aligning the edges.

The women continued chatting around you, discussing the upcoming lantern release, while your thoughts drifted.

Jeonghan hadn’t asked you to send one with him. Would he?

And if he did… would you say yes?

You waited for him to ask. Maybe it was foolish, but as the day stretched into the night and festivalgoers started making their way to the beach with lanterns in hand, you kept expecting Jeonghan to turn to you and say something. An invitation, even a playful one—anything that would suggest he wanted to go together.

But he never did. And somehow, you still ended up going with him. Not that you were expecting to go with someone else.

There was a mini talent show by the beach, with townsfolk participating by singing or dancing. Jeonghan had simply taken your hand and led you away from the main stage, settling on a low stone wall far from the noise of the crowd. From where you sat, the music was still within reach but the space around you was quiet.

He left to get food and returned not too long after, making you raise an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

Jeonghan handed you a skewer with a smirk. “Don’t ask, just eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you still took the food. You talked over the hearty food. He complained about how long the lines were, you accused him of cutting them. He neither confirmed nor denied it, only smiled in that way that said maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.

At some point, his gaze drifted to the lantern resting beside you.

“Did you make that?”

You hummed, nodding. “Where’s yours?”

He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. “I don’t need one.”

You glanced at him. “Why not?” You instinctively pushed the lanter away from him. “You are not taking mine.” 

He frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to send one together?”

You stared at him, heat creeping up your cheeks. “W–What are you talking about?”

Jeonghan smirked teasingly. “So you already know the myth?”

You blinked but didn’t say anything. He turned his head toward you. “You’re not gonna make me go light one alone, will you?”

You scoffed. “Is this how you’re gonna ask me to light one with you? Surely you can do better.”

“Asking is for people who don’t get what they want.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and rolled your eyes. “Have fun lighting one by yourself then.”

He hummed, seemingly satisfied. For a moment, the conversation paused, the music from a young girl singing a ballad echoing through the cool night air. The warm glow of festival lights flickered over Jeonghan’s features as he watched you eat quietly and watch the show.

Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “What would you wish for?”

That made you glance at him, looking away just as quickly when you saw the fond look in his eyes. You cleared your throat. “I don’t know. Peace, maybe.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Like world peace? That’s so generic.”

“No. Peace in my own life,” you corrected, scoffing.

He hummed. “That’s not what most people wish for.”

“Yeah? What do most people wish for?”

He leaned back on his hands again, gazing toward the dark sea. “Love, money… fame?” He smirked. “A kiss under the fireworks.”

You chuckled. “That last one sounds oddly specific.”

“Does it?” His tone was light, but his eyes flickered back to you, holding yours for a second too long.

You looked away first, exhaling. “I think peace is a good wish.”

Jeonghan didn’t reply right away. “Is that why you left the city?” he asked eventually.

There it was, the question about your life and choices. Somehow, it didn’t feel as jarring as the previous times he tried to bring it up. Maybe because you wanted to tell him this time.

You pressed your lips together before answering. “I got fired for exposing a senior executive who sexually harassed one of my coworkers. Long story short, the company protected him and I got fired. I sued for wrongful termination but my own lawyer told me to back down, said the fight wasn’t worth it. They were too big and I was too small.”

Jeonghan’s expression hardened slightly. “So you gave up?”

“I didn’t at first,” you murmured. “But they made sure no one else would hire me. There spread rumors about me. That I leak information to rival companies. None of it was true, but in my field, something like leaking information is a big deal. It was enough to ruin me.”

Jeonghan didn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “It was. But I had no choice so I took the settlement and left. I just… wanted to be somewhere far away. I needed a temporary escape.”

“Temporary?” he echoed.

You glanced at him, only to find him still watching you intently.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the wooden frame of the lantern. You thought about the town, about the people who had unknowingly made space for you in their world. About Jeonghan who had secured a place for himself in your heart. And about you who had slowly started to belong here.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I’m starting to change my mind.”

Jeonghan didn’t speak, just watched you, his gaze steady in the lantern-lit dark. Then he leaned in, slowly. You weren’t sure if you moved too, only that suddenly he was too close, his eyes flickering to your lips. His fingers brushed over yours on the cool concrete, squeezing as he continued leaning closer.

And just when your lips were about to meet, a loud boom echoed the air, and the sky erupted into colors.

You were startled, glancing at the sky as fireworks exploded in bursts of gold and red, reflecting in your eyes. Beside you, Jeonghan chuckled. “You wished for a kiss under the fireworks, didn’t you?”

You burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

He grinned, jumping down the ledge and nodding toward the crowd gathering by the beach. “Let’s go. They’re starting.”

You scrambled to grab your lantern and get down the wall. But Jeonghan was already lifting you by the waist and setting you carefully on your feet. Then with your fingers intertwined, he led you down the sandy path to the beach where people were starting to light their lanterns.

And for the first time since arriving in this town, staying sounded like a really good idea.

The drive up to the pear farm was quiet, but not in a way that felt empty or awkward. Jeonghan’s hand was warm against yours, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the back of your palm as he steered with his other hand.

When the lanterns started floating into the sky, he had leaned down to whisper, “The view is better from up the hill.” 

And before you could even respond, he was already tugging you toward his truck, grinning like he knew you wouldn’t say no. And you didn’t.

Now, sitting on the rooftop of the warehouse, you could see what he meant. From here, the town stretched below, the coastline shimmering with lanterns drifting over the sea like golden fireflies. It was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you spoke. It was much quieter than the festival down below. Up here, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. Jeonghan sat close, one arm over your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and soothing. You turned your head, wanting to say something, only to find that he was already watching you.

He smiled. “I really, really, like you. You have no idea.”

“Well,” you breathed, smiling back at him. “I really, really, like you too.”

He smirked. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Boy, bye,” you muttered, moving to stand up but he stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, looking nowhere near sorry at all. “Don’t go.”

His fingers brushed over your cheek, light at first, as if waiting for you to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you nuzzled into the warmth of his hand. The slight furrow of his brows and the affection in his eyes stirred something inside you, igniting some kind of courage that made you reach for his cheek and lean forward to press a soft kiss on his lips.

A quick one. Fleeting but it left a tingling sensation on your lips, itching for more. Something flickered in Jeonghan’s eyes before his lips crashed into yours in a slow, searching kiss. It wasn’t hurried or desperate, just deep, lingering, like neither of you wanted to let go. So you didn’t let go.

Jeonghan kissed you like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved over yours in a way that made your breath hitch, slow and thorough, like he was memorizing you, savoring the shape of your mouth, the way you sighed against his lips.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging onto him as warmth spread through you. He made a quiet sound when you pulled him closer, one hand slipping down to your waist, the other threading through your hair to tip your head back. The angle deepened the kiss and sent a shiver through you when his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You caught your breath when he pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours, his thumb tracing your jaw. Then, just as easily, his lips were back on yours, softer this time but just as insistent.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, only that at some point, you found yourself stepping down from the rooftop, hand in hand with him. The warehouse door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the dim interior where weeks ago, something had almost happened between you. This time though, you weren’t stopping.

Jeonghan glanced at you with an inquiring look in his eyes, as if asking for a confirmation to continue. But you had already made up your mind. You reached for him, and he caught you in his arms with a breathless laugh. Then his lips were on yours again.

His hands slid down your back, pressing you flush against him. The warmth of his body, and the firmness of his touch was intoxicating. His lips trailed along your jaw, down the line of your throat, lingering at the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“We can still stop if you’re not sure about this,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, already half undone from when you’d tugged at it earlier. “Stopping is the last thing in my mind right now.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His lips were on you again, hungrier this time, as if something had snapped inside him. The restraint he had so carefully held onto unraveled with every touch, every kiss. Your back met the cool surface of a stack of crates, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, the way he pressed into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

His hands slid higher, slipping beneath the tight band of your bra. The heat of his palm cupped your breast, sending a new wave of warmth through you. His lips left yours to trail lower, nipping at the hollow of your throat before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Your back arched into him before you even realized, his hands tightening at your waist in response.

“Jeonghan,” you breathed before you could stop it.

He hummed in response, the sound deep and approving. His fingers brushed along your ribs, teasing the hem of your dress upward, giving you plenty of time to stop him—but you didn’t. Instead, you tugged at his shirt and yanked it from his shoulders.

You could barely see him in the dim light, but you could still make out the smooth lines of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, his smooth long hair slightly disheveled from your hands running through it.

Without a word, he lifted you off your feet and kissed you again. Your legs wrapped around his torso, arms around his neck as he walked further into the warehouse and set you down an empty worktable. 

The cold surface of the worktable sent a shiver through you, but Jeonghan’s hands were warm as they slid along your thighs, pushing them apart just enough to step between them. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his fingers trailing on the bare skin beneath your dress before he pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly, like he was too distracted by you to realize he’d said it aloud. 

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another slow, lingering kiss as his hands worked the clasp of your bra. The second it slipped from your shoulders, he palmed your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in circles. A whimper escaped you, your back arching into him.

He lowered his head, lips parting just before he wrapped them around your nipple, sucking slowly and deeply. The warmth of his mouth sent a sharp jolt of heat through your nerves, pooling low in your stomach. 

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, thighs tightening around his waist as he switched to the other, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before closing his lips around it and sucking again. He groaned, like he was savoring the taste of you, like he couldn’t get enough.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips, pressing you firmly against him and there was no mistaking the hard press of his erection through his jeans. The realization sent another wave of heat through you, and you bucked against him without thinking.

He grunted and pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, half-lidded eyes directed at you. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he murmured, voice rough.

You kissed him, messy and eager, before smirking against his lips. “Well, wouldn’t you love it if I did?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he breathed before laying you down the table with urgency.

Your skin prickled with anticipation as you watched him unbuckle his belt. His fingers worked quickly, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough, freeing himself from the restraints of his clothes.

Your lips parted at the sight of him—hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. You felt yourself clench at nothing as he leaned over you again, hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against the damp fabric between your legs. The friction made you whimper, your thighs trembling around him.

“So sensitive,” he groaned, rolling his hips against yours, dragging himself along your clothed sex. “So soaked too.”

“Please do something about it,” you whispered, tilting your head back as his mouth found your throat, sucking at the supple skin, leaving behind a delightful sting that you knew you’d still see tomorrow.

His hands slipped into the waistband of your underwear, hooking his fingers in the fabric and dragging them down in one swift motion. The cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but Jeonghan was quick to settle between your legs again, his fingers tracing teasingly up your inner thigh.

He paused, gaze flicking up to yours, searching. You knew what he was asking. pulling him down, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “I need you,” you whispered in his ear.

Jeonghan groaned into your mouth, pressing you deeper into the table as his hands roamed your skin. His fingers trailed lower, brushing against your inner thigh before sliding between your legs. A sharp gasp left you at the first stroke of his fingers. You didn’t bother pretending to be shy, not when he was rubbing delightfully against your clit, not when your hips bucked into his touch on instinct.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled back. You were just about ready to protest but your voice disappeared the second he dropped to his knees.

His hands gripped your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table. He looked up at you, eyes dark with something ravenous.

“Oh—” before you could form a word, his mouth was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you. “Jeonghan—” His name broke off into a gasp as he sucked your clit.

He hummed, satisfied, as he settled between your thighs like he belonged there, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still—though that did little to stop the way your legs trembled around him. Then, without warning, he buried his tongue inside you, licking deep, slow, dragging obscene noises from your lips.

Your hands flew to his hair, clutching and pulling when the pleasure became too much, only for him to groan in approval, his grip tightening on you. The sounds—his mouth, your gasps, the heat—filled the empty warehouse, making your tummy coil tighter and tighter with every movement of his tongue.

“Jeonghan,” you whimpered, thighs squeezing around his head. “I’m—”

“I know.” His voice was hoarse, breathless, and he didn’t stop—if anything, he doubled down, sucking harder, fingers replacing his tongue, thrusting deep, curling just right until the knot in your stomach came undone.

Your body arched off the table, waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you breathless, dazed, trembling beneath him.

Jeonghan kissed his way back up your body. He lingered at your boobs, then at you collarbone and your neck, his breath warm as he whispered against your skin, “You’re beautiful like this.”

You barely had the voice to respond, still trembling from the way he’d unraveled you so effortlessly. But when his lips met yours again, you tasted yourself on his tongue, and something about that sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. His forehead rested against yours, his lips brushing yours with every breath. 

“Please tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and unsteady. Not because he didn’t know it, but because he needed to hear it.

You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I want you, Jeonghan.”

His hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher against his waist as he positioned himself with you, moving slowly. His lips found yours again, swallowing your gasp as he pushed himself in, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delightful way.

He groaned softly into your mouth, his fingers intertwining with yours beside your head as he pushed deeper, until there was no space left between you. He didn’t move right away, just held you, let you feel him, let you adjust to the feeling of him buried inside you.

“You okay?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You nodded, breath shaky, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you—like you were something to be cherished, something to be loved.

Then he started to move slowly, deeply, like he was practicing the clench, like he never wanted to forget the way you felt around him. He kissed you between every thrust, your lips, your cheek, your jaw, anywhere he could reach—his hands never leaving yours.

“You’re trembling.”

You were. From his hands, his mouth, his manhood and the intoxicating euphoria that clouded your head and left you gasping, arching into him, chasing every movement, every moment.

And when he finally whispered your name like a prayer, you knew you were completely, utterly lost in him.

Neither of you said much on the ride home, still giddy about what had just happened but too shy to talk about it. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, as he hummed quietly with the music from the stereo. The cool night air slipped in through the open window, carrying the faint echoes of the festival, but here, in the car, it was just the two of you.

The guest house was dark when you arrived, Gram still out enjoying the festival somewhere. You half expected Jeonghan to go back to his room, but you knew he’d follow you inside yours.

“Wanna shower together?” he asked, hugging your from behind and kissing the side of your head.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I think I’ll go by myself.”

“Oh, come on. Just say yes,” he whined, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Please?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Fine.” He was quick to tug you down the hall and into the bathroom. 

In the bathroom, steam floated in the air as warm water cascaded over your shoulders. Jeonghan stood behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He reached for the soap, lathering it between his palms before smoothing it over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch more soothing than teasing. 

His fingers traced along your spine, his lips brushing over the back of your neck before he whispered, “Don’t get turned on. We’re just taking a bath.”

You smacked his chest, laughing as you took the soap from his hand. “Turn around.”

Like an obedient puppy, he did as he was told and you lathered the soap against his back. For a long moment, you just stood there, quietly helping each other wash up.

As you were running your fingers into his hair, Jeonghan said, “You keep touching me like that, and we’re never getting out of here.”

You scoffed. “Take your mind out of the gutter.”

He grabbed your wrists gently, making you pause. “Okay, I hope you know that’s too much to ask when you’re standing here naked with me.”

“Oh my god, you’re the insatiable type, aren’t you?” you asked, shaking your head as you wriggled your hands free from his grip.

Jeonghan only grinned. “Baby, every man with a working penis is insatiable.”

You scoffed, flicking water at him. “That’s so insightful. Thanks,” you said with a deadpan expression.

He smirked. “I like to think I’m a man of wisdom.”

“You’re a menace. That’s what you are.”

“Yeah? And yet, here you are. Naked again. With me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Obviously, I have bad judgment.”

“Mm. Bad judgment is agreeing to shower with me and expecting nothing to happen.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Admit it. You wanted to see this again,” he added, gesturing to his body.

You shoved him under the water, laughing as you said. “Yeah, whatever.”

“See?” He slicked his hair back, giving you a triumphant look. “I always knew you liked me too much,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before stepping back under the spray.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away when he reached for the loofah, running it down your arm with care. For all his teasing, he took his time with you, washing your skin with gently strokes, like he enjoyed the act itself, not just the excuse to touch you.

At some point, his fingers found yours under the water, linking them together. You looked up to find him watching you. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The silence, the warmth, the feeling of standing here with him in the warm light of the bathroom, it was enough.

Steam was still in the air as you stood side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, you wrapped in a towel and him shirtless with gray sweatpants. You reached for your moisturizer while Jeonghan lazily brushed his teeth, watching you through the mirror.

“I saw a house for sale near the pear farm the other day,” you said casually, dabbing the product on your skin.

Jeonghan hummed, dipping his head down the sink to rinse his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “It’s nice. Small, but cozy. Has a garden.”

“I know that one. Nice house. The owners moved abroad with their daughter.” He wiped his mouth with a towel. 

“Do you know how much they’re selling it for?”

He capped his toothbrush and turned to face you fully. “It should be affordable. Real estate isn’t too expensive around here. Why? You interested?”

“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging.

He made a thoughtful sound, turning back to the mirror. “I won’t move in with you unless you marry me first.”

You snorted. “Don’t we technically live together already?”

“This is a guest house. That’s different,” he countered. “Buying a house is serious. I like you a lot, but I won’t spend money on a house unless we’re official official.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to him. “I have my own money, you know?”

“So?”

“So? I’ll buy the house myself.”

Jeonghan nodded. “Yeah, I admire strong and independent women, but no. Not moving in with you unless you put a ring on it,” he said playfully, wiggling his fingers.

You shook your head, packing your skincare products back in your pouch. “I didn’t say I was gonna live there with you.”

“Oh?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Well, then if you’re living in that house, I should at least get a key.”

He turned to wash his hands, but halfway through, he froze. The bathroom went quiet except for the steady trickle of water against porcelain. Slowly, he turned back to you, his brows furrowing in realization.

“Wait a minute…”

You didn’t say anything, just shrugged. His eyes widened, and he straightened, covering his mouth in mock shock. “You’re staying?”

“I’m considering it.” You walked out of the bathroom, and as expected, Jeonghan was right behind you. “There’s a few things I can do if I settle down here. I could open a shop or something. Take up teaching or do marketing consults for the pear farm. I don’t see why not.”

You turned to find him still standing there, hand over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Seriously?” you deadpanned.

He ignored you, blinking a few times before asking again, “You’re staying?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. I’m—”

Before you could say anything else, Jeonghan pulled you into a tight hug. He let out a breathy laugh against your hair, one hand sliding up to the nape of your neck.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him too. You hadn’t expected it to be such a simple decision. When you first arrived, you told yourself this was just temporary, a place to breathe before figuring out where to go next. But now, the thought of leaving felt impossible. The town had settled into your bones. The people, the warmth, the way the sea stretched endlessly against the sky—it had all become a part of you. And of course, admittedly one of the main reasons of your stay, Jeonghan.

Maybe you’d known for a while. Maybe you’d been staying long before you admitted it to yourself. Maybe your doubts were just the shadows of a past self trying to resist the peace you had found here.

You hugged him a little tighter, pressing your face into his shoulder. Jeonghan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips lifting into a mischievous smile.

“Let’s get married before you change your mind.”

You scoffed, patting his chest. “Okay, slow down, cowboy.”

And just like that, you were walking into a new phase in your life. Something slower, more mundane but steadier, and uneventful in the best way. It might have seemed too soon to say, but deep down, you knew you’d never regret choosing this life. 

Choosing him.

[fin]

[f1cflcfic]

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris): Epilogue

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy".

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. also, this chapter contains some (implicit) references to sex.

genre: social media au (with written parts), angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

[A/N: hehe it's never really over, this is for my bff who just got engaged over the weekend <3]

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

June, 2027

[Excerpt from Y/N L/N's Buzzfeed Playing with Puppies Interview]

Y/N is sitting down on the floor, enthusiastically chatting to someone off camera. “Listen Roz I’m so serious, you’re going to have to physically incapacitate me when I want to take them all home. It will happen, and you will need to stop me.”

Someone from the crew giggles, as they instruct Y/N to readjust her lavalier microphone.

“Alright, so it’s super easy – you just sit there, and we bring the pups to you!”

“Oh my god. This is my dream. I always say to my friends that I’d just really love to be in a puppy pile, and it’s finally happening. The pinnacle of my career. This is why I became a singer,” she chatters, then gasps as the first puppies are brought out.

“Oh hiiii,” she almost whimpers at the sight of them, some a little more active, others a little sleepy. One immediately snuggles into her lap, and Y/N looks off-camera to someone meaningfully. “I am taking him home.” Someone can be heard laughing and saying “no, you can’t” in response, to which Y/N sighs in defeat.

“So, can you tell us who you are, and what you do”

“My name’s Y/N L/N, and I’m a singer-songwriter. But today I’m a professional puppy cuddle buddy.”

“Here’s your first question – you mentioned recording a song in Taylor Swift’s studio for the Prophecy. What does it look like?”

“Oh my – oh they smell so good I swear, I’m so sorry I didn’t hear a word you said.” The interviewer repeats the question, as Y/N tries really hard to maintain eye contact with them instead of the puppies roaming around her.

“It’s a really beautiful space, a sanctuary, really. And it’s just amazing to think that so many iconic songs and albums have been partially written and recorded there as well. Taylor is a wonderful friend to have in this industry, and – oh just look at this little guy. He’s so cute!!!”

“Second question: You’re in the middle of a world tour right now. What was your own first tour that you remember going to?”

“Oh look at this one, he’s just playing around, such a little goofball. Sorry, sorry – the question. My first concert? You know it was probably some type of children’s act? My parents aren’t super into music, so the first time I went to see someone and paid for the ticket myself, it was probably Taylor actually.”

“Third question: You said you’re into reading. What’s your latest recommendation?”

“I try to read, yeah! It’s so easy to get sucked into my phone, but I always bring books and an e-reader. Oof, careful little guy, those tiny teeth are sharp,” she disentangles her finger from a puppy’s mouth, then hugs him close to her chest and kisses his head. “I love you, don’t worry. So, yeah, what was I saying? I think with reading I’m always in two minds about it. I enjoy literary fiction, but I also love fantasy. So I recently started There Are Rivers in the Sky from Elif Shafak, and then I’ve been re-reading the Fourth Wing series by Rebecca Yarros. Love that dragon. Maybe we should name you Tairn, or Xaden,” Y/N points at a puppy with dark fur and brown eyes.

“Do they all have names already? All of them are up for adoption, right? But surely these personalities – ah okay. His name’s Lewis?” She smiles cheekily, but doesn't comment further.

One of the dogs lets out a pitiful little whine, and Y/N immediately looks down. “What’s up little pup? Are you unhappy? Can we get them some water, some snacks?”

Someone steps in with a bowl of water, then asks the next question. “What’s something you do to relax on your days off?”

“Hmm aside from reading? Honestly, I love to just hang out with my family. Go do minigolf, something fun together.”

“Not actual golf?”

Y/N snorts, her fingers absentmindedly petting the puppies that have since fallen asleep in her lap. “My partner has tried to get me into it, and I love how much he enjoys it, but it’s not for me. So I’ll happily drive the golf cart and cheer him on instead.”

“Are you not competitive?”

You scrunch your nose at the word. “I think I am, but I’m more scared of others thinking I’m not good enough – so then I abandon serious pursuit of victory. If it’s just a laugh, then it’s fine if you’re not great at something. It’s something I’m working on!”

She kisses one of the pups that’s woken up from its nap on his tiny nose. “I love you, you, you’re such a tiny little angel aren’t you?”

“Alright, next question: If you were in an emergency situation, who would you call to bail you out?”

“Probably Lando. He’d be fast, you know?” Y/N smiles at the camera. “By the way, he’s going to be SO jealous of me for getting to hang out with pups all day.”

“If you weren’t a singer-songwriter, what do you think you’d be doing?”

“Hmm, I’d probably have gone to university – maybe literature, or maybe political science. Then I’d go work for an NGO? I’d love to know I was making a difference in people’s lives I think.”

“Last question – what are you most looking forward to?”

“Aside from the new, upgraded tour? I can’t believe I’ll be playing stadiums. That feels very surreal. Apart from that, we’re getting some renovations done on the house right now and I’m super excited to see my library fantasy come to life. I want to have a ladder on wheels.”

You quietly stroke the fur of a red and white puppy that’s been curled up in your lap since the beginning. “I’m going to cry having to give these back. But I’m going to, I will. It’d be irresponsible to adopt a dog right now, maybe next year we’ll get on that. Please, if you are able and willing, adopt these sweet little puppies – and I will personally come by and hangout with your pup and you.”

The screen fades to black, and then there’s a shaky camera that follows Y/N as she laughs while talking on the phone. “I know! I said you would,” she’s overheard saying. “There’s one in particular, I just – ” she trails off, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end of the line. “Do you really think so?” Her smile widens. “I love you so much, you have no idea,” she nods excitedly at her assistant and starts walking towards the animal shelter representative. “Yeah I’ll keep you posted, say hi from me to your brother and Sav please. Ok, see you. Bye.”  

August 14th, 2027

December 8th, 2027

June 18th, 2028

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

You can read the previous parts & access various bonus content by going here

♥ likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

taglist (open) : @charlesgirl16, @linnygirl09, @hoeforsirius, @motorsportloverf1, @sarx164, @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff, @formulaal, @tvdtw4ever @sadiemack9 @seonghwaexile @screamingwines

[fiona-fififi]

You're not saying you're in love with me (but you're going to)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: 9-1-1

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Summary: Eddie's seeking joy, and he just wants to suck dick about it. Buck might be having a crisis. 8x06 extended scene.

Notes: First buddie smut fic for me. So, uh. I don't know. Enjoy! And mind the tags. Also, please let me know if I forgot any, as I am not accustomed to writing or tagging smut.

Title from Taylor Swift's “Slut!” because it felt appropriate in all the ways.

8x06 Extended Scene, PWP, Getting Together, First Time, Emotional Sex, Playful Sex, Couch Sex, Smut, First Time Blowjobs, Hand Jobs, Come Swallowing, Unsafe Sex, Mentioned Tommy Kinard (though he's really not very important to this beyond being the reason Buck is at Eddie's house)

—

Ao3 Link

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“We broke up,” Buck announces, near out of the blue, Eddie's eyes on him too much to bear after a bit. He feels the flat disinterest in his own voice; the way he's maybe jumped too far too fast into acceptance.

Maybe it really was for the best that Tommy had walked out.

“Ah, man,” Eddie says, and it's sincere, Buck knows it is, but there's a hint of something else there that Buck's not sure about—an undertone of happiness that could maybe just be the remnants of whatever he'd walked in on when he'd shown up at Eddie's door or could maybe be a reaction to something else Buck's not ready to examine. 

Buck grunts out an acknowledgment of Eddie's words. His body stiffens a little. At the possibility Eddie will push him to talk about it, Buck's mind insists. He keeps his eyes trained forward, too afraid to look at the man beside him for fear of breaking. How, though, he's not sure.

“I'm sorry, Buck,” Eddie voices, genuine and sincere, and there's something about the way his name lingers on Eddie's lips that has Buck's breath catching. “I know you liked him,” Eddie adds, hand coming down heavy on Buck's thigh.

They haven't moved, though. Not really. So with Eddie leaned back in the cushions and Buck sitting stiff at the edge of the couch, Eddie's palm falls high, so close to the juncture of his thigh that Buck thinks he stops breathing, heart hammering hard in his chest. He expects Eddie to pull away, to sit forward and shift the touch up toward his knee, to clap that spot a couple of times and pretend he hadn't lingered.

But he doesn't.

Instead, his fingers roll, a careful squeeze to the meat of Buck's thigh, dancing there in a lingering massage and shifting just a breath higher, slipping into the dip of his groin.

Buck's breath stutters out, catches with a choked sound, hand gripping too tight around the glass in his palm as he freezes—too afraid to move for fear of breaking the moment, of giving Eddie a reason to draw back and pretend like nothing of substance had happened. Feels his heart hammering in his chest, corner of his gaze caught on the sweet little smirk on Eddie's face that looks some combination of proud and fond, and Buck chokes again, falls back into the cushions behind him in an uncoordinated slouch that has Eddie chuckling aloud, a soft, sweet sound Buck wants to bottle for his own ears only forever.

He blinks hard, eyes focusing on Eddie from the new angle, Eddie's fingers creeping that much closer, and Buck can feel his body reacting—some desperate heat he knows he shouldn't feel licking over every part of his skin, radiating out from that one focal point of Eddie's fingers clasped around his thigh. “Eddie,” he grunts. Intends it to be chastising. Feels the desperation instead.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums in response, and Buck can't tell if it's a question or just an acknowledgment. Can't bring himself to care as Eddie reaches with his free hand to take the near empty bottle from Buck's. Murmurs something about tucking it away before someone gets hurt that Buck doesn't actually hear, not really, as he turns his gaze to the sweet, easy joy that crinkles Eddie's eyes and tugs at his lips in the prettiest picture of happiness Buck has ever seen. 

It's infectious, and suddenly Buck can't quite feel anything other than want. The electric of Eddie's touch leaving him a squirming mess in seconds.

And Buck knows they should talk about it. Thinks, at least, he shouldn't be so eager to give in, considering. But he can't bring himself to care about anything other than the feel of Eddie's fingers burning into his skin.

“God, you're pretty like this,” Eddie breathes, taking in the sight Buck makes against the cushions. And Buck thinks he must make quite the sight—feels wrecked over nothing more than the squeeze of Eddie's fingers and the heat in Eddie's eyes. “Take this off, yeah?” Eddie demands, tugging at the sleeve of Buck's jacket.

Buck obeys. Doesn't even consider denying Eddie as he scrambles forward just enough to dislodge the offending material and drop it over the back of the couch. Eddie's free hand finds its way up under Buck's t-shirt then, making clear his intention to strip Buck down to nothing, even as his other palm remains firmly planted on Buck's thigh. Buck doesn't argue—drags the shirt up over his head and discards it with his jacket, catches Eddie's eye with heat in his own.

“We shouldn't,” Buck breathes, unconvincing, voice catching as he shifts back further into the couch cushions, hips pushing forward as he settles. At the movement, Eddie's fingers brush over the hardness beneath his fly, just a little too firm to pretend it's an accident, and Buck chokes on a whine as his eyes fall closed.

Eddie shifts then—away, away, away—Buck can feel it in the way the couch moves beside him, even as the burning imprint of Eddie's palm remains, and Buck can't help the desperate whimper that bubbles from his lips when Eddie's movement turns into a deliberate caress, fingers playing gently over the bulge of Buck's erection in his jeans, and Buck thinks he might die for it. “Please,” Buck gasps, squirming against the cushions beneath him and pressing up into Eddie's touch.

Eddie shushes him quietly, and Buck forces his eyes open to follow the sound, and when he does, they find Eddie there, kneeling between his legs, eyes transfixed on Buck's as he lets his fingers play, hands splaying over the thick muscle of Buck's thigh. “Why shouldn't we?”

“Eddie ” Buck gasps out again. It's not a sob, but it's a near thing.

“Are you upset over it?” Eddie asks, all honest curiosity, fingers stilling just long enough to make Buck squirm for his touch. “Too much to drink to make sound decisions?”

Buck shakes his head, eyes falling closed again. “You know I've only had one.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums in agreement, fingers curling to pop the button of Buck's jeans, “broken up, then?”

Buck gives him his best approximation of a glare at that one, finds those warm brown eyes dancing with mirth, even as Buck can feel the pause—the way he's refusing to allow himself to give into the want until he's sure Buck's with him.

Buck wants to be, so desperately. Thinks maybe he is.

Eddie's mouth tilts into a fond smirk, eyes falling to where his fingers work as he drags down the zipper of Buck's jeans.

And he's working slowly—slowly enough to give Buck time to voice a real protest, but Buck would be lying if he pretended not to want everything Eddie's offering.

Still, there's a stinging behind his eyes and a sharp twinge of fear as Eddie shimmies his pants down his legs. A hint of tension settling over him because he wants, but he also doesn't know what he'd do if this all meant losing Eddie, and he can't help but fear exactly that because everyone always leaves, and why would Eddie be different, really? Why would sex make Eddie stay when it's only ever ended badly before?

Eddie clocks him then, Buck too in his head to notice that Eddie's slowed, settled back between his legs, but is gazing up at him with worried eyes, hands sweeping delicate patterns over the skin of Buck's thighs. Less deliberate now in his worry. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, quiet and delicate, and Buck feels stupid, sitting there stripped nearly bare as Eddie shifts so completely from confident sex kitten to concerned best friend. Buck's eyes swell with tears he tries to blink away. “We can stop,” Eddie promises, a sweet sincerity in his tone that makes Buck's heart clench. “Nothing has to happen here if you don't want it to.”

“I don't—I don't think I want to stop,” Buck chokes out, all damp eyes and worry.

“Then what's wrong, sweetheart?” Eddie's voice is so, so quiet and careful, and something swells in Buck's chest and makes him feel like he might break.

He hesitates, sucks in a shaky breath as his eyes roam Eddie's concerned face, a fragile attempt at avoiding Eddie's own eyes. Then, finally, “sex is like a death knell for me,” Buck admits, all quiet vulnerability  “And I don't want to lose you.”

“Buck,” Eddie breathes. And it's a quiet, delicate thing that feels like something Buck's not sure he deserves. Reaches up to stroke soothing fingers along Buck's hairline, over the wetness clinging at the corners of his eyes, along the cut of his cheekbones. “Let me show you what it feels like when someone stays.”

It feels like a promise Eddie intends to keep.

Buck lets out a shaky breath, thighs falling open with the gentlest touch of Eddie's fingers as he moves to massage the sensitive skin there. And having Eddie there, beautiful and bright, taking up the space between Buck's spread thighs, settled comfortably on his knees as he takes in the sight before him, has Buck transfixed.

“Eddie,” Buck murmurs, a quiet desperation coloring his tone. He's not sure, really, what he needs, but he knows what he wants, and he can't bring himself to deny Eddie when he's begging Buck to let him have him. 

Buck reaches out, gentle fingers curling around Eddie's neck, thumb petting delicately over the cut of Eddie's jaw. 

Eddie smiles. Fits his fingers around Buck's wrist, thumb pressing gently to the rapid pulse under his touch, and then shifts until he can press a kiss to that same spot. And it feels monumental—it shouldn't; it's just a small gesture, a sweet connection serving to ground them both, but Buck feels like his heart might burst at just how much adoration he finds in Eddie's touch.

“Can I?” Eddie whispers then, soft and sweet and sharp with want, his eyes wide and pleading as his lashes flutter up toward Buck, and Buck can't help the way his hips hitch just a bit—the slightest movement, but enough to tense Buck's thighs and turn Eddie's eyes dark with want. The nervous hope still there, but edged out by a desperate need Buck's never seen on Eddie before.

He thinks he likes it.

“Yeah,” Buck chokes out, eyes transfixed on Eddie, breath heaving as he tries to calm the molten heat running through his veins at the depth of desire in Eddie's eyes.

Eddie's gaze shifts, then, fingers hooking securely into Buck's boxers, giving a little tap with his thumb to get Buck lifting his hips enough for Eddie to drag them down his strong thighs and past his knees. They fumble a little along the way, Buck's too long legs interfering with the angle when Eddie refuses to move from where he's planted, too eager to get his hands on Buck. In the end, they manage, Eddie taking a poorly coordinated kick to the shoulder and Buck nearly rolling himself off the couch in his haste to shimmy out of the offending garment. Eddie grins and maybe giggles a little at the whole ordeal, and Buck does, too, laughter overtaking as Eddie reaches out to steady himself on Buck's bare knees while he resituates between them.

As their laughter subsides, Eddie's eyes still dance with adoration, and Buck is surprised with it when Eddie leverages himself up with hands firmly planted on Buck's knees, leaning in until Buck gets the picture and ducks down, catching Eddie's lips with his own.

They're not close enough to make it a proper kiss—just a sweet press of their open mouths, Eddie's tongue dipping forward for just the slightest taste before they're separating. But it's the kind of first kiss that leaves Buck trembling all the same. When Eddie pulls back, they're both grinning wide, and Eddie presses one more peck to Buck's lips just as he lets his fingers drag up the length of Buck's cock, delicate and teasing and tentative, and Buck can't help but break the kiss as his head falls back against the couch, desperate whine ripping out of him as Eddie's grin shifts into a joyful smirk, cocky with it as Buck ruts into his touch, seeking a pressure Eddie's not yet ready to give him.

“Shh,” Eddie hushes then, shifting back down to settle between Buck's legs. Buck whimpers again and Eddie shifts his touch to the insides of Buck's thighs, tickling the sensitive skin there with gentle fingers. “I wanna play for a minute, huh? Promise I'll make it worth the wait.”

Buck chokes on something that sounds vaguely like Eddie's name, then. Eyes pressing closed and breath stuttering as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His whole body feels tight, balanced on some precarious peak he's not sure how to navigate, but he wants. Doesn't think he's ever wanted anything as much as Eddie's touch now that he's had a taste of it.

For his part, Eddie's true to his word, fingers playing delicately over Buck's skin, a hint of curiosity beneath the confidence rolling off him. He's fascinated by every move Buck makes, every sounds that falls from his lips. 

Buck reaches out, runs his fingers over Eddie's cheek, just to feel the pull of his smile, and then Eddie's turning into him, pressing a kiss to Buck's fingertips as his hands slip up along the length of Buck's thighs, thumbs caressing the delicate skin closest where Buck needs him most only to skate higher to explore his chest. And Buck hates him a little bit for a moment, whining his displeasure as Eddie's hands splay wide across his ribs, pet over the muscle of his pecs, and then slide back down to skim over his sides, squeezing just enough to pinch when they settle on Buck's hips again, and he pouts—bottom lip protruding in the most obnoxiously childish way—and Eddie can't help but laugh. Can't reach Buck's lips again without more effort than he's willing, so instead, presses a wet kiss to the juncture of Buck's groin, hot breath ghosting over the length of him, and Buck's hips would be hitching up if not for the steady grip Eddie has on him. 

“Fuck,” Buck murmurs, mesmerized by Eddie's playful curiosity. The way he oozes confidence, even though Buck's not sure he's ever done anything like this before, and Buck's own curiosity gets the best of him, finds him forcing his eyes open wide and stuttering out “have you, uh, h-have you ever—” as he reaches to comb careful fingers through the mess of Eddie's hair.

“Never,” Eddie confirms, confidence holding in his tone. A hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

Buck blinks at that, something like awe blooming in his chest as he watches Eddie's eyes. Feels Eddie's fingers slide closer to slip around the length of him,  playing again for just a moment—touch too light to do much more than tease—until he's tightening his grip and stroking slow but firm.

Buck shudders with it, forces a breath through his nose as he tries to breathe through it without losing control. “Are you sure, Eddie?” Buck asks, all quiet concern, even with every nerve ending in his body drawn taught as he pets at Eddie's hair, lets his fingers linger. “I-I don't want to push you into anything you're not ready for.”

Eddie smiles at that—something bright and sweet and genuine, and Buck thinks he might die here beneath Eddie's capable hands. Thinks it might be the only way he wants to go when Eddie presses another kiss to the skin of his abs and then murmurs “think I've been ready for you since that first day.”

Buck's breath catches again. Damp tears suddenly clinging along the edges of his lashes. Buck chokes on a sob, lets his head fall back again just as Eddie dips back, that same sweet smile playing across his lips as he goes back to peppering kisses along the dips of Buck's abs and the skin of his belly, firm grip slowing with the distraction but keeping up enough rhythm to have Buck gasping his praise on a broken breath, a quiet “Eddie” forcing its way out of him as Eddie plays.

“I want to taste,” Eddie murmurs then, like he’s talking to himself, before he turns his eyes up at Buck and asks, all confidence and sweet curiosity, “Can I taste?” before dropping a kiss so close to the head of Buck's cock that his cheek drags gentle over the length of him.

Buck sobs. A desperate, drawn out thing, as he chokes out Eddie's name over and over, broken with awe and adoration. “Eddie. Eddie. E-eddie.”

Eddie grins, big and cocky, and Buck hates the way his dick jumps at that predatory smile. “Gotta tell me, bud,” Eddie tsks, fingers teasing along Buck's length. Circling him to stroke firm and steady. Mouth pressing wet kisses to the cut of Buck's groin.

“Y-yes,” Buck chokes, voice failing enough that he nods hard in affirmation, fingers dragging along Eddie's jaw to draw his attention, “please.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, almost to himself, and Buck whimpers. Lifts his hips just a touch, and he feels Eddie grin against his skin. 

Eddie shifts, ghosts his lips over Buck's skin, then presses a delicate kiss just below the head of him. Lifts the heft of Buck's cock away from where it rests on his belly, just enough to get his mouth on him properly, and then he's suckling at the head, tongue dipping into the slit, and Buck can feel the way Eddie's saliva pools around him.

Buck whines at the wet heat of it. Fingers scrambling for something to hold, but he doesn’t dare touch. Tries so hard to keep his hips from hitching. Remembers this is Eddie's first time—can feel it in the curious way Eddie's tongue twists around him, in the careful way he tries to dip lower, taking just the smallest bit at a time, keeping his fist wrapped loosely around Buck's length to help guide him.

But it's so fucking good, and Buck sobs with desperation as he tries to keep himself still. 

Feels Eddie smirk around his mouthful, and then pull off, pressing a kiss to Buck's belly with wet lips, before resting his chin there, eyes turning up to gaze at Buck, as he strokes his length, grip firm and sure. 

He makes the prettiest contrast—all sweet and quiet in the delicate look he turns up at Buck and absolutely obscene in the way he fists Buck's cock—and Buck can't help the way he chokes out Eddie's name again in a desperate plea, shaking with the effort to keep his hands to himself for fear of pushing.

Eddie's having none of it, though. Sees the tension in the way Buck's holding himself back. 

“You can touch,” Eddie assures him, confident and gentle—a tone he uses so easily with Buck that it makes his heart stutter sometimes.

“Don't—” Buck tries, breaks off on a gasp as Eddie twists his wrist just right “—don't wanna force you.”

Eddie lets out a breath that sounds like a chuckle, air ghosting over the most sensitive parts of Buck and making him shiver. “You're not forcing anything, sweetheart.”

Buck shakes his head, tries to regain some semblance of rational thought. “Don't wanna get carried away. Want you to be in control.”

“I'm not gonna break,” Eddie insists.

And Buck blinks hard. Tries to form words. Notices the way Eddie slows his strokes and loosens his grip to give Buck a moment of relief. Buck loves him and hates it all the same. Thrusts carefully into Eddie's fist and notices the fond smile that calls to Eddie's mouth. Like he’s trying not to burst with joy at catching Buck so sweetly vulnerable.

“It's your first time,” Buck pleads, because he wants so badly to touch, but he's also so afraid of pushing Eddie too far too fast.

“You can touch,” Eddie repeats, all gentle voice and delicate smile. “You're not gonna break me, Buck. I trust you. With all of me.”

Buck swallows hard at that. Breathes out through his nose to try to keep his emotion in check. “Yeah?” Buck confirms again, all big eyes he knows Eddie can't resist.

Eddie smiles again, fond and adoring, as he uses his free hand to twine his fingers with Buck's. Drags Buck's hand close and then gives it a squeeze and lets him go. Gets a hand back on his hip and pets at his waist, digs his fingers in just a little to stake his claim, and Buck thinks he might die for it.

Buck, tentative as he is, reaches out to twine his fingers through Eddie's hair. Lets one hand fall to the curve of Eddie's neck, thumb tracing the cut of Eddie's jaw and the swell of his lips. Holds on as Eddie smiles again, a little predatory this time, and then shifts to get his mouth back around Buck. Moans low as the taste of precome that hits his tongue and squeezes Buck's hip in encouragement when Buck lets them lift in desperation. 

Buck doesn't let himself get carried away, but god, he's never felt anything quite like what Eddie's giving him. Tugs just a little at Eddie's hair, an experiment that earns another groan from Eddie and has him forcing himself down a little too far, until his throat spasms and he's pulling back to where he can breathe through it. Eddie keeps the tip in his mouth, suckles at it and keeps his tongue moving even as he recovers.

“God, you're beautiful.” The words slip out, full of a kind of reverence Buck's not sure he's ever felt before, and they have Eddie tilting his eyes up, letting loose a shivering breath that Buck can see is all a response to his words—a moment of vulnerability that maybe shouldn't be so impactful, considering, but it is, and Buck feels a little like he’s flying and also maybe like he’s dying from it. Doesn't understand this feeling or the way it centers around Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. It's not the sex. Not the moments of prolonged pleasure or the heat of their bodies or even the feel of Eddie's mouth around him. It's the delicate look of adoration in those eyes, the sweet way Eddie's taking control and guiding them because he knows Buck can't. It feels something like love in a way Buck's never known it, and he thinks he might die to keep it.

Eddie takes Buck deeper again, moans around Buck's length when Buck's fingers tighten just a hint in his hair at the feel of him. Eddie's a little more careful this time, strokes firmly at what he can't take and swallows around what he can as Buck leaks on his tongue. 

“Eddie,” Buck gasps, tugging a little at his hair, and letting a hand fall lower to grip at Eddie's shoulder just to touch because he's so fucking overwhelmed with it. Eddie hums around him, and Buck's choking on his breath. Warns, “I'm so close, Eddie. Eddie. E-eddie, I'm gonna come. Eddie.”

Buck's orgasm takes Eddie by surprise, even with the warning. He sputters for a moment, pulls back until just the tip of Buck's cock remains closed between his lips, and swallows around him, dragging a desperate groan out of Buck as his fingers scramble out of Eddie's hair, hands drifting to frame his cheeks.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck gasps, breath coming hard as he strokes at Eddie's jaw, presses at the hinge of it until Eddie gets the message. Meets Buck's gaze with his own, eyes tearing with the effort as he lets his mouth fall open, just enough that Buck can watch the rest of his release pool across Eddie's tongue. 

Eddie stays still for him. Lets Buck drag exploring fingers over his skin, his hair, his lips. And Buck can't help the way he whimpers when Eddie smiles, open mouthed, kitten licks at the head of Buck's cock, careful not to spill the mess on his tongue, and then closes his lips around the head, suckles gently, and swallows.

Buck moans, low and loud, and squirms at the overstimulation. Tugs gently at Eddie's hair.

Eddie lets him go, strokes gently once, twice more, just to hear the shuddering breath it forces out of Buck, and then lets Buck's softening cock rest against the cut of his groin. Lets his hands stray to massage at Buck's hips and thighs as they come down from the high.

When Eddie looks up at him again, eyes big and sweet and wet, Buck nearly loses his breath all over again. There's a bit of white clinging to the corner of Eddie's mouth, remnants of Buck's release offering a stark reminder that this was anything—everything—but a dream, and Buck can't help the way his breath stutters to a stop as he reaches down to cup Eddie's chin in his palm, Eddie nuzzling into him. Buck's thumb strokes absent-mindedly over Eddie's cheek for a moment as Eddie lets his eyes fall closed, and Buck—still transfixed on that streak of white—finds himself skating his thumb closer, catching the milky substance and pushing it past Eddie's lips. For his part, Eddie opens his eyes, meets Buck's own, a little smirk of mischief dancing in his gaze as he parts his lips just enough to suck Buck's thumb into his mouth, tongue twisting delicately around the soft flesh of Buck's fingertip as he cleans away any remnants of Buck's release, moaning low in his throat as he swallows around him.

“Fuck, Eddie, come here,” Buck murmurs desperately, tugging gently at Eddie's chin, thumb still trapped between Eddie's lips. 

Buck fumbles a bit hauling Eddie up and over him, shifting until they both fit onto the couch, Buck's leg hiked up against the couch back, other foot planted firmly on the floor, so he can drag Eddie between his spread thighs. Before they're even settled, Eddie's grabbing harshly at Buck's chin, so he can get his lips on Buck's, and Buck is reduced to desperate whimpers that Eddie swallows down around a smile.

It's fucking intoxicating.

“Off,” Buck begs, muffled against Eddie's mouth, as he shoves at Eddie's shirt, tucking one hand up underneath it to get to Eddie's bare skin as the other dips below the waistband of Eddie's underwear, just enough to tease. Eddie grins, desperate and wild, teeth catching Buck's lip as he shoves into Buck's touch, Buck's mouth open and pliant as he groans low and holds tight to Eddie. In answer, Eddie tugs at the material of his shirt one handed, too preoccupied with Buck's mouth to dip back and unbutton properly. He doesn't get far, the buttons refusing to give in his haste, much to Buck's dismay. Buck huffs in frustration, shoving the material up Eddie's chest, another irritated “off” growled out into Eddie's mouth, teeth catching sharp on Eddie's bottom lip. 

Eddie smiles, lets a happy laugh slip as he reaches up to drag a teasing finger down Buck's cheek before pulling his mouth away just long enough to tug the offending fabric up over his head. Buck latches onto Eddie's throat the moment it's bared, purring out his satisfaction at the newly exposed skin as he sucks a mark into a spot that makes Eddie squirm.

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, a hot rush of breath tickling Buck's curls as Eddie sinks his fingers in and holds him tight, elbows pressing into Buck's shoulders.

Buck grins against his neck and slides an arm around Eddie's back, the fingers still tucked in Eddie's waistband petting teasingly over the soft skin at his hip. Tugs back and away just far enough to break Eddie's hold and shift up, breath whisper-quiet at Eddie's ear as he murmurs “tell me what you want, Eddie,” all confident swagger, even as his belly fills with butterflies—a delicate mix of nerves and desperation at the thought of getting his hands on Eddie, maybe even a little more eager than he was to have Eddie's hands on him.

Eddie whimpers. A needy little sound that Eddie tucks into Buck's neck, ghosting a delicate kiss there. “Touch me,” he begs, hips shifting just right to have Buck's fingertips slipping just a little lower.

Buck smirks at that, tugging Eddie close enough to feel the hard ridge of him pressed to Buck's belly, and Buck shivers at the all too real reminder that they're actually here. That Eddie's open and willing and wanting Buck. And for a moment it gives him pause—has him catching his breath with the reality of it all.

And when Eddie tilts his chin back, eyes finding Buck's as he smiles—all joy and adoration—and then presses another kiss to the corner of Buck's mouth, murmured devotion lost in its wake, Buck can't help but claim Eddie's mouth for his. Kisses Eddie sweet and slow as he shifts to shimmy Eddie's briefs down, just enough to get a hand on him, and then Eddie's mouth is falling open against Buck's, a sweet whine pitched high as Buck starts to tease, touch featherlight as he drags his fingertips up Eddie's shaft.

“Tease,” Eddie accuses, tugging away from Buck's mouth just the slightest bit, breath harsh as he presses into Buck's touch, begging with all he has when words fail him.

Buck lets a slow smirk slip over his mouth, kisses at Eddie's jaw. “So desperate for me,��� almost a whisper, but cocky enough to have Eddie whining in answer again. “You want more, baby?”

Eddie blinks hard, breath stuttering as he tucks his face into Buck's neck and sobs when Buck, instead of waiting for an answer, wraps his fingers tight around Eddie's cock and strokes slow. The pressure just right to have Eddie squirming and thrusting up into Buck's fist, trying to gain some kind of control over Buck's pace. Buck stills him, wrapping his free arm tight around Eddie's waist and pressing him down against Buck's thighs to immobilize him as best he can. Kisses the shell of Eddie's ear when he hears Eddie whimper a quiet “please,” and squeezes at Eddie's hip to calm him.

“Wanna take my time with you,” Buck admits, the cocky swagger in his tone faltering and falling into something a little sweeter and a little softer that gives away the edge of fear that this is all he'll have. 

He hates himself a little bit for letting the facade fall when he feels Eddie still, body shaking with the effort, as he shifts back, hands reaching to frame Buck's face, fingers gentle as they fan over his cheeks. Buck feels his eyes dampen with emotion again as Eddie studies his features, taking in the worried downturn of his mouth and the furrow of his brow.

And then Eddie's leaning in, pressing a delicate kiss to the pink of Buck's birthmark, and Buck can't stop the lone tear that tracks down his cheek. Eddie, breath still calming, gives him another sweet smile and wipes away the evidence with a gentle sweep of his thumb. “Next time,” he murmurs, all full of promise, shifting to peck at Buck's lips, “you can take your time with me next time.”

Buck's breath catches at that, eyes big and hopeful. “Y-yeah?”

Eddie smiles, bright and happy and kisses Buck hard and sweet. “Yeah,” he promises, all fond joy. Buck nods his acceptance, squeezing Eddie's hip and refocusing on the job at hand, giving Eddie another experimental stroke just to tease him, and Eddie shakes in his arms and whimpers, letting his forehead fall against Buck's.

“Yeah?” Buck asks again, tone shifting, cocky smirk finding its way back onto his lips.

“Yes,” Eddie hisses, arms falling back to frame Buck's shoulders, hands sinking up into his curls. “Now, can you please make me come? I'm so fucking close and you're so good. Just. Please. Buck.”

Buck doesn't make him wait. Swipes his thumb over the head of Eddie's cock, just to tease, and then picks up a steady rhythm, stroking with a firm grip. Eddie groans, tugs at Buck's hair, and drags Buck's mouth down to the crook of his neck. Buck takes the hint, mouth turning up into a grin against Eddie's skin as he bites gently at the muscle there and then soothes the sting with his tongue. Sucks at Eddie's skin until Eddie's choking on a moan, crushing Buck closer and clutching hard at his curls, a broken “Bu-uck” ripping from his lips as Buck twists his wrist just right.

“Yeah,” Buck mumbles, prying his mouth away against the force of Eddie's grip. Kisses the shell of his ear, the hinge of his jaw, the corner of his lips. “Eddie. Come for me.”

Eddie chokes on a groan, leans in to catch Buck's mouth in a desperate kiss as he loses control, body thrusting up into Buck's touch as his orgasm crashes through him. Leaves him panting and whining against Buck's lips as Buck works him through it, touch shifting from firm to gentle as Eddie shakes in his arms.

As Eddie comes down from the high of it all, he shifts until he's resting against Buck, face tucked into Buck's neck as his breathing evens out and his heartbeat returns to some semblance of normal.

Buck smiles, pressing delicate kisses to Eddie's temple and petting a hand through his hair, gentle touch soothing in the afterglow.

“Made a mess of you,” Eddie murmurs after long moments of quiet, eyes transfixed on the pool of come on Buck's bare chest, fingers reaching to slide through the remnants of his release. Buck's eyes track the movement, watching, transfixed, as Eddie scrapes what he can onto two long fingers.

When Eddie draws his hand away, Buck can't help himself from reaching out to catch his wrist. Draws Eddie’s fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. Leaves Eddie blinking in surprise and breathing a little heavier at the twist of Buck's tongue.

“Fuck,” Eddie murmurs, all awe and heat, as Buck pulls away.

Buck smirks up at him, laves his tongue around the tips of Eddie's fingers one last time. “Needed a taste,” Buck flirts, voice pitched low, “till I can get my mouth on you properly. Next time.”

Eddie can't hold back the laugh that bursts from his chest at that, joy overflowing as he dips down to lick the taste of himself from Buck's mouth, Buck smiling against his lips the whole way.

“Keep it up,” Eddie threatens, all sexy playful swagger as he draws back just a breath, “and next time might come sooner than you think.”

“Mmm,” Buck hums, pressing another sweet kiss to Eddie's lips, drawing Eddie down tighter against his chest, “promises, promises.”

Eddie's eyes soften, take on that sweet quality Buck's seen for years but never really noticed like he is in this moment. Feels his breath catch as Eddie reaches up to push the sweaty curls back away from Buck's eyes and holds his gaze.

“Have lots of promises for you,” Eddie entrusts, delicate smile betraying an adoration Buck's not sure he's worthy of. “Plan to keep ‘em all.”

Buck's breath catches again, eyes shining with emotion at just how big all of this feels. At just how deep his feelings for Eddie run.

He nods. A quiet affirmation that he plans to let Eddie offer them all. That he understands the weight of everything they are and everything he thinks they will be.

But he can't speak the words yet—everything too deep and too raw and too fresh. His mind a mess of adoration and joy, but also a tangle of confusion and fear alongside the hope.

So he doesn't speak it yet.

Instead, tucks Eddie against his chest. Takes his weight. Wraps him tight in his arms and holds on.

Eddie clings just as tight.

—

[dolene]

I AM A WHAT? ; fernando alonso x wife!reader

summary: after taylor swift's song was out, people couldn't help but link him to taylor—while he didn't know anything about the current news.

note: sorry if this is so messy, it was a brainrot 🤭 and anyway happy ttpd day for those who celebrate!

the circulating news about his unreal relationship with the international singer taylor swift is no longer in doubt. there are many people who support them, shipping them, and even created a fan account dedicated to the two of them—who are not related or know each other at all.

“heh, yeah i'm aware of it.” he snort when the interviewer asked him about the swirling news. “but either way, i know that it wouldn't be possible.” he continues, simply shrugging with his wide smile still decorating his face when he saw the interviewer's eyebrows knit.

“oh? why is that?” he finally asked which fernando answered shortly, “i've had my wife, you remember?” and the interviewer chuckled, “no but really, if you hadn't marries her yet, would you choose her?” he said, making fernando goes silent for a quick moment.

“ah, probably.” he said eventually, “if i were still as young as her... and as tall. it would be okay.” the both of them laughed at his answer, leaving the interviewer with his tons of asks to continue the interview and leaving the taylor topic alone.

A YEAR LATER...

being chronically online in social media gave him a lot of benefits to offer. from not missing up with the latest news and trends makes him quite popular in his daily social media life as a trendy man on tiktok. but that also doesn't rule out the possibility that sometimes he is still left behind with other news that is not included in his list of interests. whether it's because he's not interested and allows himself to be left out of it, or he doesn't know about it all.

and having a wife who is also a journalist gives him many benefits, and one of them is not missing in any trending news that he doesn't even know it exists;

“ooh, i see that you were trending on twitter today.” you said as you walked to the counter to take a glass of juice from the mini refrigerator.

“twitter?” he asked from the bathroom, his voice echoed, and your uh-huh answers his question. “i haven't checked my twitter in a day or two now,” he said as he continued to brush his teeth, “so i don't know what am i even missed so i could be on the trending topic.”

“d'you want me to check it out for you?”

“mhm, sure.”

you immediately opened your twitter again after hearing his approval, searched for his name in the search column and finally found the topic you were looking for. lots of it. a lot of them were tweets about him and taylor swift with her new album.

you were silent for a moment, as you were getting too preoccupied with seeing what people were talking about about your husband and taylor swift, that you forgot about fernando who had been waiting for your response in the bathroom.

“so what is that all about?” he questioned, after he's finally came out of the bathroom, immediately standing next to you to peek at your phone. “apparently it's your gossip with miss swift.” he let out a loud laugh and stood up from his previous position as he walked towards his suitcase to look for a clean clothes for him to wear.

usually you are quite updated with the latest news, especially about taylor swift because you are a swiftie. but strangely enough, you don't know about this either.

“i haven't heard about the lastest album.” you said, and fernando hummed. “so you didn't know about the news, then?” he asked, and you answered, “no, i don't.” okay he said as a respond.

but after some time of scrolling through your twitter page, you finally find out what they mean about it. and you can't even deny it, you were also late in digesting the information.

MEANWHILE TWITTER...

“ooohhh, so you are taylor's car.” your face was still focused on your phone screen when fernando looked at you with a confused face. “i'm her what?”

“her car. and look, your relationship gossip with taylor is up again.” you giggled but didn't told him about the detailed things that you've been said to him earlier, making him keeping the confused face on his face longer.

“cariño, ¿de qué hablas?” he shakes his head, finally letting his desperation wins over the the lack of clarity in the information you gave him. you smiled, approaching him who was sitting on the bed, his mouth pouted with his lower lips is pushed forward—just like a 10 year old child whose parents weren't allowed to play.

“okay so, on her newest album, taylor wrote in the lyrics ‘i'm an aston martin’ and maybe that's why the public started to brings the taylor rumors again.” you said, and he nodded. “then you are her car, right?” and he finally get rid of the pout that he has on earlier as he slowly laughed. a breathy one, before he finally stops in a current slow motion.

“but that still doesn't answer your lack of clarity earlier!” he insists, but his face is still smiling from his laugh earlier, his eyes looking at you. “i already explained it to you!” you chuckled and his eyes lit up as you looked back at him.

there was a silence filling up the room for a moment after you said that, until he finally broke it; “you know, even if someday i could be with taylor, i wouldn't be with her.”

“really? and why is that?”

“because i could only be your aston martin.”

“oh my—” and before you could even rolled your eyes or completing your sentence, he had already pulled you in for a kiss first. luckily he's your husband.

taglist: @seasonswinter @haikyuen @callsignwidow

translation: cariño, ¿de qué hablas? = baby, what are you talking about?

[nikkisheep]

To Be Alone With You (Part Eight: Anthony's Part)

Anthony Bridgerton x Sharma!sister!reader

Warnings: small Angst, fluff, engagement, Edwina forgives reader, Violet being the best mother ever at helping her child, Reader getting Queen Charlotte's approval, reader struggles with her feelings for Anthony and wanting to give him up, Anthony is struggling with Benedict not speaking to him despite forgiving him.

A/N: This is Part 1 of Anthony's ending with the reader. The next part will be his wedding. After Anthony's wedding, it will Benedict's Part 1 of his ending. Once Benedict Part 1 is complete, his wedding will follow after.

A/N (2): I am so sorry that it took so long. I have been busy and just struggling with writers block so I hope this is a good read and I do apologize for taking so long.

Songs:

Wildest Dreams: Taylor Swift

Do I Wanna Know: Hozier Cover (highly recommend listening to with this)

Sweet Creature: Harry Styles (kinda)

Daylight: David Kushner

Summary: Edwina announces at Lady Danbury's ball that she is not marrying Anthony. The ton is shocked, but Anthony announces that he is still to be married. And the entire ton looks around, which of the lucky ladies will be the new viscountess?

Tag List: @shealuna , @m-rae23 , @littlepeanut03 , @aellabridgerton @sydney-m, @faatxma , @wildthoughtnananna @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @theroyalmanatee, @urfavnoirette, @budugu, @helen06dreamer, @galactict3a, @imagineme2you. @sabii5, @anehkael, @aesthetic0cherryblossom, @lxovesgy, @lemonwithstupidity, @luvwithau, @stvrdustalexx, @jess4rush, @tallrock35, @msrawog , @diduzzula , @myheartfollower , @yunho-leeknow , @jeysbae, @delusional-4-fake-people, @kiddeecat , @lucistarrrrs, @marvelouslyme96 , @weshhhhhhhhhhhhh, @lafrone , @marvelouslyme96 , @jackierose902109 , @ephemeral-oasis , @turtle-cant-communicate , @fallout-girl219 , @strnqer , @torisunflower

The following morning was one that crept upon someone very slowly. It was raining and the entire world fell silent as you laid in bed, having Edwina curled beside you as you stroked her hair. After the storm last night, she was left frightened. Right before she fell asleep, she whispered her forgiveness to you. That small phrase left you awake all night as the actions that you and Anthony had committed replayed in your mind as you knew that you could never forgive yourself as Edwina had done to you.

Getting out of bed, you go about your usual day excluding the fact that your sisters did not seem to be as excited to start the day. Kate mumbled about wanting to sleep all day, but you dragged her out of bed so her wild curls could be brushed.

Edwina was rather difficult to get out of bed as she too turned over in her bed when you opened the curtains to allow the little bit of sun that peaked through the rain, into the room. You made mention that Lady Whistledown had written an article about Lady Danbury's ball and how she expects us to attend.

"Do we really have to go?" Kate asked. At this point, she was tired of dancing with uninteresting men.

"Yes, we must," Edwina says. "I have a new dress that I want to take out for a spin."

"Ah yes, it must be nice having the Bridgerton money!" You laughed.

Your two sisters turned their heads sharply to face you, Kate having a scowl written on her features.

"Sorry, I suppose it is still rather early to make jokes."

At your words, Edwina laughs with her entire body. She laughs so hard that tears form in her waterline.

"Oh my, sister!" She laughed. "You are quite funny!"

You look at Kate confused, hoping that your older sister would say something but she shrugged before walking out the door.

----

Anthony was in distraught. He knew that he needed to make amends with Edwina before ending the engagement. He felt horrible but he knew that he had no one else to blame but himself. He knew that he was completely to blame, but he also felt relieved as this journey had lead him on a path of self-discovery and it made him feel slightly better because now he knows that he is ready to have a marriage with love at the center, he just wished that it didn't have to be at the expense of two sisters.

With Benedict not speaking to him, Anthony was quite at his wits end. The only way that they could communicate is through Colin and he grumbled every time one of the older brothers demanded him to give the other a message.

"Brother, has it occurred to you that perhaps this is your own doing?" Colin asked as he grumbled about another message.

"Well, no Colin, that thought hasn't crossed my mind but only a billion times already," Anthony said, pouring the two a drink. "I have tried apologizing and though he has said that he forgives me, he will not speak to me directly."

Colin takes a swig of his drink and then looks to Anthony again. "Brother, you had sex with a lady and then he too had intimate relations with the same woman," He says. "Not to forget that you then carried the affair even after you knew that the two had shared a bed."

"Couch." Anthony corrects, causing Colin to groan and roll his eyes.

"See brother, it is this very attitude that keeps the two of you apart. Now if Benedict said to make things right with the two Sharma sisters, then by all means please do but do not be angry with Benedict for being hurt."

After Colin left the office, Anthony was left with only his thoughts and the uncomfortable lump in his throat as he thought about what he will do next.

---

Violet Bridgerton was sitting in the drawing room embroidering a pillow for Eloise when Anthony walked in, stress evident on his face. She looked up at her son and then placed the pillow onto the couch beside her. Standing up, she smooths her dress and then walks over to her son and places her hand on his cheek. 

“My sweet beautiful boy, what plagues your mind so hauntedly that you look as though you have not slept in three days?’’ She asks softly and at her words, Anthony’s entire resolve crumbles. 

Violet lets out a soft gasp of surprise as Anthony’s frame sinks against her and she holds her child in her arms as Anthony’s arms wrap around his mother to feel her comfort as his entire body shakes with tears streaming down his face. He wanted to be strong and hold himself together, but the overwhelming fear of being a disappointment for his mother overcame him and he cried in her arms for a few minutes. 

“It’s okay, my dear, just breathe,” She coos gently, helping Anthony calm down. “Tell me what is bothering you.” 

Anthony looks at his mother and tells her everything that has been happening between him and Miss Sharma. He explains the issue with the engagement and how he is not happy because the one woman that he loves is the sister of his betrothed. Violet listens to all of this before stopping him when he mentions Edmund. 

“My dear, it would pain your father to know that you are refusing the love of a woman because you simply proposed to the wrong woman,” She says. “Now I will say this only as your mother because it pains me to see you so distraught. I did not raise you to behave this way, but everyone makes mistakes and though yours is a messy mistake, there is a way for you to make it right.”

“How? Please tell me because I can not for the life of me find the solution, I feel as though my heart controls my mind and my mind has no control over anything.”

“Marry the sister whom you love.” She says before patting his cheek. “Listen to your heart and do what it tells you, it will lead you down the right path.”

---

Dresses twirl with every glide that a lady takes, a gentleman’s shoes thud against the floor with every step. The ladies and gentlemen of the ton were all collected at Lady Danbury’s ball and one might say that it was the best of the season yet. There were flowers and vibrant colors everywhere. It seemed as though the lights were made of diamonds and the ladies under them were made of the most precious jewels. 

Walking in with Edwina and Kate by your side, you scan the room to find the beverage table because you could already feel the tightening in your throat when you see Benedict Bridgerton dancing with another woman. You hope that he doesn’t see you, but he already has and is saying goodbye to the lady he was dancing with. 

“I think I will go get us some lemonade,” You tell your sisters before practically running away. 

Grabbing a drink, you make a beeline for the furthest corner in the room and try to hide from the Bridgerton. Sadly, he found you.

"Miss Sharma," He says. "Your gown is lovely."

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton." You say with a smile.

"I want you to know that I am giving you permission to marry Anthony," He says and you look at him dumbfounded. "I know it is him who you love and desire so I will not stand in yours or his way of happiness."

"Benedict-"

"Please let me explain," He says quickly. "Over the years after our father's death, I have watched Anthony become a shell of the man that once was my brother. He became the man of the house and I have never seen him truly happy since. After finding out that he had been with you, I was angry but when I heard him speak about you, I knew that I was delaying my brother from getting the life he deserves."

"Benedict, I-"

"I'm sorry, but I need to finish this." Benedict says before clearing his throat. "I may have fallen in love with you, Miss Sharma, but you do not love me the same. I may act like a heathen, but my mother did raise me to treat women with respect so I will never expect you to pretend to feel something you do not. If you do not end up at the alter with my brother, any man who gets to be opposite of you should be a man who treats you as you deserve, and I am disappointed that I can not be that man but you deserve a man who you love. I want to thank you for your appearance in my life and I also want to thank you for making my brother start to become the man that I once remembered him to be."

You go to speak before he bows his head to you and then walks away. You stand there appalled as tears threaten to fill your eyes and you have to blink them away. Suddenly the air in the room becomes too thick, the sounds of laughter from the guests become too much so you make your escape out the side door and Edwina catches sight of you while she dances with the son of an earl.

As you are rounding a corner, you collide with a strong body and slightly stumble back before the man's hand steadiest you. Despite the gloves, you recognized the owner of the hands before looking up into those brown eyes that you began to call home before your world collapsed.

"Lord Bridgerton," You bow and wait for him to speak.

"Miss Sharma, are you all right?" He asks. "I had not seen you there when I walked around the corner."

It had been a few weeks since you had seen Anthony and he had a bit of stubble that he hadn't shaved that morning. You felt your heart clench at the reminder that he was not yours. This was the last ball before his wedding to your sister and you were beginning to dread it all together.

"It was my own fault, my Lord," You say with a nervous smile.

"Would you care to share a dance?"

"I would love to."

---

His arms wrap gently around your frame, holding you close to his strong body. His face is inches away from you, his breath fans your cheek as you hold yours because this will be the last time you will ever be held by him in this way after tonight. You close your eyes and just feel his body against yours.

As your bodies sway and move with the music, you try to commit every part of this moment to your memory because that is all this moment will be, a memory that you will hold close to your heart for the rest of your life.

Opening your eyes, you look deep into Anthony's brown ones and find a longing gaze resting there. Your heart beats faster as the song picks up pace and Anthony grabs your hand to spin you around so that your back is pressed to his chest and his arm is pressed against your torso.

Your head naturally tilts to expose your neck and Anthony dips his head slightly, not enough to be noticed, but enough to inhale the scent of your perfume. You inhale deeply as a fires is light inside your body. Anthony spins you back around and you collide with his chest and you wrap your arms around his neck, highly unlady like, before moving them away from him. His arms are wrapped around you and he looks down at your doe like eyes as you blink up at him. His breathing shallows and you give him one more longing look, communicating very ounce of love and desire that you hold for him in your heart as the song comes to a slow end and the two of you separate.

You bow and then for what feels like the last time, you look at him before turning away and going to stand by Kate as you silently suffer through the feeling of longing alone.

---

Watching Edwina and Anthony dance and laugh to each other was torture for you and Kate watching you watch them hurt her. You stood there, eyes never leaving Edwina and Anthony as they spun around the room. She looked as though she was telling him something important, most likely about the wedding. While the two of them were smiling, they did not seem real. These two were to be married and Edwina got nervous at these events to it very well could have been nerves.

"Staring at them like you are jealous is not a good look for you, sister." Kate says with a teasing grin. "The green monster is not a very good look on you."

"When do you go back to India?" You ask with a smile.

"After the wedding," Kate says.

"Well thank goodness."

A man comes up to you. He has brown hair that is slightly curly and he is attractive.

"Miss Sharma, could I offer you a dance?" He asks with a small smile.

You decide that you like his smile.

"Yes of course," You agree and take his hand.

Leading you out onto the dance floor, you learn his name is Henry and that he has six younger siblings. He tells you that he hopes to have a family with his bride and that he hopes to get a dog.

"Miss Sharma, what are your hobbies?" He asks.

"My hobbies?"

"Yes. I would like to know more about you and your mind."

"I enjoy reading and writing."

"Could I perhaps read some of your work?"

"I'm not very skilled," You confess.

"Nonsense," He smiles and you found yourself smiling. "I'm sure your writing is just as beautiful as you.''

---

Anthony watches you from where he is dancing with Edwina. His dark eyes bore into the skull of the man who has you in his arms. Not very subtle of him to be glaring in your direction.

"And I think that we should not be married," Edwina states as she looks up at Anthony.

"I agree," He says, his eyes still trained on you. "Marriage between the two of us would be miserable on both parts."

"Anthony, will you at least look at me? Glancing at my sister while dancing with your soon to be wife is not a good look."

"I apologize."

"Oh please, spare me the sob apologizes," Edwina says. "You are not really sorry that the two of you betrayed me, but because you got caught when the stakes got too high."

"Edwina, I never meant to hurt you-"

"Spare me the details, Anthony." She rolled her eyes. "The two of you love each other and that is all there is to it."

"Are you angry?"

"Angry? At her, no. Not any more any way." She shrugged. "My sister has always put me before her every time so I do not blame her for falling for your charms and finally putting herself first. I am however angry with the fact that neither of you thought to tell me that you loved each other."

"I didn't want to mess up our plan of marriage."

"Well, I am glad I am not marrying you because if I was, this would hurt a lot more."

Edwina sees a man dancing with you and sees the change in Anthony's eyes as he stares from across the room.

"Who is that?"

---

"Don't they look perfect?' Henry asks after catching your eyes on the couple.

"Yes, they do." You say with a hint of sadness.

"I hope to find a love match like theirs," he says as he looks at you. "It's not every day that you find someone to spend your life with."

"It is not," You say. "Some times, you fall for someone who you can never possess resulting in the same fate."

"I was hoping-"

"Henry, you are a nice man, but my heart lies somewhere else. I am terribly sorry."

"Miss Sharma, I do not fault you for your heart being with another man," He says, moving a loose strand of hair out of your face. "Love does funny things to a person and it is very evident that you have a desire to be with a certain person. I do wish you the best of luck, Miss Sharma. Good day."

He walks away from you in the middle of the dance floor and you watch as everyone else in the room seem to have eyes on you as they spun around you. Walking off the dance floor, you find Kate and ask about Edwina.

"She is currently about to give her speech."

Turning to the center of the room, the Queen looks around confused as Edwina clinks a spoon against her glass to get everyone's attention.

"Hello everyone," She says. "As some of you know, I am Edwina Sharma and I am engaged currently to Viscount Bridgerton, at least I was."

Gasps fill the room and everyone's eyes cling to her frame. Anthony joins her at the center of the room.

"That is true," He confirms. "Our hearts do not beat the same rhythm, thus not following the same path."

"I wanted a love match, and Anthony's heart doesn't not hold love for me," Edwina continues.

"Edwina and I are trying to say that we will not have a wedding in three days time. There will not be a wedding between the two of us," Anthony says.

Edwina walks away from Anthony and returns by Kate's side and looks at you from across the room. You stare at her with disbelief. She said that she wanted to marry him and yet she just publically ended their engagement before the entire ton, including the Queen.

Anthony stands in the center of the floor with all eyes on him. Queen Charlotte stands up and all eyes shift to her.

"Well, that was a turn in events," She says. "Lord Bridgerton, would you care to enlighten me on who it is you will be marrying? After all, who would be a better pick than the lady I choose for you?"

Anthony nods and walks into the crowd. His eyes are fixed on you and you feel your breathing stop. He can't be serious. There is no way that he would do this to you.

Anthony stops right in front of you and gives you that boyish grin that made you fall in love with him. All eyes are on the two of you, but it feels as though it is only you and Anthony in the room. He takes your hand in his and lifts it to his lips, and a gasp rang out from the crowd as his lips touch your gloved hand.

You feel the warmth of his lips through the gloves and a blush overtakes your face. He then guides you to the room, his eyes never leaving yours. His face is filled with warmth and it appears as if he is melting before you. Everything moves in slow motion because it feels like forever before you make it to the center of the room before the Queen.

You nervously curtsy and bow your head before her. Anthony slips your arm in his and he looks up to the Queen.

"My heart belongs with her. She is who I will marry."

"Heart touching, really, but does she want to marry you, Anthony?" Queen Charlotte asks. "I have not yet heard you ask that question."

The crowds eyes shift back to the two of you and then back to the Queen.

Anthony turns to you and pulls out the wedding ring from his mother. The very ring that his father gave to her when they wed. He moves in front of you and gives you a smile before dropping to one knee.

"Miss Y/N Sharma, our love has not been easy," He starts. "Our love has been shaky and difficult, but I could never ask for a better person to go through this journey of life with. I want to dance with you at every ball. I want to wake up beside you and lie down beside you every night. My heart tells me that you are the one for me, that you are my person. So I ask you, in front of the ton, in front of the Queen, and most importantly your family, I ask will you marry me?"

Tears pour down you face as you struggle for words. Silence fills the air as everyone waits for your answer. You look at Anthony and feel your heart swell. Anthony looks up at you with devoted love and admiration as he waits for your response. The crowd erupts with cheer and claps when the word leaves your lips.

"Yes."

[gluion]

finger trapped (ripped to its seams) ➵ myung jaehyun

myung jaehyun x reader

with an unexpected reunion, you and jaehyun relive the memories of cheongju—and confront what could’ve been between you two.

general genre/warnings ➵ friends to almost lovers, angst, fluff, gender neutral reader, some depressive and insecure thoughts, hurt/comfort, the last five years story-telling method (aka present will be told going backwards while past will be told moving forward… i hope that makes sense), brief mention of blood from picking on your skin, tiger parents so… parental issues, both of you come from cheongju for the sake of the story, unexpected reunion, keeping secrets & lying, jealousy remains but love triumphs, journalist reader (u kno i had to do it), reader is a nerd and jaehyun is a student-athlete, kms jokes from jongseob (all /lh), finger traps aren’t efficient after all

word count ➵ 15.7k words

playlist ➵ end of beginning by djo // high school in jakarta by niki // i know it won’t work by gracie abrams // no big deal (i love you) by dodie // keeping tabs by niki // no one knows by stephen sanchez & laufey // so what now by reneé rapp // i wish i hated you by ariana grande // the 1 by taylor swift // seasons by wave to earth

a/n ➵ it's finally out! this work is so so personal to me on so many levels so i hope you all love and treat this fic with care :')) for the bitches who struggle with parents and dreams.... this one's for you (i am in the same boat) i appreciate everyone who's been so patient and looking forward to this fic's release. you can access the changmin & hanbin vers as well! please do reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

present -> three weeks after the interview, 2024

the newsroom never sleeps. the rings of landlines and clacks of keyboards bounce off the four walls. through light bulbs or sunshine, light continues to remain. and at every corner, a journalist stands—ready to enter the depths of slumber but remain on their toes as they await for an update on their unraveling story.

but the newsroom is rarely busy unless there’s a major nationwide event, election season or the super bowl to name a few, for most journalists are out to discover what the world has to offer.

knowledge doesn’t only come from the chitchat of your coworkers. it’s only on the field that you’ll hear of hearsay and testimonies. after all, the choice to probe rests on your shoulders.

“there’s a typo over there.”

“huh? where?”

“over here,” you mumble as your finger darts to point at a section on the screen. “it’s supposed to say “with their climactic performance,” not climatic.”

“ah, i see it now. sorry about that,” lee jihoon of digital development says as he corrects the error. his hair is disheveled from the hood that once perched on his head during the night he spent in the newsroom. you would’ve scolded the guy—go home and take a shower before you stink up the place—but you are no better, grouped with the other journalists who stayed up in the office.

“there we go. should be all good. now, are you ready to go through the profiles?”

an exhausted chuckle departs from your lips. “yeah, let’s go—”

“what’s the update?” life and arts editor kim namjoon—your editor—comes to you with a smile.

the grey hoodie he wears paired with comfortable jeans shows that he’s a little relaxed. for once, you don’t see him on his phone, battling the deadlines or getting pitched stories by the other editors. it’s a nice sight but one that won’t last for long.  

“we just finished going through the article about the group, so we still have yet to go through the profiles.” jihoon then looks at you. “i can’t believe you basically wrote seven articles. like, six profiles and one main article is a lot. you didn’t want to work on it with anyone else?”

once namjoon stands beside you, you bump your shoulder against his figure. “i didn’t have a choice, did i?” it’s a rhetorical question but one your editor still chooses to answer.

“unfortunately, we’re understaffed, but it seemed like you got the hang of it. i wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.” namjoon shoots you a smile before redirecting his attention back to jihoon. “and as much as i’d love to tell y/n more, we have to pick up the pace.” without any further questions, the three of you resume with work. 

there’s no time to waste in the journalism industry. still, his praise doesn’t go unnoticed. 

one article turned into eight done in a matter of 30 minutes, all with the help of three pairs of eyes to go through them. (namjoon seemed to carry the heavy lifting. after all, the guy was trained to be quick in reading and spotting errors.)

it should’ve been easy to keep up with your editor for all the other articles; you know each profile like the back of your hand.

then, the face of a boy who you once knew sits on the screen.

his gaze seems to pierce through your soul, almost in the same way you last talked to him. the loose ends of composure slip through your fingers; your breath’s stuck in your throat as the hammering of your heart fills your ears. yet, he stands still on the monitor.

as your eyes drift through the passages you’ve written, every sound is drowned out. the voice of your editor fades like the everchanging seasons and the clicks of the keyboard resemble the sobs you let out in the comfort of your childhood room.

and suddenly, the hands of the clock have turned all the way back to 2019. the cubicles transformed into aisles of chips and instant ramen, and you hear mr. kim’s voice in the distance—i have some hotteok! fresh from the pan! but amidst it all, you hear the giggles of the boy, your best friend, as he rushes towards you—i’ll go audition and make you proud. as your arm is wrapped with the heat of his fingers, you almost believe that your life as a journalist is nothing but a dream—

“i knew him.” the illusion disappears within a blink of an eye. namjoon’s eyes snap towards you and jihoon stops scrolling through the website. “we went to the same high school.”

you aren’t sure why you revealed that to your coworkers, let alone your boss. it’s an old memory—your weight to carry. before you can apologize for disrupting their work, namjoon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing shapes into it. when you look over at him, you’re greeted by his smile. it resembles your bed after a long day of work or a slow day at the newsroom.

but it never lives up to him, whose giggles resemble nature’s symphonies. the two shots of espresso you need at the start of the day once came in the form of his warm embrace. most of all, his smile is enough to illuminate the world even through the strongest storms and times when power went out.

for the remaining articles, not a single word leaves you. before you know it, all seven articles were ready to go up on the web.

“that’s all of it. should i still schedule them to go up around 12 p.m.?” jihoon notes as he saves the drafts.

“yeah, 12 p.m. still sounds good. thanks a lot.” namjoon nudges his shoulder before looking over to you. “let’s talk in my office.”

you don’t question his orders. once namjoon takes off, you follow him all the way to his office. as he swings the door open, you are met with the familiar sight of his workspace. hues of green and brown mix, where nature and art meet within the space of corporate.

once namjoon takes a seat on his chair, you find your spot across from him. his eyes stare off to the window. for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting.

seconds pass and not a single word has been said—

“this place’s always alive,” your editor breaks the silence. “don’t you think so?”

you follow his line of sight. busy seoul never changes; the skyscrapers pollute the sky and the people never sleep, off to work or off to party.

“where’d you grow up again?”

you look back at namjoon whose eyes still remain locked on the city. “cheongju.”

he hums. “i haven’t been there. nice place?”

“yeah, but i haven’t gone back in a while.”

“when was the last time?” his eyes finally meet yours.

your teeth grasp the inside of your cheek. “2019, since i first left,” you admit. 

“do you miss it?”

you’re not sure how to answer. the pavements you’ve scraped your knees against and the walls your laughs bounced off of—do you miss them all? or is the reason behind your laughter and scabs the one you long for?

“is that why you were hesitant about interviewing them?” namjoon’s thumbs fiddle with each other. “because of your history with him?”

now, you stare at your linked hands. maybe the silence from you is enough to answer his question but you know namjoon would never settle for a soundless answer.

“i—i’m not a good person. and even if i didn’t make the choice to leave, i—” you hold yourself back. your fingers start to pick on the skin around your thumbs, peeling it so blood can spill. 

“it’s okay, i understand. you don’t have to share it with me.” your eyes drift back to namjoon, spotting a small smile that rests on his face. “it must’ve been hard to relive it all.”

the bond you have with namjoon is one that you hold close to your heart. through his mentorship, you got to learn about what it means to be a writer. the fears of being a journalist would loom over you, where questions of salary and demanding work hours would occupy your mind, but namjoon became someone who would absolve them all. he became a pillar in your life, one that provides you hope and comfort within the industry.

“so, don’t feel pressured to talk about it. but if you ever want to open up about it, then i’ll be here.”

namjoon’s giving you an exit. are you willing to take it?

you cross your arms as you lean back into the chair. “you know how i was a science major then?”

“yeah, i remember looking over your resume. and then i saw that you were part of your university’s publication.”

your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek. “i would’ve gotten some job in that field, like, i had it lined up for me.”

“really? like lab coat and all?”

as namjoon attempts to hold back his laugh over the image, you chuckle along. “yeah, lab coat and all! it’s crazy how my life was all set for that field, but i’m here now.” you look down at your arms. “i think just facing him in a completely different field that i once used to imagine with him was just strange. but i think hearing his answers really did it for me.”

namjoon nods at your words. “care to have lunch with me?” your eyes snap back to your editor. “i’m guessing you want to talk about it, after all.”

all you do is smile before getting off your seat.

spring of 2019

the season of spring has graced cheongju; the sun gleams in the expanse of blue and birds perched on tree branches sing their songs. it’s the perfect season to embrace the wonders of the town.

while it would be a delight to bask under the returning warmth, you’re stuck within the walls of the classroom, head resting on crossed arms. 

still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.

“y/n.” you quickly sit up before your eyes settle on your adviser, ms. jeon, who stands in front of the classroom. “let’s take attendance.”

with that, you’re beside her as you call out each name on the class list. it’s a quick process of saying your classmates’ names for them to respond in variations of “present,” until you reach the section of last names that start with an ‘m’.

“myung jaehyun.” no response.

you rip your eyes off the piece of paper, only met with your classmates who either look at each other in confusion or spaced out in their own worlds.

“myung jaehyun?” when you’re met with the same reaction, you’re ready to mark the student absent—

“sorry!” the doors slam open. a boy clad in a white polo and jogging pants is panting by the entrance, covered in sweat as he rests on the edge of it. “sorry, i’m late.”

“oh, it’s okay! you arrived just in time.” ms. jeon smiles at the tardy student. as you watch him take a seat, his eyes lock with yours, but your adviser nudges you before saying, “y/n, proceed.”  

myung jaehyun made his name a few years back at a competition. the applause and roars from the crowd marked his spot in the school. others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other.

but he’s a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.

once you’ve finished marking the attendance, you go back to your seat. you’re ready to start the day with no bother but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“now, you can see in these,” your art teacher, ms. park, points to the screen showcasing works from her favorite contemporary artists like kwon yongju and félix gonzález-torres, “that there are no borders to what constitutes art. and that’s not wrong because we have to recognize that art comes in different forms as we progress, from traditional painting and sculptures to digital ones.”

this field isn't your strong suit. with a greater understanding of the sciences, you struggle to create anything that could be on par with the works of any artist. yet, you enjoyed learning about every piece that your teacher shared, like unfolding and admiring something you know you can never replicate or create. still, the universe decides that they have other plans for you.

“as i mentioned before, i’ll be giving you time to work on your final assessment, which is to create an artwork for the class exhibit. for this deliverable, i’m asking that your work will be a collaborative one, meaning you aren’t working alone.” in a sea of chatter, some groans exit your classmates. “remember, inspiration doesn’t come from your own bubble! take this as your opportunity to create something that you’ve never imagined.”

within a split second, students are off their seats as they attempt to find a partner to work with. you, however, were struggling to think of who you could team up with. admittedly, you have a very different work style compared to others—even baek jiheon, aspiring valedictorian, didn’t enjoy working with you. she turned every activity into a competition against you. (you didn’t enjoy her, either.) while you’re considering shamefully going up to your classmates like a stray dog looking for anyone willing to care for them—

“hi!” in front of you stands the tardy student of today, all smiles as his hands find comfort in the pockets of his jogging pants. “do you have a partner already?”

with furrowed eyebrows, you can’t help but look him up and down. “no, why?”

“well,” jaehyun looks around the classroom, “everyone seems to have paired up except for us.” as his eyes drift back to you, he flashes you a smile, one that shows the dips engraved into his cheeks. “which leaves me to ask if you would like to work with me for this.”

you don’t have a choice. ms. park would never bend the rules for you. if anything, she would find a way to pair you with another student who would dread the idea of working with you. (“i’m sure they won’t mind being partners with you, right?” is what she would ask the poor student, only to be met with their retreat.)

“unless we accept a failing mark, which i’m sure we both don’t want.” it’s not like jaehyun had a choice as well.

“okay.” with one word, light fills his eyes, enough to resemble the starlight that grazes your skin every night. “we can meet and discuss our schedules, especially because i’ve got ap stat, and you have, uhm,” a cough leaves you, “training, i’m assuming, or rehearsals. i don’t really know what you call them.”

his eyebrows shoot up as his mouth parts open. “o—oh, yeah. i usually have training after class until 8 p.m. on tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays.”

“same. my classes are until 7 p.m. on tuesdays and thursdays, so maybe we can use the other days to work together?”

with one nod from him, his dimples reappear. “great! i’ll see you tomorrow.”

before you know it, everyone finds their way back to their seats for ms. park’s final reminders. you do your best to pay attention to every announcement, jotting down every word on your planner and planning out your agenda for the upcoming weeks. yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drift back to the boy who discreetly passes notes to hwang intak, another dancer on the team, all while listening to the teacher.

you don’t notice how long you spend staring at jaehyun until he turns to meet your gaze. in that split second, you look at each other—then, embarrassment washes over you. you shift your attention back to ms. park. as you drum your fingers against the desk, mentally kicking yourself over the interaction, you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you look back at jaehyun; he’s still looking at you.

his dimples make their reappearance before he looks back at ms. park. you do the same as you attempt to listen to her ramble about banksy’s works. 

(you’re still thinking about the dips in his cheeks.)

the first time you get to meet with jaehyun for the project happens the following week. you two had different commitments to attend to, whether it be other projects or training. and while you would usually settle to meet in the school library or a cafe nearby, you find yourself inside the empty gymnasium, sitting on bleachers while your partner stands in front of mirrors.

“don’t you think it would be nice to combine our hobbies together?”

your pencil taps against the notebook. “like, your dancing? with what?”

“whatever you like to do!” once he makes his way to you, he leans on the row in front of you with crossed arms. “i mean, do you have anything you like to do during your free time?”

a scoff leaves you. “funny of you to assume that i have free time.”

“what’s your schedule like?”

“well, i have our classes and ap ones, then kumon at night.”

jaehyun reels at the thought of your schedule. “that’s brutal. the last time i had kumon was back in grade 4.”

“yeah, but i’m sure yours is busy as well. the amount of time that you put into training is…” his eyes are wide, hanging on your words. it’s the hope they hold that has you say, “admirable.”

a shy smile takes over his features. “yeah, but it’s only because my family is supportive of what i do.”

then, limbs whose color resembles the void slither their way to your heart, wrapping around it while the organ struggles to beat; it’s a slow process but an unending hole that will birth from it. yet, you do your best to fight off these limbs, unraveling them one by one in hopes it will give up—until you settle for shaking them off.

you only muster out a hum.

“do you have anything you like to do during those short breaks?”

your lips trill. “i don’t know. watch something on youtube?”

his cheeks puff up, stuck in his thoughts as he tries to navigate this project—and you—until his eyes glint. “what do you do when you want to vent?”

“you sure have a lot of questions,” you comment, trying to hold back a chuckle at his curiosity. “i can just adjust to you. maybe attempt to draw, picture, or even film you.”

his eyebrows furrow. “but that wouldn’t make it collaborative. i want us to work on something that aligns with what we do.”

a beat passes.

he holds your gaze. “i want us to create something that shows us.”

inside you, a gong is struck; its sound reverberates throughout your body, from the crown of your forehead to the tips of your toes. then, silence seeps in—a moment only for you and him.

“i, uh, write,” you whisper as your eyes shift to the notebook resting on your lap.

“really? like, stories and poetry?”

you nod. “i like writing people’s stories more, but i do like making ones.” when you look back at jaehyun, his eyes are still filled with curiosity. “i would, like, find interviews online and try to make my own, sort of, uhm—god this is embarrassing. forget about it.”

“huh? no, it isn’t!” he attempts to reassure your shrunken figure. “i mean, you don’t have to share more if you really don’t want to, but i’d like to hear more about it.” and when his dimples appear, you almost can’t help but feel your face warm up.

“i’d make articles, i guess?” he nods along with your words. “i don’t know, it’s just interesting to hear about people’s lives and kind of create something out of it, and i like thinking about all the possibilities of who would love to hear them. like, don’t you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?”

“that’s an interesting way to look at it.”

as you doodle on your notebook, you say, “yeah, it’s just fun to hear these stories and maybe create something out of it. or even think of stories that i could never live out, you know?” you expect yourself to be met with the bored face of jaehyun but his eyes remain on you.

“what if you interview me?”

your eyebrows shoot up. “you?”

“yeah,” he stands up before walking up to your row, finding a spot beside you. “think of me as your first interviewee if you want.”

the sudden suggestion has you stumbling over your words. “huh? b—but, i don’t have questions prepared. and how does this help our project?” 

when his arms brush against yours, you start to become aware of the distance between your shoulders—and his face from yours. warmth spreads throughout your body, almost like you’re about to have a fever. once his open hand rests near yours, you don’t know what he’s asking.

“let me draw it out for you.” you hand him your pencil and notebook, allowing him to see your doodles. (you don’t miss his grin.) “you know, with that article you make, we can cut it up and create something out of it.” a roughly drawn sketch of a boy posed in the middle of a dance move now rests on the page. “i don’t know if a collage would be okay.”

as you think about what can be done, you perch your chin on your palm. “we can do papercut art? basically, it’s cutting up the article in a way to form an image.”

“oh, that sounds cool!”

“yeah, but the only challenge is that we can only use one piece of paper.” a sigh leaves you. “it would be impossible for me to even do that.”

“that’s why you have me.” his small smile causes wind chimes to ring. (you’re positive you heard them, even if there were no such things in the gymnasium.)

he continues to sketch out the layout of your joint artwork. “how do we feel about this?” on the paper, there are two boxes beside the figure, where one is labeled as “photo of me” while the other is labeled “an article by y/n.” your head tilts. “it’ll be a three-set piece. so, it’ll be a photo of me and your article, and in between is the papercut art that we’ll make.”

you hum. “you know, you’re very creative.” you look at him only to see that he’s been staring at you. “like, you’re inclined to the arts. i wouldn’t have been able to think of something like this.”

“you’re just as creative,” he argues back as he writes down something.

you shake your head before retorting, “jaehyun, you’re very talented. i’ve seen the way you dance,” his movements halt, “and you’re like no other dancer i’ve seen. if you ever try out to be an idol, i’m sure you’d do great, maybe end up on the list of the best dancers in the industry.”

but he shakes his head, going back to writing on your notebook and shutting down your compliments. you decide to not push.

“i can get the photo sometime during my training,” he says as he hands you your notebook.

“then i can have the questions sometime this week. for the article, i can have it done maybe four days after the interview. how does wednesday, after school, sound for the interview?”

he shoots you a smile before standing up from his seat. “that’s perfect! i’m looking forward to meeting journalist y/n.” you can’t help but scoff at what he calls you. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you shake your head. “it’s just a silly name.” because the reality is that you had your future planned out—and it definitely didn’t involve that field.

he shrugs. “i don’t know, i think it would fit you.”

“but you haven’t read any of my works.”

“but i want to root for you in the same way you do for me. i don’t want you to feel ashamed of your works.” a fire ignites in your heart; it’s a fireplace.

you’re baffled that jaehyun, out of all people, now holds your secret, but you’re even astounded over the idea of him supporting you. you almost can’t remember the last time you heard such words of support. is it genuine or nothing but a facade?

“anyway, i’ve got to go. i need to catch up on some homework.” while you shoot him a nod, his dimples make their appearance once more. “i’ll see you tomorrow!” as he takes off, you’re left in the gymnasium with your opened notebook and unlocked heart. you look back down at his sketch surrounded by your doodles, but you don’t miss his little note—cute doodles btw <3

the season of spring has unfolded in cheongju; a single lilac has bloomed.

present -> a day before the interview, 2024

it’s a late night on a tuesday, about to be a midnight wednesday, and you’re in a convenience store as you scout for your dinner. all hauled up in the newsroom, the idea of ordering food during a time where restaurants would still be open slipped your mind. now, you’re left to scan through the same options you’ve eaten for the past years since you started living in seoul.

the convenience clerks are familiar with you, both kim jongseob and kim jiwoo. with your constant late-night meals at the store, you’d talk to whichever one had a shift. jongseob is saving up to upgrade his setup at home to record more music. with all the stories he shares about his time in underground rap battles along with the short verses he’s performed for you, you’re positive that he’ll get signed to a label soon. as for jiwoo, this is one of the many jobs she has in order to save enough money for fashion school. you’ve seen her sketches and outfits she’s put together and you’re hoping that she’ll get accepted.

a sigh leaves you. you didn’t have a problem with eating the food here but you were craving for something new in your life in seoul. the perpetual cycle of eating takeout food and unconsciously skipping meals for work needed to be disrupted just for a moment. but you weren’t seeking michelin-star food—all you wanted was something home cooked. something from home.

the spice of tteokbokki, the burn of freshly fried hotteok, and the sweetness of homemade peach iced tea—mr. kim’s convenience store had it all.

your tastebuds long for cheongju.

“planning to beat your record of spending 23 minutes on deciding what to get?”

you roll your eyes before looking to your right, seeing jongseob stock up the drinks in the fridge. “i hate you.”

“what? i’m just saying, you’re taking a lot longer to decide today.” he chuckles before placing the last bottle of sweetened probiotic milk in the fridge. “none of the options look good to you?”

“sort of,” you hum before you scan through the aisle of packaged meals. “i think i’m craving for something different.”

“i get it. the food here can get boring, which is why i’m planning to order pizza if you want to split the costs.”

your eyebrows shoot up at jongseob’s suggestion. “really? you’d share pizza with me?”

“yeah, as long as you pay for your share.” he shoots you a smile before grabbing on a trolley carrying empty boxes. “unless… you want to pay for the whole thing.”

you bite back a smile as you shake your head. you should’ve known the guy would ask you to buy him food, but you knew that he needed the money and you at least had a stable income to keep you comfortable. “fine,” jongseob’s smile grows as you fish out your wallet from your pocket and pull out a couple of bills. “just order enough for us two.” 

“of course,” he says as soon as you hand him some money. “i’ll make sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

you scoff at his joke. “just make sure to treat me to something.”

the bell by the door chimes. “sorry, can’t hear you over that! need to attend to a customer!” jongseob dashes away from you while dragging the trolley. that little shit just knew how to press your buttons, but you love the kid, anyway.

still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.

then, you shut your eyes, and you’re transported back in front of the familiar aisle filled with bags of potato chips and sweet corn. the noisy fan along with the soft sounds of mr. kim’s korean drama fills your ears. a mix of yellow and orange hues paint every corner of the mart, including you—and you’re not alone.

your best friend stands on your right, wearing the unbuttoned school uniform polo over a tank top along with jogging pants. he’s lost in thought as he scans through the options of snacks you two can have for today’s afternoon. he starts to giggle to himself, probably from a silly thought he’ll share with you in the next second or a memory involving you, and the dips in his cheeks appear—your heart thumps in your ears.

and just like how quickly you were transported back to cheongju, your surroundings transformed into the cool-lit convenience store found in seoul. all you have left is the image of him bathed in the sunlight.

but he fades away like the ink on old receipts, never gone, because the glowing image of him warps into a different version who stands next to you in the cold mart. he’s grown a few inches taller and his hair doesn’t get in the way of his line of sight. while he wears a green sweater, you notice that he’s gained some muscles. his eyes scan through the aisle behind you filled with different brands of instant ramen.

but he bites the inside of his cheek and his dimples appear.

it’s a tornado that brews within you, enough to uproot trees and displace buildings, all because of an unexpected reunion with jaehyun. why did the universe decide to bring two ex-best friends on a random tuesday night? what brings him to the convenience store at the same time you’re there? and why did it have to happen a day before the interview?

you weren’t going to commit the same mistake; keep your eyes off of him and make your way out of the store. it didn’t matter if you had an empty, growling stomach, or gave free money to jongseob. you need to leave without the distant, familiar face noticing.

your feet act fast, and you're almost certain that might’ve caught his attention, but it didn’t matter as you see jongseob standing behind the cashier with his phone out. “i just ordered the pizza. it should arrive in about… 20 to 30 minutes.”

“yeah, about that…”

“don’t tell me you’re taking your money back.”

at the sight of jongseob’s pout, you roll your eyes. “no, keep it. i just—i need to go.”

“what? why?”

you peek behind you. it seems like he didn’t recognize you, after all. “i’ve got… work!”

“but don’t you only have your interview with boynext—”

“hey!” your fingers snap at him. “you cannot—i mean, you just… just take the goddamn money.”

“but we’re supposed to share the pizza. you haven’t eaten.”

an exasperated sigh leaves you. “jongseob, just treat me next time. i can eat at home.”

and you’re ready to leave the convenience store, bid farewell to jongseob and a delicious pizza made for two, and never greet or say goodbye to the living fragment of what you last know of cheongju—

“y/n?”

and the plan failed.

when you meet his gaze, you’re able to take in the different version of him. he’s grown so much—it’s such a pain that you weren’t there to witness it. his eyes are a pool of emotions; you can’t identify them.

all it takes is one breath from you. “jaehyun.”

a beat passes.

“i’m just gonna… go through the storage,” jongseob points his thumb at the back of the mart, “and maybe kill myself afterwards. i don’t know.” before you can protest, he’s already gone. (and he still has your money. that fucker.)

you and jaehyun were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

jaehyun’s fingers tense up, almost as if he was hesitating—debating—on how to approach you. his body would waver, but he never took a step towards you. “i… i wasn’t expecting to meet you here.” 

“same here.” you lean your back against the checkout counter. “d—do you stay around this part of the city?”

he shakes his head. “i live around 15, maybe 20, minutes away from here. i’m only here because…” your breath gets caught in your throat. “i don’t know.”

fate. that’s what brought us here.

“do you live here?”

you nod. “yeah, ever since—” the sentence never gets completed; you and him already know.

for a moment, sorrow flashes in his eyes, but a smile shows up. the dimples don’t appear. “i, uh, i was going to get something from here but it seems like your friend is busy.”

“sorry about jongseob.” you whip out your phone and scold him through text. “he should be with us in a bit.”

jaehyun hums before walking to the freezer filled with different ice cream. as he looks through the selection, he asks, “do you still like twin bar?”

“y—yeah.”

“still the grape flavor?” you don’t know what to say, but when his gaze meets yours, you settle for a nod. with your favorite ice cream in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he finally walks towards you. you don’t miss the slight stagger in his steps.

jaehyun finds his spot beside you. there’s still distance between you two—two tiles worth, enough space for one person—but it’s enough for your muscles to freeze. thankfully, jongseob comes just in time to manage the cashier (with an awkward smile plastered on).

he scans jaehyun’s item first before grabbing onto your ice cream.

“oh, i’m paying—”

“no, let me,” jaehyun insists. “you can always treat me another time.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking over the second half of his sentence. jongseob holds back from scanning the item, until you shoot him a nod. jaehyun pays for the food before jongseob hands them to you.

“i’ll just let you know when the pizza gets here.” his small smile is enough for your shoulders to ease and a quiet exhale to leave. a small nod is all you give him.

you follow jaehyun outside to the tables in front of the mart. once he’s settled on a spot, you sit across from him. he tears away the plastic wrapping of his food while you play with the ends of yours. 

while he swallows what you assume to be his dinner of the day, you’re left to swallow your own pride.

“i’ve seen your performances.” his chews halt. “you’re—” captivating. “you’ve improved a lot.”  

with one gulp, a shy smile takes over his face. “i still have a long way to go.”

“you always say that, even back then.” a half bitten sandwich now rests on the wrapper. “but i admire your drive.” always have.

while a different version of jaehyun sits across you, the one you knew back in cheongju still lives. in the busy, unfamiliar expanse of seoul, meeting five years later, he’ll never be stranger. you could never treat him as such, even if you wanted to.

“there’s always room for improvement,” he says.

you hum along with his sentiment. “did you stick with early childhood education?” you’re met with his orbs that hold a thousand of emotions, some you can name as shock, confusion. a question hangs in the air—what did you deserve to know?

“sorry, i’m assuming you still went to college, which is totally fine if you did or didn’t, by the way. and it’s also okay if you didn’t stick to your major. i mean, you always talked about pursuing a performing arts degree before—”

“y/n,” he giggles, “you’re okay. i still went to college but i took media & communication.” your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “i thought it made sense to study something related to what i do, just the more technical and theoretical side of it, i guess. and the online classes were easy to squeeze into my schedule.” he lifts up the sandwich. “what about you?”

“uh, i ended up in the same course as well.” a hum of shock leaves jaehyun. “yeah,” you chuckle, “i managed to shift courses.”

“that’s amazing! i’m happy for you.”

you smile at him. “thanks. now, i’m just—” you should tell him what you do. what would be a better time to reveal that you ended up in the path he dreamed for you to be than now? “—figuring things out.”

with your vagueness, jaehyun only nods before munching away. if there’s anything about you that still remains, it’s that you shouldn’t be pushed to share something you didn’t want to talk about. he still knew that.

as he finishes his sandwich, you tear off the plastic wrapping of your ice cream. with the twin bar in your hands, you snap it into two before you hand him a piece. confusion paints his features, wide eyes glossing over the popsicle in your hand, but he takes it before you can say anything.

“thanks.”

you shake your head. “don’t even worry about it. it’s only tradition.”

silence settles between you two. as you eat away on your share of the twin bar, you look up to the sky. from where you sit, you can’t see a single star; the lights of seoul seemed to outshine them. and during those moments, you almost can’t help but miss the view of the starry night from your childhood room.

you glance at jaehyun who looks up to the sky as well. yet, one hand remains in his pocket, almost as if he’s fiddling with something. 

as if he feels your eyes on him, he asks, “did you ever think about coming back?”

you halt your movements. if there’s one thing you were expecting your old friend to ask, it would be related to your sudden departure. but you’re hit with an entirely different question, one you didn’t get to rehearse the answer to in case you ever cross paths with him. 

because after all this talk about your yearning for cheongju, why didn’t you choose to visit? despite how much you long for mr. kim’s home cooked meals, skies filled with stars, or the presence of your best friend, why didn’t you ever come back?

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

and the reality is that you do think about it all the time. since you left cheongju, you drafted out how many plans to go back. you were homesick, missing the familiar landscape you spent your entire childhood growing up in. but most of all, you missed jaehyun. as long as you had him, you would survive anywhere, whether in seoul or cheongju.

despite how much you yearned for him during your years away, you learned that your relationship wasn’t always filled with the warmth that would grace you two every afternoon. for so long, you’ve sat with jealousy. while his family was his pillar of strength, you were met with a home that offered nothing but criticism.

the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.

it became easier to remain resentful. with the distance, you weren’t faced with jaehyun’s genuineness. yet, with time, you discovered that you still cared for him—regardless of your jealousy—because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.

for a long time, you resented. now, it’s only guilt that held you back from going back to him.

so when you remain silent, jaehyun takes it as your answer.

and for the first time, the distance feels greater since you first left cheongju.

summer of 2019

it’s the peak of summer. amidst the expanse of verdant fields, bees seek solace in the fully-bloomed sunflowers and kaleidoscope wings illuminate as they soar.

but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin. as days blend with each other, the comfort of your bed is all you have until the season passes.

the fan rumbles against the wooden floor, doing its best to cool you, but the heat prickles against the back of your neck. the wind has turned into nothing but hot waves. with your elbows perched on the desk, a sigh leaves you as you attempt to make sense of the worksheet filled with math equations.

your room is your favorite place in cheongju. within these four walls are scattered fragments of you, from your favorite books and mangas that rest on the bookshelf to the stuffed toys that rest on your bed. book tabs stick out of your workbooks lined up on your desk and your cork board is filled with crossed out to-do lists.

and every once in a while, you would look out through your window, admiring the neighboring houses and all their greenery. as people walk on pavements, you cannot help but think about where they’re off to—are they on their way to work? did they leave an important document back home? or are they coming back to a meal and home filled with warmth?

despite the halo soundtrack filling your ears, the cogs in your brain seem to drown them out. the numbers on your paper have jumbled up. it should’ve been easy. after all, you’ve become friends with the letters who’ve squeezed their way into math. once you’ve wrapped up on this assignment, you know you’ll wake up to another set of work to do. it didn’t help that you’re stuck watching kids your age enjoy their break.

with a tired mind, you consider making yourself another cup of iced coffee. maybe another dose of caffeine will make sense of the numbers—

your phone buzzes against your table. as your eyes rip from the unfinished worksheet, you spot the familiar name flashing on the screen. with one glance at your door, you bring your headphones to rest around your neck. it takes three rings for you to answer.

“what do you want?”

“the fuck? what’s wrong with you?”

you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your pen. “i’m studying, you fucker.”

“on a sunday?” jaehyun’s question has you only groan. “what happened to resting?”

“i wish,” you murmur as you scratch the back of your head. “i’ve been stuck on this stupid worksheet for the past hours. it’s annoying too. i mean, i already know this topic, so i don’t know why it’s so hard.”

“awe, is my best friend suffering over kumon?”

your forehead rests on crossed arms. “yes. i think i’m going to die.”

“okay, then. i’ll take that as my sign.”

“sign to what?”

he chuckles as if it were obvious. “to save you! let’s go to mr. kim’s.”

a groan leaves you as your back meets the chair. “no, i can’t. do you know what would happen if i don’t finish my kumon?”

“uh… no?”

“me, neither. i’m not taking my chances.”

“but, you’re not even doing anything!” jaehyun pointing out the obvious has you rolling your eyes. “wouldn’t it be better to take a break with your best friend? i can even help out.”

as you bite the inside of your cheek, you glance once more at your closed door. you weigh it out; would you rather take a break with your best friend or would you save yourself from the consequences brought by home?

but the answer was already clear. “give me 10 minutes.”

jaehyun laughs before you drop the call.

it’s the smell of fresh hotteok that greets you. the quiet buzzing of the fan accompanied by mr. kim’s favorite trot music fills your ears. while the owner seems to be away from the cashier, a white, stray cat takes over, body flopped on the counter as it snores away the heat. as the sun pours through windows, coating every corner of the mart with a glow of fireflies, you know this will be a place of its own.

“y/n, over here!” a familiar voice calls out. as you whip your head to the source, you see your best friend by the chest freezer, eyes crinkled and all dimples.

now, you’re certain that nothing could ever replicate this.

you walk towards jaehyun, finding your spot beside him as you two look through the collection of frozen treats. “so, what do you want from here?” you ask.

“uh… i’ll be honest, i just realized i’m short on money.”

you glance through the price tags, only for a groan to leave you. “i’m short too. when did mr. kim raise the prices?”

“no clue. i thought i’d have enough to get a summer crush,” jaehyun complains as his eyes are glued to the coffee sorbet. “i hate inflation.”

“come on.” you fish out for the coins in your pocket. “let’s see how much we have together.” jaehyun does the same. with palms out, you two count through your shared funds.

“we can get a summer crush!”

“you can get one. i’ll be left with barely anything.” you look through the selection once more. “man, i really want samanco. the red bean sounds so good right now.”

defeat casts over jaehyun’s features. for a moment, you almost consider giving up on having a frozen treat and settling for a glass bottle of orange soda, until you spot a familiar popsicle brand.

“holy shit, it’s right there.”

“what?”

“there!” your finger points at the stack of twin bars. “we can probably get that and split it.”

jaehyun’s expression morphs into realization. “okay, let’s get—”

“dibs on grape.”

“dibs?” he furrows his eyebrows at you. “you can’t just call dibs. you’re doing it wrong. clearly, we should discuss—”

“nope,” you retort. a chuckle laced with disbelief leaves your best friend. to him, it seemed like you were joking around. “i made the suggestion and contributed a lot more to our shared funds.”

“okay, but—”

“don’t tell me you want the peach flavor more than the grape.” as you continue to shut him down, he knows there’s no way around you.

(plus, he wasn’t a fan of peach-flavored things, anyway. how unfortunate that mr. kim only has those two flavors right now.)

“next time, we’re choosing a flavor that i want,” he gives in. you let out a cheer before grabbing the frozen treat.

you two make your way back to the cashier and spot mr. kim slouched in front of the television, hand stroking the sleepy feline. he’s still wearing an old, red plaid apron on top of a pair of basketball shorts and a loose graphic tee which had the name of a band you’re unfamiliar with. with how he sits, you’re afraid that his back problems will get even worse. (still, you don’t say anything. he’ll only play it off and say he’s still one of the “youngins”... whatever that means.)

once his eyes land on you two, a grin takes over. “ah, my favorite kids! it’s nice to see you both.”

“yeah, it’s been a while,” jaehyun starts off. “y/n’s always busy with kumon.”

you narrow your eyes at the boy. “hey! you’re busy, too! you’ve been practicing at the studio almost every day!” the wrapped popsicle now rests on the counter. “every time i’m free, you’re not.”

“hey! whenever you’re free, i’m tired from training!”

“okay, let’s settle down,” mr. kim breaks up the banter. he then takes note of the ice cream on the cashier, the price showing up on the cashier. “isn’t the heat hard enough for you two to be studying or practicing?”

“yes, very much.” you count the coins once more before dropping the exact amount on the counter. “but,” you glance at jaehyun and his disheartened expression is enough for mountains to move, “i don’t think we have a choice.”

in reality, these were the circumstances you two had to work and live with. during the days jaehyun ended practice early, you were drowning in summer school assessments. whenever you managed to finish your homework, it would be during the hours your best friend was off at the studio or passed out at home from exhaustion.

“choice, no choice, people always say that.” mr. kim counts your payment before putting it into the cashier. as he takes note of what you’ve bought, he says, “everyone has a choice. i’m sure you two can figure it out.”

the only difference is that one chose this path; the other had to suffer from the decision forced onto them.

“don’t worry, mr. kim,” jaehyun nudges your shoulder. “i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” and when the dips in his cheeks appear, you find yourself smiling back.

maybe you were okay with the life you had to live, just maybe.

“anyway, we’ll go ahead,” jaehyun bids farewell to mr. kim.

you giggle. “he means we’re just going to eat our ice cream at the front.”

as you two slowly make your way out of the mart, mr. kim shakes his head. “you lovebirds go ahead. i’ll see you next time!”

“mr. kim!” you and jaehyun shout in unison before glancing at each other.

“what?!”

your best friend groans. “you know we aren’t together.”

“yeah! like, i can’t imagine it,” you join in.

still, the owner laughs at your reactions. “you two are so funny. just go and enjoy your ice cream.”

you roll your eyes at his words. “bye, mr. kim!”

with that, you and jaehyun were out of the mart and took a seat on the benches. you hand your best friend the wrapped frozen treat before letting out a sigh. “i still can’t believe this is one of the few times we got to meet up during the break.”

“i know.” he tears the plastic wrapping off. “you would think that summer break would mean we get to hang out nonstop, but i’m starting to think we saw each other more whenever we had school.”

you hum. “i know. and i had ap stat while you had training.” your eyes dart at jaehyun who grips onto the popsicle sticks, struggling to split it into two. “oh my god, don’t tell me you can’t split it.”

“hey! it’s hard.”

as you giggle, you reach your hand out. “let me do it.” once jaehyun hands you the twin bar, you attempt to split the two. for a moment, you almost think about agreeing with him. yet, the frozen treat splits into two perfectly, and a satisfied smile rests on your lips.

you hand him one popsicle, only to be met with his glare. “i know, i’m just better.”

“just shut up.” to that, another laugh leaves you.

under the sun, you enjoy the coolness of the twin bar. while you would’ve stared off to nowhere, you and jaehyun were here at the right time to catch civilians bustling away. some were on dates, where one would go on about their interest while the other would smile at their rambling. there were kids whose chatter could be heard all the way from the end of the block, and blue-collar men who were off to enjoy their break.

you can’t help but imagine what people saw—thought—of you and jaehyun. did they think of you as unexpected friends? has it ever crossed their minds that you two were only classmates who seemed to always be paired together? or did they ever think the same as mr. kim?

“you know,” jaehyun starts off, causing you to look at him, “i was going through college courses the other day.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh?”

with your reaction, jaehyun giggles. “i was just curious, you know? not that i’m giving up on dance or anything, but,” he licks the popsicle, “early childhood education sounds cool.”

you hum. “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“no, it’s not a bad thing!” you reassure the boy. “it’s just,” you rip your gaze off of jaehyun and look at the playground, “i always thought of you as a dancer, you know? kind of like you were meant for the stage.” the laughter of the kids who passed by you two bounces all over the block and you can’t help but smile. “but i don’t doubt it.”

the breeze graces your sweat-covered skin. “what about you?” you look back at him. “would you ever consider journalism? maybe communication as your major?”

you’re quick to laugh at his suggestion, but when confusion paints his features, you realize it’s a serious question from him.

“no.” it’s a straightforward answer from you, but jaehyun could never settle with that

“why not?”

a sigh leaves you. “i just don’t consider it. i mean, i think about it,” all the time, “but not enough to consider it. plus, astrophysics is cool.”

“but is it your dream?”

jaehyun’s question is an easy one to answer—not at all. you’ve had enough learning about theories and making sense of the numbers. if your future is going to only complicate that further, then maybe astrophysics isn’t made for you. 

but who’s to say that you’ll even enjoy journalism?

“we’ll see.” you leave it at that and jaehyun didn’t push for more.

because the reality is that if you ever did consider it, transform those dreams into action plans, you were terrified to be met with your parents’ disappointment—it wouldn’t only be from your lousy desires but from jaehyun’s role in your life.

the first time you mentioned jaehyun to your parents happened over dinner, letting them know you would be staying later at school to work on the final project for art class with him. they didn’t bat an eye at his name as they continued to talk about what happened during work and pester you about your progress in other classes. (art class didn’t matter to them, only the sciences and math were ones they seemed to track. still, they would criticize you if you didn’t place first honors.)

with your parents’ oversight, something blossomed between you and jaehyun. from there, there were more days you would get home later than usual. while you were still on top of your work, they took your late arrivals as a form of negligence.

all it took was one night for them to demand an explanation. the reappearance of him in the conversation had only caused them to reprimand you—jaehyun’s not like you. he’ll only hold you back. 

from that day on, you’ve learned to keep his name out of conversations. you’ll enjoy what you have with jaehyun, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.

“how’s training?” you change the subject, trying to keep the attention off of your failed dreams to jaehyun’s flourishing ones.

“well, it’s a lot,” he chuckles as he munches a piece. “you already know that it takes how many hours to get to the company, and the hours i spend in the practice room are unlike the trainings i have at school.”

as his eyes meet yours, you only shoot him an apologetic smile. it was never going to be easy; you two knew that before jaehyun entered the doors of the company. yet, he still held on.

“you know, i never considered it before, but i like where i’m going,” he admits. “even if i’ve always had dreams to pursue dance, i want to make my family proud if i ever get to debut.” 

jaehyun knows how to persevere. regardless of all the bruises he gets from performing complex dance routines or the hours of sleep he longs for, he knows how to hold on. you wish you could say the same for yourself.

“and you will,” you reassure the boy, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “who wouldn’t be proud of you?”

he holds your stare and your smile falters. for a moment, you don’t know if you touched on a sensitive topic. would he shrug your arm off? do you think he’ll shut you off, maybe cut your time together short? will jaehyun get mad at you for something you didn’t know was wrong? would he be just like them?

“i want to make you proud.”

that’s enough to answer it all.

you shake your head. “don’t even doubt that for a second.” your arm finds it spot back to your side, and jaehyun’s loops his with yours.

although he knows how to persevere, he never knows when to shut his ears from the shadows. 

“i am proud of you,” you tell him. “always have, always will.” he can’t help but smile. all you can hope is that he’ll listen closely to your voice.

“i almost forgot,” he says out of nowhere.

“forgot what?”

as he tugs his arm away, his hand fishes for something in his pocket. “close your eyes.” you furrow your eyebrows. “just do it!” you follow his orders. “and keep them closed, okay?” you let out a hum.

before you know it, something wraps around your index finger. you would’ve opened your eyes, confused over the foreign yet familiar material, but they remain shut. 

“okay, open.”

your gaze rests on your finger wrapped in yellow and blue. it’s a finger trap—and the other end is connected to jaehyun. despite your tug, it still holds you two together.

it’s the warmth that fills your cheeks, the heartbeat in your ears, and your starstruck eyes that has him smile. “no matter what happens, we’ll stick together, okay? regardless of what paths we end up pursuing. all that matters is that we have each other.”

he’s filled with hope. hope for his dreams. hope for your relationship. hope for what the future holds for you two. you can’t help but hope as well.

all it takes is a nod from you to solidify the promise to the universe.

you two sit in silence, finishing up the popsicles as people continue to pass by. at one point, you heard mr. kim let out a curse over the drama he’s watching. the sun is about to set, wrapping you two in a golden blanket, and all that matters is the finger trap.

present  -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

it’s no surprise to you that the newsroom is quiet. while your peers are off to gather more information, you’re with lee chaeyeon of news as she tries to meet the deadline for her article’s first close.

“do you think dokyeom will be late?” you ask as you watch her rephrase sentences.

she laughs. “when is he never? minho’s always assigning him coverages.”

“that’s true.” your eyes drift to the hallway. “i’m just hungry. he still owes me food, you know?”

“over another bet? or you saving his ass?”

“over helping him with an article,” you reveal, earning a shocked look from her. “for some odd reason, he needed another writer to help out with a live coverage, and all the sports writers and sports editor were busy handling the other events.”

“holy shit.” chaeyeon continues with her work. “i didn’t expect you to work on anything sports-related.”

“yeah, but it helped that it was a dance competition. at least i know something about dance.” you only know who to thank. “i’m going to make sure i get compensated for that. i’m planning to raise it to minho and namjoon, anyway. that’s if dokyeom would fucking come and help in explaining the situation.”

with the mention of the tardy writer’s name, he’s scrambling through the halls with his backpack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the moment he sees you, he shoots you an apologetic smile.

“speak of the devil,” you say as you stand up straight. “why do you always show up late? i helped you with the article.”

dokyeom finds his spot beside you as he sets down the bag on your desk. “i’ll have you know that wasn’t the only article i had yesterday. i was catching up on other ones that minho assigned me.” before he can plop down on his seat, he spots chaeyeon working. “damn, tough life at news.”

“no need to point out the obvious, doofus.”

“wow, harsh,” he replies to her insult. “just so you know, i bought food for us.”

“thank god,” you exclaim as you open the paper bag filled with takeout containers and sealed cups. as you pull them out one by one, you spot your usual order from the vietnamese restaurant around the corner. “oh my god, thank you for getting me this.” you take a seat before you pass dokyeom his food and utensils.

“yeah, i know. i’m just the best.” his shower of compliments for himself only has you rolling your eyes. “but thank you, by the way, for helping me out with the article. i needed an extra pair of hands and my own editor couldn’t stand in to help out.”

“it’s fine. just make sure you help me get compensated for that article,” you say before you open the container. as the smell of bun bo nam bo fills your nose, you can’t help but let out a quiet moan. “holy fuck, i’ve been craving this.”

“i made sure to get you some vietnamese coffee also.”

“yeah, i saw. thank you.” you split the chopsticks with one hand. you’re about to mix the bowl of your favorite food—

“is y/n here?” your editor calls out, causing you to let out a sigh before you stand up from your seat.

“yes?”

namjoon’s gaze lands on you. “can i talk to you for a bit?”

despite your grumbling stomach, you give him a nod and set your food down. as he retreats to his office, you glare at dokyeom who munches away on goi cuon. “i hate you.”

“hey, what did i do?!” you ignore his attempts to defend himself as you make your way to your editor’s office.

once you swing the door open, you spot namjoon whose eyes are stuck to the screen. “you can take a seat,” he says with no attempt to look at you. you sit across from him, hands folded on your lap, while he types away on his keyboard.

the moment he hits the ‘enter’ key is when he finally looks at you. “sorry about that. i was just replying to minho regarding your compensation for the article you worked with dokyeom. we both appreciate what you did. next time though, make sure to loop in minho or me before you two start working on beats not within your staffs.”

“sorry about that,” you start off. “dokyeom only asked for my help and i thought it would be fine since i’m familiar with dance, anyway.”

namjoon shakes his head with a small smile plastered on his face. “it is fine, just make sure to inform us.” you only nod.

“anyway, i’m sorry to have this meeting with you right now but i have to leave work early today, and i thought that you’d appreciate that i tell this to you now instead of tomorrow,” he says. you hum, curious about what he has to say. “i have a coverage for you, a very, very, long one.”

over the sight of your wide eyes, he can’t help but chuckle. “it’s seven articles,” he says and your mouth gapes over the number. “well, one main article and six profiles with very brief introductory paragraphs.” his attempt to ease your shocked state does nothing.

“namjoon, that’s… a lot.”

“yes, i know. i would love to split the workload but everyone else is handling other articles, and i trust you. i know i’m asking for a lot but i’ll make sure to help you out with them. it’s just that we’re working on a time crunch and i don’t know anyone else i can ask but you.”

the faith that your editor seems to have in you is like no other.

“profiles, like, those q&a transcripts?” you ask.

he nods before saying, “yes, and just a brief introductory paragraph for each profile. i’m just expecting you to put more work into the article about the group. i’ll make sure to help out with the profiles.”

namjoon’s trust should be anxiety inducing, enough to send you complaining, but you find yourself relieved. your mentor became your second-in-command; the mountain of workload transformed into a hill.

“okay.”

a relaxed smile appears on his face at your acceptance. “thank god! i was going to stress about this the whole day if you refused. i’ll make sure to send you the details about this once i’m done with my appointments, and then we can see how we’ll divide the work later on.” he types something. “we’re covering a k-pop group which is why there’s one main article about the whole group and then six profiles.”

“yeah, i figured that out.” this isn’t anything out of your usual articles. “can i ask who we’re interviewing? maybe i can do some research on them while you attend your meetings.” you pull out your phone, ready to search up whoever your editor says.

“don’t know if you’re familiar with them but they’re called boynextdoor?” you still in your seat. “wait, let me check. yes, that’s their name.”

“boynextdoor?”

namjoon looks at you, now met with your features that have transformed from wide eyes to scrunched eyebrows.  “yeah. do you know them?” 

you shake your head without a second thought. “no, i don’t think i do,” you whisper the last sentence to yourself. his narrow eyes look over you, almost dissecting you.

the walls surrounding you are painted in solid colors of pearl, almost untouched. yet, under the paint are cracks that spread like cobwebs. every burst is a testament to the earthquakes they’ve faced; no one should be able to see a single line of black amid the white sea. now, they’re filled with paste, and it should be enough to cover them all.

but for the first time, the paint has chipped and the paste has deteriorated; the different colors of cheongju seep through the cracks.

you clear your throat as you straighten your back. “i’ll be sure to research them.” you wave your phone at him, hoping to divert his attention, but his gaze remains on you.

a sigh leaves him. “okay. expect to receive the documents later in the afternoon.”

he doesn’t push any further. for now, the walls remain intact. (or appear as so.)

it was never going to be easy.

“honestly, i gave up expecting to win as we practiced,” the youngest says through tears. as they huddle, they let out silent wishes for the upcoming years. before they blow the candle, they don’t forget to express their gratitude to the fandom who stuck with them through thick and thin.

a time of celebration turned into a moment to remember their struggles. these were pockets of their time that marked their spot in history.

“oh, everyone behind us is crying!” another member points out as the camera captures the team’s bittersweet cries.

and when you catch sight of the brunette who hides his tears behind his friend, the ache in your chest starts to spread through your veins. the video cuts to his low-hanging head as his members comfort him. they knew all of his hardships—you only know a fraction.

such a tender moment happened a year ago; it’s shorter than the amount of time between this achievement and your departure. within those years, what did jaehyun undergo? did his trainings waver his passion or did the fire burn just as bright as it did since he first auditioned? was he confident in his skills or was he still critical about every performance he had?

but most of all, what did he face? what did he learn? to hate? to love?

what did he go through without you?

you don’t forget to take note of their first win on your document filled with bullet points of information. while you were going to continue watching, a recommended video caught your attention. it’s a jaehyun focus. you don’t hesitate to click it.

the video starts off with him checking up on the fans before the performance starts. as he mimes out eating, they answer his question with reassurance.

and there they come—his dimples appear.

it transitions to their group in their opening formation. as they await for the song to play out, jaehyun’s familiar smile shifts into a dominant gaze.

in the same way the first notes draw people to listen, your eyes never leave the boy. his movements are fluid, like water droplets sliding off leaves. he commands the stage regardless of where he’s positioned.

jaehyun is meant to be on the stage—no, every stage is made for him. every crowd is meant to cheer his name and remain captive to his talents, and every spotlight is meant to shine on him.

you rest your chin on crossed arms. long gone was the bowl cut and loose school uniform. he’s grown. matured, even. yet, the moments where his smile appears makes you realize one thing: the 16-year-old boy you knew still lives within him.

as their performance comes to an end, you don’t bother to move your cursor, letting the next recommended video play. and when his vlog plays out, you realize that a fragment of his identity is a whole of what you know.

what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.

his voice is a lullaby, the same one you used to fall asleep to, so you allow yourself to close your eyes. you let go of the responsibilities for just this moment, and allow yourself to be transported back into the warmth of his arms.

fall of 2019

out of all the seasons, autumn took its spot in being your favorite. clusters of green slowly morph  into shades of oranges and browns. it’s a symphony of chirps that fills the silence. while the breeze brings you comfort after the heat of summer, it also reminds you of the looming winter.

it’s a shame that autumn does live up to its other name: a season of fall.

“you’re always like this,” your mother comments. you stand in front of your parents, slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, as they hold a sheet of paper they believe dictates your future. “always so sensitive. we’re just asking you what went different. why did your grades drop?” to them, a shift from a to b+ is a threat to your future. 

while your feet stand on wooden floors, a flood starts to form. murky waves crash against your legs, but you do your best to keep your balance.

“answer us when you’re being talked to.” your father snaps you out of your thoughts. “what have you been doing for your grades to drop?” you want to answer but a single sound that leaves you may only lead to blubbers that your parents will scold you for. 

with your silence, your mother sneers. “i knew we shouldn’t have let you do your own things. i told you so.” she shifts her gaze to him. “what did i tell you about y/n? you know they’ll only slack off!”

“i thought we could trust them. clearly, i was wrong.” your father’s glare raises the water levels, reaching your chest. you don’t know how to swim in the foggy ocean.

“i know why.” she crosses her arms. “it’s because of that jaehyun boy, isn’t it?” she says his name laced with disgust.

you don’t think twice to defend him. “no, it isn’t!”

“don’t you dare talk back at me!”

“but i’m not! he’s done nothing.”

your father begins to raise his voice. “and that’s what’s wrong! that lazy boy does nothing for his studies. he clearly doesn’t care about his future.”

you always knew it would be a losing battle, but you’ll put up the fight to protect your best friend’s name. “that’s not true! he does care. he’s planning to do early childhood education for college, maybe become a teacher.”

“that job has no money. see, i can already see that you’re being influenced by him,” he argues back.

and as the murky waters rise, filling your lungs, your first instinct is to close your eyes and scream. “stop saying that about him!”

a beat passes.

“i don’t want you hanging out with him.”

“but—”

“shut up.” your mother’s words cause you to look up, meeting your parents’ faces filled with anger.  “go to your room. now.” you’re nothing but a puppet for them.

was it even a battle if you always knew you were going to lose?

despite the safety of your room, you don’t let the tears flow down. you do anything to distract yourself; maybe a book will convince you that your life is only a figment of your imagination.

waves continue to crash against your body. if you let them take your body, would they send you far away from cheongju? from your parents? from the weight you were entrusted to carry since birth?

but would you allow the waves to send you away from jaehyun?

your phone buzzes against the mattress. with tear-filled eyes, you see your best friend trying to reach you. you don’t think twice about declining his call and shutting off your phone.

as you curl in your bed, you hope the sea will swallow you whole—the slow, burning pain that comes with drowning won’t compare to the burns that haven’t healed. but you know that the blame rests on your shoulders. if only you had studied harder, cut off hours of rest for your work, then maybe you would be the perfect child your parents wanted.

were you wrong for allowing yourself to enjoy the small breaks between classes? was the time spent in the mart supposed to be for schoolwork? should you have found yourself a tutor? were you in the wrong for not working yourself to the bone? did you not work enough?

are you not enough?

then, a knock. your eyes snap open. like a stroke of light in the middle of the dark, jaehyun is by your window.

you get off your bed to open the window. as the glass barrier disappears, he enters your room. “are you okay?” he spots your glassy eyes and his hands find their spot on your shoulders. “what happened?”

you break eye contact. “what do you want, jaehyun?”

“you didn’t pick up your phone. and when i tried calling again, i couldn’t reach you,” he starts to explain.

you shrug off his grip on you before you take a seat on your bed. “i’m fine. my phone died.” as you feel the spot beside you dip, you look at your best friend. at the sight of his furrowed eyebrows, you know he doesn’t believe you. “i said i’m fine.”

“i didn’t say anything.” for you are an open book to him.

he opens his arms towards you—it’s your move to make. then, a tight-lipped smile shows on his face, his dimples appear, and you allow yourself to fall. with his arms wrapped around you, you shut your eyes as you nestle your face into his neck.

breathe in. breathe out.

his hand finds its spot on your back, rubbing it in circles.

breathe in. breathe out.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” he says, and you allow yourself to crumble in front of him for the first time.

the tears hit jaehyun’s neck like a light drizzle. your wails bring earthquakes into his world.

yet, his warmth is enough to dry up droplets, and his embrace protects you as you fall into the cracks of the earth and into the depths of the world. the flood starts to subside.

in your time knowing jaehyun, how much did he know about you after all? had he always known of your strained relationship with your parents? did he hear about it from others or was he able to connect the dots?

because you didn’t know yourself outside of your parents anymore. did you like science because of your kumon classes? was your interest in writing birthed from a desire for validation from your parents?

are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?

but your parents will never be satisfied; a standard too high is practically nonexistent.

jaehyun moves so that you two can lie down. his arms remain wrapped around you as you hide in his neck. “i’m sorry if i wasn’t there for you when you needed it then.” his whispered apology causes you to shake your head.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you blubber out to his neck.

“and you didn’t, as well.” his hand finds its spot behind your head. with every stroke, a tear streams down. “and i want you to know that i’ll be here for you.”

in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you. 

now, your home is jaehyun.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

something about the newsroom feels odd to you. there’s nothing out of the ordinary aside from it bustling with journalists. the familiar sounds of printers and chatter from your workmates fill your ears. it’s a typical occurrence for your peers to meet their deadlines on the day itself. the tug in your gut doesn’t resemble ones formed out of your anxiety. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“where is dokyeom? i swear, this guy never shows up to the office.”

you snap out of your thoughts, looking over at chaeyeon who browses through her phone. as you shove a bill into the vending machine, a chuckle leaves you. “when is he never?”

“maybe if he finishes his coverages on time then he’d be getting enough sleep. then, he won’t be late.”

you side-eye your friend before you click on a button. “you know that’s not true.”

she sighs at the same time your bottle of iced tea drops. “yeah. apparently, if you have free time, you’re not a good journalist or some shit which i find stupid.” you grab your drink before facing her. “am i not allowed to do something else that’s not related to my job? i swear, this is why i’m single.”

“then date another journalist.” your joke earns a scowl from her.

“i’m never dating anyone in my field. a journalist dating another journalist is like,” she looks up to the ceiling as she thinks, “a long distance relationship with how much they’ll never see or have time for each other.”

a laugh erupts from you, one that may be too loud for your liking. “true.”

as you walk out of the breakroom with chaeyeon, you notice something in the corner of your eye: a brunette by the restroom. while you can’t see his face, you spot what’s in his hand and you halt in your tracks—a finger trap.

“hey, is there someone there?” your eyes snap back to your friend who looks at you in confusion. when your eyes drift back to where the brunette once was, he’s already gone. you shake your head before walking back to your desk.

the same gut feeling lingers. with a frown, you open up your article only to be met with a few comments that namjoon left last night. maybe your gut knew that you weren’t done with your work. thankfully, it’s nothing too major, and you can have them done within the next few minutes.

“there you are!” chaeyeon exclaims, causing you to look up from your screen to a panting dokyeom. “were you working on your articles again?”

“actually, i went out last night.” while you shake your head at dokyeom’s reveal, chaeyeon gasps. “yeah, i did! i actually had fun for once!”

as he nods proudly at last night’s events, she complains, “are you serious?! how come you have time to go out? i was just talking to y/n that we never have time to ourselves.”

“i’m in sports,” he points out as he shrugs his shoulders. “you’re in news.” at this point, you’re expecting the two to spiral into an argument, so you redirect your focus back to your article.

“hey, did you hear though? there’s a k-pop group in the building.” you glance at chaeyeon.

your other friend leans on the cubicle. “really? who?”

“no clue.”

dokyeom lets out a groan. “what type of journalist are you if you can’t find out?”

“yah!” chaeyeon smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain. “says you who can never submit on time.”

“hey, i’ll have you know that minho has been understanding!”

“whatever.” she rolls her eyes before looking at you. “that means you’ll probably be handling them. i hope they’re cute so that you can finally have something going on with your life outside of work.”

a chuckle leaves you as you get back to work. “i’m never dating an idol. i’d get hunted down by their fans.” 

“yeah, but can’t you dream a little? do you ever imagine what it would be like?”

the past plays in your mind. after school performances and interviews. broken-up popsicles. finger traps. a life you shared with jaehyun then—one you still cling onto.

yet, you shake your head as you edit your article. “not even.”

it’s a life you’ll keep to yourself.

“what’s the update?”

the three of you look away from each other, spotting namjoon who comes to you with a smile. long gone were the sweaters that failed to drown out his figure and the boxy glasses that would rest on the bridge of his nose. now, he wears a dress shirt and trousers with hair slicked to the side. there were no frames for him to hide behind.

“ah, namjoon! you’re dressed so nice today.”

with dokyeom’s compliment, he can’t hold back on his smile. “thank you. are you guys done with your articles?”

as your friends nod, you add the finishing touches to the document. “and done! i just finished addressing your comments.”

“great. thanks, y/n.”

“do you have something?” chaeyeon asks your editor, causing you to roll your eyes. one thing about journalists is that they love to know everything.

namjoon nods before saying, “i just had a meeting with some possible interviewees.”

“is this the one with the k-pop group?” as dokyeom asks the question, you can’t help but laugh as chaeyeon looks at him in disbelief for spilling confidential information.

your editor chuckles. “yes.”

“can we know—”

“no, you can’t know.”

chaeyeon pouts at namjoon. “not even a hint?”

namjoon ignores her question and begins to walk off. “good work, y/n!” he calls out before leaving you three alone.

“man, namjoon never tells us shit,” chaeyeon complains as she leans on the table.

“to you guys, at least,” you argue with a small shrug.

still, the gut feeling remains.

something about the newsroom feels odd to jaehyun. while he’s had his fair share of paranormal experiences, his gut tells him that there’s something in the office. yet, the tug isn’t one that speaks of danger. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” jaehyun is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” jaehyun is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

although everyone seemed fine with proceeding, he couldn’t shake off the feeling. maybe the leftover curry he had this morning went bad. “i’ll go,” he says as he gets off his seat.

namjoon slowly stands up. “okay, i can bring you there—”

“it’s okay! i saw the washroom on the way here,” jaehyun says before walking to the door. “you can discuss the details without me first.”

with his manager’s nods, namjoon settles back into his seat. “okay then, here are some of the dates i have in mind...”

jaehyun exits the room. he bites on the inside of the cheek as he thinks of what his gut could be telling him. is it the nerves for the upcoming tour? is he worried about the next comeback they’ve been preparing? or is he scared about what the future has in store for his group?

with his mind on these questions, he doesn’t realize that he arrives in front of the bathroom door. a sigh of frustration leaves him. the worst thing about gut feelings is never knowing what they’re trying to say.

he grips the handle, ready to swing the door open, until a familiar laugh hits his ears. one of the past. one he hasn’t heard in years. his muscles freeze.

when was the last time he heard that chortle? when was the last time he became the cause of it?

his eyes dart around the area for the source but no one else is here. he can’t help but shake his head in disbelief.

it should be stupid for him to think you two would ever reunite. in what world would you be in the same place as he is? it’s been five years. you could be anywhere around the world. yet, he fishes for something out of his pocket; the same finger trap he linked you to him rests on the palm of his hand.

he sighs before entering the washroom and shoving it back into his pocket.

maybe he’ll hold out a little longer.

winter of 2019

out of all the seasons, jaehyun’s favorite is winter. snowflakes fall, filling the sky with stars that people can touch, and snow piles on sidewalks, letting him throw snowballs at his friends. despite the freezing temperatures, jaehyun prefers this over nearly-boiling ones.

he can’t wait to share this season with you.

yet, the familiar, chilly breeze of the season transforms into whispers, and word gets around like thrown snowballs. 

“is y/n really not going to school anymore?” jaehyun looks up from his desk to see jiheon standing in front of him. he tilts his head in confusion, causing her to roll her eyes. “are they not going here anymore?”

he frowns. “huh? what kind of rumor is that?”

“i don’t know. it’s what people have been saying,” she says as she crosses her arms. “i asked because i wanted to know if my competition’s gone, you know? and you’re the only one here who has an idea about their whereabouts.”

jaehyun laughs in disbelief. “no, i was with them last week.”

when jaehyun last saw you, you asked for space. with what’s been happening with your family, you needed time to process and cope with your issues, and he respected that. after all, he only knew a fraction of your relationship with your parents, and he didn’t want to intrude in anything you didn’t want him to be a part of. still, jaehyun reminded you that he’ll be there if you need him.

“damn, that sucks,” jiheon groans as her shoulders slump. “these stupid rumors.” as soon as she leaves jaehyun alone, he shakes his head.

the bell rings. students start rushing into classrooms and teachers scold those who aren’t on their seats. ms. jeon enters the room, walking to the desk in front and setting her things down. “baek jiheon, you’ll be in charge of attendance today.”

as jaehyun’s classmate gets off her seat, he can’t help but look at your desk that still remains empty.

“you have to message us when you land,” your mother says as she fixes the collar of your coat. despite your nod, she clicks her tongue. “answer me properly.”

“yes, i will.”

once your father finishes placing the last luggage in the trunk of the taxi, he stands beside your mother. “don’t forget why we’re sending you there. we expect you to do better with no distractions.”

your phone buzzes in your hand. as you look down, you see a message from jaehyun. as he asks about your whereabouts, the weight gets heavier��will you stand or crumble under it?

“who’s that?”

you stash your phone away as you look back at your parents. “nothing. it’s just an email from the school. they sent over the date for the orientation.” at the sight of their satisfied smile, you let out a small sigh of relief.

“well, go on.” your nod at your mother before getting in the car. with the windows still down, she adds, “don’t forget to get endorsement letters from the professors i sent over to you or else you won’t get to study abroad like we planned.” her choice of pronouns is funny; a plan that they crafted which never considered your input.

“okay.”

as your father commands the driver to go, your gaze remains on the two. it should be okay with you to leave cheongju; you’d be far away from your parents and experience an entirely different landscape to explore. it’s time you break away from the chains of this town. learn a life outside of what your parents forced you into.

yet, as the car takes its leave, the figure of your parents slowly shrinks. the distance from them should’ve given you the space to breathe, a relief you’ve longed for, but it only reminds you of your strained relationship. to them, it would be better that you’re out of their sight—and with your farewell, you never heard the three-word phrase.

the window rolls up. you try to hold back the tears, but the scenery of cheongju that you pass by births a storm within you. you didn’t want to say goodbye to home, regardless of how much you say you didn’t have a home in this town. every corner holds a piece of you in the same way you hold a piece of them.

the car approaches a safe haven you share. despite the snow that piles at the front, mr. kim’s convenience store is still open. you’ll never get to have his hotteok again or hear his favorite dramas play in the background. worst of all, you never got to say goodbye.

then, the familiar figure of your best friend exits the mart, and the storm transforms into a typhoon. the plastic bag he holds is filled with your favorite snacks, from the grape-flavored twin bar to a bottle of mr. kim’s homemade peach iced tea.

and in that moment that your car passes him, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you spot the familiar trap wrapped around his finger—the other end holds no one.

as quickly as you came into jaehyun’s life, he disappears from your view.

finger traps were fascinating. if you tug hard, the contraption won’t let your fingers go. yet, if you allow the two fingers to meet, allowing the toy to loosen, it’ll let you go with no harm.

but your finger trap with jaehyun was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.

interview

q: what made you decide on becoming an idol?

a: i’ve always loved dancing. growing up in cheongju, i always made time [for dance] whether it be [for] school competitions, talent shows, or even [choreographies] i wanted to try out. but i never considered becoming [an idol] until high school. a lot of my friends and family thought i was capable, and i’m glad they trusted me. it feels good to give back to them with every performance.

q: compared to your other members, you’ve spent a lot of years dancing and training to become an idol. what kept you going throughout your years of training?

a: my family’s support was one big thing that helped me [during my training.] every trip from my house to the company would last hours, and it drained me physically. so as the years went by, i started to question if all the time, money, [and] effort i was putting into an unpromised debut would be worth it, but my parents and brother were always there to support and [take] care of me. but i’d also like to think my best friend was a major support in training years. i think they were the first one to [tell me that they saw me as an idol,] and at the time i brushed off the idea. but, look where i am now? so i think i owe a lot to them.

q: is there anything you’d like to say to those who’ve supported you as boynextdoors’s myung jaehyun? a: mom and dad, thank you for believing in me. i know it wasn’t easy to wait until midnight for me to come home or take care of me whenever i got sick from training. thank you for always supporting me in every performance. to my brother, thank you for helping mom and dad out at home. every day, i remind myself that you gave up so much just so i can pursue my dreams, and i want you know that i’m forever grateful for your sacrifices. to the rest of [boynextdoor], thank you for always allowing me to rely on you. i’m glad i can say i have brothers who i get to achieve my dreams with. onedoor, thank you for your love and support over the years. i wouldn’t be boynextdoor’s leader or myung jaehyun if it weren’t for you. and lastly, thank you to my best friend. i hope you’ll always be proud of me the same way i’ll forever be proud of you.

taglist: @kflixnet @blankjournal @blissfullsvn @lovialy @onedoornet

[mirrorball-leclerc]

i did something bad - part two

THE CHARLOS BREAK UP

masterlist//previous//next

BRAZIL 2023

daniel ricciardo please tell me charles did not get into an argument with carlos.

teagan horner charles did not get into an argument with carlos. carlos got into an argument with him, two very different things.

max verstappen what was the argument even about?

charles leclerc doesn't matter it was bullshit.

mark webber clearly not, if you two came to blows.

pierre gasly carlos said he was shit driver and and that he only had the red bull seat because he was 'fucking horner's slut daughter' or that was the tailend of what i heard.

pierre gasly not to mention he punched teagan in face because she stood in front of charles hoping to stop the situation.

alex albon well i'll be damned.

yuki tsunoda so we all follow that one gossip account? because i know none of you were near when this happened.

liam lawson i do. how else am i supposed to find out that fernando alonso was visited by taylor swift last week in austin? daniel ricciardo it's fun to follow them. one time they said max and i were hooking up, we weren’t, but i liked the tweet to fuel them more. pr was not happy that week.

mark webber christian's been awfully quite this entire time.

max verstappen we're planning on how to torpedo into carlos in brazil. i'm the sacrifice because i've already won the championship. checo perez he supposed to fail at getting pole position in quali next week to end up behind carlos. sebastian vettel pulling a kvyat i see, i respect it max verstappen the only time i'll do something like kvyat. yuki tsunoda HE PUNCHED TEAGAN?! WHAT THE HELL?? WHERE IS THIS MAN?!

liam lawson yuki, think about your actions. charles is getting fined for what you’re thinking about doing (i think)

yuki tsunoda do i look like i give a fuck?

pierre gasly we ride at dawn!

mark webber you two are perfect for each other

sebastian vettel YOU’RE IN A MEETING GET OFF YOUR PHONE GASLY!!!

yuki tsunoda that should be your sign gasly, come back to alpha tauri! daniel can take your seat at alpine

daniel ricciardo hell no. i saw what they did to my fellow aussie, oscar. do you think i wanna get sued by them?

teagan horner we’re back, carlos is still pissed but so is my dad.

mark webber how’s your face after that punch?

teagan horner i have a sick black eye. i look like i got in a bar fight. i got the proper texas experience. christian horner this isn't a laughing matter teagan. you could've been seriously hurt. sebastian vettel he's right teagan, it could've escalated to something worse. max verstappen so is the plan still on to crash into carlos or not?

charles leclerc not, i want to do it. who gives a fuck on where i end up in the drivers championship, i'm already p7. let me do it brocedes style.

daniel ricciardo ah, 2016 spainsh grand prix, those were good days.

sebastian vettel you got p4 and max won daniel ricciardo they were good days because both mercedes dnf'd

max verstappen he won't do it

sergio perez i'll gladly help, we can have a repeat of yesterday.

charles leclerc deal and sorry about that, again.

sergio perez it could've happened to anyone, besides it was my fault

alex albon so...talk about a dramatic brazilian gp

lewis hamilton why is it always thing 1 or thing 2 starting the awkward conversations? lando norris they have nothing better to do alex albon listen here you muppet!

logan sargeant (i'm so sorry lewis) it's giving brocedes 2.0

nico hulkenberg be grateful you weren't around then sargeant. those were dark times.

lewis hamilton i feel like you're being a little dramatic about it.

kevin magnussen we aren't. everyone walked on eggshells because of you two. toto could never seem to catch a break.

fernando alonso it seems you're the old one lewis, if your memory is failing already.

lando norris kinda surprised it took this long for those two to go at it a la brocedes

charles leclerc i was sandwiched, what was i supposed to do? crash into checo for the second time in a row?

carlos sainz not crash into me. you had no problem crashing into sergio last week.

charles leclerc well, checo is the one retiring this year, not you. you'll have plenty more races.

carlos sainz since when do you call him checo?

carlos sainz and i was on pole! i could've won!

max verstappen at charles' expense no less

george russell "horrified looks from everyone in the room"

daniel ricciardo i don't know if i should be impressed that you know taylor swift lyrics lance stroll coming from the guy who sang our song in an interview word for word last month. daniel ricciardo at least i wasn't the one spamming the groupchat with taylonso memes

lewis hamilton how did this become the mess it has?

fernando alonso this is the only time i will ever wish sebastian was still driving. at least he could control these baboons.

nico hulkenberg who are you calling a baboon, nando?

fernando alonso if the shoe fits, nico, if the shoe fits

LAS VEGAS 2023

pierre gasly i will be throwing hands with fred and the rest of ferrari’s f1 team, starting with carlos.

alex albon but we gotta give charles credit, defying team orders the way he did in vegas? respect, it further proves ferrari would keep sacrificing his race even if he was on pole and leading the majority of the race.

liam lawson what did we expect? it's ferrari, and that strategy was a shit one, even i know that. charles had been leading for 35/50 laps and they wanted him to let carlos through? who was down in p6? yuki tsunoda ferrari has shit for brains pierre gasly and it's not like carlos would've been able to make it past checo, oscar, danny, and max to get the win. in the end, lando and alex overtook him, alex who's in a williams! you would've given me a few more laps and i could've overtaken him.

daniel ricciardo also, rumor has it that piero ferrari is like super pissed they let charles go.

mark webber of course he’s pissed, charles was their golden boy, he won monza. the first to do so since 2010 when fernando had won.

liam lawson i think the biggest fuck you to ferrari would be having charles win both monza and imola

sebastian vettel i like this kid, where did christian find you?

pierre gasly outside of yuki’s home. he picked him up by the scruff of his neck and said, “i want you to be our reserve driver at alpha tauri” liam lawson he found me in a dumpster outside of his home. sebastian vettel i hate both of you

teagan horner i thank god everyday that there is only one race left until the season is over

¡leclerc-s speaks! would carlos ever act like this? probably not, doesn't mean i'm going to stop writing it this way. i think people react in different ways when they're hurt and unfortunately in this fic carlos is lashing out. don't worry, i'm going to fix their relationship, just not for now, i like drama. would any of these events happen irl, no way, but what's the fun in fanfic if you can't exaggerate events at least a little?

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[zhvakinnn]

Waaa no more request so I decided to make a school bus graveyard incorrect quotes:'D

Reader is here, but he/she/them a singel sorry

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Aiden: if i were to punch myself and i got hurt am i strong or weak?

Reader: strong!

Ben writing: weak

Tyler: an idiot

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Taylor: what's worst than a heart break?

Reader: waking up finding your phone unplug

Tyler: waking up in the morning

Ashlyn: waking up

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ashlyn: sometimes I wanna be a caterpillar

Logan: why?

Ashlyn: eat's a lot, sleep's a lot

Logan: oh.. but wait fun fact about caterpillars they have a life span of two weeks?

Ashlyn: hm that's another highlight

Logan realize: wait no!

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Aiden: Quick Ashlyn hold my hand!

Ashlyn: now what?!

Aiden: nothing i just wanna hold hands

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Tyler: hey reader

Reader: my old friend used to call me that

Tyler:...

Tyler: ITS BECAUSE THAT IS LITERALY YOUR NAME

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader in a sleepover with Taylor: hey do you know what time it is my phone just died

Taylor: oh my phone died too, wait

Taylor stands up and took a flute and playing terrible

Tyler: WHO THE HECK PLAYS A FLUTE IN 5AM

Taylor: its 5am wait.. its already 5am?

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader: what's a thot?

Aiden: a thoughtful friend

...

Taylor bringing you a snack

Reader: thanks Tay your such a thot

Tyler: exuse me what?-

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ashlyn: ah shit..

Mr. Banner: hey language

Tyler: oh fucking c'mon

Mr. Banner: language!

Taylor: ah shit that hurts

Mr. Banner: language!..

Aiden: what the frick brick jick kick jack is that shing shong

Reader: hey what the fick tick tickity tock was that about

Mr. Banner:...

Mr. Banner: what the fuck?..

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ben writing fast: your loosing a lot of blood, Quick what's your type?!

Tyler reading it: blonde, has glasses, and a sniper

Reader: NO DUDE YOUR BLOOD TYPE!

Tyler: dunno ask him

Aiden: red

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ben writing: do you think crabs fly?

Reader: how high are you?

Ben: 6'0

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader: how high are you?

Aiden: how what?

Reader: high

Aiden: hello

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Cop: you're receiving a ticket for having three people in one motorcycle

Ben was driving

Aiden: wait three?

Cop: yeah?

Taylor: OMG TYLER!

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Reader: setting down an ace of spades

Aiden: setting down a 4+ uno

Ashlyn: Pikachu I choose you

Ben sweating because he doesn't know what the heck is happening

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

Ashlyn: why is Taylor and tyler leaning at each others back?

Aiden: they had a fight

Logan: why are they holding hands then?

Reader: they got sad after a fight

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

I'll be making more of this and try to ship reader with someone:')

Masterlist | about me | rules

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

coney island x mbobhft

WHAT A COMPLETE SHOCK I WONDER WHAT INSTIGATED THIS /ijbol

Sorry for putting you on blast friend but also this is a very unique experience we share 😂

Ah, London N6, a night that will live in infamy for many reasons, not the least of which being IT WAS RARE WE WERE THERE WE REMEMBER IT ALL TOO WELL.

As many of you will know (and @claudiajcregg literally witnessed next to me as I mouthed WHAT THE FUCK), this is the mashup that broke my brain because it made my third eye open in the rafters of fuckass Wembley Stadium.

Warning: this is going to be a very long one because I am far too personally invested in it 😂

(It's so interesting seeing it from this angle head-on given that we were behind the stage 😂 I don't think I've ever seen it properly lol.)

First of all, My Boy was one of those songs that I loved as a bop when TTPD came out, but then when the voice memo version was released last summer (iirc a few weeks before this?) it made the song click even more pointedly because it made it infinitely sadder (and clearer and maybe confirmed my own inklings but anyway). Looking over my blog archives the day it was released is a trip because it can just be summed up as: IT'S SO FUCKING SAD! The idea that someone who you considered your closest confidant also being the one to help break you into a million more pieces? Devastating! "It sounds sad because I'm sad in general," ugh. But I digress.

Then you have Coney Island, which is where I confess that despite evermore being my favourite album, the song was one I didn't particularly gravitate towards. It's beautiful! It's evocative! It just wasn't one that like, permeated my consciousness all that much. It was one of those "wow she's sure telling a sad story with pretty words" type of things. Until, of course, she combined it with My Boy to maximize their joint slay that wrecked my brain and made me reconsider BOTH of them.

OK ENOUGH BACKSTORY LET'S GET TO THE PLOT 😂

Should've known it was only a matter of time, my boy only breaks his favourite toys... Break my soul in two, looking for you but you're right here, and if I can't relate to you anymore, then who am I related to? I loooooooove that transition! Again, one of the fun parts of the mashups that has become more evident as I've been on this exercise is that sometimes you can see the "hook" lyrically of what makes her craft the mashup. Here, it's the break toys/break my soul parallel.

And I *think* this might have been the point at which my brain went WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAT in real time lmao. Again, I don't know why Coney Island never quite rooted itself in my brain, although thinking back on it, I do wonder if the fact that it's a duet played a role in that; as someone who tends to gravitate towards melody/sound before lyrics, maybe the fact that it's split between Matt Berninger and Taylor just made the story "split" in my brain? I don't know, but Taylor playing it on her own on the piano somehow made it click haha.

So back to the story of the mashup: You have the start of the story about the a cycle of depression (voices in his head), resentment (only breaks his favourite toys) and lashing out (I'm queen of sandcastles he destroys). And the cycle is on both parts tbh (sickest army doll/rivulets descend my plastic smile). It's a contrast to the early days of the relationship, where she felt like they were something special (but you should have seen him when he first got me/it fit too right, puzzle pieces in the dead of night), even though reality would set in and destroy it.

So then enter Coney Island, where she/the narrator is saying: you keep breaking me because you're pulling away from me (ostensibly because of said cycle) and I don't know why. You used to be the person I relied on the most in this world, and now I feel like half of me is drifting away. (At least, that's how I read "break my soul in two.") Like, this person is still physically there, but in every other respect, they're a million miles away. (Looking for you, but you're right here.) You used to be my everything, my other half, but if you're now pulling away from me, how am I supposed to exist in this world without you? (if I can't relate to you, then who am I related to?)

So admittedly this is where the duet vs. solo gets complicated in the narrative lol and I'm probably going to contradict myself just as a warning. But the theme from the start of My Boy is totally reflected in, "If this is the long haul, how did we get here so soon? Did I close my fist around something delicate, did I shatter you?" Again, the idea of: this was supposed to be our forever, yet it seems like we have just hit the beginning of the end. Was it something I did? Did I break you the way you've broken me? Is that why I'm in so much pain? IT'S SO SAD. (And again: is not only very similar to the theme of My Boy, but IMO of TTPD in general.)

The chorus of Coney Island is what this mashup REALLY illuminated for me: The idea of remembering the good times at a spot that used to be yours together, and wondering how the hell you lost sight of each other (lol) and ended up here, broken and alone. "Sorry for not making you my centrefold, over and over" is so ouchie because if it's the narrator singing that, it could almost be a little resentful, like, "I made you the centre of my universe, sorry I couldn't keep doing it again," but if it's the subject, it's like, "sorry I could never prioritize you the way you did me," and either way it's SAD.

"Lost again with no surprises, disappointments close your eyes and it gets colder as the sun goes down," REALLY got me, because it's just so resigned! Like, you keep expecting things to get better, but they don't, and you're just continually disappointed and floored with every setback. There's no grand gesture, no magic cure to save the day, everything just wilts and fades away. "It gets colder and colder as the sun goes down," is just like... all the life in your home and your relationship bleeding out like, well, death by a thousand cuts.

The bridge of Coney Island finally really hit me here because it's like the promise of youth being completely replaced by the jadedness of adulthood. "Were you waiting at our old spot in the tree line by the gold clock, did I leave you hanging every single day?" to me just feels like: I knew you were waiting for me [to join you-- and IMO that's a metaphor for "you were waiting for me to be ready for our plans"], but I kept stalling and with every day that I stalled I hurt you even more. Obviously this may be reading too much into it, but I could make a case for the "old spot by the tree line" being a stand-in for a familiar beloved space (e.g. home) and the gold clock being a stand-in for counting down to life plans that had once been on a timeline that no longer were. But this is getting deep into literary analysis instead of a walk down memory lane with the mashup itself 😂 Anyhoo this just gave me more thoughts about another song but we are not going there on main.

And of course, "did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray a universe away" ties into so much of what we hear on TTPD (and imo much of rep through Midnights too), but also calls back to "here we go again, the voices in his head call the rain to end our days of wild," in the My Boy intro of this mashup. Like I said, this is where the duet vs. solo gets complicated if you're looking at it from a performance point of view here 😂 but it makes sense to me. (And to borrow from twitter brain rot, it fits my narrative.) But, this person drifting away emotionally and taking it out on her (a universe away) completely tears her world apart and turns her world into sadness in kind. (Which: again, is the theme of My Boy too.)

And maybe my favourite part of the mashup, thematically and sonically because it brings it all together:

When I got into the accident, the sight that flashed before me was your face, but when I walked up to the podium, I think that I forgot to say your name... but just say when I'd play again, he was my best friend down at the sandlot, I felt more when he played pretend than with all the Kens, cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart, left all these broken parts, told me I'm better off, but I'm not.

It's this idea of: this person loves you more than anything (e.g. your face being the first they see when their life flashes before their eyes), but being unable to show you that kind of love and taking you for granted in spite of it (forgot to say your name). Like, I'd die for you, but I still can't be there for you. THAT IS HEAVY. (Yes, complicated by duet/solo, no, I don't care.) And in spite of it all, I would have still tried again! (And she did, ahem.) Because even when you hurt me, I still loved you more than anyone else! This love felt like it was worth more than the pain it caused, even when I was denying how much it was hurting me! I somehow believed you every time, but I know it was killing me. OOF.

(I could say "told me I'm better off, but I'm not," sounds like "You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?" but I don't mean to veer into muse discourse because the mashup stories stand alone on their own etc.)

In the end, it comes down to "he saw forever, so he smashed it up." If you're looking at it as one full story, My Boy is like the context about the dark place they both find themselves in, and Coney Island fills in the lines about how said boy broke said favourite toy, little by little, until it turns into the destructive force you find in My Boy that leaves her in pieces to pick up on her own. And this is a case where the mashup really deepened my understanding of BOTH songs! Coney Island wasn't just a tale of fading love in the backdrop of the place of childhood dreams, it's a whole metaphor for a shared life disintegrating. And while I got the themes of My Boy instantly, pairing it with a song that's a little more grounded in reality kind of highlights the darkness behind the toy box conceit even further. My Boy sets the stage for the fallout from mental health and personal struggles, and Coney Island shows how that happens.

As an aside, she does some incredible things vocally in this mashup, and the way she belts out "I'm not" repeatedly is one of them! The power! The emotion! Master class in using your voice as a tool to tell a story! From the first quiet "I'm not," to the final angry one, it is a journey!!!

Thank you so much for this bestie!!!! It took me literal hours but it was worth it 😂 Aaah August 2024 you will always be famous.

(And for everyone else: we are still on a moratorium for mashup madness asks because I still have too many to go through lol. I will let y'all know when I am accepting requests again!)

[sgiandubh]

Yes. Toddlers are 3 and below. However this doesn't mean Sam doesn't know her as a friend nor mean he hasn't met her son, as they are friends, not dating. We all know they had lunch as friends, he cheered her at event as friend. Photos and video prove this. The park story is a story, no photos, no proof of any of it being real. Before you go there, yes video he and Caitriona had some hug/peck at a concert, but still no proof of marriage, nor romantic anything or intoxication. Believe what you want, beliefs aren't truths.

Dear Beliefs Aren't Truths Anon,

Congratulations, you have won the Weekly Audio bingo, since I am now speaking with more ease:

Excuse me, but... you accuse me of lying?

With such desperate arguments?

A question in return for you, Anon: did you, by any chance, grow up with a single/divorced parent?

I did. And while I have discussed at great length Sarah H's irresponsible ways of exposing her underage son to Internet's predatory scrutiny (and potentially worse), I can assure you:

No single/divorced mother would bring along her son for Hogmanay at some vague, single, male friend's house.

No single/divorced mother would send her son for a walk in the park, on a Sunday early (and chilly) morning with that same vague, single, male friend of hers.

Unless they date. Which we both agree they weren't.

The above are simply not done. Not ever, not in any culture on Earth.

So, if they are friends (as you say), that means you guys spent literally months in a row in empty, mendacious speculation about Nothing At All, triggered by the fanfic written by a troll. I mean, just WOW, Anon. I have no words: mature women, who have a life, peeking into a stranger's whereabouts. I hope you are proud of yourself!

And doll - I happen to believe they were mutually beneficial acquaintances, for a very clear purpose (more followers for her and a naive diversion from his real life, aka the Elephant in the Room, for him). That is all. Things have noticeably chilled since she overexposed her son on the Web, yet she might make a cameo later on the timeline, if desperation requires it. Happened before, you see.

And yes, I will always go back 'there', Anon, simply because I know what I saw with my own eyes (and I am not the only one). Also, you seem to fail making the logical difference between being intoxicated with alcohol (one of your side's most pathetic, ludicrous 'arguments' ever ) and being infatuated with someone. That is how I know your English vocabulary is as poor as your logic or common sense, Anon. And I am sorry, so fucking sorry to bother you, buttercup, but that Taylor Swift kiss was caught on video alright.

Thank you for confirming toddlers are aged 3 and below, in the meanwhile. And thank you for confirming that basically three months after I finally published that Park Anon I was sent (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/751391542332325888/i-always-read-the-comments-on-sams-posts-because), you are still as unsettled by it as on Day 1.

Now you tell me what that means, in your book, Anon. Because in mine that surely smells of slow burning despair.

[Later Edit, not on audio]: ah, yes, that friendly, ripe with innuendo London lunch. So long for that poor convenient imbecile, the Brazilian Journo, eh? She thought Sarah was his lover and here you are, Anon, bursting her post-teenage inacceptable bubble.

Wasn't she explaining with great impertinence that shippers were in need of immediate medical attention? I wonder what she would do if she'd meet me in an official capacity, really. Probably go hide and cry.

But this is great, Anon, I mean wow - you surely KNOW stuff, eh?

[ve1vet-cake]

Let me open the cage, mother

https://www.behance.net/gallery/44755845/Caged <- credit for art

summary: Ichika encounters Vel "by chance" and they share a comforting moment between soon to be mother and daughter in law warnings: mention of child neglect, post partum depression/ppd, abuse, child abuse, feeling of being an inadequate parent, demon activities MDNI- Ichika belongs to @14dayswithyou an 18+ game so ageless/minor run blogs DNI Vel belongs to yours truly uwu

Strange. This golden intensity. These orbs boring into her very soul. They were all she had been dreaming about for the past months.

Waking into a state of paralysis and only those golden orbs peering at her from a distant shadow, slowly approaching. Every. Night.

Only the past night had her eyes fluttered open to see them right in front of her. "Found... you~" Had rang from all over the room, the voice distorted, a dark growl mixing with a childlike giggle. The orbs had travelled to her husband idly asleep next to her and that morning she woke up completely alone for the first time.

The entire day had she contemplated running away when a note caught her eye, left on the window sill of her bedroom window.

"Meet me at Lake Bluemoss- M"

The M was shimmering golden, as if the eyes in her dreams had melted onto the paper.

Was it stupid to have come here? Yes

Was her curiosity and the nagging feeling in her soul stronger? Definitely.

And now she was standing her, staring into the golden eyes of a young woman, the same age as...

Her heart stuttered as sadness overcame her. Her babies. "Good day, Mrs. [REDACTED]... Or would be Ichika be fine?" The voice of the woman was soft with purr to it, her intense gaze softening. "A-ah.. Ichika.. Is fine and.. and who are you?" "Miyoko. Miyoko Rosabella Velvet Black. Pleasure to be finally meeting you." Vel bowed politely. Ichika's eyes narrowed. The only ever kanji her son had asked her to write for him was that name. Miyoko.

"Do.. we know each other..?" Vel raised their gaze, looking straight through Ichika and into her very soul. "I know your son. I have not had the pleasure of meeting you." Ichika's breath hitched. This woman knew [REDACTED]? Perhaps...

"H-how is he? Is he okay? W-why hasn't he-..." Ichika paused, already knowing why he had not contacted her anymore. Not with Taylor still around. "Well, he isn't living off of takeout anymore thanks to me." Vel giggled as she stepped aside, motioning for Ichika to start walking with an outstreched arm and following right beside her. "I am actually his girlfriend." Ichika stared at Vel with wide, tired eyes that slowly welled up with tears, home simmering in them. Her little boy had managed to find someone? Someone who cares for him? Who... loves him? "He is such a sweetheart too. Always so gentle and loving with me." Vel was smiling while staring at the lake with a fond look.

Sob.

A single soft sob made Vel turn to the woman next to her.

Ichika was wiping at her eyes.

"I-i am so sorry- I-" With a sigh Vel hugged her carefully.

"I just... I-i just never thought... thought he would turn out so well.. given.. given how... oh my god.." Ichika kept crying. Years. Decades of Taylor's abuse and neglect towards her babies came crashing down. Not a day had passed where she had hated herself for doing nothing. For allowing it for... being so weak. Such a-

"I'm a horrible mother..!" Ichika was getting hysteric now, heavy sobs shaking her body as she wept into Vel's shoulder.

"I-I should've- Needed to... I.. My babies..!" The pain in her voice made Vel tear up as well.

They took a deep breath before softly murmuring.

"You are not a bad mother. You were driven by fear and your own pain." Carefully Vel peeled Ichika off of her to cup her cheeks and gently wipe her everflowing tears away. They smiled softly. "He looks just like you... He even cries the same way." Vel laughed softly, a comforting and sympathetic sound. "I know how you feel I... I couldn't be there for my son when he was born and..." Vel remembered their darkest point but just smiled as they themselves started crying.

"I always... Wanted children but... Post partum was awful. My second child drove me insane..." Vel breathed shakily. "I know how you feel. I know you blame yourself but... Driven by fear. By sheer terror.. You are not a bad mother. You were a victim just as much as your children. Should you have done something? Yes. Could you have done something? Perhaps. But given I have heard what happened to [REDACTED].... I do not think you could have done much." Ichika stared at the woman with wide eyes. The same puppy like look [REDACTED] had given her back when he was still maintaining his Ren persona or whenever he would put it on again to make Vel laugh.

Vel gave her a soft smile before pulling her back into a hug and holding her close. "I want you to get a chance to meet any of [REDACTED] and my kids once we plan to have them.. And I want you there when him and I get married."

Ichika gasped softly and pulled away this time.

"M-married?? Did.. did he propose?"

Only now did it hit Ichika, she had missed so many milestones of her children's lives... Especially [REDACTED]'s. It made her heart churn with sorrow of all the lost time. Lost opportunities. Lost memories. That she hadn't been there for so much. Never held him enough times. Never told him just how proud she was. That she had loved him, her son, even through all their hardships. Vel giggled. "Not.. yet. But I have been dropping enough hints that I want to get it done soon. Besides I wanna do a mutual proposal which brings me to the other reason I wanted to meet you." Vel took Ichika's hands and bowed, even getting onto their knees in a low bow. "May I have your blessing to marry your son?" They raised their gaze again, the gold in their eyes seemingly pulsating. "I will keep Taylor away from you forever in turn. Let me open your cage, お母さん (mother)" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cerulean eyes narrowed from afar. Why were they meeting her? What had they been talking about? Why had Vel kneeled? [REDACTED]'s gaze fell on the phone in his hand as his grip around it tightened. And why hadn't they brought their phone like usual... ----------------------------------------------------

This is btw also lowkey the prequel to my "Choice" fic

Idek if this makes any sense haha

[riaarivic]

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 2 Clean

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary Three years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗  Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort.

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 4,8k

💗 Series index: 1 2

“The drought was the very worst, ah-ah. When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst It was months and months of back and forth, ah-ah, ah-ah. You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore” -Taylor Swift

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

Your daughter, Hana.

Amid the rapid-fire questions echoing in Namjoon's head, his pulse raced as you introduced the unexpected star of the show—

Who had just barged into the already tense conference room.

Like a small– But charming tornado. 

"Everyone, this is my daughter, Hana. Baby, say hi; they will work with mommy." You said sitting her on your lap.

"Hello, I’m Hana. I’m Three years old.” Hana greeted, her innocence oozing charm. 

She spoke korean. 

That made Namjoon smile.

Cute.

"Baby Hana, do you know who we are?" Jimin asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She nodded. Did she?

"You are Jimin, Jk, V, Jin, J-Hope, Suga, and… Rap Monster?” Hana’s innocent attempt earned laughter from everyone.

 Everyone but Namjoon.

He halted what he was doing, a sudden realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

She was three years old. 

And she looked like him.

Too much like him. 

“She’s so polite!” Jimin exclaimed.

“That’s so cute!” chimed in V.

“Are you an army, baby Hana?” Jin inquired, curious.

“No,” Hana replied. “I like Seventeen more.”  Jin's shocked expression made everyone burst with laughter.

“Oh! But we’re cooler than them!” Jin tried to protest.

“I’m sorry; she has her interests, and right now, she’s obsessed with Wonwoo from Seventeen.” you tried to explain. But Seokjin was already about to get into a fight with a three year old to prove that, In fact, BTS were much cooler. 

Not that Namjoon had a problem with Seventeen.

But he considered himself objectively cooler than them. 

He stopped mid thought. Why the hell is he caring so much of what a toddler thought?

"Hana! Here you are!" A tall man with glasses emerged, breaking the charm of the moment. "We apologize for the interruption. Our Hana tends to run too fast. I am Eric Lee, Stardom’s chief financial operator and Y/N’s husband," he added, the unnecessary detail sending a ripple through the room.

The oblivious members resumed their excitement, but Namjoon felt like a computer crashing and about to explode. The mathematical calculations in his head were on the brink of causing a stroke.

If Namjoon's eyes could kill, Eric would be a bloody stain on the floor. Jealousy surged within him, a feeling he knew he didn't deserve. 

But your daughter, she was three. 

That meant you met this person around the same time you broke up.

You surely moved fast.

The Eric guy apologized again and took Hana from your arms to take her outside. She smiled at everyone and waved goodbye. 

Her dimpled smile made Namjoon’s heart do a somersault.

The meeting continued as if background noise, but Namjoon's focus shifted to you, studying your face. That girl, she looked too much like him and nothing like this whoever-I-don’t-care guy. 

It couldn't be possible.

He admitted he hurt you. But you would never do that to him.

Right?

If that girl was his.

You would have told him.

But he looked too much like him.

And he needed to talk to you. 

💗💗💗FEBRUARY 2017💗💗💗

The conference room hummed with tension.

As the team gathered for a crucial meeting on the North American leg of their Wings Tour. Namjoon, the usually composed leader, wore a furrowed brow and an air of defiance. The discussion centered around their press schedules.

Namjoon's frustration boiled over as he voiced his stance, "I won't be a clown for them. We're artists. I won't subject the group to this circus. Where the only thing they ask us if we had ever eaten a hamburger"

You, seated across the table, shot him an incredulous look.

"Namjoon, we can't afford to cut the press schedules. If we want BTS to break into the mainstream music market, we need exposure. Press appearances are non-negotiable."

He scoffed, "Exposure won't matter if they don't take us seriously. I won't compromise our art for popularity."

The heated exchange drew the attention of the other members and the managers.

This was the third time this week.

And the main managers were starting to think if you were worht all this tenssion.

But you did get them an appearance on the three main late night shows in the US for their tour promotion.

So you two had to learn to get along.

The room crackled as you shot back, "This is not about compromising your art, Namjoon. It's about strategic promotion. We need the media to understand and appreciate you, all of you."

Namjoon's eyes flashed with anger, and just as the confrontation seemed to reach its peak, J-Hope intervened.

"I think it's enough. This is about the success of the group. We'll do what it takes to keep BTS in the public eye, and that includes press appearances."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the decision sinking in.

Yoongi, who had remained quiet, finally spoke up. "I get where Namjoon is coming from, but we have to adapt to the market. If this is what it takes, then we'll do it. And Namjoon, you have Y/N's support. She won't let us down."

You nodded, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. The resolution hung in the air as the team grudgingly agreed to move forward with the press schedules. 

The future of BTS in the North American market now rests on the delicate balance between you and him.

And none of you would give the other the satisfaction of a win. 

After the intense meeting, you needed a moment to decompress. So you headed to the lounge to join the stylist crew for lunch. 

The atmosphere was more relaxed here, a welcome change from the tension in the conference room. The aroma of delicious foods filled the air as you settled at the table with your colleagues.

As you unwrapped your lunch, the stylist crew delved into a gossip session. 

“Y/N-ssi, Do You know Ha-young? She’s from the makeup team” You nodded. “She just confessed to PD-nim that she caught one-sided feelings with one of the members” the younger stylist said leaning closer to you “Bad girl. She should have known better” 

“My money is on Jimin” one of them said and the others giggled. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the girl who had just lost her job. 

Their director was unforgiving. 

Just like they have told you on your first day here. Having any type of personal relationship with any of the members was the cardinal sin. 

Poor Ha-young, was going to be blacklisted from the industry, a harsh punishment for what was deemed reckless and unprofessional behavior.

Listening to the gossip, you couldn't help but shake your head. 

The idea of jeopardizing your career for a simple crush seemed both reckless and foolish.

As the chatter continued, you found yourself silently reaffirming your commitment to keeping personal and professional boundaries intact. 

That will never be you.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

“I am really sorry, doll,”

Yoongi murmured, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

“I don’t understand anything that’s happening,” you admitted, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. You patted Hana’s back as she slept peacefully unaware of the deep wound on her mother’s heart.

One that you would have to mend. 

To have the strength to raise a child…

By yourself.

“You know it takes time for him to wrap his head around things. He’ll know better, give him time,” Yoongi offered, his voice reflecting a hint of confusion and frustration with Namjoon's actions.

“I wish I had that luxury, Yoongi. But she’s here. She’s alive, she needs things. I can’t just go and say that I need time. She needs a parent… Both of us.” Yoongi sighed, understanding the gravity of the situation. 

“I considered it, you know? Not Having her” your heart sank confessing this for the first time outloud “But, I guess I was selfish, and I resent myself for it. The selfish side of me wanted to at least have this. But she’s so much more than just us. She’s so special.”

“I can see that,” he replied, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You hate babies, Min,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“This one’s alright. She’s a part of you too. And that makes her special.”

“I’m scared,” you confessed, vulnerability seeping into your words.

“I know, doll,” Yoongi reassured, his tone softening.

“I don’t know if I can be a good mom to her. I can’t do this alone.”

“First of all, you are not alone. Second of all, you are the most capable, hardworking, and kind person I’ve met. It’s going to be fucking hard? Yes, I’ll not sugarcoat it. But you got this.”

“I want to punch him in the face so much.” You felt the first tears start to fall from your eyes. 

“I know, doll. Me too,” Yoongi admitted, the unspoken understanding between you two creating a bond of shared frustration and support.

Yoongi placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his gaze filled with both empathy and frustration. "Look, Y/N, I know Namjoon, and this is so unlike him. We've been through everything together for more than ten years, and he's not the type to turn away from responsibilities. There has to be something else going on."

Your eyes filled up with tears again, a mixture of sadness and anger. "I just don't understand why he sent his mother, with an envelope full of money instead of facing us himself. It feels like he's treating us like a burden."

Yoongi's expression hardened, a rare sight for someone known for his calm demeanor. "He messed up big time, and he needs to face the consequences. You and Hana deserve better."

"I thought he loved me. I thought we meant something to each other," you confessed, your voice cracking.

"He does, Y/N. I can't explain his actions, but I've never seen him act this way. Whatever it is, he needs to sort it out. Meanwhile, you focus on being the amazing mother I know you can be."

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Yoongi pulled you into a tight embrace. "I'm here for you, Y/N. We all are. BTS isn't just about the stage; we're a family and both of you are a part of it. Families stick together, no matter what."

As you let out a shaky breath, a mixture of gratitude and sadness, you whispered, "Thank you, Yoongi."

"Anytime, doll. You’ve got this," he reassured, his words carrying a promise of solidarity and support. The hotel room, once filled with the weight of uncertainty, now held a glimmer of hope amid the storm of emotions.

You’ve got this. 

You had to. 

💗💗💗MARCH 2017💗💗💗

They just got nominated to an international award.

Everyone else was celebrating their milestone.

But Namjoon just couldn't enjoy it as much as he wanted to.

He was happy.

For the first time in his life he felt like they were finally receiving the praise they deserved for their art and their hard work.

But the weight of their public persona and the fine lines they could never cross as idols in Korea, was growing heavier by day. And the endless possibilities of major exposure scared the fuck out of him.

They were on their six date of the tour when he felt like he was going to die.

The air backstage in Newark was thick with the aftermath of Namjoon's exhaustion-fueled breakdown.

You found him leaning against a wall, a cigarette between his fingers. He couldn’t hide the trembling of his hands.

"That's an awful habit you have right there," you commented, eyeing the smoke.

"I can say the same to you," he retorted, nodding at the Coca-Cola can in your hand. "What can I say, everyone picks their own poison." you smiled at him honestly. For the first time. 

Surprisingly, it led to the first civil conversation between you two.

You leaned against the wall beside him, sipping your cola, the fizz providing a rhythmic contrast to the quiet.

He broke the silence, "You know, sometimes I feel like I'm just a puppet, dancing to whatever tune the media plays."

"It’s okay to feel tired sometimes, you know?" you offered.

"I do, but being their leader and their spokesperson. I can’t afford to be nervous or too tired," Namjoon admitted. "I speak for myself in these interviews. It is a huge weight on my shoulders to speak for everyone. Sometimes they might not agree with what I’m saying."

"Yeah, I reckon Panda Express being your favorite restaurant in America is a pretty controversial opinion," you teased, earning a hearty laugh from him.

"Do you think they are going to ever take us seriously?" he asked with a laugh and a touch of desperation.

"They better do. You guys will own this industry one day."

He shot you a grateful smile, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to ease.

"That is a pretty controversial opinion. I am a 'what’s your favorite American food' away from literally losing it," he confessed.

"You know," you began, changing the topic with a playful grin, "I think your controversial opinions are what make you more human to your fans. They love you for being real."

Namjoon chuckled, the tension dissipating. "Maybe I should start a blog—'Kim Namjoon's Unfiltered Thoughts.'"

"You might break the internet with that," you joked, enjoying the rare camaraderie.

As the conversation lightened, you both shared a laugh, finding solace in this unexpected connection. The backstage chaos seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of understanding.

"You'll do fine. You always do," you reassured him.

"Thank you."

As a friendly gesture, you pulled a small disinfectant from your pocket.

"Manager Sejin was looking for you; you better use this before he finds you. You don't want him scolding you for the smell." you said before turning away to head back inside. 

Namjoon chuckled, taking the disinfectant. "Thanks, Y/N. For being here."

"Anytime, Joon," you replied, the use of the nickname a testament to the newfound camaraderie

He smiled, and the scent of the disinfectant mixed with your fragrance, like flowers in the air.

As Namjoon walked away, disappearing into the backstage hustle, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. 

"Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, it was Sejin, the ever-watchful manager, threading through the maze of crew members and equipment.

You approached him, noting the stern expression on his face. "Mr. Sejin, you were looking for Namjoon?"

He nodded, "Yes, he needs to wrap up the interviews and rest. The schedule is tight, and we can't afford any delays."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness toward Namjoon. "He's doing his best, Sejin. But he's human, not a machine."

Namjoon was about to walk to where you were but that coment made him freeze on his feet.

Sejin sighed, his stern expression softening. "I know, Y/N. I just worry about them all. The pressure is immense."

"It is, but moments like these," you gestured to the chaotic backstage, "it is good remind them that they're not alone."

He offered a small smile, appreciating the sentiment. "You're right. Well, let's make sure Namjoon gets some rest."

As you both navigated the backstage maze, you didn’t know he listened to the conversation. And he couldn't shake off the unexpected warmth that had emerged from the brief encounter with you. 

The chaotic world of stardom was vast, but in that moment, a connection had formed—one that hinted at the resilience and humanity behind the larger-than-life personas.

Maybe you weren’t that bad.

💗💗💗AUGUST 2021💗💗💗

You had gone to a therapist when Hana was two. 

The therapist's office had become a sanctuary for you, you needed guidance on the hard task of being a single mother to Hana. 

She was going to ask the inevitable questions about her father one day. And you needed to know what to say. But no amount of therapy could have prepared yourself for this day. 

Hana was smart, too smart for her age. 

And when you came back from a playdate at her friends house. 

She wanted answers to her questions. 

"Why don't I have a daddy?"

You two were back in her room getting ready to sleep and you knew that question was coming.

You took a deep breath as you sat next to her, trying to find the right words. "All families are different, baby. Some have a mommy and a daddy. Some have two mommies or two daddies. Some, like ours, have a mommy and all your uncles and aunts. Isn't that fun?"

"It is fun," she replied, but the dissatisfaction lingered in her eyes. She had more questions, and you knew your initial answer wasn't enough.

And now she discovered kpop. 

And she was obsessed with it. 

You felt like throwing up everytime you saw him on your screen. 

The bitter reminder that she deserved to know the truth. However, you weren't ready to shatter the illusion just yet. Telling anyone that her father was the leader of the biggest music group in history seemed unbelievable.

You knew how crazy you will sound.

Even your therapist had a hard time believing your story the first time you went to her.

But, your daughter was the living image of her father.

And you had shown her your old Big Hit contract for her to finally believe you.

"So I don’t have a dad?" Hana's expectant eyes pleaded for an honest answer.

"You do have one. He is living his dream, making millions of people happy," you stammered, your hands trembling as you combed her hair. Even though Hana was still a child, she sensed the discomfort and wisely chose not to press the topic any further—for today.

Later that night, as if the universe mocked you, he appeared on your TV screen. "I want to be a dad," he confessed to the interviewer, his smile was radiant as always. It felt like a punch to your stomach, the wine glass slipping from your hand and staining the new rug.

Fuck him. 

He was a dad. He just chose not to be one. 

The fandom even had the joke that he had a hidden wife and kids. 

You entertained thoughts of shattering his public image, creating rumors that could strip away the disarming smile he flaunted. But the truth was, you could never inflict that pain on your daughter.

As the wine stain marred your rug, you vowed to shield Hana from the harsh realities as long as you could. But beneath your composed exterior, a storm of emotions raged.

Just for a little longer.

She will soon be old enough to understand.

But you didn't look forward breaking her heart with the news that her father didn't want her in his life.

💗💗💗FEBRUARY 2018💗💗💗

Everyone was tense.

The word disbandment floated heavily on the air. 

After this morning’s team meeting things were pretty rough. 

They were tired. 

They felt like nothing was working in their favor. 

Some of the members wanted a break. 

Some of them wanted to keep going. 

He had to remain unbiased. 

You knew how unfair it was. 

For him and for all of them.

Message from NJ:  meet me upstairs. studio. 

You knew what that meant. 

He wanted to fuck the frustration away. 

And you would be lying if  you said you didn’t want to. 

This was the riskiest thing you've ever done yet. You knew how dangerous it was for you especially. You were breaking your own rule and you were being careless. 

You knew perfectly well what were the consecuences of what you were doing.

But you couldn’t get to care enough to stop you from hurriedly hitting the lock combination of his Studio. 

His tired eyes greeted you. And a second later you were pinned to the wall behind you, hands everywhere and not enough at the same time.

And you wanted to ignore how much it hurt you that you were just this to him.

A relief.

“I missed this” he whispered against your lips. His tounge tasting your lower lips. Wanting to savour everything before devouring it all at once.

You missed it too. 

But you were too stubborn to say it outloud. 

And he was too, trying to pretend that he missed this whatever you had going on.

Instead of just you. 

As always it started like a fight for dominance. His kisses carrying a hunger that transcended mere physical release. The urgency in his touch revealed a deeper need, one he was too stubborn to acknowledge.

Namjoon steps between your thighs and you can feel how much he needed this. His body is warm against yours as he lowers his lips to kiss down the column of your neck.

"You smell so good" you feel the soft breeze of his breath against your skin. And before you could reciprocate his words you felt the sharp pain of his teeth biting the same spot of your skin he just kissed a second ago.

"Namjoon-" a small whisper leaves your lips and a wave of conflicted feelings wash over his body.

He wanted to drown the world around you.

Where only the two of you existed.

And that scared him.

How much he really needed you.

He lifted you, his grip momentarily loosing his balance, and both of you erupted into laughter as you tumbled onto the sofa. "I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes holding a vulnerability that surpassed the laughter. "I'm just... I'm so tired."

His heart was breaking. 

With a gentle smile, you cupped his cheek, your thumb wiping away his tears. "It’s okay, Joonie. Everything is going to be okay."

Your words rendered him defenseless. He was so tired of pretending he didn’t feel safe in your arms. He wrapped his arms around you and you could feel his body trembling with sobs. 

He called you to fuck his frustration out of his system. 

Just like you’ve been doing for a few months now. 

But now on his studio floor he had a realization he wasn’t ready to confess just yet. 

Everything else he had been saying to himself about you was a lie.

How he didn’t care; that you were just a passing crush. That he was too tired and too frustrated and that you both enjoyed each other’s company. That you were only good sex to him.

All of that was a lie.

As he kept crying and hugging you on his studio floor. 

Both of you came to the same conclusion silently. 

This wasn’t just sex; friends-with-benefits secret thing you had going on. 

It was something much more complicated. 

Something that could potentially destroy you.

The two of you stayed in silence on the floor, still wrapped on each other's arms.

That was the moment Namjoon realized.

He called you for sex.

But he just needed you.

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

A Battleground.

That's how the room felt like it had become a battleground of emotions, the air thick with tension as memories and unspoken words lingered between you and Namjoon.

He dragged you into a conference room. It had been a week since you had met again and they were preparing to go back to Korea. 

There was silence.

The air froze between the two of you. Alone for the first time in three years, you imagined this moment so many times. You could almost play out how it was going to go. 

Last time you were alone in a conference room he told you he loved you. Whispered like an oath against your lips.

Just like the one you were in.

Today he stared back at you, all his movements were calculated. As if he was making sure it was real. That the girl who was playing outside in your office was just a dream… 

Or a joke. 

It felt like a joke. 

And you both were the punchline. 

Namjoon's gaze intensified, the atmosphere heavy with unsaid words. Finally, the tension snapped as he demanded, "Is she... mine? That girl, is she my daughter?." His voice, sharp and accusing, cut through the room.

For a small heartbeat of time you considered lying.

But what was the point? He knew. He just chose to ignore it. 

"Yes, Namjoon, she's your daughter," you replied, your voice strained, trying to keep a semblance of control. “Her name is Hana Lee.”

Two heartbeats passed before he spoke again. And you realized This was a Namjoon you did not know. The young man you once knew, was filled with raw emotions and always had something to say. Usually, he spoke way before he thought. 

The man before you was a diplomat. You could see his mind working, calculating all the right words to say next. 

He was deflecting, you knew what he was doing.

You trained him to do that.

He was controlling his real emotions and speaking like at a press conference.

“Lee?” His voice started to fill with an anger that seethed beneath the surface. Like molten lava fighting the cracks of a volcano to rise to the surface. 

You were too civil, faking control and composure. And you both knew it was a matter of seconds before all hell broke loose. 

"You gave another man's last name to my daughter" his eyes darkened in disbelief and you couldn't help but chuckle at his nonsense.

If he was going to be this cruel.

You could play the game just as well.

You both were used to tearing each other into pieces anyway.

"You weren't there to give her yours, so." your voice sounded even more cynical than you intended it to be “She has my husband’s last name.”

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" 

A sour chuckle escaped your lips “Did you expect a wedding invite?”. 

He clenched his jaw furrowing his eyebrows. “I meant… the fact that I have a daughter.”

"I did," you shot back, frustration bubbling over. "Got on a plane for sixteen hours with a baby on my lap. But you didn't want to see me. You sent money and told me to stay away. What was I supposed to do?"

Namjoon's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"You don't know what I’m talking about” You repeated, bitterness lacing your words. “Let me refresh your memory, shall we? Your mother and  Sejin handed me an envelope full of money, told me to disappear." You were shouting now, you realized. You didn’t know when you started to shout.

All the things you have wanted to say for  three years started to flow out of you like a dam that had just broken.

And the water would destroy everything on its way.

Starting with the both of you.

Namjoon's expression twisted in confusion. "I would never do that to you." his tone was accusatory now “I didn’t know. There has to be another reason.”

“And what other reason would I have to raise a child by myself? With no more than two suitcases and sleeping on Hyung-Joon’s couch for a year.” Anger surged within you. "Oh yeah. Because having an unplanned child out of wedlock would have 'destroyed you and Bangtan,' as your manager put it. Since you just didn't have enough balls to say it to my face."

Namjoon's features shifted from confusion to a hint of regret. "I... I didn't know. I would never have done that."

“I don’t understand what game you’re playing right now Kim Namjoon, but I’ll tell you something. It 's over. I will not let you make fun of us anymore” Your throat tightened and the tears started to itch your eyes. “You left me a letter, remember? and the text message after that. “I hope you understand”.” you said, mocking his voice.

He was about to speak but you didn't let him.

"They said you didn't want anything to do with us. And that if I ever came back, they would take Hana away from me. That I was just a minor mistake, an experience you just needed to have'' Tears were falling down your cheeks, you couldn’t pretend anymore. It hurt too much. "Riding the white horse isn't what you call it, right? And that my daughter was just the consequence of my own carelessness. That I should have known better."

“That didn’t… I didn’t” 

“You didn't do what?” You turned your face to see the windows, unable to look at him anymore. "You can't just waltz in here and pretend like you didn’t know," you said, your voice cracking with rage. "You missed everything, Namjoon."

“Y/n” his voice was barely a whisper as you felt his finger touch your wrist. Electricity traveled through your whole body. “I was waiting for you, but you never came.” 

“Bullshit” 

“Why didn't you come back to me?" Namjoon's voice softened, regret coloring his words. 

Your laughter was bitter, filled with the pain of betrayal. "You sent me away, Namjoon. I couldn't just come back after that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I waited for you at the hotel. I called you so many times that day." he said, desperation lacing his voice. "I waited for hours and you never came. Do you really believe that I wouldn't have taken responsibility for my daughter? That I would send her away? Send you away?"

He was close, too close to you now. 

You could bear his presence from a distance.

But not this close.

This close you couldn't pretend that your heart wasn't reaching out to him.

"I don't know, Namjoon. When you have a child, a life to protect. You would do anything to keep them safe. From anyone and everything. Not that you would know any of that" The words slipped from you before you realized how low of a blow was that. But you couldn't find yourself regretting it.

"Because we both know what you would choose if it came between the group or us." You stopped and smiled at him bitterly "And I understand, Namjoon. I truly do. You were finally living the dream you sacrificed everything for. I don't blame you anymore for it."

"I understand"

And you truly did.

You knew how much he sacrificed.

He fought for his success with teeth and nails.

They all did.

And you knew how unfair it would have been to ask for him to drop everything for you and your daughter.

You understood him.

And that was the worst of it.

"I could never do that to you. I love you, and I always have," he said, desperation lacing his voice.

There were those words again. 

Whispered in the quiet peace of an empty conference room. 

Last time they were the mischief of a shared secret. 

Today they felt like a confession to a crime. 

You were about to respond when you heard a small knock on the door. Your eyes never left Namjoon's, the intensity of the unspoken words lingering between you like a heavy fog.

Namjoon stepped back, breaking the physical connection between you. He cleared his throat, the diplomat persona returning, but the vulnerability in his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. "We're not done," he said, a mixture of command and plea in his voice.

As the door creaked open, your eyes darted to see a petite figure standing there, a shadow in the doorway. Hana's eyes mirrored yours, wide and uncertain as she looked between the two adults. The air thickened with tension, the past colliding with the present in a collision of conflicting emotions.

"Mommy, who is he?" 

Hana's innocent voice cut through the charged atmosphere. Her gaze shifted from you to Namjoon, her curiosity evident. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

Namjoon's eyes softened as he looked at Hana, and for a moment, the hardened exterior cracked. "I'm... a friend of your mommy's," he said, his words carefully chosen.

"A friend?" Hana repeated in Korean, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She might be young, but she wasn't oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.

She was smart. Even for her age, she was quick to understand the things that were in front of her.

Just like him.

You knelt down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Yes, sweetheart, just a friend," you assured her, shooting a pointed glance at Namjoon. 

The distance between you felt like an unbridgeable abyss.

Namjoon, sensing the tension, attempted a reassuring smile, but it looked strained. "I heard you like drawing. Do you draw a lot?" he asked, trying to engage Hana in a conversation that felt more awkward than casual.

Hana nodded, her gaze never leaving Namjoon. "I like drawing flowers," she replied, the tension in the room momentarily diffusing as she shared a piece of her world.

Namjoon crouched down to her eye level, a genuine smile softening his features. 

"Flowers are beautiful. Maybe you can show me your drawings sometime?" he suggested.

Hana's eyes flickered between you and Namjoon, processing the complex dynamics in the room. "Okay, but only if Mommy says it's okay," she declared, a hint of protectiveness in her voice.

Namjoon glanced at you, seeking approval. You nodded slightly, acknowledging the silent agreement. Hana's presence had inadvertently shifted the focus, giving you a momentary reprieve from the emotional confrontation.

As Namjoon and Hana engaged in a tentative conversation about art and colors, you retreated to the periphery, watching the scene unfold.

The wounds of the past were still raw, the emotions tangled, but for Hana's sake, you found a fragile truce with the man who once held your heart.

The journey from enemies to reluctant allies had just begun, and the path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in the complexities of a shared history that demanded resolution.

"Y/N, we need to talk" Hyung-Joon reappeared at the door, his voice filled with urgency and you nodded.

You knew this shouting match with Namjoon would bring consequences.

And you felt for a second that you just stepped into the past.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

Well hello!

First of all, THANK YOU. I am so happy to see all the love this story is getting and it means the world to me. Every comment, like and repost I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

And now, some notes for context:

This story is inspired on real events and people. But it is not a real representation or is trying to say that any of this happened IRL. With that beign said I'll take some creative licenses and adapt things that happened to the plot of the story.

2. I fucked up.... math is not my thing guys. Hana is three years old not four. Im sorry.

3. We all want a supportive friend like Yoongi in our lives.

4. The story is written in time skips, but the main storyline is March 2022 'The present' And some dates WILL be changed for the story to make sense.

I'm really exited for you guys to see what's next!!

Love,

Ria. 💗💗💗💗💗💗 TAG LIST: @felicityroth @cuteipat @jjinjo @mochimommy2002 @amarawayne @canarystwin Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

[anitalianfrie]

I am begging you to translate this: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7eN1flsqvO/?igsh=Y3R5MGFuMWdiZzNr

(It is several minutes long though and will probably be a huge pain so no pressure!)

sure! here's the link . I recommend watching the video while you read this bc the volg is cut really weird, there's not one long conversation and what happens in the video is pretty useful to understand what's going on in the translation. unfortunately i wasn't able to translate some bits, but i tried my best

as always, my comments/specifications are in between []

Mig: hello everyone, I've arrived at bez's house. Cele's not here yet

Mig: hey

Bez: sium

Mig: I couldn't not start a video like this, could i?

Bez: with the plane

Mig: with the plane. it gives it the look of a vlog, doesn't it? We're waiting for Cele

Bez: the excruciating wait

--

Cele: I'm at the roundabout, the one with the car dealers

Bez: what car dealer bro?

Cele: ehhhh, the ones that-

mig: what kind of question is that

Cele: i don't know, anyways i'm here, two minutes and i'm there

Bez: okay, okay

Mig: two minutes like those before, or two real minutes?

Bez: sorry, but what car does he have?

Cele: the Cupra

Bez: yes, here he is, here he is

Mig: listen to him

Mig: tac!

Mig: in the end, [something i don't get]

Bez: we're ready

Cele: the boots for Mugello, because I go to Mugello. With stile.

Mig: well, it's not like those boots are super new. Understandable. you- why-

Bez: one different from the other

Mig: one different from the other

Cele: obviously. I even have another pair even more broken

Mig: but the backpack is the right one

Cele: yes [something i don't get]

Mig: well i mean, we stay away the night but, whatever. everybody- this pair [of boots] is in a bit of a better state than the other one

Cele: yes. better. [cele shows the boot to the camera]

Mig: this one is perfect

Cele: nooo

Mig: two left boots

Bez: but the others are left and right

Cele: yes, I know, but-

Mig: what shoe size do you wear?

Cele: but what if I slip on the left?

Mig: what's your shoe size bro?

Cele: 40, 41, 42

Mig: You can borrow mine

[here's the song they were listening to in the car]

--

--

Franky: Marco

Bez: Franky! how is it?

Franky: everything's okay

Mig: hi Chicco! [chicco is usually the nickname given to people named federico. knowing mig this is a reference of some sort i'm not able to place]

Bez: yes, we were doing a round fo calls, we wanted to know how you were

Franky: everythings alright

Franky: there's also Celestino, what is he doing

Cele: hi Franco

Franky: what is he doing?

BEz: he's here, he's here

Mig: hi Franco!

Franky: hi Celes!

Cele: hi!

[i assume bez's laugh here is bc franco is completely ignoring mig wich. hilarious to me]

Franco: hi!

--

[second song they were listening to. yes it's calcutta i almost couldn't believe my ears]

mig: we're here. one hour and- almost two hours later

--

Bez: ohi where are you?

Pecco: at the hotel

Bez: in hotel?

Pecco: have you arrived yet?

Bez: ah so you've arrived before us

Pecco: well, obviously

Mig: we're here

Bez: we've arrived just now

Pecco: ok, then now we'll go downstairs, let's meet in the lobby at eight. which is now.

Bez: we're here now, now we park

Mig: i would do the check in, and then we go back downstairs

--

Mig: here they are, here they are

Mig: it's like in shining

Cele: we can go to misano directly tomorrow

Pecco: if we go back in time, we go

--

Mig: hello everyone, ehhh we're ready we've woken up and now we go to the circuit, we go to the others

Mig: now, where are our champions? Let's go see near the car. oh, here they are

Mig: Come on! Good morning! Let's go, come on! and sbam!

--

Mig: you do the greeting, this is the classical greeting when you arrive at the circuit, you rise your hand

--

Guy: - because we were thinking of putting down the names of singers, or-

Cami: the name on the transponder is the name of a singer

Pecco: for me either Steve Taylor or Francesco Renga. Now i have to decide

Franco: good morning

--

Mig: ehhh, what's the theme? Singers or bands, or like is it the same...

Guy: singers

--

Mig: my denstist will be proud of me. Shoutout to Doctor Bausi, he's the number one. Super important [something i don't get bc of the toothbrush]

Bez: you cut three, four tens of a second each lap

--

[all the conversations in the box were either very difficult to hear or with too little context to make them translatable (or even useful to translate) sorry]

--

Mig: well guys, this is all, from the track, now the return trip awaits us

--

Mig: that's true, we stayed on the phone the whole time, but now we're here.

Bez: yeah

Mig: bye. we're here, and nothing else. we go home, it was amazing, and... do you have something to declare to end this- here there's a knee slider by the way, i guess it's vietti's... is it yours?

Bez: i declare that.. this return trip has been one of the greatest trip of all time, with a group phone call of...

Mig: one hour and fifteen

Bez: one hour and fifteen

Mig: since before Bologna

Bez: we never felt alone, we felt cuddled by our friends

Cele: we never felt this close

--

Mig: there's a spider, it doesn't open

Bez: can i say it now? you didn't do as you- what is that, what rug is that?

Mig: it's nice isn't it

Bez: where did you stole it from?

Mig: i bought it. I bought it from Toriani, a carpet- from Toriani Tavullia's hardware store, a rug with the sun and the moon, for a step, this a step rug

--

Mig: bye everyone, it's been great

Cele: thank you [while hugging bez]

Mig: it's been a pleasure

[miley1442111]

down bad- jj maybank

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

a/n: yes, i am a swifty- sorry lmao. I was thinking of doing a story for every track but we'll see how that ends up lol.

intended for fem!reader

summary: based off of down bad by taylor swift

pairings: jj maybank x fem!reader, (platonic) rafe cameron x adopted sister

warnings: break-ups, no happy ending

Did you really beam me up

In a cloud of sparkling dust

Just to do experiments on

Tell me I was the chosen one

Show me that this world is bigger than us

Then send me back where I came from?

It was another party and another useless attempt at calling Jj. You sat in the corner, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids, yet you stayed. You stayed for the small chance that Jj might come. It might’ve been your birthday, but you’d never been less merry in your life.

For a moment, I knew cosmic love

What happened? You two had been the pogue couple. You two were perfect for each other, his teenage petulance, your logical mindset. You were going to college on the mainland, you’d probably bring him with you. At least, that’s what the entire island thought. 

You were his sense. You were his saviour. You stopped his excessive drinking and smoking. You were there for him every time he stood up to his father. You helped him with schoolwork when everyone else had given up on him. You stayed by his side, always. 

And he discarded you. 

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym (Cryin' at the gym)

Everything comes out teenage petulance

Fuck it if I can't have him (Fuck it if I can't have him)

I might just die, it would make no difference

Down bad, wakin' up in blood (Wakin' up in blood)

Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up

Fuck it if I can't have us

I might just not get up, I might stay

You sat there all night, waiting for a sign of him. He didn’t show. He forgot your birthday. He must’ve really been done with you. 

As you swept up the remnants of a party you didn’t want, a familiar voice rang through the house. 

“You alright?” Rafe, your brother. You wanted to scream, but you took a deep breath instead, a pleasant smile on your tear-stained face. 

“Fine,” you lied. “How are you?”

“I heard Jj left you,” he sighed. “I’m sorry-”

“If you’re here to gloat Rafe, I’m not in the mood,” you sighed. “Just go.”

He didn’t move. “I’m sorry-”

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hand off you. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m here for you, you know that, right?” 

You didn’t want Rafe to be there for you, you wanted Jj to be there for you. You hadn’t felt rejection and devastation like this break-up. Jj was your first love, your first everything. Every time you closed your eyes you felt his hands on your body, his whispers in your ear, his smile on your skin. 

Down bad (Like I lost my twin)

Fuck it if I can't have him (Down bad)

Down bad (Wavin' at the ship)

Fuck it if I can't have him

“You’re my everything,” he whispered, a hand dusting your waist. “We don’t have to do anything.”

You shook your head. “I want to,” you promised. 

“You sure princess?” he smiled. You nodded. 

I loved your hostile take-overs

Encounters closer and closer

All your indecent exposures

How dare you say that it's?

I'll build you a fort on some planet

Where they can all understand it

How dare you think it's romantic

Leaving me safe and stranded?

'Cause fuck it, I was in love

So fuck you if I can't have us

(Ah)

'Cause fuck it, I was in love

You opened your eyes again, tears spilling freely. “Get out Rafe.”

“I don’t think you want that.”

“I do,” You sobbed. “I want you and everyone else on this shitty island out of my fucking life! I can’t fucking wait to get out of here, away from you and fucking away from Jj! I hate you Rafe, truthfully, I do. But I hate Jj even more, and you’re just here because your dad asked you to be and we both know it, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”

Jj stilled, the flowers in his hand falling to the floor. You turned at the sound and another choked sob left your throat. 

“Get out of my life!” You shouted, running up the stairs to your bedroom. 

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym (Cryin' at the gym)

Everything comes out teenage petulance

Fuck it if I can't have him (Can't have him)

I might just die, it would make no difference

Down bad, wakin' up in blood (Wakin' up in blood)

Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up

Fuck it if I can't have us

I might just not get up,I might stay

Rafe sighed and looked at Jj. “What the fuck are you doing here man?”

“I wanted to see her,” he mumbled.

“You fucked her up, get out,” Rafe was baring his teeth. “I’m not telling you twice.”

“Please-” he tried but Rafe just sighed. 

Down bad (Like I lost my twin)

Fuck it if I can't have him (I'm down bad)

Down bad (Wavin' at the ship)

Fuck it if I can't have him

The summer months passed, you went to the mainland for an internship and slowly tried to forget about Jj. He forgot about you. You dreamt of him every night, wished for him every day.You left thousands of messages. 

He didn’t read them.

Like I lost my twin

Fuck it if I can't have him

Down bad (Wavin' at the ship)

Fuck it if I can't have him

[tojifile]

@Dazai Osamu . . . ( ﾉ´ヮ`) ﾉ

Tags: ada!dazai, camgirl!reader, mentions of sex, suggestive, pining, cursing

A/N: Since a lot of people liked the first part I’m going to write chapter two. No, they don’t have sex. And Yes, the chapter title is a Taylor Swift reference. No, I am not a swiftie, I am a casual enjoyer. (December Mo: Hi guys, this will be my LAST post with the old style and probably the last time I’ll be doing a long, drawn-out fic. The old title was ‘Whiskey on Ice’ so that explains what I said before.)

Inspo: Mingwa’s BJ Alex. Links: Part 1 , Masterlist

Camgirl’s Crush – 💋

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to a bar with me tonight, since you did say I was such a good boy today.” Dazai whispered seductively in your ear. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck, “O- okay..” you nervously spoke. Dazai had a way of making you feel nervous at times, especially when his moves are sensual.

You’ve experienced teasing and flirting before, but when he whispers in your ear, when he pays attention to your idiosyncrasies, when he takes you out on little dates; only to disguise it as “work lunch” you feel—special.

Dazai was still holding you by the waist as you walked back to the agency to clock out. You told him that the both of you had to do it before going to the bar to which Dazai reluctantly agreed; he just wanted to make you happy. “Osamu-kun, people might make up stories if they see us together like this..”

Like he cared anyways. He chuckled at your worries, “Ah darling! You don’t need to worry about that! Pretty soon, those rumors would be true anyways, yeah?” Without thinking, you immediately respond, “yeah!”

You then realized what you just said. Your face turned red and you looked away from Dazai. “I- ‘m.. sorry.” You nervously mumbled. Dazai found your actions adorable! You were just so cute, he wanted to keep you all to himself.

Once you got to the agency, Dazai hurriedly clocked the both of you out while you waited for him downstairs. While he was upstairs, you thought of your moments with Dazai, you wanted him so bad. You’d fantasize about him during your streams and sometimes—at work. You were definitely not proud of that.

“Darling!” Dazai’s words snapped you back into reality. He ran to you then scooped you up into his arms, carrying you roughly to the bar. “Osamu!! Put me down!” You huffed.

But he didn’t, and you were happy. He almost makes you want to quit streaming. You just want to be his and you hope he wants to be yours. You just held onto him tightly, silently hoping he liked you back.

Dazai smiled softly as you held onto him tightly. He liked you like this, sweet and vulnerable. If there was one thing on his mind, it’d be if there was someone else or not, if you heard of him—IU, and if you could hear the love in him, waiting to burst.

His touchiness with you didn’t stop when you got to the bar. Not that you expected it to, but it was quite the opposite. He placed you on top of him, with your back to his chest as his bandaged arms encircled your waist.

He bought you drinks, obviously, he wanted you drunk. Dazai wanted to take advantage of his cute little coworker who may or may not be his favorite cam girl, not that he watches any other.

“Darling..” he whispered in a deep, sultry voice. “Wanna go home to my place? I’ll take care of you, I promise.” You only nodded in response. You knew you shouldn’t, you knew this couldn’t be. But you were only human, a slave to your urges. And right now, what you want is Dazai Osamu.

He gently laid you on his bed once you got to his apartment. Can you believe he carried you all the way there? It was his fault anyways, he got you so drunk!

“So cute..” he whispered underneath his breath. “‘Samu..” you called out softly. You then put your arms up, opening and closing your fists, wanting him to give you a hug. God! If you were sober this would’ve been embarrassing, acting like a fucking baby?!

“Hold me!!” You whined, to which Dazai chuckled. But he still happily complied. Taking off your shoes and sitting beside you on his bed, pulling you closer to his body. “Such a cute girl..” he whispered as he gave you a kiss on the cheek.

As the clock struck 10PM he saw that there was no new livestream, but there was an announcement. But he knew you had typed this out when you were waiting for him downstairs as he clocked the both of you out. Such a sneaky girl.

There was no going back now that Dazai knew that his adorable, seemingly innocent coworker was a cam girl.

@toxicramune @oh-my-beel @nymphsdomain @morinuu – Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

++ @yasu-masashige @ninin8nin (who asked for pt.2)