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beomiracles · 3 days ago

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SQUEE I'M SO SAT FOR THIS ONE,, especially since you've mentioned that the mc is based a lot off of me >.<

First of all, the introduction scene omg. It captures both characters so beautifully, and it creates such a stark contrast between the two!! His gloomy, angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it theme runs so strong. The way he describes mc with such resentment, but but but also a smidge of hidden adoration… You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. Well excuse you then? you’re not slick.

You draw this picture of them being sun and moon, which I really really love — but I can already tell they’re also going to be so similar. They both give off such stubborn vibes. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” She doesn’t care for his insults and still flashes him a smile, and he, despite immature hatred (cough) stays because he refuses to give up the rink.

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. Aimed. But, whatever… (I love you)

The way she tries to be optimistic even when he’s being a jerk is crazy,, STAND ON BUSINESS GIRL. “He’s just hurt”, no no no we don’t do this around here… (we do). I can’t even be mad at her, I need to just hug her tight I think.

Hello the second scene of them skating together?? It paints his anger and frustration so perfectly, especially the way he reacts to Ruka’s compliments — and the mc, not quite jealous but also not quite okay, like a small small cloud brushing past her shining sun. And when she goes to offer him help?? I love her straightforwardness, and the fact that his cold demeanour literally does nothing to deter her. She knows she’s right and she’s not afraid to let him know either, nor is she afraid of his answer.

I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. — god she’s so me what if I just shrivel up into nothing and disappear. No like her consistent rambling… sister I get you, I never know when to shut up and I’m horrible at reading people and realise when they want me to shut up.

TOLD YOU THEY WAS BOTH STUBBORN UHUH. Her pushing him to let her help, and him hating it but refusing to give up.

Ruka what… I actually had hope for her. “She’s actually really depressing.” What if my fist connects with your jaw, then what? That’d be depressing. Sorry I’m get in my feelings over this, but the way she chased him down? Nu-huh.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” THIS LINE IS HARD SO SO HARD. Because how worth it is even success if it leaves you with nothing?? And you worded it so perfectly, I was stuck rereading it a couple of times before moving on I’m so serious.

“Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” OH BUT YOU DIDN’T OH BUT YOU DID NOTTTTTTTT. Liar liar pants on fire!! She thought uh-huh, her ahh really thought but no no no. and the way mc just accepts it, doesn’t burst her bubble — it’s like being edged but in the most satisfactory way possible, like I just know this climax is gonna be so good.

The kiss caught me so off guard holy hell— I had to do a double take to make sure I even read it right. But it fits the moment so well! He’s finally gotten to where they have been working toward for so long, and his smile squeee >_< the way her breath catches at the sight, like girl mine would too, and then she just leans in to kiss him. I LOVE WHEN THE WOMAN TAKES INITIATIVE. — but omh, then he doesn’t kiss her back?? My heart dropped again and I literally held my breath for a good thirty seconds until I read that he did in fact kiss her, but their kisses were so different, and so perfect. Then the fact that they just go back to skating like nothing happened? But we all know it’s on both of their minds… THE TENSION it’s actually killing me what the hell.

Sunghoon defending her. I’m floored. eff that effing bitch who showed up at his house, and even more so for trying to spread lies and poison all over sunghoon and mc.

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. — this is the moment he finds himself again idc idc idc I can feel it in my toes. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” Take that back. Right now.

Ruka gots to have a sixth sense or something, or she’s just a stalker because why is she there when shit goes down?? Always ready to twist and turn every single word and action and grind it into poison to feed others.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart. Okay pause, this entire montage is so so so important I feel. Because it really highlights the mc as something we haven’t seen before in the fic. She’s always been portrayed as bubbly yet indifferent when it comes to critique and negative comments/things that should offend her. But this scene really highlights her actual feelings, the hurt and most importantly the anger that she’s always kept buried. It really shows more, if not all of her and it deepens her character immensely imo, and I love her for always being so kind and forgiving, but it’s about time she clapped back, even to Sunghoon.

Communication is so key, I love their honest and open conversation toward the very end. It’s mature but it’s also so raw because he’s really giving himself completely to her. It ties the story perfectly together and it really shows just how much she’s influenced him to believe in things he never thought to be possible before, and I’m talking both his hockey playing and love.

So my final thoughts — and I have many, because I, too, can never shut up. Ruka is honestly a much more complex character than what I think a lot of people might say. We don’t know much about her when you really think about it, which is why I really want to highlight the scene where she stands outside the rink and witnesses their kiss. It’s the only time we actually get a glimpse into her mind and honestly, it’s quite sad. You can practically feel her longing and her desperation, she’s been pining after a man who’s not once glanced her way. She knows so much about Sunghoon, she’s taken time to study him and to learn him and yet he has no idea who she even is. Then mc just swoops in, loud and in many ways so much more confident than Ruka is. Of course it hurts to see someone so easily outshine you, and it feels unfair when they get the very thing you’ve been craving for so long. In the beginning she admits to having a crush on Sunghoon and mc replies “well that makes one of us” implying that she held no feelings for sunghoon (which back then was true), but to then see mc kissing him only weeks later… I can imagine that must feel horrible. Does it excuse her actions in any way? HELL NO. she’s a lying and manipulating character but also so important to keep the plot going forward, still I think she’s perfectly written, especially since we as a reader develop such hatred for her. As for Sunghoon he’s like a literal ice block. But as the story progresses his character is the one that undergoes the most changes, much like ice melting under sun (in the case the reader) the metaphors are so spot on and it makes the fic come to life completely. He’s just as stubborn as the mc is, which makes their push and pull dynamic work so perfectly, and his character also highlights important struggles people face daily, especially in sport. I can recognise myself in his character that way because my own sport has made me feel like complete shit more than once, and injures are one of the biggest setbacks not to mention confidence knocks. So I think his growth as a person, not only in the way he is with mc but his passion for his own sport, is so important and well done her. Lastly the mc… she’s my baby idc. I feel like I’m actually her. I know you said you’ve already taken a lot of inspiration when creating her bubbly and constantly-talking-without-taking-a-second-to-catch-her-breath persona, but I still really felt like I could connect and relate to her as I was reading. The whole background with her falling at a big competition (excuse me but I’ve already forgotten the proper name of it) is such an important detail because it adds so much depth to a character that could otherwise be brushed off and categorised as “loud” or “bubbly”. But her past shows that she’s went through so much, yet she stands to this day and doesn’t fault herself nor the world for the misfortunes she’s experienced. It makes her not only a great character, but someone compatible to sunghoon since she’s experienced something similar to what he is going through right now.

In all the fic is so perfectly paced and written, from the metaphors to the feelings unraveling between the main characters, nothing felt out of place and the world felt alive and moving with each scene. It didn’t feel like 25k and I was genuinely confused when I got to the end because I thought I had at least another 5k to go. A lot of things took me by surprise but they also all made sense in the end PLUS they kept me on my toes as I was reading. Ugh rain u’re so talented when will it ever end???

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ 25k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, ft. Ruka from baby monster, angst, probably more I'm missing...reader is heavily inspired by my yapping baby @beomiracles (serene).

crossing the line masterlist here.

Prologue.

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom.

The cold welcomed him. Not with open arms, but with teeth. It bit through the seams of his hoodie, gnawed at the edges of his breath, and curled around the ache in his knee like a reminder. The air here was always sharp, always clean, always brimming with the promise of speed and sweat and glory. But tonight, it only felt hollow. Like an echo of the past, stretched thin over the bones of now. His blades scraped against the ice with a sound that used to thrill him. Now it felt surgical, sterile, like a scalpel carving open the truth he couldn’t avoid.

He wasn’t on the team. Not really. Not anymore. Not while he recovered. And to Sunghoon, that meant the end of the world. Not playing hockey was his apocalypse. Jay said he needed time. Coach Bennett had nodded, voice clipped and clinical, masking the decision behind phrases like “risk mitigation” and “long-term recovery.” But Sunghoon knew what it meant: they didn’t trust his body, and maybe just maybe they didn’t trust him. What a load of bullshit. Sunghoon could play through the pain. He’s done it before. He wasn’t one to shy away from a little leg injury. Who cares, he’d push through. That’s what real pros did and Sunghoon would be a real pro one day.

He clenched his jaw as the thought burned through him. His knee twinged again, and he tried not to limp, tried to walk like it didn’t hurt, tried to be the player he used to be. Every movement felt like a performance for an audience that had already left the theater. And then he heard it. A laugh. Light and lilted, drifting through the rink like glitter in a snow globe. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.

The figure skaters were still here. Of course they were. Sunghoon let out a groan, loud enough to be heard, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. She was the worst of them. Not in talent, but in spirit. Always smiling, always talking like life was some golden sunrise just waiting to be kissed. She had that annoying, relentless optimism, the kind that made Sunghoon’s blood itch. It wasn't just naive — it was offensive. Especially to someone like him, whose world had cracked open and swallowed him whole. How can someone look at the world and life and all that it offers and be happy about that? Life chewed you up and spit you out like old gum whenever it had the chance.

She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her. Every glide, every spin, every leap across the ice was effortless. She was a poem written in motion. And somehow, her presence made the silence of his isolation scream louder. He dragged a puck across the rink, his stick slicing through the quiet like a blade. The sound was dull, defeated. She didn’t leave. Of course not. She was too kind or too stubborn or too oblivious to understand that he didn’t want to share this place. Not with anyone. Especially not her. She skated past, the breeze of her motion catching his hoodie, lifting it for a fraction of a second. She left behind a sentence as light as her blades: “Pretty night, huh? Ice looks good.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond.

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. But figure skaters didn’t know what it was to fall and stay broken. They didn’t know what it was to wake every day and feel your identity splinter under your ribs. They didn’t know how it felt to sit in the stands while your teammates practiced without you. Laughed without you. Moved on without you.

He looked at her then, really looked. And for a moment, he thought of frostbite.

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful.

And by the time he noticed her, by the time he realized she was changing something in him, it was already too late.

After.

Sunghoon didn’t look at you again. Not when you moved like a falling star tracing soft-burning arcs in a frozen sky. Not when your laughter spilled into the rafters, bright as windchimes caught in a spring storm. Not even when you passed close enough for your perfume, warm citrus and something he couldn’t name to slip beneath his guard and settle in his lungs like memory. He focused instead on his own rhythm. On fury and fire, on the merciless repetition of sprints. Forward, brake. Backward, pivot. Turn. Drive. His blades carved the ice with the same fury that burned behind his eyes, every motion a prayer to reclaim what he’d lost.

Jay said he wasn’t ready. Coach Bennett nodded like a verdict had been passed, and just like that, his kingdom of ice and glory had crumbled beneath him. Now, he ran drills alone in the shadow-hours, a ghost trying to resurrect himself one sharp breath at a time. This was supposed to be penance. Precision. Control. But then there was you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not like that. Not with your reckless grace and your endless optimism. You spun where he sprinted. You leapt where he lunged. And you smiled like life hadn’t carved a hole in your chest and left you breathless in the wreckage. You were a contradiction. Light in a place he’d turned dark on purpose.

Still, he moved around you. Like a storm steering around a cathedral. Like a soldier tiptoeing through a garden he didn’t believe in. Until you skated into his path. He didn’t see you at first, he was locked in the repetition, the heartbeat-thunder of his blades slicing the world into before and after. But then, there you were, gliding in without hesitation, your body all poetry and provocation.

Sunghoon veered, instinct sharp and immediate. His edge caught. Balance tipped. His world lurched and for one heart-clenching second, he was weightless and helpless and human. He caught himself on the boards with a sharp breath, pain flashing down his leg like a warning flare. Behind him, your voice rose, bright, amused, infuriating.

“That was a triple lutz of fury. You okay, Mr. Thundercloud?” He turned slowly, every muscle tight with the effort not to snap.

“This is a hockey rink,” he bit out, eyes dark, voice heavy with disdain. “Not a ballerina recital.”

You just grinned, like you hadn’t heard the venom — or worse, didn’t care. “It’s called figure skating,” you replied, the words wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” He stared at you for a beat too long. You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Then he scoffed under his breath, muttered something bitter and small, and pushed off again away from your voice, your grin, your golden defiance. But your laughter followed him across the ice, light as snowfall, impossible to ignore. He skated harder. Faster. Angry at the sound. Angrier at the way it stayed. You were the flame he never meant to touch. But you’d already left blisters behind.

The house loomed before him, golden-lit and quiet in the blue hush of evening. Sunghoon stepped across the threshold like a soldier returning from war, though the battlefield had only been frozen water and a girl who laughed like she belonged to the light. He limped. Not dramatically he would never allow that but enough that each step sent sparks of fire through his knee. His leg was screaming, a symphony of torn sinew and stubborn pride. He didn’t slow. Wouldn’t. Not for pain. Not for anyone.

The frat house was unusually still for a Friday night. No bass shaking the walls. No shouted dares or the sound of someone racing through the halls with a fire extinguisher again. Just a soft, echoing quiet that pressed against the walls like an old quilt — threadbare, familiar. Heeseung was probably with his girlfriend, tangled up in the kind of love that softened even his sharpest sarcasm. And Jake, well, Jake had been quieter lately too. Ever since his girlfriend’s due date began casting long shadows across his smile. The house had learned to tiptoe around anticipation, around the hush of something sacred arriving.

Sometimes Jay played his guitar in the evenings, those bittersweet chords bleeding down the stairs like spilled wine. But tonight, there was no music. Only the faint crackle of something cooking and the rhythmic clink of a wooden spoon against a pot. Sunghoon followed the scent to the kitchen, where Jay stood at the stove in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stirring something that smelled warm and nostalgic, tomato sauce, maybe. Garlic. Something close to comfort.

Jay glanced up, eyes flicking to the limp before Sunghoon could hide it. “You okay?” he asked, brow creasing. “You’re pushing too hard again. You need to slow down.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The words hit like cold water, shocking, unwelcome. He dropped his stick against the wall with a dull thunk, the sound far too final. “I don’t need your concern,” he snapped, voice low, bitter. “And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who kicked me off the team.”

Jay’s stirring paused. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. “You weren’t kicked off,” Jay said carefully, like choosing the wrong word might light a fuse. “It’s a recovery period. You know that. It’s just protocol—”

“Protocol?” Sunghoon echoed, a scoff splitting the word in two. “You think I care what the official term is? You benched me, Jay. You and Coach. And now you want to play big brother?” Jay turned fully now, eyes steady but tired. “It’s not about playing anything. I care, Sunghoon. That’s why we’re doing this. You’re not ready yet.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“Someone has to.”

There it was. The truth, bare and blunt. And it cracked something in Sunghoon, something already splintered beneath the surface. He stepped back, breath short, throat tight with all the things he didn’t want to admit: that the rink didn’t feel the same, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever skate like he used to, that you haunted the corners of his mind like a flame that refused to go out. He turned on his heel, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up his leg. “Whatever. Just—keep your advice to yourself.”

And then he was out of the kitchen, storming up the stairs two at a time like he could leave the conversation behind if he moved fast enough. The pain chased him anyway. At the top of the landing, he paused, one hand on the railing, the other clenched into a fist. The house was silent again. Jay hadn’t followed. The scent of sauce still lingered, but it no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like a life that was continuing without him.

He exhaled shakily. And behind his eyes, he saw the rink. Saw you. Spinning like the world was made of light. Smiling like you’d never been broken. He hated that it stayed with him. Hated it more that he wanted it to.

Your dorm room was warm in the way a lived-in space should be. Golden light pooled against the far wall like honey, slanting through the blinds in stripes, soft and sleepy. The hum of a quiet Friday night filtered in through the window, distant laughter, footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional door creak or hallway chatter swallowed by plaster walls.

Ruka was where she always was at this hour, curled up at her desk like a monk in silent study, her headphones draped loosely around her neck, textbooks spread like sacred offerings across the surface. She barely glanced up when you opened the door, nose buried in something with a terrifying title, highlighter held like a dagger mid-stroke. You didn’t mind.

The two of you weren’t close, not in the way girls braided hair and whispered secrets into pillows at three in the morning. But there was a quiet kind of companionship in coexisting. She listened. You filled the air. She was younger than you, ran with a different crowd.

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. You flopped onto your bed and kicked off your shoes, legs hanging over the side like punctuation. “I swear the rink was cursed today. I could feel it in the air — like the ghosts of last season were judging me. And someone — won’t name names — almost ran me over. Again. Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘human speed bump’? Honestly, it’s impressive how fast he moves for someone with a busted knee. Like, hello? Take a nap, eat a granola bar, embrace mortality or something—”

You paused to take a breath, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Anyway,” you continued, flopping dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “I survived. Mostly. Though Park Sunghoon nearly gave me frostbite with just a look. I swear, I’ve never seen someone skate like they’re mad at God.” That was when Ruka looked up.

It was subtle — a tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity beneath her steady gaze. But you caught it. The way her highlighter froze mid-air. The way one perfectly arched brow quirked in delicate, deliberate motion. “Wait,” she said slowly, voice soft but edged with intrigue. “Park Sunghoon?”

You blinked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?”

“The hockey player?”

You nodded, slower this time, as if each motion unlocked some hidden meaning. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so rare and quiet it felt like catching a butterfly mid-flight. “He’s really cute,” she said simply. “I kind of have a crush on him.” And just like that, the air shifted.

Not drastically, no thunderclap, no sudden gust, but in the way a still lake ripples when someone tosses a stone. The world tilted a few degrees. You stared at her. Not out of disbelief, but in the strange, dissonant surprise that came from hearing someone else say his name with softness instead of frustration. Because you had only ever spoken of Sunghoon with fire in your voice. Sharp-edged. Wry. Annoyed, mostly.

But Ruka’s words were wrapped in ribbon. Gentle. Blushing. You laughed, more to yourself than at her. “Well, that makes one of us.”

She looked at you then, really looked, head tilted, eyes curious. “You don’t think he’s cute?” You hesitated. The thing was… you didn’t know. Not really. He was all sharp lines and silent storms, the kind of boy who walked like he didn’t belong to the earth. Beautiful, maybe, but in the way wolves were, wild, cold, untouchable.

“I think,” you said finally, drawing each word like a thread between your fingers, “he’s complicated.”

Ruka smiled again, turning back to her textbook with a knowing kind of grace. “Those usually are.” And just like that, the moment passed. She was back to her quiet, and you were left staring at the ceiling again, wondering when his name had started tasting different in your mouth. Like something that might linger. Like something that might matter.

Monday morning clung to the world like a yawn that never quite finished. The sky was that dreamy kind of blue, the color of notebook margins and sleepy eyes, and you were already two sips into your iced coffee, pretending it had magical properties. Your lecture hall buzzed softly with life, pages flipping, keyboards clacking, the distant groan of someone remembering they had a quiz. You sank into your seat and opened your laptop, but your fingers hovered above the keys like dancers unsure of the next step. Your mind? Miles away. Lost somewhere between calculus and chaos.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, drawing shapes in the condensation on your cup. “Finals are coming. Sure. Death approaches in a syllabus-shaped cloak. But we’re gonna be fine. We’ve survived worse. Like that chem lab last semester. Or the time you accidentally locked yourself in the practice rink because you thought the red button opened the door. That was fun.” You laughed a little to yourself, a soft musical thing, then added quietly, “Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.”

You told yourself this because optimism was your armor. Because the world was already heavy enough, and if you didn’t keep spinning, you feared you’d sink. And besides, you liked spinning. You liked believing that everything, in its own way, would bloom eventually. Your fingers tapped absent-mindedly on your notebook. You were mid-thought — something about figuring out a study schedule, maybe, with your chin resting in your hand, your eyes soft and unfocused, when the air in the room shifted.

Louder voices broke through the usual murmur like a crack of thunder across calm skies. You blinked, sat up straighter. At the back of the lecture hall, four silhouettes gathered in a tight circle. You recognized them instantly. Jay’s dark hair, Jake’s easy posture, Heeseung’s lazy slouch. And Sunghoon, standing like a blade half-drawn from its sheath, tension coiled in every muscle. Their voices weren’t loud loud, but they carried.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Sunghoon bit out, arms crossed like a shield. “You’re treating me like I’ve lost a leg.” Jay said something quieter — calmer — but you couldn’t make out the words. Sunghoon shook his head, jaw clenched.

“I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I could be out there with you. But instead? I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” The words hit like a slap. No warning. No mercy. You blinked once. Twice. You looked down at your notebook, at the spirals you’d been doodling that suddenly looked like a fall. Like something unraveling.

You weren’t surprised, not really. Not when you’d seen the anger in his shoulders, the way he moved like something had been carved out of him. Grief in motion. Frustration dressed in skates and scowls. Still, hearing it out loud… hurt. Just a little. Like biting into something sweet and finding the bitter underneath.

You forced a smile. Told yourself, He’s just mad. Just hurting. And people in pain say things they don’t mean. You knew that. You’d always known that. So you tucked the ache somewhere deep, beneath the layers of warmth you wrapped around your heart every day. You held your chin a little higher. Kept the sunshine burning in your chest even when the clouds gathered.

Because that’s what you did. You stayed soft. You stayed bright. Even when the world gave you every reason not to. You glanced back at them one more time, just long enough to catch the storm still brewing in his eyes. Then you turned away. And smiled again. Even though this one didn’t quite reach your eyes.

The late afternoon folded over the campus like a well-worn quilt, stitched in gold and quiet. Shadows stretched long and slow across the sidewalks, and the sky blushed softly, unsure whether it wanted to be day or night. You walked back to your dorm with your headphones on but no music playing, just the hush of your own thoughts echoing in the space between footsteps and fading sunlight.

The building was its usual self: scuffed floors, sleepy corridors, the scent of someone's attempt at instant noodles clinging to the stairwell air. You climbed the steps like you always did, counting them beneath your breath like charms.

One, two, three, four—everything will be fine.

Five, six, seven—you're stronger than this.

Eight, nine—just lace your skates and keep moving.

Your key clicked into the lock, the door creaked open, and — Silence. Stillness, not unfamiliar, but… different. Ruka’s side of the room sat in its usual state of meticulous calm. Bed made like a hotel sheet ad, her books aligned like soldiers on her desk. But the chair was empty. Her headphones were gone. Her little desk lamp, usually the only star in your shared little galaxy was off. Your brows furrowed. She wasn’t the type to vanish without a trace. She was quiet, sure. Steady as a heartbeat. But dependable as gravity. On Saturdays, she studied. With her color-coded notes and an herbal tea steaming gently beside her elbow. A ritual. A rhythm.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and stood for a moment, frozen between thoughts. The silence was thick, pressing at your ears like water, and you almost called out her name, just to hear a sound bounce back. But you didn’t. You let it go. People have lives. Maybe she went out. Maybe someone swept her into a spontaneous adventure, a brief rebellion against her usual constellations. Maybe she just needed to breathe outside these four walls. You told yourself all of this, gently, while pulling open your bottom drawer.

Inside, your skates gleamed dully in the late-day light, blades catching the edge of dusk. You ran your fingers over the laces, the leather warm from where your dreams lived inside them. Then you pulled out your duffel, began packing with practiced hands, pads, gloves, that ridiculous fleece-lined jacket you never actually wore but always brought just in case. Each item folded like a promise. Each zipper, a punctuation mark. Each movement, a ritual. This is how we prepare. This is how we carry on.

You glanced again at Ruka’s desk as you slung the bag over your shoulder, something quiet fluttering in your chest. Not quite worry, not quite longing. Just the awareness that something familiar had gone just a little bit strange.

You left the dorm with that feeling trailing behind you like a thread, caught in the breeze of your footsteps. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Time to skate. Time to shine.

Even if someone else’s words still echoed like bruises in the back of your mind.

The rink was a cathedral of echoes when you arrived, cold light spilling from the overheads like moonlight dragged down to earth. You stepped through the side door with your duffel swinging low and your breath fogging in the air, a silent offering to the frozen gods of routine. The chill kissed your cheeks the moment you entered, familiar and unbothered by your presence. The ice welcomed you without question unlike the boy skating circles at the far end of the rink, cutting lines through frost like he was angry at the surface itself.

Park Sunghoon.

You saw him the moment you stepped through the arch of metal and fluorescent glow. Sharp lines of movement, precise but edged with frustration, like a dancer trying to turn fury into choreography. He didn’t look up. Of course, he didn’t. You might as well have been a ghost to him, a passing flicker in his periphery. And still… his words from this morning clung to you like fog to a mirror. “I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.”

You could’ve held onto that. Let it curdle in your chest. But you didn’t. You’d already chosen to let it melt like frost under sunlight. Because that was how you survived people like him, people with cold hearts and stormy eyes. You stayed warm. You stayed soft. Gooey, like a cookie. Even if his silence sliced like wind over bare skin.

You moved toward the bench in the corner, began lacing your skates with steady fingers. A familiar rhythm. Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull. You took a deep breath. Told yourself that the ice was still yours. That joy could still be found here. And then you stepped onto it. The rink hummed beneath your blades. You skated a gentle warm-up, smooth glides and soft turns, tracing patterns in silence like a painter laying down the first strokes of something that might become beautiful. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him, like a shadow trailing just out of view.

He kept his distance. Good. Let him.

You spun into your routine, finding the quiet joy in motion again. Practicing your turns, letting momentum carry you like a whispered secret. And then, a voice loud and shrill broke the icy silence between you two. “WOO! GO, SUNGHOON!” Your skate caught slightly on the edge of your turn, not enough to fall, but enough to blink you out of your trance. You slowed to a glide, turning toward the source.

There, in the bleachers near the glass, waving like she was at a concert and not a cold, half-empty rink, was none other than Ruka. Your brows lifted before you could stop them. She had swapped her usual hoodie-and-headphones look for something more casual-cute. Perched on the edge of the seat like a cat in a sunbeam. And her eyes? They were locked onto Sunghoon like he was something out of a dream she’d once dared to whisper aloud.

“Come on, you look great out there!” she called, clapping. “That last sprint? Totally NHL-worthy!” You blinked. Slowly. Sunghoon, mid-stride, skidded slightly, his jaw ticking as he looked over at her. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just the sharp exhale of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His annoyance was visible in the set of his shoulders, the way he stared past her like she was fog on the glass, there but inconvenient.

Your heart tilted sideways in your chest. Not because of the awkwardness. Not because Ruka was cheering for the very boy who had called your world a joke in a voice laced with disdain. But because you saw him. You saw how he stiffened under her praise, how his skates moved sharper, faster, like he was trying to outskate her words. Like kindness grated on him more than silence. Like admiration was a language he didn’t know how to read.

You stayed still for a moment, one hand on your hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You watched the way he avoided your gaze with deliberate precision. Like even eye contact might unravel him. Then you took a breath. Pushed off. Returned to your own practice.

Because the ice didn’t belong to him. And your light didn’t need permission to shine.

Still, as you skated, you felt something settle into your bones. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just… the sharp awareness that everyone wore masks. Even the ones who scowled at sunshine and rolled their eyes at laughter. Especially them.

The hours unfurled like ribbons across the ice, silver and slow. You and Sunghoon spun your separate galaxies across the same frozen sky, orbiting each other in careful silence. His skates tore into the rink with force, blades slicing like twin swords, while yours curved and dipped with the grace of moonlight slipping through branches. He was precision and thunder. You were rhythm and light.

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce.

The locker room door creaked as you stepped off the ice. And there he was, Sunghoon, perched on the bench like a statue carved from winter itself. He sat hunched over his skates, fingers tugging sharply at the laces, his jaw tight, sweat painting constellations at his temple. You watched him for a beat. The way his leg trembled slightly. The sharp inhale when he shifted. Pain. Not just ghost pain, not the phantom ache of healing. Real. Present.

Your eyes narrowed, and the words came out before you could swallow them. “You’re doing it wrong,” you said, stepping forward, breath curling in the cold.

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Doing what wrong?”

“Your stride,” you said, matter-of-fact but warm, like you were offering a cup of tea to a frostbitten soul. “That’s why your leg still hurts so bad. Your form’s all off.”

He finally glanced at you, those glacier eyes narrowing, irritation flickering just behind them like lightning beneath snowclouds. “I’m what?”

“You’re playing wrong,” you repeated, standing tall despite your worn skates, your cheeks pink from the chill and adrenaline. “You’re putting too much pressure on the outer part of your knee when you push off. You’re compensating for the pain, which is making it worse.”

He scoffed. “And you’re what, a doctor now?”

“Nope.” You smiled, brightly, undeterred. “Just someone who’s fallen on her ass about a thousand times. Figure skaters crash constantly, but we know how to angle our bodies so the impact spreads. It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance. Control.” He looked back down at his skates, tugging harder now, the muscle in his forearm twitching.

“I can help you, if you want,” you offered, genuine, hopeful, stubborn. “Just with the angles. Not to overstep. Just to help you skate without pain.” He didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe — just maybe — he was considering it. That something in his storm-cloud gaze might soften. Then he snorted. “No thanks, Sunshine.”

The nickname was sharp, but not cruel. More like a brush-off wrapped in thin sarcasm, tossed over his shoulder like a towel. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and limped toward the exit, each step radiating quiet fury. You watched him go, your hands still resting on your hips, heart stung but not shattered. Because here’s the thing about sunshine. It doesn’t need permission to rise. It just does.

So you exhaled. Smiled again, just for yourself. And whispered under your breath like a promise: “Tomorrow, then.” Because you weren’t done. Not even close. The ice hadn’t melted between you yet.

You slipped through the dorm door with your skates still swinging from your shoulder, the scent of cold clinging to your hair like snowflakes that refused to melt. The hallway was dim, the kind of golden hush that only existed in the sliver of hours between late afternoon and true evening, and the air in your room felt just a degree warmer than the rink, barely but enough to sting your fingers with returning blood. And there she was.

Ruka. Curled cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notebooks spread like wings around her. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, earbuds in, and she was scribbling something down with a pencil that had been chewed nearly to death. For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Something felt…off. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you knew people the way skaters knew their balance points — by instinct. You could feel when someone had shifted, even if they looked the same. She didn’t look up when you came in.

Still, you offered a bright little sigh, a soft smile breaking across your face like morning light spilling across your pillow. “Hey, you disappeared before I left the rink.” You tossed your bag gently onto the floor and began tugging off your coat, the fabric whispering across your skin. “Didn’t even hear you leave. Were you skating again?” You played dumb, of course.

Ruka blinked at her notebook, then slowly pulled an earbud free. Her eyes met yours. cool, calm, unreadable. “I wasn’t skating,” she said simply.

You tilted your head, fingers pausing mid-zip on your hoodie. “Oh. So… what were you doing there?”

it was a harmless question. Light as air. But her answer landed like a stone. “Just watching.” She turned back to her notes like punctuation, and you blinked. Something in her voice had been dipped in frost. Not biting, but distant. Measured. Not her usual soft-spoken stillness, the kind that let you chatter through silences without ever feeling unwelcome. No—this was different. This was cold. You stood there for a beat, hoodie half unzipped, heart tilting a little sideways.

“Right,” you said, voice laced in artificial warmth. “That’s cool. I didn’t know you were a fan of the rink.” Ruka didn’t reply.

You let out a little laugh, quiet, the kind that fills a space just to prove you still can. And then, still smiling, you crossed the room and sat on your bed, your bones aching from practice, your mind unraveling in quiet questions. You didn’t press. You didn’t pry. That wasn’t your way.

But you thought about the way she had cheered earlier, about how her voice had filled the cold air with warmth meant for someone else. You thought about Sunghoon, skating like he could outrun something, and the way her gaze had followed him like he was the sun she’d never dared look at before. You lay back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes, things shift before you see them coming. And sometimes, people surprise you in the quietest ways.

But still, you stayed kind. Stayed bright. Because even if the room was colder than you remembered, you refused to stop being the warmth.

The night had softened by the time Sunghoon made it back to the house, the sky bruised with the fading violet of dusk, and the air bit at his skin like it resented his stubbornness. His leg burned. Not the sharp, immediate pain of an old injury flaring, but the deep, heavy ache of something being pushed past its breaking point. Again.

The front door creaked open under his weight, and the warmth of the frat house spilled over him like syrup. thick and too sweet. Familiar voices tangled together just past the hallway. Laughter. The clink of plates. The low strum of Jay’s voice. He almost turned around. But pride is a chain wrapped around the ribs. And his wouldn’t let go. He stepped inside.

The living room glowed gold, lit by the low hum of lamplight and the occasional flicker of the muted TV. Jay was leaned back on the couch, an open water bottle in hand, while Jake sat beside his very pregnant girlfriend, who had her feet propped up on a pillow. Her belly rose like a gentle tide beneath her sweater, and her eyes shone with that ever-glowing light. soft, observant, and infinitely kind. Three heads turned as Sunghoon limped through the door, his hoodie half-zipped and damp with leftover sweat from practice.

“You’re limping worse than yesterday,” Jay said, always the captain, always the voice of reason.

Jake chimed in a beat later, his brows drawn in concern. “Why won’t you just rest, man? You’re not gonna heal if you keep pushing like this.” Sunghoon dropped his gear by the door with a heavy thud, his jaw tight, the pain crawling up his leg like a storm trying to find a place to land.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, not looking at them. “I don’t need a lecture.”

Jay sighed, the sound edged with exhaustion. “It’s not a lecture, Hoon. It’s basic logic. You’re tearing yourself up out there. You think Coach Bennett’ll let you back in if you break yourself completely?”

Sunghoon turned, irritation flashing sharp and raw in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be ‘breaking’ if you hadn’t pulled me off the ice in the first place.”

“You’re not off the team,” Jay replied calmly, setting his bottle down. “You’re on a required recovery period.”

“The same thing,” Sunghoon snapped. “Don’t split hairs.”

A quiet cough cut through the tension, and Jake’s girlfriend — sweet as spring rain — shifted a little on the couch. “I think what they’re trying to say is… maybe listening to your body isn’t the worst idea,” she said gently, her voice like a balm. “I mean, sometimes we think we’re fine just because we want to be.”

It should’ve landed like comfort. But it struck like a match. “Mind your business,” Sunghoon said sharply, the words out before he could call them back. The room froze.

Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. “Hey. Don’t talk to my girl like that.” The silence that followed was molten. Sunghoon’s anger flickered, dimmed, and died out in a single breath. He stared at the floor, guilt pooling heavy in his chest like sleet.

“I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, quieter now. “Sorry. That was—stupid. I’m sorry.” Jake’s girlfriend gave him a small, understanding smile. She always forgave too easily. That only made it worse.

Sunghoon grabbed his water bottle and turned away, shoulders stiff, shame clinging to him like another layer of sweat-soaked fabric. He climbed the stairs slowly, every step a needle driven into the muscle behind his knee. When he reached his room, he shut the door softly almost tenderly and stood there in the quiet, staring at nothing for a long moment. The pain was still there, pulsing like a second heartbeat. But deeper than that — beneath the bruised ego and the battered pride was something else.

Your voice, bright and persistent, kept echoing in his mind.

“You’re playing wrong.”“It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance.”“I can help you.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. It had sounded ridiculous earlier. But now, with the pain sharp and unrelenting, and the silence of the room pressing in like a judgment, your offer didn’t seem so foolish. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe you actually knew what you were talking about.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, leg stretched out in front of him like a broken line. The ice, the skates, the ache, the quiet praise you gave him even when he hadn’t earned it… it all blurred together. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to push the pain away. He let it sit beside him like a mirror. Maybe see you again tomorrow. And maybe… he’d listen this time.

The sky was the color of wet pearls as you made your way to the rink, the kind of soft gray that promised rain but never delivered. Your skates were slung over your shoulder, biting at your hip with every step, and your breath came out in visible puffs that floated like little ghosts of determination. You were a girl on a mission, fueled by blind optimism and an unyielding belief that even the most frozen things could melt if you were warm enough, loud enough, kind enough. And Sunghoon? He was a glacier. But even glaciers cracked under time and pressure.

The door to the rink groaned open and welcomed you with that familiar chill, that bite of air laced with the perfume of ice and steel. You stepped in like it was a cathedral, reverent in your own way, eyes scanning the space that had become your evening altar. He was there. Already. Park Sunghoon. Laced in shadow and silence.

He sat on the bench near the boards, bent over his skates, fingers threading laces with a quiet intensity, jaw set like it was carved from marble. His hair was damp at the edges, the kind of mess that spoke of someone who didn’t care enough to fix it but hadn’t quite let go of vanity either. The light caught on the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and for a moment you paused just a moment because something about him looked… different. He looked Less angry. Or maybe just tired of being angry. You couldn’t figure out which was which.

You marched up anyway, smile already blooming like a sunflower on your face, warmth radiating off of you in a way the ice couldn’t fight. “Okay,” you said, breathless not from the cold but from the flurry of thoughts bursting behind your eyes. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—”

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, but not cruel. Not cold. Just quiet. “I said okay,” he repeated, voice low but clear. “Meet me here. Every weekday. 6:30 p.m. sharp.”

You stared at him, stunned into something dangerously close to speechless. “Wait. Wait, did you — did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Well don’t deny me — wait. What.” A ghost of a smirk, barely there, almost imaginary curved at the corner of his mouth. “Meet me here on time, Sunshine.”

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, the sound tumbling out of you like birds startled into flight. “Sunshine, huh? You really can’t help yourself with the nicknames.” He stood then, tall and limping slightly, but not so much that you missed the way his frame shifted lighter. Like saying yes had peeled off a layer of armor. Like hope, when it finally arrived, it didn't have to announce itself loudly; it just had to be there. “6:30,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

You saluted with mock seriousness, grinning wide. “Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes and skated toward the ice, but this time… this time he didn’t avoid you. Not entirely. And just like that, a crack had opened in the glacier. Small. Fragile. But real. And you, all sun and stubbornness, were ready to shine straight through it.

The next day dawned with a sky stretched in pale watercolor, as if the heavens themselves were yawning awake. And you moved with purpose, energy stitched into your limbs like golden thread, skipping down the hallway with your skates in one hand and a banana in the other, mid-bite, mid-monologue about how today was going to be the day Sunghoon learned the art of surrender. Not to defeat — oh no but to gravity. To momentum. To pain that teaches rather than punishes.

The rink was quieter than usual when you arrived, its emptiness echoing with the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice. The air was its usual crisp kiss, sharp enough to sting but not to bruise. Sunghoon was already there, of course, punctual and pouting. He sat on the bench with his skate half-laced and his hoodie still on, like a knight begrudgingly preparing for a battle he didn’t believe in. You practically twirled in, dropping your bag with theatrical flair. “Alright, Captain Crankypants,” you called out, voice bright and bell-clear, “today we begin with the basics. Lesson one: how to fall like a pro.”

He groaned, long and low, as if your very presence was the headache he couldn’t shake. “You want me to fall? On purpose?” His eyes flicked up at you, unimpressed. “Yeah, that sounds super smart.” You beamed at him, entirely unbothered. “Not just fall. Fall well. There’s an art to it, you know. A science. A rhythm. You can’t just slam into the ground like a dropped dumbbell, you’ll wreck yourself that way.”

He scoffed, standing slowly, testing his weight on that healing leg with guarded precision. “Pretty sure falling’s the last thing I should be doing if I want to get back on the ice with my team.”

“But that’s exactly why you should,” you replied, tilting your head, as if the answer was written in the frost forming along the glass. “Because falling isn’t the problem, Sunghoon. It’s how you fall. We don’t learn to stop gravity. We learn to meet it, roll with it, get back up without it stealing anything more than our breath.” His eyes narrowed, a storm cloud gathering, quiet but looming. “That’s figure skating stuff.”

“Exactly,” you chirped. “Which is why you’re lucky you’ve got me.”

He looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing as you tugged on your gloves. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” With slow reluctance, like a stubborn mountain giving in to time, Sunghoon followed you onto the ice. His strides were careful, a ghost of his former fluidity trailing behind each push. You watched him move with a softness in your gaze, knowing he was fighting something far deeper than physical injury. He was mourning a version of himself that had been left behind in the locker room that day, when his knee gave out and the world fell with it. You stopped near center rink and turned to face him. “Okay. Watch me.”

You let yourself fall, dramatically and deliberately. A gentle twist of the hips, a tuck of the arms, a controlled slide that kissed the ice instead of collided with it. You rose just as quickly, nimble and unbothered. “See? Easy peasy, gravity is greedy but we’re smarter.”

He muttered something under his breath, something about this being ridiculous, but you caught the way his lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. Just… conflict. And curiosity. “Try it,” you said, your voice dipped in sugar and sunshine. “Don’t think. Just fall. Trust that I’ll teach you how to land softer.”

He hesitated, eyes flickering across the rink like it might mock him, like it might remember how once, not long ago, it had hurt him. But finally, with a sigh that could have been mistaken for wind, he crouched a little, awkward and stiff, and let himself go. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. He landed with a thud and a grunt, half-turned and slightly off balance. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t wince. And he didn’t stay down. You clapped, delighted. “Not bad! You’ve got the makings of a Bambi-on-ice!”

He rolled his eyes, but he was sitting up now, flexing his leg, and something in his face had shifted. A flicker of belief. A spark of possibility.

You offered your hand. He didn’t take it. But he stood on his own. And that, in your eyes, was progress painted in frost and stubborn hope. Practice ended in a flurry of silence and exhale, the kind that leaves your lungs aching and your limbs trembling from exhaustion masked as endurance. The rink had settled into a sleepy hush, the overhead lights casting silver puddles onto the ice like pools of moonlight spilled from a weary sky. Sunghoon had spent most of the hour gliding just beyond your reach, stoic and brooding, a storm cloud in a jersey, orbiting your sunshine in quiet, reluctant circles. But progress had been made. Not in leaps or bounds, but in small things: the twitch of a smile that he didn’t quite manage to kill, the way he didn’t protest when you told him his weight distribution was off. Tiny steps, quiet victories.

You both sat now on the bench that bordered the rink, his skates half-untied, yours dangling from your fingers as you caught your breath. His hoodie clung to him in damp creases, his hair plastered to his forehead, and yet he still managed to look like he’d stepped out of some tragic poem. A sonnet of scraped ice and stubbornness. “So…” you began, voice light as lace, “about Ruka.”

He didn’t look at you, only furrowed his brows deeper into the shadows of his lashes. “Who?”

You turned slightly, lacing one skate in slow loops as you stole a glance at his profile. “The girl who was here the other day. Cheering for you like it was the Olympics.” Realization flickered across his face like lightning fast, dismissive. “Oh. The cheerleader.”

You laughed, not unkindly. “She’s not a cheerleader, she’s my roommate. And she might have a tiny little crush on you.” Sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as if the ceiling above might offer him divine rescue. “Great. Just what I need.”

“What, adoration?” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “Must be so hard.” He didn’t answer right away, his jaw working through something he didn’t say aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t date.”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.”

He looked at you then, a long, lingering look, as if trying to decide whether your optimism was a costume or a calling. “I do love,” he said, softer this time. “I love the game. That’s all I’ve ever needed.”

“But maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you offered, voice barely more than a breath. He let out a short laugh — dry, not cruel. “Sounds like something out of one of those cheesy rom-coms you’d make me watch.”

You smiled, undeterred, pulling your coat tighter around you as the cold began to kiss at your skin. “You’d be surprised what stories can teach you.”

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He stood, the worn laces of his skates now untied completely, his posture tight, shoulders stiff with the ache he wouldn’t admit. He slung his bag over one arm and glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the dull glow of the rink’s overhead light.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

“At 6:30,” you replied, standing too.

He nodded, already walking away, and you watched him disappear into the tunnel that led out of the rink, his shadow swallowed by silence. Still, even as the chill pressed into your bones and your breath misted in the air, you smiled. Because he hadn’t said no. And sometimes, that was the first word in a yes.

The frat house was pulsing, alive with sound and sweat and lights that flickered like epileptic stars. The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, the kind that didn’t come from within you but pressed on your ribs from the outside, trying to break in. It was the kind of night made for forgetting, flashing cups, flushed cheeks, dizzy laughter. But Sunghoon had nothing he wanted to forget, only things he was trying to survive. His body was a map of ache, his knee a smoldering ember, his back tensed and twisted, his temples drumming a painful rhythm. He should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve wrapped himself in the quiet and left the world to burn without him.

Instead, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the limbs that bumped against his shoulders, the haze of perfume and cologne, the drunk declarations and loud, sloppy choruses of songs everyone pretended to know. The lights made everything look fake — skin too bright, eyes too glassy. He moved like a ghost among the living. The kitchen was a marginally calmer pocket of air, though even it buzzed with tension. Soobin stood near the counter, arms crossed, stoic in a way that looked practiced. Yunjin stood in front of him, animated, eyebrows tight and lips moving too fast, too sharp. Sunghoon didn’t catch the words, but the emotion slapped against the tile floor like broken glass. Love turned into a battlefield over cheap beer and pride.

Heeseung leaned against the fridge, sipping something bright and unholy from a red plastic cup, and Jay stood beside him, eyes flicking from Soobin and Yunjin to Sunghoon with a practiced detachment. “Rough night?” Heeseung asked, his tone too casual to be innocent.

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He glanced at the tension in the room, the cracked silence in Soobin’s stance, the hurt in Yunjin’s voice. “What’s their deal?” he asked, jerking his chin in their direction. Jay shrugged, reaching for a half-empty bag of chips. “Who knows. Been like that all week.”

“We try not to get involved,” Heeseung added, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sunghoon gave a noncommittal grunt and moved to grab a water bottle from the counter. The cold plastic stung his palm, grounded him for a second. The kitchen smelled like too many people and too many drinks, but it was better than the noise outside.

Jay leaned in slightly. “Hey, by the way — a girl was walking around asking for you earlier.”

At that, something in Sunghoon stuttered some quiet spark of thought, unspoken and unacknowledged. His mind flicked to you, impossibly bright and smiling, always halfway through a sentence, your words cotton candy and conviction. It was a fleeting hope, gone before he could even name it. Then Jay nodded toward the hallway, where Ruka stood, wearing confidence like perfume and eyeing the room like she owned it.

Sunghoon’s mouth twisted. The little spark of hope snuffed out before it could catch flame. “Of course,” he muttered. He didn’t wait for her to notice him. He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, weaving back through the crowd, avoiding her gaze like it might pierce him. He wasn’t in the mood for polite smiles or coy compliments, not in the mood to be someone else’s fantasy when he couldn’t even bear being himself right now.

He was almost free, fingers brushing the door to his room, sanctuary just a heartbeat away when her voice cut through the noise behind him. “Sunghoon, wait.”

He froze. Not in obedience, but in dread the way a predator might freeze in the moment it realizes it’s been cornered. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, because if he didn’t look at her, maybe she’d vanish into the static of the party behind them. But Ruka didn’t vanish. She chased. Her heels clicked across the floor like punctuation in a sentence he didn’t want to read. Then her hand was on his arm — cloying, too warm, too familiar. He yanked away from her grasp like her touch burned. And maybe it did. Maybe everything burned lately.

She flinched at his reaction, then softened her voice into something apologetic and breathy, practiced like a song she’d sung too many times. “I’m sorry, okay? I just— I wanted to say something.” He said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stairwell. “She’s not who you think she is,” Ruka said then, her voice low but sharp, like a knife being slipped between the ribs. “That girl you’ve been skating with. All that sunshine and sparkle? It’s a show. She’s not that happy. She's actually really depressing.”

The words echoed strangely in the space between them, bouncing off the noise of the house and falling like lead at his feet. Sunghoon turned then, slowly, like something ancient and brimming with wrath. His face was calm, but his eyes — his eyes held storms. Not the kind that pass, but the kind that drown entire cities. “Mind your business,” he said, his voice cold enough to crack glass.

Ruka blinked, taken aback. Maybe she’d expected amusement. Maybe she thought he’d nod in agreement or laugh, or at the very least, care. But he didn’t laugh. And he did care and that infuriated him even more. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned and stormed back down the stairs, shoving past strangers with empty smiles and red plastic cups. The house felt suffocating, bloated with sound and people and things he didn’t have the patience for. His skin felt tight, his heart loud, his thoughts louder.

Why did it bother him? Why did her words sink under his skin like a splinter?

She didn’t know you. Not really. Not the way he’d started to. Not in the way you spoke about falling like it was an art form, not in the way you tried to fix him like he was something worth mending. He shoved out the front door, the cold air biting at his skin like it, too, had something to prove. His breath left in bursts of fog, pain pulsing behind his kneecap as if to remind him of every bruise he carried, every truth he refused to name.

He walked towards the diner that nearly everyone frequented on campus. Hoping and praying for some sense of solace.

The booth by the window smelled of syrup and coffee and the kind of late-night grease that clung to the bones of a day too long lived. The diner was warm in the way a memory is warm, buzzing neon lights humming above like lullabies, and the soft clink of forks on ceramic drifting through the air like wind chimes in a storm's lull. You sat alone, chin propped up in your palm, tracing swirls in the condensation of your water glass, legs still sore from practice but your spirit untouched, untouched the way a flame dances even after the wax is nearly gone. Your plate was half full, pancakes cut into clumsy quarters, syrup pooling in the valleys. You were halfway through recounting your own day in your head out loud, of course, because silence had never been your companion when the bell above the door rang.

You looked up. The words on your tongue stuttered into stillness. Sunghoon. It was Sunghoon.

Still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing at the rink, his hair damp with sweat or melted frost, eyes dark with something that stormed just beneath the surface. He paused when he saw you, shoulders sinking with theatrical dread. Of course, he thought. Of course you’d be here, light personified, smile too wide for the hour and heart too open for someone who’d barely gotten a thank you out of him.

“Sunghoon!” you beamed, like the sky had cracked open just to drop this moment into your lap. Your voice, effervescent as soda fizz, bounced toward him like a pebble skipping across water. He groaned. It was low, dramatic, and pulled from somewhere that wanted desperately to be annoyed, but didn’t quite make it. “Of course you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” you grinned, motioning to the seat across from you like you’d always meant it for him. “So… what brings you to this fine establishment at such a glamorous hour?”

“I was hungry,” he deadpanned, walking over with the kind of gait that whispered of pain. He didn’t explain the limp, didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Why else would someone come to a diner?” Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“Touché,” you said, then leaned in with a twinkle in your eye. “Want to sit with me?”

He opened his mouth, likely to decline with something sarcastic and sharp-edged, but the words caught on the way out. Maybe it was your smile, or the glow of the booth light painting soft halos in your hair, or maybe — though he’d never admit it —i t was just that being near you quieted something in him, something he didn’t know needed quieting. “Sure,” he muttered.

He slid into the seat across from you, his movements slow, like each inch of space between pain and stillness had to be negotiated. You didn’t mention the way he winced as he sat. You just smiled again, folding your hands in front of you like this was a normal thing, the two of you, alone together in a corner of the night that didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Sunghoon didn’t tell you what Ruka had said. He didn’t tell you how it sat on his chest like a stone, how her voice echoed in his skull like wind through a cracked window. Because it wasn’t his to say. And because, deep down, he already knew it wasn’t true.

He saw you fall on the ice and rise again like it was a song your body knew by heart. He heard the way your laughter curved around your words and the way your voice filled silence with life, not noise. No — whatever Ruka thought she knew of you, it was only a fraction, and not the kind he cared to carry. Instead, he stared down at your plate, brows raised.

“Pancakes at midnight?” he asked.

You shrugged, delighted. “Midnight pancakes fix all problems. Haven’t you heard?”

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.”

“Well he sounds like a pretty smart guy.” You quirked, picking at your pancakes leisurely.

Sunghoon huffed a laugh — small but still there. “Sure.” For a while, the two of you sat in something not quite silence, not quite conversation, but alive and breathing all the same. And in the quiet hum of syrup-sticky booths and flickering neon signs, something invisible began to shift. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter had become a kind of lullaby, murmuring softly beneath the quiet chatter of the few remaining night owls nestled into booths and barstools. Across from you, Sunghoon picked at the edge of a sugar packet, his fingers deft and idle, not quite meeting your eyes, but listening in that particular way he always did, like he was preparing to argue but got caught up in your melody instead.

You sat across from him, legs tucked under you like a child curling into a story, your face glowing with the heat of possibility rather than the diner’s neon haze. And he watched you, not that he’d admit it. Not that he knew what to do with someone like you. “I’m going to make the podium this year,” you said, sudden and certain, stabbing a lone pancake piece with your fork like it was fate itself. “I don’t care what place. Bronze, silver, first runner-up to the crowd favorite. I just want to stand there, see the crowd, and know I didn’t fall flat.”

Sunghoon blinked at you. “Figure skating finals?”

You nodded, then grinned. “The big ones. My coach calls it the crown jewel. The end of the season, the whole year in a single performance. I tanked last time. fell on my opening jump and never recovered. My blade caught the edge, and it all spiraled. Couldn’t hear the music over the panic. I was supposed to shine and instead I… dulled.”

The words weren’t bitter, just honest. You spoke of failure with a sort of reverent gentleness, as if it were a bruise you had long since accepted. It surprised him how freely you gave that part of yourself away. No dramatics. No self-pity. Just truth. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “And you’re trying again?”

“Of course.” Your voice was light, but sure. “I owe it to the version of me that cried backstage and promised to do better. I owe it to the dream that didn’t die just because I messed up once. Besides, we fall all the time in figure skating on ice, off ice. You just get up and do it again.” Something in him shifted at that. The ice in his chest cracked a little more, as if the warmth in your voice could thaw even the places he'd long buried under frost and fury.

You caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled, like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head. You’re the one always brooding like the main character in a sports anime.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge was gone. He stared at the last of his fries, then slowly pushed the plate aside. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost like it was a compliment.

You beamed, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.” And just like that, between the flicker of fluorescent lights and the taste of melted syrup, the world felt a little less heavy. He didn’t tell you about Ruka. He didn’t mention the ache in his knee or the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt like lashing out or retreating. He just sat there, listening to you talk about your music selection and how you were planning to bedazzle your new competition costume yourself “with enough rhinestones to blind the front row” and something quiet inside him settled.

He didn’t believe in miracles. But maybe… maybe he could believe in second chances. Especially the ones that came in the shape of bright eyes, chipped diner mugs, and a voice that refused to give up. Even on him.

The night air was a velvet hush wrapped around the world, stitched with distant traffic and the occasional hum of streetlamp flicker. The diner door swung shut behind you both with a bell's chime like the last note of a lullaby. Outside, the cold kissed your cheeks and painted your exhales into fleeting ghosts, trailing behind you like forgotten sentences. You walked beside him, your boots crunching gently over old salt and fractured pavement, the glow of the diner still soft behind you. He walked with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as if he were always prepared for winter — even in spring.

But you, you carried warmth like it bloomed from your chest. You talked, because silence begged to be filled and your thoughts were too colorful to keep caged. "I always liked walking at night," you began, voice barely louder than the rustle of your jacket. "When I was little, my dad used to say the stars came out just to eavesdrop on our dreams. I used to whisper to them before bed. Tell them everything I was too scared to say out loud." Sunghoon said nothing, only shifted slightly, head tilted as though your words trailed behind his ears like music on low volume. His footsteps matched yours, deliberate, steady. Listening. Always listening.

You glanced up at the sky, where stars flickered shyly through the sprawl of city haze. “Some nights, when I’m scared before a competition, I still talk to them. Like, ‘Hey, I know I biffed the last triple loop but if you could just not let me crash this time, that’d be amazing.’” You laughed lightly. “They’re probably tired of hearing about my spiral sequences.” He almost smiled. Almost. You kept going, because silence in his company no longer felt daunting, only deep. A pool that welcomed your words, let them sink in, soak through. He didn’t need to speak. He just needed to be there, and somehow, he was.

“I don’t think people realize how lonely it is to try to be great,” you mused. “Everyone sees the sparkle, the applause, the medals. But they don’t see the bruised knees. The missed meals. The days where you cry on the cold rink floor because you can’t land a stupid jump you’ve done a thousand times. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” Still, no answer. Just his steady breath beside you, vapor blooming and vanishing. But his eyes had that quiet fire, the kind that flickered only for the things that mattered.

“I think… that’s why I don’t let myself stay down. Because even when it hurts, I still want it. Not the spotlight. Just the chance. To be better. To feel like I’m flying again, even if only for four minutes.” The street turned quieter, the neighborhood dipping into darker corners, sleepy houses pressing close together like secrets being kept warm. You stole a glance at him then, expecting — what? A laugh? A scoff?

But Sunghoon’s gaze was forward, brows drawn in thought. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk faster, either. He stayed at your side like a shadow that had chosen you. And then, after a silence long enough to count heartbeats, he said, low and rough, “What’s your program this year?”

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” He nodded once. Just once. And somehow, it felt like the biggest applause. You didn’t need him to say more. You didn’t need him to match your sunshine with light. He was the stillness where your words could echo and not be lost. And for that, you walked beside him in silence the rest of the way, the night folding around you both like a promise waiting to be made.

The night had mellowed into something hushed and golden, a quiet that settled over your shared footsteps like falling petals. The city exhaled slowly, as if sighing into sleep, and still you walked beside him, two shadows drawn in parallel ink, aligned but never touching. Then, out of the hush, his voice rose like a single note plucked from a cello string, low and sudden. “What’s your deal with Ruka?”

You blinked, startled by the sound, by the question, by the way his words cut through your stardust-thoughts like a falling star slicing the sky. You turned to him with raised brows, lips parted with a breath that hadn’t yet become a word. “Ruka?” you echoed, the name tasting foreign when it came from your mouth.

He didn’t look at you, just kept walking, hands still in his pockets, his jaw set like stone worn smooth by time. It didn’t sound like idle curiosity. But then again, nothing about Park Sunghoon ever felt idle. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not because of the cold, but because something inside you had curled up, uncertain.

“Oh, um. We’re not really close,” you said, the words spilling like marbles rolling across a hardwood floor — easy, but a little scattered. “She’s my roommate this year, just this year. My last roommate, Sakura, graduated early. We were kind of inseparable.” You smiled faintly at the memory, soft and aching. “She used to help me with my hair before competitions. Always had a bobby pin in her pocket, even if we were just going to the store. I miss her.”

He said nothing, just nodded once. The moonlight caught his profile and painted it silver. “She’s really smart, Ruka,” you went on, feeling the silence ask for more even if he didn’t. “Always has her headphones in. Always studying. We talk sometimes, but mostly she just… lets me ramble. Which, you know, I tend to do.” You gave a light laugh, hoping the sound would cut the tension, soften the edges.

But he didn’t laugh with you. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded again, like your words were being filed away in some hidden drawer inside him. And for a moment — brief and bitter and fleeting you felt a twinge. A single pulse of something dark and unfamiliar. It settled beneath your ribs like a secret. Jealousy. You didn’t want to call it that. You didn’t want to name the way your throat tightened when he asked about her, or the way your heart gave a suspicious little stutter at the thought of her name brushing his interest.

Did he like her? The thought was ridiculous. Maybe. Maybe not. But it lodged in your chest like a thorn. And what surprised you most wasn’t the question. It was how much it mattered. You shook the feeling off with a practiced smile, the kind you wore in the mirror before competition, the one that told the world everything was okay, even if your knees were shaking.

“She’s alright,” you said, voice light, breezy, so casual it almost disguised the knot in your gut. “But I think she prefers silence. I talk too much for her taste.” Still, he said nothing.

And you wondered, as the two of you drifted past sleeping houses and rustling trees, if you could ever stop wanting to know what was running behind his quiet eyes. Maybe he’d never say it. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But tonight, walking beside him through the tender hours of the dark, you wished he’d turn and say something that would loosen the twinge in your chest. Instead, he walked on. Still and silent. And you matched his pace, wondering if maybe that was enough. At least for now.

The dorm room welcomed you with the kind of stillness that felt staged, like a scene waiting for the actors to step into place. The air was warm, tinged faintly with lavender and printer ink, the signature scent of shared space and sleepless study. You slipped inside quietly, the door closing behind you with a hush instead of a click. For once, your voice didn’t follow you in.

You didn’t start with a story or a sigh, didn’t fill the silence with your usual cascade of chatter about a late-night craving or a skater’s cramp or how the moon had looked like a sugar cookie on the walk back. No, tonight you simply moved through the space like a ghost of yourself soft-footed, uncharacteristically quiet. Ruka was there, as always, hunched over her desk like a cathedral of discipline, shoulders drawn tight under the glow of her desk lamp. Her highlighter moved like a slow metronome across the page, precise and deliberate. But when you entered without a word, she paused.

You didn’t notice at first. You were too focused on your routine kicking off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door, tucking your food container into the small fridge like you were sealing away the last hour of your night. The remnants of warm laughter and cool night air still clung to your skin, even as the fluorescent light washed everything colorless. It was only when she turned, slow and deliberate that you met her gaze. “I went to see Sunghoon tonight,” she said, her voice smooth but wrapped in something slippery. Something rehearsed.

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Oh?”

She nodded, looking back at her notes for a second like they might give her the courage to lie again. “Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” The words hung there like wet clothes on a line, dripping, sagging under the weight of their own fabrication. And you knew. You knew in the marrow of your bones, in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat still synced to the rhythm of footsteps beside Sunghoon’s. You knew because you had just walked home with him, the ache of his silence still pressed like thumbprints into your thoughts. But you said nothing.

You didn’t call her out or laugh or ask her why she thought you wouldn’t notice the lie curling like smoke between her syllables. You didn’t say, “Actually, I just walked home with him,” or, “That’s strange, he didn’t mention you.” No. Instead, you sat down at your desk, unzipping your jacket, fingers steady as you untied your shoes. You offered her a smile — small, polite, hollow in the middle and said, “That’s nice.”

Ruka turned back to her notes, and you turned to face the wall, blinking slowly as if you could paint over the moment with enough quiet. And though you didn’t say it out loud, a strange new feeling began to settle beneath your ribs, something like suspicion, something like sadness. Not because of the lie itself, but because you couldn’t understand why she’d told it. What purpose it served. What it meant. But more than that, what unsettled you the most was how your heart gave the tiniest tug at the idea that she wanted Sunghoon to herself. That maybe, just maybe, she knew you were starting to want him too. And you hated how that made you feel.

By the time Sunghoon returned to the frat house, the storm of music and voices had softened into something gentler like rain losing its temper. The halls no longer throbbed with bass, just pulsed quietly with leftover laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shriek from the living room where someone was trying to revive a dying game of beer pong. The air smelled like stale cologne, cheap beer, and exhaustion.

He pushed through the front door, body aching in ways he didn’t dare name, shoulders stiff with memory. The walk home had helped, a little. The diner even more so. Or maybe it wasn’t the diner, it was you. That smile. That damn voice of yours, all melody and motion, coloring every dull corner of his night until it looked like morning. He hadn’t even meant to go out. He just couldn’t stay there, not after the lies that curled out of Ruka’s mouth like perfume.

Heeseung was sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips, half-asleep and still wearing his shoes. Jay sat nearby, nursing a water bottle like it was whiskey, his guitar leaning against the side table, untouched. They looked up when Sunghoon walked in, both of them clocking the shift in him, the unbrushed hair, the frown lines that had softened just barely, like something had tried to loosen their hold. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?”

“Diner,” Sunghoon muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His muscles cried out as he moved, his knee barking like it wanted to collapse. “You missed the show,” Heeseung said through a yawn. “Your little fangirl was here. Again.”

Jay snorted. “Ruka. She was asking around for you. Whole place thought she’d get a kiss out of you before midnight.” Then came the question, as casual as it was crude, tossed out like a beer can into a bonfire.

“So?” Jay leaned back, grinning. “You tap that?”

The words hung in the room like fog, heavy and misplaced. Sunghoon didn’t even look up from the sink as he filled his glass. He stood still for a breath. Then another. “Hell no,” he said flatly. “I just went to the diner.”

it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even irritated. It was simply true delivered with the sharp edge of certainty. A line drawn clean in the dirt. Jay let out a low whistle. Heeseung chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just sipped his water, jaw tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the counter like he was trying to smooth it out with sheer will.

Because what he didn’t say not to Jay, not to Heeseung, not even to himself was that he didn’t want Ruka. Had never wanted her. Not with her lipsticked lies and her eyes that always seemed to be searching for attention like it was currency. And yet, somehow, your voice kept echoing in his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget. “Falling is inevitable unless you can stop gravity.” He couldn’t stop gravity. Not on the ice. Not in his chest. And it was starting to terrify him.

Monday came with the bite of wind and the soft shiver of pre-dawn blue, the kind of chill that kissed your skin and whispered promises of something new. The rink sat like a cathedral of silence, your shared sanctuary of sweat and bruised ego, laughter and aching limbs. The boards were cold. The air was colder. But you… you were warm, incandescent, still grinning as you laced your skates with hope braided into every loop.

Sunghoon was already there, stretching his legs like the world had done him a personal disservice. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, but his eyes those, wintry things, found you easily, like a compass that refused to point anywhere else. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t complain as you chirped about your new routine, about your bruised knee from the spin you biffed on Saturday, about how this week felt like the start of something. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But he skated. And fell. A lot.

You counted at least thirteen crashes before you stopped keeping score—some clumsy, some oddly graceful, all equally frustrating for him. Each time, he’d scowl, curse under his breath, and brush himself off like he was made of pride stitched too tight. But you never stopped encouraging him, your words a steady stream of sunlight spilling through his clouds.

“Better!”

“That fall was cleaner!”

“You angled your shoulder perfectly!”

He looked at you like you were ridiculous. Which, maybe, you were. But you were ridiculously happy to be here. With him. By the time the clock curled toward the last stretch of practice, he’d finally done it. Not a fall, but a landing. A descent that didn’t jar his bones, one where his body absorbed the impact like water receiving rain, smooth, natural, right. You gasped and your joy exploded out of you, bright and loud and uncontainable.

“You did it!” you cheered, skates clattering against the ice as you skidded over to him. “You actually did it, Sunghoon!”

He looked up from where he was still crouched slightly, his breath misting the air, eyes wide. And for the first time, the very first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t that half-tilted, cynical curl he used when he was being sarcastic or amused. It was real. Unburdened. And somehow, it made him look like a boy again, soft-edged, bright-eyed, touched by something other than pain or pressure. The moment lingered. Too long.

His smile stayed, your breath caught in your throat like a fluttering thing. The distance between you thinned until there was only the sound of the ice humming beneath your skates, and then, Then you kissed him. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward, heart drumming in your chest like a war cry and a lullaby all at once, and kissed him — soft and sure, like the ice beneath your feet had whispered that you wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t kiss you back.

You pulled away instantly, horror creeping into your chest like cold water. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—I mean I wasn’t trying to—ugh—Sunghoon, I just got caught up in the—” And then he was kissing you. Fast. Sure. No warning, no wind-up, just his lips on yours like punctuation, like a sentence he’d been writing in his head for days but didn’t know how to say out loud. You blinked when he pulled back. He looked stunned, maybe a little dazed. You were definitely breathless. And then, as if nothing had happened, you both went back to skating. Circling each other like stars in orbit silent, spinning, on fire. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But neither of you forgot it.

Outside the glow of the floodlights, just beyond the fragile safety of the rink’s boards, a shadow lingered silent and still like frost waiting to bloom. Ruka stood there, tucked in the hollow between concrete and glass, her presence cloaked by the buzz of overhead lamps and the trance of celebration that unfolded before her. She hadn’t meant to come. She had only wanted to stop by, to catch another glimpse of him, of Sunghoon in that candid, breathless space where his armor sometimes slipped. Maybe she would pretend it was a coincidence again. Maybe she’d bring him something warm, an excuse wrapped in a paper cup and a shy smile. But what she saw was not Sunghoon alone.

Through the gleaming haze of the ice, through the rhythm of blades carving truth into frozen ground, she saw you. Beaming. Radiant in your joy. And she saw Sunghoon — grinning back. Not his usual strained grimace or practiced smirk. No, this smile was something else. Real. Unearthed. Unearned, in her eyes. And then, the kiss. Her breath caught like a gasp in winter wind. She pressed her palm flat against the glass as if to steady herself, as if to break through the divide between her and what she saw, a moment that didn’t belong to her but felt like it should have. That soft, charged touch of lips in the heart of the rink burned like a betrayal, even if no promises had ever been made to her. It was a kiss that seemed to split the ice beneath her feet. And she hated how gentle it was, how true.

The rage came slowly, like an icicle forming drip by bitter drip. A seethe in her gut. A fire in her lungs. She had spent so much time watching, studying, calculating, positioning herself at just the right angle to catch his eye. She knew the timing of his strides, the way his brows furrowed when he was lost in thought. She had noticed him long before you had ever touched the same ice. And yet it was you — scatterbrained, sunny, ever-yapping you — that he kissed.

She backed away, breath coming out in little bursts of fog, eyes trained on the scene unfolding before her like a play she hadn’t auditioned for but still wanted a lead in. She didn’t care that he pulled away quickly. She didn’t care that you stammered your apology. All she could see was the connection, the tether stretching invisible and unbreakable between your smile and his rare, reluctant joy. She could feel the bitterness pool in her chest like ink in water, spreading fast and without mercy. You hadn’t seen her. Neither had he. You never noticed the fracture blooming quietly in the corner of the world you shared. But she did. And it stung, not because it was love lost, but because it never even had the chance to begin.

The walk back to the dorm felt like treading on the edge of a dream, your feet barely touching the ground, your breath catching on the remnants of laughter that still lingered like glitter in your chest. The night air was cool, brushing your cheeks like a secret, the kind that only stars overhead seemed to know. You tucked your hands into your coat pockets, smiled like a secret was blossoming behind your lips, and tilted your face skyward, as if asking the moon to keep your moment safe. You had kissed him. Or maybe the moment kissed you, soft and strange and suspended in time, like a snowflake caught mid-fall. It didn’t matter who leaned in first, or that he hesitated, or that nothing had been said after. What mattered was the way the world tilted after. The way his eyes had widened before he kissed you back like something inside him had cracked open. Like he’d been waiting all along but just didn’t know it. Something had changed, undeniably and irreversibly, and it made your limbs feel like cotton, your thoughts like honey.

There was a shift now. Subtle but seismic. You could feel it humming in the soles of your feet, echoing in the memory of the moment. You didn’t know what it meant yet, not exactly but something had softened between you two, and in that softness, you found a kind of quiet joy. When you reached your building, you entered with the reverence of someone carrying something precious. The hallway lights buzzed faintly, and your steps echoed gently down the corridor, a rhythm almost musical in its contentment. You reached your door and turned the knob, half-expecting to see Ruka with her usual mess of notebooks and headphones, wrapped in her silent storm of thoughts and solitude. But the room was empty.

The lights were off save for the sliver of streetlamp that painted silver lines through the blinds. The air was still, undisturbed. Ruka’s bed was neatly made, her chair tucked in, her world untouched. And for once, you were grateful. You slipped inside and let the door close behind you with a soft click, as if trying not to disturb the fragile bubble that wrapped around your joy. There was something beautiful in the quiet, something that gave you space to breathe, to process, to smile without anyone asking why. You moved slowly, deliberately, putting away your things, peeling off layers like petals until only your giddy little heart remained.

And then, standing there in the low light, you allowed yourself to relive the glide of your skates, the crispness of the air, the look on his face just before he closed the distance. You pressed your fingers gently to your lips, almost to confirm they still tingled. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t spoken about it. Not yet. It mattered that it happened. It mattered that, for the first time in a long time, your heart felt like it had been seen. And for that, you let yourself float just a little longer on the dream of it all.

The walk home was quiet, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. Sunghoon’s limbs ached as usual, the kind of ache that seeped into marrow and muscle and made itself at home but tonight, it was quieter. Like even the pain had decided to take a breath, loosen its grip on his body and allow him a moment of peace. There was a strange calm moving through him, something light and unfamiliar. His mind replayed that kiss, not obsessively, but gently, like turning over a smooth stone in his pocket. The softness of your lips. The way you smiled before it happened. The burst of something warm and startling that bloomed in his chest when you leaned in, and even more so when he kissed you back. Like an ember flickering to life in a long-cold hearth. He didn’t want to overthink it, and yet, it sat with him now — steady, glowing, undeniable. But as the frat house came into view, that flickering warmth began to dim. She was there.

Perched like a stormcloud on the stone steps, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face streaked with tears that glistened under the porch light. Ruka. Her presence felt like a sudden cold front, a sharp drop in temperature, a wind that bit instead of kissed. Sunghoon paused at the edge of the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at him to turn around and disappear into the dark. But she looked up. And she saw him.

He kept walking. Slow, steady, bracing himself. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet exhaustion.

Ruka sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her too-expensive cardigan. “I saw you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of accusation. “I saw you guys… kissing.”

Sunghoon blinked at her, unimpressed. “Okay?” he answered flatly, as if that alone should be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t. “She’s a fraud,” Ruka spat, sitting up straighter now, her voice rising with that familiar, jealous tension. “That whole sunshine act? It’s fake. She’s just pretending to be all sweet and happy. But it’s all a show. She’s actually, she’s miserable. She’s depressing. She’s not what you think she is.”

He stared at her for a long moment. The wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a sound so far removed from the bitter drama at his feet. Sunghoon exhaled, slow and sharp like a blade pulled from a sheath. “You know what?” he said, voice like ice over steel. “Maybe you could stand to be a little more like her.” Ruka’s mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t give her time to respond.

“She’s kind,” he went on. “She shows up for people. She cares even when she doesn’t have to. She’s loud and ridiculous and warm, and yeah, maybe that annoys the shit out of me sometimes, but at least she’s not hiding behind fake tears and whispering poison about other people to make herself feel better.” Her expression crumpled, her mouth trembling.

“You don’t know her,” she whispered. “Neither do you,” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide who she is because she threatens your tiny little world.”

Ruka’s hands curled into fists on her knees. “If you really want to know who she is, look her up,” she hissed, the venom returning. “Look up last year’s figure skating finals. Her name. Go ahead. See it for yourself.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“Fuck off, Ruka,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was calm. Steady. Done. He pushed past her without another glance, the door slamming shut behind him like the end of a chapter. The warmth inside him didn’t dim this time. Not completely. In fact, it burned brighter now not in spite of her words, but because of the fact that he’d chosen to ignore them. That he’d defended you, and meant every syllable. He didn’t need to search your name. He didn’t care about the past you carried like quiet luggage. Because when he looked at you, all he saw was someone who got back up. Again and again. And that, more than anything, was real.

Upstairs, behind the closed door of his room where the noise of the party below had faded to a dull, insignificant hum, Sunghoon sat on the edge of his bed like the silence itself had weight. It pooled in the corners of the room, settled on his shoulders, curled around his ankles. The warm echo of your kiss still lingered, on his lips, in his chest but so did Ruka’s voice. Sharp, needling. Insistent. “Look it up. Last year’s figure skating finals. Her name.”

He didn’t want to. He knew better. He should have let it die on the doorstep where it belonged. But curiosity was a sly little creature. It nudged at him like a breeze slipping through a cracked window, whispering just look until he caved. So he did.

With stiff fingers and an unsteady breath, he typed your name into the search bar, letting muscle memory carry him when intention hesitated. The first result glowed like a ghost: “Skater Meltdown at Regionals – Full Clip.” A thumbnail of you frozen mid-fall, your face blurred by motion, your body crumpling like something once fluid and graceful now shattered. He clicked play.

The screen lit up with harsh white ice and the sound of polite applause. There you were, twirling onto the rink, arms extended, posture poised, the embodiment of elegance. And then it happened. A stumble, a miscalculation. The slip. The crash. You hit the ice with a sound that wasn't picked up by the microphones, but he could feel it all the same, sharp and echoing in his bones. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came after. The camera didn’t cut away. It kept rolling as you stood up, only to fall again. And again. And again. Until your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven and your eyes — oh, your eyes — were wild with disbelief, glazed with tears that refused to fall quietly.

You broke. On camera. In front of judges and coaches and strangers and teammates and the faceless audience of the internet. You wept, not just from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and human and jagged with betrayal. You shouted through your tears, voice cracking like thawing ice, about how people only came to see the crash. How they clapped louder for the break than the recovery. How they waited for failure like it was a performance. Sunghoon felt something crawl into his throat and settle there — tight and aching. Not pity. Not embarrassment. But fury.

Fury at Ruka, for daring to use this as a weapon. Because what he saw wasn’t weakness. What he saw was someone who got back up. Someone who, even in the middle of a storm that stole her breath and shattered her pride, still stood. Still tried. Still gave the world her tears because hiding them would’ve meant giving up entirely. He didn’t want to close the video. But he did. And then, with that same fire that lived in his limbs when he skated, he opened his phone and typed fast, not giving himself the chance to rethink it.

Sunghoon [11:43 PM]: Meet me at the rink. Please.

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plan. It was an instinct, pulled from somewhere honest and immediate. Because he needed to see you, not just the practiced, cheery version of you that lit up rinks and rooms, but you, unfiltered, unguarded, as real as you’d been in that video. He needed you to know that it didn’t scare him. That it didn’t change anything. No. If anything, it only made him want to fall with you. And this time, not get back up alone.

The rink was dark when you arrived, the overhead lights low like the stars were keeping secrets. The air was biting, laced with the cold whisper of ice and memory. Your breath puffed in clouds before you, and your heart thundered a frantic beat in your chest. You’d gotten Sunghoon’s message and hadn’t hesitated, you didn’t even change out of your practice clothes, just threw on a coat and sprinted across campus as if your soul had sensed something fragile waiting on the other end. The moment you stepped inside, your voice echoed in the stillness. “Sunghoon?”

No response. The silence felt unfamiliar, too thick, too full of unsaid things. You found him in the locker room, perched on one of the benches, still in his practice gear, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The second you saw him, panic flickered behind your eyes. Was he hurt? Was something wrong? “Are you okay? Are you—oh my god, did something happen?” you rambled as you rushed to him, your hands fluttering over his arms, down to his knees, then back to his shoulders like you were checking for breaks or bruises. “Why did you call me? Are you hurt? Did you fall again? Why didn’t you just text what happened, Sunghoon, seriously, what is going—?”

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss.

When he pulled back, your fingers lingered near his jaw, your gaze flickering with confusion. “Sunghoon… what’s going on?” He looked at you like he was still catching up to his own heartbeat, his voice quiet but steady. “Ruka showed up at the house. Told me to look you up. Last year’s finals.”

The words dropped like ice in your stomach. You stepped back, just slightly, and your body stiffened before you could stop it. “Oh.” Sunghoon saw it immediately, the way your shoulders curled inward, how your eyes shimmered with tears you didn’t want to spill. Your lips parted like you wanted to defend yourself, but no argument came, only the truth, raw and trembling. “I had a breakdown,” you whispered. “A really bad one. I’d been practicing that routine for weeks, getting up at dawn, going to bed at two, skipping meals, skipping sleep. I thought… if I could just nail that trick, I’d prove I was more than just the bubbly girl with the pretty smile. I was exhausted and wired and terrified. And when I fell… it was like the world collapsed with me.”

You paused, voice cracking. “But I got back up. I always do. Even when it hurt. Even when the crowd didn’t cheer.” Sunghoon stood, eyes never leaving yours, and took your hands in his — warm, calloused, steady. “I know,” he said simply. “I watched the whole thing. And you — you — were the strongest person I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips quivered. “But I broke down. I was angry and ugly and scared and—”

“And you got back up,” he said, firmer now. “You didn’t stay on the ice. You didn’t let it define you. I—” he exhaled, voice softening, “—I was going to quit. When I got hurt, when it felt like everything I’d worked for just vanished, I wanted to give up. I didn’t see the point.” He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But then I met you,” he continued. “And you reminded me that even when it hurts, we keep skating. That it’s not the fall that defines us, it’s the moment after.”

A silence stretched between you, delicate and profound. And in that stillness, you smiled. Not the bright, performative kind you wore in hallways and crowded rooms, but something quieter. Realer. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to reply. The way his fingers laced with yours said everything. The space between you fizzled like ice cracking under a sudden flame. There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, an instinct, perhaps, to hold back but it crumbled under the heat of the moment. Your hands were still curled inside his, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the rawness of being seen.

Then you kissed him. No hesitancy this time. No uncertainty. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a quiet kind of desperation, the kind that had been building for weeks, hidden behind teasing words and soft glances, behind shared practices and unspoken understandings. His lips met yours like a dam finally breaking, and suddenly you were both lost to it.

Sunghoon responded with a heat that startled even him. His hands slid from your waist to your back, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you to something real, something burning and alive. There was nothing cautious about it now, the kiss deepened, mouths parting with breathless urgency, tongues tangling, exhales catching like thunder on the edge of a storm. You gasped softly against his mouth when he walked you backward, your spine brushing the cool lockers behind you. The contrast only made you shiver more, and he kissed you again to chase it away. His hands were in your hair now, cradling the nape of your neck like you were something precious. And you were, he kissed you like you were rare, like you were the first warmth he’d felt after winter.

Your body curved into his as if you’d always belonged there. You could feel the way he was holding back, restrained despite the tension humming through every inch of him. And maybe that’s what made it even more electric, knowing how tightly he was wound, how carefully he moved against you even as his breath quickened and his hands lingered. “Sunghoon…” you murmured against his lips, dizzy from the intensity.

He didn’t answer, not in words. But the way he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled where they clutched at his chest was its own kind of vow. The air between you felt heady, thick with longing, the room humming with the pulse of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the glow of the locker room light, locked together in something fierce and tender and brand new.

But when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of everything still waiting to be said, still waiting to be felt. And neither of you ran from it. No, you welcomed it like an incoming tide washing over your heart and your entire being. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, your breaths mingling in the space between like steam curling from a fresh cup of tea. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin, like maybe touching you was the only way to make sense of the storm inside him.

You whispered his name again, barely a breath, and that was all it took. He kissed you once more, slower this time, deeper. There was a reverence in it, a kind of awe like he still couldn’t believe you were real and here and kissing him back. His hands slid down from your face to your waist again, and he pulled you in until there was nothing between you but heat and air. Your fingers wove into the dark strands of his hair, curling just slightly at the ends, tugging him closer in the most delicate, desperate way.

The kiss grew from soft to smoldering, like fire catching slowly at first, then flaring brighter when the wind shifts. His lips moved against yours with more certainty now, more hunger, and yours responded in kind. It was dizzying, this exchange of breath and want, of emotion too big to name. Every brush of his mouth against yours made your knees weak, every sigh from his throat made your heart race like a drum in a thunderstorm. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, not to take it off, but just to feel the warmth of him under your hands, the dip of his back, the rise of his spine, the solidness of muscle beneath skin. He shivered under your touch and kissed you like he was unraveling.

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.”

You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless and glowing. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

He kissed you again instead of answering, and the answer was everything. For a long, lingering moment, the rink, the cold, the ice, the noise of the world, all of it faded away. There was only the warmth between you, only the taste of each other’s names on your tongues, only the ache of something new blooming fast and bright like spring breaking through the frost.

With your back still pressed against the cold metal of the lockers you allowed yourself the luxury of tracing your hands up and down Sunghoon’s broad chest, feeling every contour, every muscle beneath your palms. Filthy thoughts filled your head as Sunghoon’s lips trailed down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. A gasp fell from your lips as he sucked on the skin where your neck met your collarbone.

“Oh!” You squeaked, running your hands through his hair fisting the tufts in your nimble hands like your life depended on it. “Sunghoon…” Your voice trailed with heat laced in the words, want. “I want you.”

“You want me?” He hummed, continuing his exploration of your neck. “How badly do you want me?” He was toying with you, playing with your need for him — your want.

“So bad.” Your voice was airy — needy almost. His smirk said he loved it, the way you were willing to beg for him and willing you were. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been touched so intimately, with someone you cared for so fiercely. The pure lust and adrenaline coursing through your veins had left you feeling like you were ablaze.

“Beg for it.” His voice was sharp — stern. It was so so hot. The way lips let your body, the way his eyes searched your traveling down your body drinking you in. The way your chest rose and fell as red hot searing need coursed through you. You do anything he asks of you at this moment, anything.

“Please” You whimpered, hands grabbing at his hoodie. “Please, fuck me.” Your voice was sweet and light your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “I need it so bad.”

“Fuckkkk” He groaned and next thing you knew his hands were under your thighs lifting you in his arms in one fail swoop. “I can’t resist you, Sunshine.”

“I don’t want you to.” You pant as his hands find your skirt lifting it enough to show your panties. It was going to be quick, dirty. And that's exactly how you needed him.

“Take me out.” He hissed at you. Your hands reach for his sweatpants pulling them down just enough to release him from his boxers. He was hard, of course. The tip red and angry with need. Your hand made a fist around his shaft pumping up and down.

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his forehead falling forward to meet yours. “Touch yourself before i fuck you.”

You listened carefully, moving your other hand down, pulling your white cotton panties to the side and rubbing at your sensitive nub with your fingers. “Oh my god.” You whined out. “Please Sunghoon, please”

“Just a little bit more, baby.” He cooed, “You’re almost ready for me.”

“I’m ready now.” You couldn’t contain the whimper that threatened to fall from your lips. “I need you, so bad.”

“Okay, Sunshine.” He nodded, taking his length in his own hand all the whilst holding you up against the lockers. “I got you.”

Sunghoon’s gazed fell from your face to where the two of you met, his tip slapping against your entrance like a knock. A gasp leaving your lips the instant he pushed into you — creating a beautiful stretch you felt through your entire body.

Sunghoon started with a slow pace, allowing hips to tap against yours lightly. It was almost romantic the way his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanning your face with short pants. You were in love with this feeling — in love with this moment and how it consumes you whole.

“Faster.” You whined, hands gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders with white knuckles. You were trying to ground yourself, the pleasure taking you to a whole other planet entirely. “Faster please Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon said nothing, his only response was the quick motion of his hips against yours. The sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the locker room like a melody, it was a tune you’d grow to love if given the chance. “Oh– my god.” You chanted. “Oh my god.”

“You close?” Sunghoon grunts, his voice gritty and harsh. “Take it.”

“Yes.” Your head was weightless as it bobbled up and down in tune with Sunghoon’s harsh thrusts. “I’m so close.”

“Gooood girl..” He cooed in your ear. “Cum for me.”

Your end splashed into you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in an overbearing pleasure you’d never felt before. Your thighs trembled in Sunghoon’s hands as you rode out your high. Sunghoon falling suit, moaning your name like a mantra. You had never felt more connected to someone then you did in this moment. Tied together a web of emotion and something that felt so close to love.

You were falling in love. It was fast and blinding and scary but it was true. You were falling in love. And you hoped and prayed Sunghoon was too.

By the time you situated yourself it was almost too late into the night to try and sneak back into your dorm room. Plus the thought of seeing Ruka right now with the knowledge of what she had done had been sickening. Sunghoon offered for you to stay at his place and you were in no position to turn the offer down. You allowed him to take you home. You allowed him to worship your body until all hours of the night. And most importantly you allowed yourself to fall in love deeper and deeper as the clock ticked on.

The morning sun trickled through the blinds in gentle stripes, painting golden bars across the sheets tangled around your legs. The air was still tinged with last night’s sweetness, a lull of warmth that lingered between your skin and his, and the scent of cold air and something distinctly him like mint and pine and a little bit of wild. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy but content, the kind of ache that whispered of a night where nothing was said aloud but everything was understood in touches, in sighs, in the soft tremble of lips pressed together in quiet devotion.

Sunghoon was already up, standing near the edge of the room, half-dressed and slipping his hoodie over his head. The light hit his face just right, catching the soft curve of his cheek and the tired determination in his eyes. He looked like someone ready to face something, and for once, not run from it. You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist like the soft folds of a curtain falling back. “You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still raspy with sleep and something sweeter.

He glanced at you, and there was a flicker in his gaze, that rare smile he barely gave anyone, small, crooked, a secret stitched between two hearts. “I’m going to talk to Jay,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “I want to ask him… to let me play again.” For a second, it felt like everything stopped. Not because you were surprised — no, you’d seen it coming, inching closer each time he took a fall and got up again, each time he looked at the ice with something softer than hate but because this was a moment of return. A full circle. A boy broken now choosing not to stay shattered.

You smiled, and it was bright enough to make the room feel warmer. “You should,” you said, voice thick with pride. “You’re ready.” He stepped over to the bed, leaned down, and kissed you, quick and soft, like a promise sealed in the hush of morning. It wasn’t heated like the night before, but it burned all the same, quiet fire beneath skin.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song, leaving you alone with tangled sheets, sunlit silence, and a chest full of warmth. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh, fingers brushing your lips. Something had shifted. And you knew, with a certainty that reached down to your bones, that things were only just beginning.

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. The air smelled of ice and rubber and worn leather, a scent that once haunted him, now stirring something in him that almost felt like peace. Almost. He walked toward the rink, skates slung over his shoulder, confidence stitched into the rhythm of his steps. The moment he stepped past the glass, heads turned. Jake was the first to notice, eyebrows lifting in surprise, his helmet tucked under one arm. Heeseung followed, stopping mid-lace with a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Jay’s brows drew together in disbelief, and even Soobin looked up from where he was adjusting his gloves. Coach Bennett, stoic as always, stood at the edge of the rink with his clipboard like it was a shield.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jay muttered, not unkindly, but wary.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “I’m here to show you I’m ready.” The words settled into the air like frost, and no one moved for a moment. Coach’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Sunghoon…”

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, voice sharp as skates on fresh ice. “I’ve been training, I’ve been pushing myself. I’m not here to sit on the bench and clap for everyone else. I want to play.” There was a silence, heavy and cautious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Heeseung, who gave him nothing but a tight nod. “You’ve been through a lot,” Soobin offered gently. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about being cleared.”

“I am cleared,” Sunghoon snapped, the warmth from earlier that morning slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “I’m cleared, I’m stronger, I’ve been working every goddamn day. But every time I come back here, you all look at me like I’m broken glass.” Coach Bennett looked down at his clipboard, unreadable. “It’s not about doubt, it’s about safety.”

“Bullshit,” Sunghoon muttered. His jaw tensed, breath fogging in front of him. “You think I’d put myself back on this ice if I wasn’t ready?” Still, they didn’t move, didn’t soften. And something in him snapped, not the injury, not the tendon, but something deeper. A flare of frustration bloomed in his chest, blooming red hot. Heeseung, trying to defuse the crackle in the air, said, “Maybe just keep training with the figure skater—”

Sunghoon’s head snapped up, and without meaning to, without even thinking, the words spilled out sharp and cruel. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” It felt like the words echoed, like even the boards flinched from them. A sting curled behind his ribs the moment it left his mouth, regret instantaneous, but pride, wounded and loud, kept him from pulling it back. “I want to come back to the real game,” he added, voice quieter, but iron-edged. “I’m done sitting out while you all pretend like I don’t exist.”

A thick pause. Coach Bennett looked at him long and hard, then said slowly, “You can skate at next week’s practice. We’ll see then.” And just like that, it was done. But the victory tasted hollow on his tongue, and when Sunghoon sat to lace up his skates, the chill of the words he’d thrown, not at them, but at you, clung to him like frostbite.

In the dim hush of the arena’s far bleachers, behind a column of shadow where the sun dared not reach, Ruka sat like a ghost in waiting, silent, calculating, and out of place. The buzz of the overhead lights hummed above her, flickering faintly, illuminating the sharp gleam in her eyes as she angled her phone just so. Her hand was steady. Patient. She shouldn’t have been there, wasn't allowed, wasn’t invited but Ruka had learned long ago that the world didn’t bend for those who asked politely. It bowed for the ones who took what they wanted. And right now, what she wanted was to unravel the ribbon of warmth that had started to thread its way between you and Sunghoon, to cut it with precision, to remind the world of who belonged in the spotlight and who didn’t.

Her phone was already recording when Sunghoon stormed in, voice clear and edged with fire. She leaned forward, breath caught, her ears tuned sharply to every syllable. And then, there it was. The perfect storm. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” it hit the air like a slap, reverberating across the rink, and Ruka’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t so cold. Her thumb paused just long enough to ensure it had been captured, every inch of his exasperation, the tension in his voice, the pride bleeding into his posture. She tucked the phone into her coat pocket like a prize, one she’d deliver when the time was right, when the sting would land deepest.

She didn’t care if Sunghoon hadn’t meant it. She didn’t care that he might already regret it. She wasn’t after truth, she was after control, and perception was always stronger than honesty in the court of whispered judgment. As the team fell into uneasy silence, she slipped out like a wisp of smoke, unnoticed and unseen, her heels light on the concrete floor, her breath misting in the chilled air. The doors of the arena sighed open and closed behind her with a hush. Outside, the sky stretched pale and gray, the wind carrying a sharpness that mirrored her resolve.

Ruka wasn’t stupid she’d seen the way you looked at him, the way your smile bloomed for him like the first flower of spring. And more than that, she’d seen the way he looked back, that faint, unguarded flicker that once might have belonged to her but now seemed to burn only for you. So fine, she thought. If fire was what it took to make him see, then she’d set the whole thing ablaze. Let the ballerina dance on thin ice. She’d make sure the cracks came quick.

The front door creaked open with a burst of wind and sunlight, and Sunghoon stepped inside, shoulders high and heart thundering like blades against ice. His cheeks were flushed, not from the cold but from the triumph still coursing through him like static. The house was quiet, a rare lull between chaos, there you were. Sprawled across the living room floor in one of his oversized sweatshirts, your legs curled beneath you, your eyes bright as twin stars as they landed on him. The moment you saw his face, your own lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve.

"Did they say yes? What did they say? Oh my god, are you back? When do you start? What did Jay say? Wait, did Heeseung—" Your words spilled out like a melody, fast and tumbling and effervescent, each one building on the last in that way only you could manage. It was a deluge of sunshine, and Sunghoon didn’t answer — not with words, not yet. Instead, with one smooth movement and a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he crossed the room in three long strides, swept you up with one arm around your waist, and kissed you. Firm, grounded, and breath-stealing. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knows it’s home.

You let out a delighted squeal, half-laughter against his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders as your feet dangled above the floor. “I take it they said yes,” you murmured when you pulled back, breathless, the corners of your mouth lifting in that way that always made his chest ache a little in the best way. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, but his voice held so much more than just agreement. It was relief and victory and hope. “Practice starts next week.”

You beamed like you had swallowed the moon whole, eyes soft and full of a pride that wasn’t loud, but deep and unwavering. “I knew they’d say yes,” you said, cupping his cheek. “You were born for the ice.” He kissed you again, this time slower, with a touch more reverence, as if he was grounding himself in you. As if your faith in him was the thing tethering him to the world. And maybe it was.

He set you gently down, but your arms remained looped around his neck, unwilling to let go just yet. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes for a beat. “I’m so happy for you, Hoon.” His name on your lips still made something in him tremble. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would’ve,” you whispered. “But I’m glad I got to watch you do it anyway.” Outside, the wind whispered promises against the windows, and inside, in the soft glow of late afternoon, Sunghoon realized that somewhere between all the broken things, the injuries, the pressure, the pain he had found something whole. You.

That night, the frat house was glowing, music vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat, laughter spilling out into the cold night air, the scent of cheap beer and cologne wrapping around the porch in a familiar haze. When Sunghoon leaned against your doorframe earlier, looking all casual with his hands shoved in his pockets and a soft smile threatening the edge of his mouth, asking you to come with him to the party, your yes had come quicker than your breath. There was no way you’d miss it not after the week the two of you had. So now, walking in beside him, hand ghosting near his like some secret tether, you tried not to look too amazed at the wild warmth of it all. Lights strung from the ceiling blinked like dying stars, red cups swirled in every hand, and voices collided like waves. It was chaos, but it was the good kind, the kind where possibility clung to the air like perfume.

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate. He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, and then he said it, just loud enough for the group clustered near the kitchen island to hear. “This is my girl.” It took you a second to process the words. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your smile tried to hide behind the cup in your hand, but you felt it. The gravity of it. How he said it so simply, like it wasn’t anything new, like it had been true for ages and he was just now stating a fact everyone should already know.

His friends turned toward you all at once, a mix of grins and raised brows. Jay was first to reach out, pulling you into a quick, one-armed hug. “So you’re the figure skater.”

You laughed. “Guilty.”

“I’m Jake,” said the one with dimples, his voice warm and curious, like he’d been waiting to meet you. “You’re way too happy to be hanging out with Sunghoon.”

You giggled and nudged your shoulder into Sunghoon’s. “I think I balance him out.”

“Or drive him insane,” Soobin added dryly from the couch. His arm was loosely slung around a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was beautiful, no doubt, sleek and poised, but her smile was more of a formality than anything real. That had to be Yunjin. She gave you a quick nod. “You’re very…bubbly.”

“Is that code for loud?” you asked, grinning wide. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” Soobin cracked a half-smile, and even Yunjin let out the tiniest huff that could’ve been a laugh if you squinted. Still, there was tension between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight. They stood close but didn’t seem to touch, not really. Their words skipped past each other like stones across water, and you wondered what storm brewed quietly behind their silence. Heeseung leaned in then, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “She’s the opposite of you, man. Like…completely.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, sipping his drink with a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.” And the way he looked at you when he said it like it wasn’t a flaw, like it was the best thing about you, made your chest bloom with something warm and wild. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled into yours like they belonged there, like maybe they always had. The music shifted into something slower, the kind of beat that made everything else fade, and the crowd swayed around you like the sea. You weren’t quite sure how the night would end, but for now, wrapped in the golden hum of laughter and light, with Sunghoon by your side and your name spoken like something precious between strangers who might become friends you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The night had curled itself into comfort, like a candle-lit secret shared between strangers now growing familiar. You stood with Sunghoon and his friends in the corner of the room where the music wasn’t too loud, where voices could still dance freely. You were mid-laugh, something Jake had said, your face lit with that easy, golden joy you wore like a second skin. Sunghoon stood close to you, his arm brushing yours every so often, eyes softer than anyone had seen them in weeks. You didn’t know it, but he’d been watching you like you were a lighthouse in the storm, something to steer by. And then the room chilled.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in air, the way conversation dulled, footsteps falling heavy behind the group. You turned before Sunghoon did, and there she was. Ruka. Her presence bled tension into the moment, a sharpness that made smiles go stiff and gazes flick downward. She stood with her arms crossed, dressed like she belonged and yet looking so out of place. You smiled at her anyway, your voice honeyed and warm.

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t.

Instead, her lip curled, and her voice dropped low, sharp enough to wound. “Drop the act.” The words sliced through the air like glass breaking. The laughter stopped, your own breath hitching slightly as confusion passed across your face. “What?” you asked, softly, not in disbelief, but in the kind of gentle hope that maybe you’d misheard her.

“I said,” Ruka stepped closer now, venom twisting in her pretty mouth, “drop the fucking act. The bubbly sunshine girl thing? It's fake. And everyone here’s falling for it, but it’s pathetic.” A heavy silence fell. Jake blinked, Soobin muttered something under his breath. Yunjin folded her arms tightly. And beside you, you felt Sunghoon stiffen, like his muscles remembered rage before his mind caught up.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. But Ruka only laughed, a cold, humorless thing that curled at the edges like smoke. “Really? You’re defending her?” She looked at him, eyes glinting with something twisted and triumphant. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said he was wasting his time with the ‘ballerina on ice.’”

You froze. The words hung between you like frost. You turned, your head tilting slightly toward Sunghoon, expression unreadable. But he was already shaking his head, already stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rising, urgent. “I was pissed, I was trying to prove I was ready to play again, and I said something stupid—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruka said smoothly. “They can hear it for themselves.” She pulled out her phone, unlocking it with the ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. The recording played loud and clear, his voice unmistakable: “I’m just wasting time with the ballerina on ice. I want to come back to the real game.”

The words hit like a slap. Your chest ached, something invisible curling tight around your lungs. You stood still, perfectly still, like movement might make it worse. The others glanced between you both, some awkward, some stunned. Heeseung winced. Jay looked furious. Jake muttered, “Dude,” under his breath. Sunghoon reached for you then, eyes wide, desperate. “I didn’t mean it—” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. But your smile, your radiant, effortless smile — wavered. Only a flicker, barely there, like a candle in the wind.

The music faded. Or maybe it didn't, maybe it still pulsed behind you, still thudded with the bass of cheap speakers and louder laughter, but in your ears it was gone. Replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat — wild and feral, pounding like fists against a closed door. Your cheeks flushed hot, but your hands had gone cold, and everything in the room blurred with the sting of unshed tears. Your eyes found Sunghoon’s, but it wasn’t safety you felt.

It was betrayal. And shame. Shame so sudden it roared up your throat and turned the warmth in your chest to something molten and broken. “Wait—” he whispered, stepping toward you. You pulled back.

He looked like he’d been struck, like the reach of his hand had meant everything. Maybe it had. But you were already moving, weaving between people, ignoring the murmurs and awkward stares, the way the group parted like water around you. Your heels scraped the floor. Someone said your name, maybe Jake, maybe Heeseung, but you didn’t turn back. You pushed through the door and into the yard where the cold night air hit your face like glass. You breathed it in too fast, too hard, hoping it would drown out the heat of humiliation clawing at your throat. The stars blurred above you, cruel and glinting. Behind you — footsteps.

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but it wavered at the edges, shivering like frost under sunlight. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear it. Everyone heard it, Sunghoon.”

“I was angry,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me play, I—I said something I didn’t mean because I was desperate. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“You called me a waste of time,” you whispered, voice breaking now. “You said I wasn’t the real game.” His expression collapsed. “That’s not what I meant—”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to kiss me. I didn’t ask to be anything more than the annoying figure skater who shares your rink time.”

“You’re not—don’t say that,” he said, stepping closer. But you stepped back.

“I should’ve known better,” you said, voice low now, shaking. “You were always going to go back to them. To the game. And I was just practice. Just something to pass the time.”

“That’s not true.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re more than that. You mean—fuck, you mean everything.” And then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words cracked the night in two. You stared at him, eyes wide, breath stolen clean from your lungs. But it was too late. You shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving. “Don’t say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Then why did you say that?” The question hung between you like a blade. And he had no answer. Or maybe he did, but not one that could stitch the wound he’d just made. So you turned. You turned before he could see the way your whole body broke in half. Before he could see the shiver in your spine and the way your hands curled into your coat like it could somehow hold you together. You walked. Past the yard, down the sidewalk, away from the party that once felt like light. Sunghoon didn’t follow this time. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days pass like shadows beneath your skates, faint and fleeting, yet always there. Each morning you wake with a hollow echo in your chest, a silence that’s grown too familiar. You lace up your skates like armor, wear your routines like battle hymns. You skate harder now, faster, carving the ice like it wronged you. Blades slicing through your thoughts, breath fogging in the cold as you spin through everything you can’t say. You haven’t spoken to Sunghoon since that night. You’ve seen him in passing, walking across campus, laughing with Heeseung outside the rink, nodding at Coach Bennett with that quiet intensity in his eyes, but you never linger. You turn corners when he comes close. Pretend not to hear when his voice drifts from down the hallway. You are your own silence, sharp and unyielding.

The dorm is no better. Ruka has become a ghost, and you let her be. You don’t look at her, don’t respond to her passive remarks or the way she sighs when you walk in. She’s tried to speak, maybe once, maybe twice, but you shut her out with the same coldness she once offered you. You spend more time out of the room than in it. Your application to switch dorms is in the system now, a silent wish sent to the stars. All you can do is wait. But the nights… the nights are the worst. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Your mind replays everything, his voice, his kiss, the look on his face when you turned away. You wonder if he’s been practicing. You wonder if he hates himself for what he said. You wonder if he meant it.

That night, the silence in your room presses in too tightly, the hum of your mini-fridge too loud, the shadows too long. You grab your skates and your coat. The rink calls to you not just as an escape, but as something close to home. Familiar. Honest. The moment you step inside, the air hits you like memory. Cold. Quiet. Unforgiving. You walk past the front lobby, past the empty locker rooms, and step onto the bleachers with the intention of warming up slowly, maybe skating alone under the low light until the sun peeks over the horizon.

But you stop short. Because he’s already there. Sunghoon. Alone. On the ice. He’s skating, not perfectly, not as fluid as you’ve seen before, but he’s trying. Focused. Determined. His brows are drawn together, the sweat at his temples shining under the low rink lights. He doesn’t see you at first. Doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. You don’t move. You watch him glide forward, stumble slightly, then correct. He exhales, pushes again. Again. And again. He’s practicing. Your chest tightens.

At first, you want to run. The moment you see him standing there beneath the pale glow of the rink lights, alone, waiting, searching the dark for something like hope, your body tells you to turn around. To vanish into the quiet of night and not look back. You’ve been skating circles around your own heart for days now, tightening the laces of your silence so securely that the thought of unraveling them in front of him makes you tremble. But it’s too late. His eyes catch yours, and you freeze like a deer in the frost. The tension between you snaps taut.

“Wait,” he says, voice catching, breathless. “Please—don’t go.” You don’t speak. He steps closer, every movement slow, like he’s approaching something delicate, something sacred. His eyes are wide and shining in the cold, like he’s on the edge of something, begging not to fall.

“Just talk to me,” he says. “Please. I—I need to say something.” You don’t know what compels you to stay. Maybe it’s the quiver in his voice or the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Maybe it’s the days of silence, heavy as snowfall, finally breaking. But you nod. You sit. And you listen. “I’m sorry,” he says first, and the words drop between you like stones sinking into a still lake. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t look at him yet. You’re afraid to. Afraid that if you do, your heart will unravel right there on the ice. He keeps going. “When you first asked me if I believed in love, I told you I didn’t. That it wasn’t real. That it was for other people, not me. And you, you just smiled like you knew something I didn’t. You said I just hadn’t found the right person yet.” You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s closer now. Kneeling in front of you, his palms flat against the boards, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I found her,” he whispers. “I found you.” The words hit you like a gust of wind, unexpected, sharp, and tender. You blink, and the tears finally come, soft and shimmering, gliding down your cheeks like melting snow. His gaze flickers, worried, but you raise a hand, just one, and rest it over his.

“What you said that night…” you begin, voice cracking like a brittle branch. “It hurt, Sunghoon. God, it hurt. But I don’t think it was the words, not really. It was the moment. The humiliation. Being exposed in front of everyone. Like I was something to be mocked.” He looks like he might cry too.

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you whisper.

“I mean every word,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Your lips tremble. And before either of you can speak again, you kiss him. It’s not the fiery kiss of confession or the desperate press of need. It’s gentle. Forgiving. It’s two broken pieces finding a way to fit again, not quite perfect, but perfectly trying. His arms circle your waist, pulling you in close, grounding you as your fingers brush his jaw, his neck, his hair. The kiss deepens with every second. Not in heat, but in heart. Like a vow passed between mouths too tired for words.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”

“I promise,” he replies, voice raw. “No more.” And in that quiet, ice-slicked space between apology and absolution, you feel it, that something between you hasn’t shattered. It’s only just begun to bloom.

Epilogue.

The arena hums like a living thing, buzzing nerves and echoing chants, the chill of the ice rising into the rafters like ghosts of old games, old dreams. You sit somewhere in the middle of it all, wrapped in a scarf and a soft coat, heart thudding so loud it’s almost a drumline. Your fingers are clasped tight in your lap, your breath fogs in little puffs before your lips, and your eyes are locked on the rink like the story of your whole life might unfold across its frozen face. It’s his first game back.

Sunghoon. And you can’t remember the last time you were this full of feeling, pride, nerves, joy, a fragile ribbon of fear, but most of all, love. Love so big and bright and burning it feels like a comet carved into your chest. The lights above dim slightly, just a flicker, and then the team is called out one by one. The crowd roars like a wave, cresting and crashing with every name announced, jerseys flashing, skates hissing against the ice as the players appear. And then, there he is. Sunghoon skates out like he’s flying, his form clean and sharp and easy, like every moment he ever doubted himself has been burned away. The crowd cheers louder, not because they know the whole story, but because they can feel it. The comeback. The storm stilled. The boy who refused to give in.

You feel breathless watching him. And then, mid-glide, he turns his head. Finds you in the crowd like a compass always knows where north is. His eyes catch yours and in that moment, the noise fades. The arena, the lights, the cheers — all of it vanishes, melting away like frost under the sun. There’s just him. And you. He points at you — simple, easy, certain. And then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate.

“I love you.” Three words mouthed without a sound, but somehow louder than thunder. Your chest caves in, and a laugh breaks from your throat, trembling and tearful all at once. You nod, hand over your heart, mouthing it back: I love you too. And in that charged quiet between you, across ice and lights and distance, the ache of the past slips into something softer. Something holy. The game begins but you're not really watching the puck.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

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ellswritings · 2 days ago

Text

Tricky Situations

Cody Rhodes/Runnels x Reader

TW: Lots of fluff, bad language, no smut but mentions of sexual actions, sexual tension, idiots in love. This is based on a request made my the wonderful and amazing @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, so I hope you all love it <3

Word Count: 12.02K

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

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Cody Rhodes and Y/N L/N were the definition of platonic soulmates. They were the perfect mold for anyone to model their friendship after. Their camaraderie was the stuff of legend, both on and off the screen. Fans adored their playful banter during interviews, their synchronized moves in the ring, and the genuine affection that radiated between them. They were the dynamic duo, the unbeatable team, the best friends who had each other's backs no matter what.

Backstage it was no different, they were inseparable. Whether it was grabbing coffee before a show, rehearsing promos, hanging out in the locker room, or watching movies all night in their shared hotel room. Y/N and Cody were always together. It was rare that anyone would ever catch one without the other.

In the beginning, they raised a lot of eyebrows. There was a lot of speculation of them being in a relationship due to how often they were seen together, but those rumors were quickly put to rest. While many fans still “shipped” the together, everyone knew their relationship would remain friendly as it always had been.

In interviews there were always questions about certain moments in Kayfabe or even about photos taken of them outside of the ring that questioned their friendship. But their answers were always the same.

“Ew, he’s like my brother.”

“Absolutely not. She’s my best friend.”

“I’d probably throw up if he tried to kiss me, honestly.”

“She snores when she sleeps, I don’t think I could spend the rest of my life living with that torture.”

The responses were always playful, filled with banter like every conversation they had. They would slap each other or shove each other if they chose to be a little extra sensitive, but it was all in good nature.

Still though, no matter how many times they said things between them were completely platonic, the edits, memes, conspiracy theories, and social media posts never faded.

It didn’t bother them though. The only people who needed to know the true nature of their relationship was them, and they were content with that. They still went about their life as usual. Traveling to venues together, doing interviews, grabbing dinner, walking Pharaoh, even training new students at the Nightmare Factory.

Everything was great. Until Paul Levesque decided he wanted Cody and Y/S/N to do a promo with Rhea Ripley and Dominik Mysterio. Rhea and Y/S/N had a rivalry going on and it was good for the storyline to have Cody and Dom by their sides as support, which would eventually lead to a mixed tag match.

It was always hard to keep a straight face when arguing on screen with Rhea as Y/N and Demi actually had a really strong friendship backstage. So they had to constantly think of negative things to remain in character. It helped having Cody out there as seeing him be “The American Nightmare” rather than Cody Runnels kept her in check.

The promo itself was going well. The audience was completely entranced by the words and shots being taken. Dominik didn’t get much out before being booed which lead perfectly to Cody chiming in sarcastically before Rhea jumped in to defend her man. They played off each other nicely. The difference in their dynamics kept everyone hooked.

Then came the portion where Rhea had to take a cheap shot at Y/S/N. She was ready to take her bump, Cody shifting slightly so he wouldn’t be in the way. But Y/N felt something was wrong as Rhea went to give her a big boot. Y/N went to sell the hell out of it, the bottom of her boot connecting to the side of her face. She throws herself backwards, but instead of meeting the mat below her, she collides with a broad chest that definitely was not supposed to be there.

Y/N groans as she hears Cody cough beneath her. They landed in a heap of tangled limbs. Both of them try to get to their feet as fast as possible, knowing this fall wasn’t scripted, but things only worsened as they moved.

Y/N tries to stand the same time Cody tries to roll over which somehow ends with Y/N straddling Cody, his hands on her waist in the middle of the ring.

Her face flushes as whistles erupt throughout the audience. She glances down at Cody who looks stoic on the outside but she can see the panic behind his ice blue eyes.

“You gonna get up, Y/N/N?” He whispers through tight-lips so only she can hear.

Y/N snaps out of her daze, “Right, sorry.”

Y/N scrambles back up to her feet, doing her best to remain in character as she helps Cody up. Unfortunately the damage was already done. The arena was buzzing with giggling fans, future rumors, and the snapping of cameras.

Michael Cole and Pat McAfee let out the most natural laughs they could, making some sort of joke to try and distract everyone from the scene, and while it was appreciated, it definitely didn’t work. Y/N and Cody went to walk backstage and out of muscle memory, he went to put his hand on her lower back to guide her, but as soon as they heard the whistles from the crowd he retracted his touch. They both share the same anxious look before completely disappearing into the back.

Turns out their coworkers are even more immature than the fans. Everyone they walked past made a comment about it, whether it was subtle or not depended on the person. Y/N rolled her eyes particularly hard when walking by Logan Paul who let out an obnoxious whistle.

“Damn, Cody! You are one lucky S.O.B.” He pats his back before looking Y/N up and down and continuing on his way.

Y/N clenches her fist in anger and she turns to give the Maverick a piece of her mind. Just as she’s about to pounce, Cody places his hands on her waist gently. She turns to him, an incredulous look on her face as she can’t believe he’s stopping her.

He shakes his head, “He’s not worth whatever witty thing you’re about to say,” he tells her with his signature half smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he’s no doubt feeling the same embarrassment she is. “Don’t waste it on him. C’mon…” he pulls her along with him, “Let’s go get you some fruit from catering.”

Just hearing him speak managed to cool her rising anger. She melted into his touch, allowing him to guide her back to catering. He somehow always knows exactly what to say to fix everything. It only made it better when he grabbed them a plate to share, managing to remember every single one of her favorite fruits. Thankfully, no one else said anything along the way about the incident in the ring. It’s times like this where Y/N is so grateful to have a best friend like Cody.

But things felt a bit off once they sat down. Anytime they made eye contact, both of them would immediately look away, like they had been caught doing something bad. Or their faces would heat up from the prolonged glances. They both chalked it up to being embarrassed by what happened, but something definitely changed in the air that surrounded their friendship.

They just didn’t know what yet.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

From that day on, Cody and Y/N found themselves getting into very similar situations. No matter where they went, the tension between them seemed to grow. Their conversations seemed much more charged than usual, the glances they shared seemed to last a bit longer, touches linger for longer than they should, even something as simple as watching movies together in the hotel room suddenly became a bit more intense than usual.

Y/N groaned irritatedly as the pen she was using to sign autographed pictures of herself ran out of ink. She managed to get ready quicker than usual so she scrambled over to get these signatures done. She had been slacking in doing them recently and she felt terrible. She would be nowhere without her fans so the least she could do is get these autographs done.

However, it becomes a slight challenge as she chucks the dead pen in the garbage can in the corner of the room before walking out. She remembers one of the grips told her that there was a supply closet around the corner if she needed anything so she headed that way.

Well, she tried to.

A small ‘umph’ leaves her as she collides into a solid chest. Her eyes travel upwards, apology locked and loaded for not watching where she was going, until her irises locked with a familiar pair of icy blue ones.

“Hey, Y/N/N…” Cody greets with a smile. “What are you doing? Don’t you have a match?”

Y/N visibly relaxes, glad she doesn’t have to profusely apologize for being a klutz as Cody is already well aware of the fact. She quirks a playful brow, “Yeah, in like an hour,” she laughs. “Damn with the way you said that you’d think I was a slacker or something.”

Cody’s eyes widen, “No– No, that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t know if you needed to go and run over some bumps or–”

Y/N pokes his chest playfully, “Relax. I’m kidding,” she gestures for him to follow after her as she continues down the hallway. “But no, Gionna and I are good. We were at it for like six hours yesterday. I’m just signing autographs right now since I got the time, but my pen died, so I’m just grabbing a new one.”

“Always working, aren’t you?” He nudges her shoulder with his, making her stumble into the wall.

She sends a teasing glare, “Well one of us has to,” she fires sassily before opening the door to the supply closet and walking in, Cody following closely behind.

“Are you implying I don’t work?” He crosses his arms over his chest as he starts helping her go through the plethora of boxes to find one with pens.

“What? No,” she scoffs teasingly. “I would never say such a thing.”

“And this is why you could never play a convincing heel,” he smirks back at her, grabbing a box from a higher shelf. “You can’t lie for shit.”

Y/N’s scoffs loudly, whipping her head around, “For your information–”

She’s suddenly cut off by one of the many boxes filled with heavy items start falling from high above. Cody notices, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders protectively before pulling her into his chest. The two of them collide with the door they left slightly ajar. The door slams shut with a small click as the box hits the floor with a loud thud.

Cody and Y/N stand there breathlessly, Y/N leaning onto Cody’s chest as he keeps his hands firm on her hips. The two of them look down at the spilled contents all over the floor and begin laughing.

“Well… found your pens,” he says cheekily.

Y/N rolls her eyes, but nonetheless bends over to pick one up. “Would’ve been more helpful if I didn’t have to almost die to get them.”

“Luckily for both of us you didn’t,” he says endearingly. He’s always loved how overdramatic she can get. He turns to grab the door handle, “Now let’s get outta here so you can finish signing–”

The door handle won’t budge.

Y/N lifts an eyebrow, “Need a hand, Runnels?”

He jiggles the handle roughly, “It won’t open.”

“What?”

“The door,” Cody pulls a bit harder, “It won’t open.”

Y/N tries to move around his large frame, but with the space being so crammed it’s a tight fit. She manages to wiggle in front of him, looking down at the door handle. She tries to open it herself which makes Cody exhale rather loudly.

“Wow, wish I would’ve thought of that,” he quips sassily.

Y/N looks over her shoulder, sending a glare his way. “I was just trying to see.”

“I said it won’t open, how is you doing the exact same thing I did gonna help?”

“I don’t know!” Y/N exclaims, growing more frustrated with their situation. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Is there a lock on it or something?” He asks, trying to see through the darkness.

Y/N bends down a little bit, not aware of how hard she’s pressing into Cody. Not that they can go anywhere or put much distance between them. So the man simply inhales sharply but says nothing. “It looks like it’s manually locked by a key,” she reveals, running a hand over her face. “Which means we’re stuck until one of the maintenance workers can come open it.”

“You don’t have your phone on you to call someone?” Cody asks her, noticing the growing heat in the small closet. When the door was open it seemed much bigger, enough to fit both of them. But now it feels if either of them were to take a breath that it might make them suffocate.

“No,” Y/N sighs frustratedly. “I left it in the other room.” She turns, narrowing her eyes at him, “Where’s your phone?” She asks in an almost accusatory tone.

Cody shrugs, “In my locker. I was going over my promo in hair and makeup so I put it away, that way I wouldn’t get distracted.”

“Convenient…” she mumbles, glancing around to try and find something to open the door.

“Why are you mad at me?” Cody furrows his eyebrows. “It’s not my fault.”

Y/N huffs, realizing her snippiness shouldn’t be directed at him. She turns around without thinking, her face suddenly impossibly close to his. Her chest presses against his mid-section, his ice blue eyes boring into hers. Her breath hitches when she realizes that their noses are practically touching. She swallows the butterflies that appeared out of nowhere. Her mind feels overly fuzzy. She doesn’t understand what brought on the rush of nerves, but she doesn’t want to know.

“I’m not mad at you,” she finally utters, much quieter than she thought she was going to. “I’m just… trying to find a way out.”

Cody stares at her, feeling her chest rise and fall with each breath. His hand twitches at his side as the impulsive urge to place his hand on her waist fills his mind. He notices how her eyes flicker across his face, never travelling below his neck. It makes him wonder if it’s on purpose or if she naturally just possesses that high level of respect that forces her to maintain eye contact.

“Well, I’m not working against you Y/N/N,” Cody smiles softly at her. “I’m trying to help too, y’know…” he says teasingly.

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can’t help smiling at him. “I know… ’m sorry for snapping at you,” she mumbles. “Just don’t wanna be stuck in here for longer than we have to.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you two heads are better than one?”

“It shouldn’t take two heads to unlock a door,” Y/N fires back sassily.

“Then I guess that makes us special, huh?” He grins goofily and Y/N wishes she could pretend to be annoyed, but she can’t help herself when a soft chuckle escapes her lips.

“Just shut up and help me,” Y/N grumbles, forcing herself to look serious.

Cody throws his hands up in mock defense, “Okay, okay… so angry.”

The two of them glance around the small space, trying to find anything that might serve as some sort of assistance. Unfortunately, everything in the small storage closet doesn’t fit the criteria for their circumstances.

“There’s seriously no safety pins in here?” Y/N asks aloud, squinting her eyes to read some of the labels on the cardboard.

Cody’s brows furrow “What would you do with a safety pin?”

Y/N doesn’t look back at him, answering matter-of-factly, “Pick the lock, obviously.”

“How do you know how to pick a lock?” He stares at his best friend with an expression that definitely surpasses shock.

Y/N pauses, finally looking back at him, his body still behind hers. “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?” She asks.

“Yeah, kinda,” Cody nods with a scoff, his face still scrunched with confusion.

Y/N remains silent for a moment, “Before Good left for AEW, we had a couple of… interesting experiences together.”

“What does that even mean?” Cody interrogates. He shifts slightly, accidentally brushing Y/N’s backside with the movement. If she noticed, she doesn’t say anything, still messing with the door handle in front of her.

Y/N sighs, yanking the handle with a bit more force than necessary. “We were drunk at an after party for one of the PLE’s like five years ago and we got locked out on the roof. Neither of us could call anyone so he asked me if I had a safety pin. I had one on my skirt ‘cause it was too big and long story short, he showed me how to pick a lock.”

“Why have I never heard this story?” He asks with a frown. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous. Y/N’s always been friendly, she’s got a good rapport with pretty much everyone in the locker room. Plus, she worked closely with The Shield during their prime, so it only makes sense that she had a good relationship with Jonathan Good. The logic didn’t help soothe the uncomfortable burning in his chest at the thought of her being close like this with someone else.

She shrugs, “Never came up. Well… until now at least.”

Cody forced his mind to stay on the situation at hand. He reaches around her, trying to grab the door handle, “Here, let me try something.”

Y/N unintentionally stiffens as Cody’s arms wrap around her. She can feel his chin practically resting on her shoulder, his breath fanning her neck lightly. Her pulse quickens as his body heat becomes almost unbearable. It’s not like he hasn’t had his arms around her before, but this feels different. Maybe it’s just her who feels it, but she can’t ignore the surge of pure electricity coursing through her just by his presence. Ever since that day when she took the botched bump, small moments like this have become harder to view as friendly.

Her hands are pressed against the door in front of her to keep her upright as Cody methodically fiddles with the handle. She doesn’t know if he’s aware of how hard he’s pushing her forward, but it’s not of importance.

“You all right?” Cody asks worriedly, much too close to her ear. Chills run down her spine as she tries to come up with a coherent sentence. He felt her tense up the moment he moved closer to her so he wanted to check in. He didn’t realize the reason she’s unable to speak or even think properly is because of him.

“Uh– yeah, yeah I’m good. It’s just getting kinda warm in here,” Y/N replies, her throat bobbing as she swallows harshly.

Cody glances at her arms, “You sure you’re warm? You’ve got goosebumps.”

The way he meant it was completely innocent but the tone in his voice made Y/N inhale sharply, eyes closing as she repeatedly reminds herself that this man is like a brother to her. Though it seems the more she says it the less convinced she actually is.

“Nope,” she says stiffly. “Definitely hot. Super warm.”

Cody uses one of his hands, curling his arm to place it on her cheek in a delicate manner. It’s something he had done millions of times when she was feeling ill as a way to check her temperature. Feeling his hand on her skin simply makes her burn up even more. Her heart rate is beating so loud she’s more than ninety percent sure he could hear it. Yet his face remains unaffected, the emotion of concern being the only thing he’s letting show. Y/N finds herself leaning into him, their bodies pushed even closer together. His lips are still impossibly close to her neck due to their awkward stance. One slight shift in footing and he’d kissing the sensitive area.

“You do feel a little warm,” Cody voices, his bright blue eyes scanning over her. He notices the irregular way her chest rises and falls with every breath. Her eyes seem unnaturally hooded and her lips are parted slightly. He wonders what could possibly be going on with her to warrant this shift in behavior. She was her normal self just mere moments ago. “Have you been feeling sick?”

Sick isn’t the word to currently describe how she’s feeling.

“No,” Y/N tells him, trying to muster up her most unbothered smile, but judging by the skeptical look on Cody’s face, she didn’t do a very good job. “I’m feeling okay. Maybe I’m just getting claustrophobic or something.”

That’s when his focus is completely taken away from the door. The hand that was on her cheek drifts down to her neck to see if her raised temperature is even everywhere while his other hand grips onto her hip. Y/N exhales, her eyes fully closing as the sensations become much too overwhelming. She doesn’t understand why she’s feeling this way. Cody pauses for a second too long, silently hoping Y/N doesn’t notice. He feels the way her body relaxes into him. He fights the urge to squeeze the fat of her hip, reminding himself that this is Y/N. His best friend Y/N. But the tantalizing smell of coconut, eucalyptus, and oak fogs his mind for a brief moment. But that brief moment is all it takes. He finds himself leaning forward, his lips just barely hovering above the sweet spot behind her ear. He swears he can hear a small whimper leave her, but ultimately chalks it up to his imagination.

Just as it seems they’re about to forgo any personal boundaries, the two of them are launched forward and tumble to the floor with a loud thud. The two of them groan in different pitches as they realize someone had finally opened the door from the outside. ��I told you I heard someone in there,” the familiar voice of Kevin Steen catches their attention.

Y/N forces herself to hide her flustered state by avoiding any and all eye contact with Cody. However, it’s very difficult as the man can’t seem to stop staring at her, despite the fact they had just been caught in a closet together, a bit too close for a reasonable explanation.

“I never said you were wrong,” Randy Orton shrugs. “Just said I didn’t hear anything and would laugh if we opened it and it was empty.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Kevin says triumphantly. “And we just saved their lives,” he glances at the two best friends who are now slowly getting up from the floor. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks…” Y/N says gratefully, still trying to avoid staring at Cody so it comes off a bit more awkward than she intended.

“What were you guys even doing in there anyway?” Randy questions, arms folded over his chest somehow making him appear even bigger than he already is.

That’s when it happens. Y/N and Cody look at each other, both of their mouths open slightly as they try to find something to say. They didn’t do anything wrong, yet it felt like they were being caught doing something inappropriate by one of their parents. It didn’t make sense. Why did it feel like a lie if they were to say their original plan was to look for pens and they ended up getting locked in there? That truly was what happened, but by the way she can still feel a buzz on her cheek where his hand used to be, it felt dishonest to minimize the impact that tiny closet had.

“She was signing autographs and her pen died,” Cody finally answered for the both of them. But even though he was answering Randy, his eyes continuously flickered over to the woman next to him. “So we tried to find one and ended up getting locked in.”

Y/N was grateful he was able to say that and appear as though he believed it. She isn’t sure she could’ve gotten through it without looking absolutely guilty of something she didn’t even do.

“And neither of you bothered to call for help?” Kevin asks with a small chuckle. “You guys do know cellphones are a thing now, right?”

“Neither of us had ours,” Y/N speaks up, the steadiness in her voice surprising her. “I left mine in the signing room and Cody’s is in his locker.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Randy shakes his head before patting Y/N’s back with a fond grin. “You two always seem to be the ones getting stuck in situations like this.”

“Believe me, we’re not purposefully going out of our way to get stuck in closets,” Y/N replies with a lighthearted laugh, the tension from Cody’s touch slowly easing out of her shoulders. “I guess it’s just a best friend curse or something,” she glances over at Cody.

“I don’t know about that,” Kevin teases, bumping Cody’s shoulder as the five of them begin heading down the hallway to finish prepping for their long night. “Randy and I have never been caught in a closet like that. You two looked pretty snug.”

“Shut up,” Y/N scoffs with an eye roll. “Where else could we have gone? Up on the shelves? Wasn’t exactly a lot of room in there.”

Cody remains silent as the three people next to him continue to joke around. He doesn’t know why he can’t bring himself to chime in, but every time he looks at Y/N he can feel his hands become clammy and a feverous chill pass through him. The way she’s smiling as Randy keeps his arm securely around her shoulders, and the way she playfully pushes Kevin away as he continues to berate them for the questionable circumstances she cand Cody continue to end up in. It makes him furrow his brows as he tries to figure out where these sudden changes in his feelings are coming from. All he can decipher is that he may have enjoyed being pressed up against her a bit too much when they were stuck in that closet.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Things had seemed to calm down slightly over the next week or so. While memes and rumors still circulated about the nature of Cody and Y/N’s friendship, they hadn’t done anything more to incriminate themselves. The supply closet incident thankfully stayed between them, Randy, and Kevin, so there was no more ammunition for people to continue using.

… Until now.

One early morning in Cody’s hometown of Atlanta Georgia, he had invited Y/N to stay with him for the week so he could show her around. SmackDown was going to be there that Friday so he figured they could spend a few days before just hanging out before the show. It wasn’t the first time she had stayed with him, but it had definitely been a while. He had gotten her up early Thursday morning and forced her to go to the gym at the Nightmare Factory. She protested, wanting to sleep in, but he wouldn’t allow it. Said she’d feel better if they got their workout out of the way first so they could have the rest of the day to themselves.

She hated it, but she knew he was right. She’d despise herself more if they waited until later. So she begrudgingly forced herself out of the comfortable bed in his spare bedroom and went with him to the gym.

Y/N enjoyed working out at the private gym at Cody’s training facility. It once belonged to his dad, but it was passed down to him after Dusty passed. That was a hard time for everyone, especially considering the amount of time Y/N spent with the Runnels family.

Things had been going well. It was a chest and shoulders day, so they went through their usual workouts, doing their separate weights and stretches until they met up to spot each other at the bench press. Cody went first, smirking as he slid more plates on the bar. Y/N rolled her eyes at his cockiness but nonetheless kept herself ready just in case his muscles weren’t strong enough for his ego.

Then it was her turn. She got into position, adding more weight than she normally does. It’s that time of the year where she bulks before doing a huge cut so she’s pushing herself to lift more than usual. Cody raises an eyebrow but says nothing, knowing better than to question the strength of his best friend.

But he quickly realizes that maybe he should have. Y/N is fine for the first three reps, until he notices the smallest quiver in her arms as she goes to press up for the fourth time. He watches as her back begins to lift off the bench and he moves to help her rack the bar before she hurts herself.

Unfortunately, right as he goes to grab the bar, she pushes up at the exact same time which makes him lose his balance.

“Shit,” Cody yelps as he uses his unnatural reflexes to toss the bar to the floor before it could crush Y/N. Unfortunately it wasn’t fast enough to stop his frame from toppling forward with the momentum and crashing on top of her on the bench.

Y/N lets out a loud grunt as she’s crushed by her best friend. It takes her a moment to realize the precarious position they now find themselves in. She freezes as her eyes settle directly on Cody’s crotch which is definitely too close to her face for comfort. She can feel him tense on top of her as he comes to terms with how close his own mouth is to her lower extremities.

Neither of them move. If anyone were to walk in or look on from the many windows, all of the times they denied being just friends would no longer matter. No one would believe them if they were caught like this. But for some reason they stay like that. Breathing heavily as they sit in the electrified silence.

If Y/N were to listen to her intrusive thoughts, she would have leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the slight bulge in his sweatpants, but thankfully she has some sense of self control.

Cody swallows roughly, not able to look away from where his eyeline is currently lined up. He could easily slide his fingers up through her spandex. He mentally scolds himself for thinking that about her, but the thought in itself is enough to make his face flush red.

He finally snaps out of his trance, rolling off of her and onto the floor. Y/N keeps her eyes on the ceiling for a split second longer before finally sitting up and looking at Cody. They both were at a loss for words as they tried to figure out what to say to each other after what just happened.

Cody’s the first one to finally speak up, “Are you okay?”

Y/N nods slowly, “Yeah… Are you?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

Y/N can feel her neck heating up as her mind continues replaying the incident that just unfolded. Her eyes flicker down to his lips, biting the inside of her cheek trying to find a way to control herself. She finally finds the right words to say to try and move them forward. “Wanna go get breakfast?”

Cody stares at her blankly until an amused laugh leaves his lips. He shakes his head, pushing himself up off the floor before sticking his hand out to her. “Yeah, let’s get out of here before you try to kill me again.”

“You fell on top of me!” She exclaims playfully, taking his palm in hers as they walk out of the gym and to his car.

The two of them playfully bicker, things falling back into a natural rhythm as they try to forget the heated exchange that happened at the gym. Cody brought her to his favorite bagel place, the two of them enjoying their protein bagels in peace. Until Y/N’s phone begins blowing up. Her brows furrow as she sees Savelina’s name pop up. Cody takes a bite of his food before nodding his head, silently telling her to take the call.

Y/N does, “Hey, Lina. What’s up?”

“Please tell me you’ve checked at least one of your social media accounts in the last thirty minutes,” the woman rushes out, her voice containing an edge of panic.

“No…” Y/N trails off, sharing a worried look with Cody. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Is Cody with you?”

“Yeah…” Y/N trails off with a nervous chuckle. “You’re scaring me, Lina. What’s going on?”

“Here, I’ll send it to you,” she answers.

Y/N takes her phone away from her ear to check her text messages. When she opens their thread, her eyes practically pop out of her head. “Holy shit!”

Cody jumps from the sudden raise in her voice. There’s a tad bit of cream cheese on the corner of his mouth which makes her want to giggle but her mind is still focused on the photo Savelina just sent her. Y/N puts her on speaker so Cody can hear. “That wasn’t even an hour ago,” Y/N says exasperatedly.

“Yeah, I guess a fan was walking past at the wrong time and snapped the photo.”

Cody looks at his best friend, “What photo?”

Y/n sighs before pulling up the picture again and shows it to Cody’s who’s face mimicked her own expression from moments ago. “Shit…” he mumbles.

“You guys are trending number one on X right now,” Sav warns them. “So I would lay low for the next few days if I were you. I’m sure one of you will be getting a call from someone soon.”

Y/N exhales frustratedly, running a hand over her face. Not even three seconds later, Cody’s phone begins to buzz. Both of them tense as they watch Paul Levesque’s name pop up. Y/N hits her head on the dash compartment before speaking again, “Thanks for the warning, Lina.”

“Yeah, good luck guys.” The woman says sympathetically before hanging up.

Cody begrudgingly answers Paul’s call, putting him on speaker. Both of the best friends prepare themselves to get yelled at by their boss. “Hey Paul,” Cody says with a sigh.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen the photo,” Paul says, not angry or disappointed, maybe even slightly amused.

“Just now, yeah,” Cody answers, his hand running over his jaw.

“Is Y/N still with you?”

“Hey Paul…” Y/N greets awkwardly.

“Yeah, I figured,” he says. They hear papers shuffling on his end of the line which indicates that he’s probably already at the arena. “I need you guys to come in a bit earlier so we can do some… damage control on this whole situation before it gets blown out of proportion.”

“All right,” Cody agrees. “We’ll be there.”

“Perfect. See you in a few.”

As soon as Paul hung up the phone, the first thing that came out of either of them was one simple statement.

“We’re fucked.”

By the time they showered, got dressed, and drove over to the arena, an hour had passed. No other talent was there yet and they were specifically instructed by the execs to avoid getting on social media today at all costs so they’ve been actively avoiding their phones.

They had gotten calls from pretty much everyone on the roster and from their families asking what is actually going on. After the fifth or sixth time of telling the story, they both wanted to just send a massive group text to everyone in order to prevent themselves from going insane.

Cody could feel Y/N’s nerves as they walked through the halls to go find Paul. She wrings her hands together, not even realizing she’s doing it. He noticed it was a habit she had when she was anxious. Without putting much thought into it, he reaches over and grabs her left hand with his right. They both flinch from the sudden shock wave that’s sent through them. Y/N’s arm buzzes from the sensation, but she can’t help lacing her fingers through his.

They fit together like a puzzle piece.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he tells her with a nod. She looks in his eyes and he really isn’t just saying that to make her feel better. He actually believes it, and his confidence is enough to make her believe it too. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen. We’ve been through worse.”

Y/N laughs but it lacks the humor it usually has, “I don’t know about that,” she says.

“We have,” Cody insists as they continue walking. “Remember two years ago when you broke your collarbone and we didn’t know how long it would be til you could come back?” He brings up the incident, a brief flash of pain crossing his face as he remembers the tumultuous time. “That to me was definitely worse than this.”

Y/N huffs, “Okay, maybe I am being a bit dramatic, but this is serious. I don’t want this to affect our careers and the business. And I really don’t want people thinking we’ve been dating this whole time and lying about it.”

“Would it really be so bad if we were?” He says out of nowhere, almost like it was an afterthought.

Y/N stops just outside of Paul’s office, her head snapping towards Cody. “What?” She asks incredulously.

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be that bad if people assumed we had been dating this whole time,” he defends. “We do spend a lot of time together. It’s not completely out of the blue.” He takes note of the shock on Y/N’s face. “Unless you’d be embarrassed to say you were with me.”

Y/N blinks, “I never said that,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed, I’m just saying I don’t want either of our careers to be focused on a relationship,” she explains. “We’ve both seen what happens when two superstars start dating. They get linked to each other and it’s almost impossible to be separated afterwards. And I don’t wanna make it a gender thing, but it’s a lot easier for the guy in the situation to not be reduced to a piece of eye candy.”

Cody sighs knowing she’s right. Y/N has put her heart and soul into her career and he would hate himself if she became tethered to him over this rumor. He didn’t know why he brought up the fact they could pretend they’d been together, but the more time that goes on, the more he realizes he wouldn’t mind calling her more than his best friend.

“I don’t want you to think I’d ever be ashamed or embarrassed to say that I was with you,” Y/N says softly, almost like she read his mind. “You’re my best friend and a great guy. I just don’t want to be a show girl that accompanies you out to your matches and then I get none of my own.”

Cody’s half grin finally shows, his dimple poking out, “You’re too badass for that. They couldn’t make you just a show girl even if they tried.” He rubs his thumb on the back of her hand, “If anything I’d be out there as your piece of ass.”

Y/N and him both share an intimate chuckle, “Okay mister quarterback of the company,” she teases as their eyes meet at the same time.

“A quarterback is nothing without their left tackle,” he says, his voice lowering as his eyes flicker to her lips briefly. Y/N feels her heart begin to race, wondering if she imagined his quick glance.

Suddenly his head ducks down closer to her face, their noses only inches apart. Y/N does her best to try and diffuse whatever tension is bubbling between them, “I don’t know anything about football…” she mumbles humorously, “so I’m starting to regret my reference.”

Cody laughs, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, “It just means I wouldn’t be successful without you,” he explains.

Y/N is no longer in control of what her body does. She finds herself leaning forward towards him as well. If either of them budged even the slightest, that photo would make them look even more incriminating. Now they would actually be guilty of lying about their relationship.

“You’d be fine without me…” she mumbles, her breath fanning his face.

“I wouldn’t want to be.”

Just as he says that, Y/N reaches up to loop her arms around his neck. Both of them are clearly running on autopilot as the heat of the moment seems to fog their brains and distract them from why they’re even at the stadium this early.

That is until they’re reminded.

“There you two are,” Paul’s voice rings out as he opens up the door to his office. Cody and Y/N jump apart, thanking their lucky stars that Paul’s face is buried in a folder with papers in complete disarray. It gives them enough time to look like they weren’t about to make out in the middle of the hallway. Cody and Y/N share a look, both of their faces burning up from whatever just occurred between them. Paul glances between them when neither of them make a move, “You guys gonna come in?”

Y/N’s the first to snap out of her trance, “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” she apologizes before following Paul into his office, Cody trailing in closely behind. “Just a little thrown off by everything going on,” she explains.

“Yeah, that’s why we wanted you guys to stay away from the internet for right now,” Paul rattles off, gesturing for them to sit down as he puts away whatever paperwork he was working on. “Things get crazy when stuff like this happens.” He finally takes a seat behind his desk, putting his whole attention on the two adults across from him. They might be considered adults by age, but by the way Paul is looking at them, anyone would think they were getting called to the principal's office.

“Listen, I’m not gonna beat around the bush, I respect you both too much to do that. I need you both to understand the severity of the situation. This incident alone might just break the internet,” Paul reveals, folding his hands together. “People are speculating that you two have been together this whole time and have been lying about it. Normally it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but with both of you being the top two babyfaces in the company, lying doesn’t look good on you guys.”

Y/N sighs, running a hand over her face once again, “Yeah, we figured that’s what was gonna happen.”

“Long story short, we don’t want it to affect how fans look at you guys,” Paul explains. “If we have people booing you for lying then it throws off the balance of all the stories we’re trying to create for you now and in the future.” He leans forward, “So I talked to a couple of the execs and writers and we think we’ve come up with a solution.”

Cody and Y/N remain silent but nod their heads, telling their boss they’re interested in what he’s come up with. If there’s any way Paul can fix this, they’re all ears. “We want you two to come out as a couple in Kayfabe.”

Silence.

Y/N’s mind buzzes with white noise. She should have expected this. It was a logical solution to their problem. But it doesn’t change the sudden wave of nerves that takes over her at the thought of being Cody’s girlfriend, even if it is just for storyline purposes. She voiced her concerns to him in the hallway about this exact situation. She didn’t want to become his sidekick that just supported him whenever he had a match.

“I can see a look of apprehension on your face,” Paul looks at Y/N with a fond smile. “What’s up?”

She looks at Cody for a moment before turning back to Paul, “I just don’t want us to be stuck in a romance trope for the next ten years,” she voices a little too bluntly. “No offense to them, but I don’t want this to turn into a Scarlett and Karrion situation where she’s only out there to support him. I want to continue fighting the same way I’ve been doing. I won’t be benched.”

Paul tilts his head endearingly, “I wouldn’t dream of benching you, Y/N. I wouldn’t do that to either of you. This whole thing will just be a subplot to everything you both have going on,” he clarifies. “You both are frequently seen together in the ring anyway, so this just makes it a bit easier to explain. We can easily say that the photo and gym session was going to be exposed anyway to reveal your relationship in the storyline. It’ll line up perfectly for the business and won’t affect your lives outside of it.”

Cody couldn’t help but stare at her. She seems relieved at the situation being presented. He will admit that it is the best case scenario. Neither of them are in trouble and they found a solution to their problem. It’s panning out wonderfully. He just gets to spend more time with the woman he’s considered his best friend since the day they met.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s become much more attune to the small things that make Y/N, Y/N. Like the little dimple on her right cheek that is much deeper than the one on her left side. Or the little mischievous smirk she sports when she knows something someone else doesn’t. Or the way her voice speeds up when she’s excited to talk about something she loves. Even the little divot in between her eyebrows that appears when she’s angry or anxious about something.

Are these all things best friends take note of? Is this normal? To suddenly become obsessed with the way she tilts her head when mocking someone, leaning in close when he catches a whiff of her signature perfume. He doesn’t know when she managed to set up camp in his mind, but she’s been a resident there for the past few weeks, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to get her out.

Paul notices Cody’s eyes focused on the woman next to him and he can’t help but let a small smile show. He recognizes that look. It’s the same one he remembers sporting when he first realized he was in love with his boss's daughter. It’s clear they’re both not completely ready to admit how they feel, but maybe this storyline angle will push them in the right direction.

Paul clears his throat, swallowing any teasing remark he had locked and loaded to fire at Cody. The blonde man snaps out of his thoughts and turns back to Paul with a stiff nod. “Yeah, if you think it’s best for business, I don’t see why it would be a problem.”

Y/N agrees, “We can make it work. Whatever you give us, we’ll run with it and make sure even the people who know it’s fake believe it.”

Paul’s eyes flicker over to Cody with a smirk, pushing up his reading glasses as he goes to grab another stack of paper. “I’m sure you will… Now both of you get out of here. One of the on scene writers will bring you the new scripts for tonight.”

Y/N and Cody both thank their boss profusely before walking out of his office. It’s obvious Y/N is in much higher spirits walking out than she was walking in. “Well, that went better than I expected,” she says happily.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Cody tries to reciprocate her excitement, but part of him feels like somewhere along this road something is going to happen that’s going to throw them all for a loop.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

The reveal went better than they could have imagined. Fans were thrilled to see two of their favorite wrestlers admit their feelings for each other on screen. The writers did an incredible job building the story and telling them why they kept it a secret for as long as they did. It was received very well.

It’s been about a month since the big reveal and things couldn’t have been better for Cody and Y/N. They’ve been spending much more time together, most of their promos and matches involving the other as moral support. They’ve even started a storyline with Seth trying to poach Y/N from Cody, wanting her talent to be used to support him.

Tonight is one of the many charity galas that they get the pleasure to attend. Cody and Y/N were put in coordinating outfits, making them seem even more cohesive as an on screen couple than they already were.

The event was in full swing, everyone mingling and sharing lovely conversations. The two of them never drift very far from the other and whenever they’re together, one of them is always touching the other. Whether it’s Y/N having a hand on his chest or Cody keeping his hand leisurely on her waist or the small of her back.

Sometimes it got hard to tell the difference between the storyline and reality. Some days it really felt like they were an actual couple. Y/N didn’t realize how much she’d actually enjoy pretending to be in a relationship with him. There wasn’t a huge change from their usual dynamic besides the extra touches and kisses shared on screen. But the air between them had definitely shifted and neither of them knew what to do with it just yet. So they kept pretending it wasn’t there.

“Dang they really got you guys out here doing the most,” Phil Brooks walks up to them with a small smirk on his lips as he looks between the two younger wrestlers. “Matching outfits and everything.”

Cody laughs, his arm still comfortably around Y/N’s waist, “Gotta keep the fans happy, y’know?”

He looks in between them, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I don’t know… you guys don’t seem too torn up about being attached at the hip,” he says teasingly.

Y/N chuckles, patting Cody’s chest with her freshly manicured nails, “It doesn’t feel much different than before,” she admits. “I’m sure he’ll piss me off eventually though.”

Cody smiles at her, “I’m sure I will too.”

Phil simply shakes his head with a knowing expression, “Careful,” he warns. “You guys keep looking at each other like that and people might start thinking this is more than just a storyline.”

And with that he walks away, leaving Cody and Y/N feeling slightly flustered though they don’t show it on the outside. They continue walking around the venue, trying the small treats here and there. Y/N grabs a mini cupcake she had noticed were Reese’s flavored before turning to Cody with a small grin. She holds the cupcake to his lips, knowing that Reese’s is his favorite candy.

Cody smiles, “Really?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Just eat it,” she huffs playfully.

Cody shakes his head but does as he’s told. He leans forward, eating the small delicacy from her hand. While he wishes he could focus on the explosion of flavor in his mouth, his focus only seems to be on her. How she’s staring at him like he’s the only other person in the room.

Her teeth sparkle underneath the lighting, “Was it good?”

“Yeah,” he replies, his mind in an otherworldly place. “Really good.”

Y/N notices the tiny bit of frosting that didn’t make it to his mouth, “Oh, you got a little something–” she reaches out, swiping it gently with her finger. Cody feels his body ignite with chills, their eyes meeting in such an intense way it makes him forget how to breathe.

Y/N pauses for a moment, her hand lingering near his face as they sit in the moment for a bit longer than necessary. Butterflies erupt in her stomach as Cody’s blue eyes bore into hers. He truly is the most handsome man she’s ever seen. Her mind runs on autopilot as she raises her finger to her mouth, sucking off the sugary icing. His eyes narrow as she does so, his pupils dilating. She smiles at him as if she wasn’t aware of the effect she just had.

“There,” Y/N says, her voice much quieter than before. “All better.”

Cody’s chest rises and falls with every bated breath as he tries to regain full control of his mind and mouth, “Thanks…”

“Of course,” she tilts her head, fixing his tie and smoothing over his suit. Her hands rest on his broad chest, loving the feeling of his muscles under her fingertips. “Can’t have my man walking around lookin’ like a mess, now can I?”

Her man.

That felt way too good and slipped off her tongue far too easily. He could get used to hearing that come from her. He’s tired of pretending like this little gimmick they have going on isn’t affecting their real relationship. It’s clear to anyone the different way they look at each other now. He would love to have her on his arm like this from here on out, but he has no idea how to approach that conversation.

“C’mon,” she nods over to a couple reporters who are asking questions to the talent. “We need to go do our interview.”

Before he has a chance to respond, her fingers are laced through his as she walks him over to one of the reporters. He’s not even sure he understood one word that came out of the journalist's mouth. The only time his hearing came back into focus was when Y/N was speaking. She would laugh, answer their question, and glance at Cody to see if he wanted to answer. They were on the fourth or fifth question by now, the American Nightmare not having uttered a word the entire time.

Y/N squeezes his bicep, “You okay?” She asks tentatively, knowing how overwhelmed he can get with press interviews at events like this. Her eyes shine with concern, silently telling him he can leave if he needs to take a breather.

It’s touching how well she knows him. He smiles, simply pulling her closer into him as he looks back at the interviewer. “Sorry, I swear, sometimes she walks into a room and I forget every word in the English language.” His compliment makes the woman questioning them coo. But there’s a deeper level under Cody’s words that steals the breath from Y/N’s lungs. It’s more than just for Kayfabe, but they can’t let anyone, including their colleagues know that. He glances back down at her, “She doesn’t even try, and somehow I’m standing here like I’ve never seen a beautiful woman before."

“Totally understandable,” the woman smiles. “She is definitely one of the most gorgeous women in the world. No one can blame you for getting caught up in that.”

Y/N feels herself becoming shy due to all the compliments being thrown her way, “Guys, you’re gonna inflate my ego…” she says, trying to make a joke out of it.

“Well, I only have one more question for you guys and you can go back to being WWE’s power couple for the night,” she looks down at her notepad. The interviewer leans forward, a knowing smile tugging at their lips. "So, you two have insane chemistry on screen — and let’s be honest, off screen too. Is there ever a moment you catch yourselves forgetting where the characters end and real life begins?"

Y/N lets out a soft laugh, playing it cool as she leans back in her chair. “I mean… that’s kind of the job, right? Sell the story, make people believe it.” She shoots Cody a quick sideways glance, teasing but guarded. “We’re just really good at our jobs.”

Cody’s smile twitches, like he’s holding back a laugh — or maybe something else. “Yeah,” he says slowly, thoughtful. “It’s… kind of funny, actually. Sometimes the line gets blurry. Not because we forget, but because it doesn’t always feel like we’re acting.”

Y/N blinks, her smirk faltering just for a second. The air between them tightens — barely noticeable to the camera, but tangible to anyone watching closely.

Cody doesn’t break eye contact. “We’ve known each other for years. That kind of bond doesn’t turn off just because the cameras are rolling. If anything, it makes the performances more honest.”

Y/N’s voice is quieter when she speaks next. “I guess when you trust someone that much, the feelings start to feel… real. Even if they’re not supposed to be.”

The interviewer raises a brow, sensing something. “So are you saying there are real feelings?”

Cody chuckles, looking down briefly, but his thumb taps anxiously against his knee. “I’m saying… there are moments where I look at her, and I forget the difference.”

Y/N’s breath catches, just for a second. Her smile returns, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time.

“Well, thank you both for your time,” the woman smiles at them. “I’m looking forward to hopefully interviewing you both in the near future.”

“Us too,” Cody nods respectfully before moving to guide Y/N away by her waist. “Thank you.”

The two of them slip away and travel back to the heat of the party. They smile at their friends, sending polite nods to the people they aren’t as close with. Cody leans down to whisper in her ear, his gorgeous smile still plastered on his face. “You really threw me under the bus with that ‘real feelings’ bit,” he says playfully.

Y/N shrugged, cocking a brow. “What can I say? The fans love blurred lines.”

“Blurred, huh?” He looked at her then, head slightly tilted, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knew something she didn’t.

She rolled her eyes, pretending she wasn’t already hyper-aware of the heat rolling off him in waves. “Relax, Runnels. I didn’t tell them about that time you cried during The Notebook.”

He scoffed, grabbing the door and holding it open. “Once. I cried once. And Rachel McAdams was very convincing.”

The room was still buzzing but much more lowkey than before — the usual mix of tired talent, sparkling water, and event food passed off as fine dining. Y/N weaved her way to the snack table and grabbed a chocolate-covered strawberry, eyeing Cody from over her shoulder as he joined her with two drinks in hand.

“What?” she asked around a mouthful of strawberry, juice slipping unexpectedly onto her chest just as she bit into it.

Cody blinked, his gaze shifting downward. “You, uh—” He pointed vaguely. “You got a little… right there.”

Y/N looked down, groaning when she spotted the spot of red on the silky material just above her neckline. “Ugh. Of course I did.”

Without thinking, Cody reached for a napkin and stepped closer. “Here, I got it.”

She froze when his hand gently dabbed the spot, the fabric dipping slightly under the weight of his touch. Her breath caught. So did his.

Neither of them spoke.

The space between them thinned to something taut, like a rope pulled too tight.

His hand hovered a beat too long before they were interrupted.

“Well damn,” came a drawl behind them. “This still a PG show?”

They turned sharply to see Demi Bennett sauntering toward them with a knowing smirk. Matthew Adams stood beside her, brow raised in amusement.

Cody took a sharp step back, napkin still in hand. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“Oh, no,” Rhea teased, eyes flicking between them. “It looked exactly like what it looked like.”

“It was strawberry juice,” Y/N added quickly, wiping at her dress herself now. “He was just helping.”

Buddy snorted. “Helping, huh? That what we’re calling second base now?”

Y/N’s mouth opened in protest, but Cody beat her to it.

“Alright,” he said, half-laughing, half-grimacing. “Noted. No touching near fruit.”

Rhea just winked. “Next time, try grapes. Less messy.”

As the couple walked off, Y/N avoided Cody’s eyes and instead fixed her gaze on her dress. “Well. That wasn’t mortifying at all.”

Cody rubbed the back of his neck. “Nope. Totally normal. Just a guy helping a friend clean juice off her—chest.”

The air crackled with everything neither of them said.

Y/N looked up at him, a teasing spark in her eyes. “So, uh… you always that hands-on when it comes to helping friends?”

Cody smirked, but his voice was quieter now. “Only the ones I don’t wanna just be friends with.”

Her heart skipped. “What?”

But he was already walking away, tossing his cup in the trash without looking back. “C’mon. Let’s head back before someone else tries to bet on us.”

She stood frozen for a beat longer than she should’ve, chest tight and lips twitching with something she wasn’t ready to name. But her feet followed him anyway — straight into the night, straight toward the conversation neither of them could avoid any longer.

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Once the party was over, everyone headed back to the hotel where they were staying for the weekend. Cody and Y/N bid their goodnights to their friends before traveling up to their shared room. They always shared rooms even before the whole dating fiasco, so that was nothing new.

What was slightly different was the way their hands never disconnected as they traveled back.

Cody slides his key into the mechanism of the door, a small click indicating it is now open. The two of them shuffle into the room, both letting out a relieved exhale at finally being able to lay down in a quiet space. The two full sized beds in the room are like heaven on earth for the two best friends.

Y/N falls face first into the mattress, not even bothering to try and take off her dress or shoes. Cody laughs at her dramatic behavior, loosening his tie before taking off his vest. “Yeah?”

Y/N simply grunts in response, the noise coming out muffled as her face is still buried in the comforter. Cody shakes his head, the smile never disappearing from his face. “Didn’t know spending an evening with me was so exhausting,” he teases, removing his long sleeve shirt, leaving his upper body and torso completely bare as he searches for his pajamas.

Y/N rolls her and body simultaneously. She sits up, looking at Cody but her breath gets caught in her throat. She’s used to seeing him shirtless due to the nature of their work, but it’s never been in an intimate environment like this. She also wasn’t expecting to flip over and come face to face with his god-like body.

She manages to find her voice, “I never said you were exhausting,” she corrects. “I just need like ten hours to myself to recover. I hate people.”

“You don’t hate people,” Cody laughs, throwing his shirt on. “You just hate being around them. Key difference.”

“Tomato, potato,” Y/N chucks her pillow at him as he collapses onto his own mattress.

Cody caught it midair with an exaggerated grunt. “Ah! Deadly.”

Y/N smirked, rolling onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to actually fight you.”

He gave her a sly grin, tossing the pillow back. “Oh, I’d win.”

“Ha!” she snorted, half-laughing. “Yeah, okay, Nightmare. I literally know all your moves.”

Cody stretched out on his back, arms folded under his head. “Nah. You don’t know all of them,” he said casually, a little too casually.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, tossing the pillow aside. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked without looking at her, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Just sayin’… I got a few tricks you haven’t seen yet.”

The room felt warmer suddenly. Y/N swallowed, her face heating up before she could stop it.

She sat up a little too quickly. “Anyway,” she cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair, “I should probably change or something.”

But Cody’s voice stayed soft, less teasing now. “Hey, Y/N.”

She paused, halfway off the bed. “Yeah?”

He pushed up on his elbows, watching her with an expression that made her stomach knot. “You okay?”

She blinked. “What? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been…” He exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I dunno. Since the day we got locked in that supply closet — you’ve kinda been pulling back a little.”

Y/N inhales, closing her eyes briefly as she thinks. It’s not that she’s been pulling back, it’s more along the lines of not knowing how to control herself and the growing feelings she was obtaining for her best friend. She sat down on the edge of her bed, chewing her lip. “I’ve just been trying to adjust to the new things that have been handed to us and our relationship,” she tells him, her eyes flickering in his direction. I guess I just feel like I don’t know how to act around you anymore,” she admitted quietly.

Cody’s brow softened. “Yeah.” He shifted, resting his arms on his knees, elbows propped forward. “Me neither.”

They both sat there for a beat, staring at the floor like it might explain what the hell was happening between them.

Y/N laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “This was supposed to be easy, you know? We’ve always been easy.”

Cody gave a small smile. “Yeah. Best friends, right?”

She glanced over at him, heart stuttering. “Right.”

His gaze met hers, and suddenly the air shifted — thick, humming, like neither of them wanted to say the next thing but both needed to.

Cody stood slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I keep thinking,” he began, voice low, “about how weird it is that it took some stupid accidental moments to make me realize how much I… care about you.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She turned fully, legs swinging off the bed, hands clenched nervously in her lap. “Cody…”

He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like he didn’t want to spook her. “I keep waiting for this to go back to normal. For us to laugh it off and move on. But I don’t want it to go back.”

Her throat felt tight. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He gave a soft, almost helpless laugh. “Because I didn’t wanna mess this up.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “You mean everything to me, Y/N.”

She stood slowly, heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. “Cody, I—”

Before she could finish, he was there, right in front of her, one hand gently cupping her jaw, the other hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her waist. His eyes searched hers, hesitant and vulnerable in a way few people ever saw from Cody Rhodes.

“I don’t wanna be just your friend anymore,” he murmured.

Y/N let out a shaky breath. “I don’t either.”

That was all it took.

His mouth met hers in a kiss that was slow, careful — like he was memorizing every second — but it didn’t take long before her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him like she’d wanted to for weeks.

When they finally broke apart, Cody leaned his forehead against hers, smiling, breathless. “Well,” he said softly, “guess we’re not just platonic soulmates after all, huh?”

Y/N laughed, her heart full and wild. “Guess not.”

Cody chuckled low in his throat. “So… can I stay over here tonight, or do I still get my own bed?”

She raised a brow, playful now. “We’ll see.”

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Backstage was buzzing — crew members running cables, wrestlers milling around in sweats and ring gear, trainers moving between rooms. Cody stood near one of the black crates, absentmindedly rolling his wrists, waiting for his cue.

Y/N appeared at his side, slightly breathless from her segment, her hair still pinned up from earlier. “They ran me long,” she murmured, exhaling as she tugged lightly at the uncomfortable neckline of her top. “I swear, I’m two seconds from ripping this thing off.”

Cody gave her a quick once-over, a small amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tempt me….”

Y/N snorted, elbowing him lightly. “Shut up.”

He just chuckled, watching her fiddle with a bobby pin. There was something easy between them — always had been — but lately, it sparked under the surface in ways neither of them could fully ignore anymore.

Without really thinking, Cody reached over and brushed a stray hair off her face, his fingers lingering just a little too long against her cheek.

Y/N froze slightly, her eyes lifting to his.

Cody shifted his weight, his voice dropping a little. “Y’know,” he said quietly, “we don’t gotta keep pretending we’re just best friends.”

She gave a small, nervous laugh. “I mean… we are best friends.”

“Yeah,” Cody murmured, his thumb grazing her jaw lightly. “But I’d say we’re a little more now too.”

Y/N’s breath caught, eyes flicking briefly to his mouth before darting away. Cody saw it — of course he saw it.

Screw it.

He slid a hand to the small of her back, gently pulling her closer, and pressed a kiss to her lips — soft, sure, no hesitation.

For a second, it was just them — quiet in the middle of the noise.

But then they heard the unmistakable throat-clear from behind.

“About damn time.”

Cody turned, arm still draped loosely around Y/N, to see Randy Orton leaning against a crate with an infuriating smirk on his face. Behind him, Kevin Steen and Rami Sebei pretended to be very engrossed in their phones, though the poorly hidden grins gave them away.

Y/N huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “Y’all are unreal.”

Randy shrugs, pushing off the crate. “What, you thought nobody noticed the way you two look at each other?”

Cody leans forward to kiss Y/N’s forehead, half laughing, half mortified.

“Hey,” Randy sticks his hand out to Kevin and Rami. “Pay up.”

Y/N gapes, laughing. “You bet on us?!”

Kevin gave a non apologetic shrug. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“We saw the way you two were looking at each other months ago,” Rami tells them.

“Congrats lovebirds,” Randy tells them as he and the guys start to walk off. “Just don’t get anymore sappy than you already are in the ring, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cody replies, fist bumping the Viper.

Y/N watches them go before looking up at Cody, still tucked against him, her cheeks warm. “I still can’t believe they bet on us.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cody drawled, brushing his thumb along her back, “I’m pretty sure half this locker room’s been waiting longer than we have.”

She smiled softly, resting her forehead lightly against his chest.

And just like that, there was no big announcement, no stage lights, no performative gesture — just two people standing backstage, in a stolen quiet moment, grinning like idiots because they were finally exactly where they wanted to be.

#female reader #love story #cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes imagine #world wrestling entertainment #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #rhea ripley #randy orton #kevin owens #sami zayn #paul levesque #triple h #nia jax #wrestling

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pukefactory · 2 days ago

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Question.

We probably know the answer to this already but do you think ENA had these feelings for the reader with anyone else? Like the connection they have between them; whether it be romantic or platonic? Like I know most creatures don’t like her, but what about her perspective?

And if not, what do you think makes the connection between her and the reader so meaningful? I like to think about the complexities of this symbiotic relationship. ☺️

That’s a cute question—and a really important one, too, because ENA’s relationships are rarely mutual, or safe, or deeply grounded. Most of the beings in her world are entities, not people. And most of those entities either exploit, confuse, mock, or warp her. She’s made of contradiction—half rational, half manic, all unstable—and yet she’s surrounded by things even less stable than her. She’s just functional enough to be aware of her alienation… and just dysfunctional enough to think it’s normal.

So when someone (you) steps into her world—messy, chaotic, strange—and doesn’t recoil? Or worse, when they do feel a little nervous and cling to her anyway? That undoes her.

No. She hasn’t felt this for anyone else.

Not like this. Not in this gentle, slow way where she’s not some walking glitch or spectacle or puzzle to be solved. Not in a way that asks nothing of her except to be there. That’s not something ENA’s used to—she’s either being used for something or ignored completely. So when someone genuinely wants to understand her? When someone is patient with her spirals, with her shifts from poetic musings to shrill panic? She’s undone by it. Entirely.

And the connection works both ways, too.

You’re not from this world. Whether isekai’d in or just lost inside her plane of existence, you’re always out of place—sometimes scared, always overwhelmed. But ENA sees that. She’s been that. And unlike the rest of her world, she tries to accommodate. She gets nervous, she fumbles, she says the wrong thing and then hugs you too hard or makes a weird noise that sounds like a bootleg dial-up modem. But her effort? It’s sincere.

That’s the symbiosis:

You need someone who can guide you through the noise.

She needs someone who doesn’t run from her signal.

And maybe that’s all it takes. Not grand declarations or saving the day or being “normal” enough to impress the other. Just… being two lonely, weird things who don’t have to pretend around each other. Two signals in the static that, somehow, tune into the same frequency.

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alexanderwales · 3 days ago

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What annoys me most about them is that I think they're a response to both FOMO and social connection, and a bad one. The audience is, on the one hand, people who finish a movie and want to relive it and connect with other people who have seen it, and on the other hand, people who are vaguely aware of a movie and just want to know what it's about as a kind of shortcut.

And it's bad at both those things!

It's really just better to have a SparkNotes version of movies and shows to allow people to skip over actually experiencing the thing, if that's what the market for some dumb reason demands. And then separately, have videos that fill the role of sitting down with your friend to chat about the movie that you just watched.

But of course the people that make these videos are content milling, terrible at their jobs because there just doesn't seem to be any incentive to be good at it, and because there's time pressure to get the video out the moment the movie/show/whatever is out to get the algorithm ball rolling.

It's just frustrating stuff all around.

I think I'd be less annoyed by the proliferation of "[movie] ending explained!" videos on YouTube if any of them actually explained anything. Like... this isn't an explanation. You're just describing what's happening on the screen, and half the time that description is wrong.

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miscellaneousdae · 12 hours ago

Text

WOULD THEY DATE A PLUS SIZED PERSON? | SKZ⁸

ᝰ.ᐟauthors note: raise your hand if you’ve been victimized by a tik tok video regarding who in skz would date a plus sized person! 🙋🏻‍♀️ in honor of that, here’s my take on this lol. these were written with reality in mind, but sprinkled by delusion on some. you’re all gorgeous and we don’t know these people personally, so delulu is the solulu.

p.s: written by a plus sized girlie

౨ৎ — BANG CHAN 🐺

Yes.

see source one, source two, and i had another video that i cant find, but chan talks about how saying “you look fine as you are” can sometimes give a negative impression, and how people say “you look good when you’re skinny” but he (at the time) didn’t like how skinny he was, and wanted to gain weight. he just…gets it, in a way, and i’m standing on that! can you tell he’s my bias?

i feel like his is so straightforward that there’s not a lot to elaborate on. he understands that bodies are different, for many reasons, and has always been so open about struggles. be it his own struggles or others, he’s always so kind and open minded. he also definitely gives me the vibe that he’s not actively seeking out romance when he meets someone, so he’s not even considering what’s attractive and what’s not attractive. people become attractive to him when he learns their personality and gets a good grasp of their energy and vibe. so, yes, chan would definitely date a plus sized person <3

౨ৎ — LEE MINHO 🐈

Yes.

now, i don’t have a lot to back me up here other than straight vibes. he’s another one who doesn’t immediately consider romance when meeting other people, and i think he’s probably experienced being physically attracted to someone and then their personality completely throws him off, so he’s just stopped considering looks as a whole. even if looks are considered, he seems like he doesn’t understand why he’d go out of his way to comment on someone else’s body, or why anyone else would. he’s very demure, very minding his own business, very whatever comes his way is what he loves. he’s just a chill guy.

౨ৎ — SEO CHANGBIN 🐇

…do I even need to say it?

for a number of reasons, yes. first and foremost, he just has that vibe that he loves the look, and secondly, he knows what it’s like to not be accepted because of how you look, and therefore, would never want to be that way to other people. he’s a sweetheart, and very much just wants someone who dotes on him and that he can dote on in return. changbin is a strong yes and you’re incorrect if you disagree.

౨ৎ — HWANG HYUNJIN 🥟

indecisive

genuinely, the only thing keeping me from saying yes is how firm some other people’s ‘no’s have been. from my perspective, hyunjin seems like someone who’s open minded and more focused on the ways he can connect with people rather than worrying about judging them. not to mention, he’s an artist. one could argue that he’s more critical, but i also feel like because of that, he wants to really know someone before making any judgements. plus, given the forbidden bullying scandal, i feel like he might be terrified to find himself in another situation like that but i digress

so like…if you ask me? yes, but i am delusional and hyunjin is one of my bias wreckers so who knows

౨ৎ — HAN JISUNG 🐿️

YES GAWDDD

look, i’ve seen mixed opinions on him as well (most of these opinions i’m referring to are old tumblr MTL posts or tik toks and the comment sections on them) BUT i feel like he’s very curious and open minded. so, say a plus sized person shoots their shot? han’s got that “you know what? hell yeah.” mindset. ANNDDDD the video where felix mentions gaining weight, and han immediately reassures him that gaining weight is okay, and that he’s pretty. plus, han spends a lot of time working with chan and changbin, to which i feel like they all probably have come to similar conclusions due to their influence on each other. plus han also gives me the energy that if you’re pretty, you’re pretty, regardless of size, shape, etc.

౨ৎ — LEE FELIX 🐣

…yes. and hear me out,

i’ve seen almost everyone who’s done this sort of thing say that felix is a hard no because of his own struggles with his body and how his perception of beauty is warped. while i can see that, i don’t think that translates to how he views other people. if anything, he wouldn’t want to put someone else through what his own mind puts him through. not to mention, i think he could find a lot of comfort in security in being with a plus sized person who’s confident with themselves, and could implement better ideals to felix. that’s just my take <33

౨ৎ — KIM SEUNGMIN 🐶

YES.

i don’t think i’ve seen anyone say he wouldn’t, and i stand with that because hear me out:

“but i’m fat”

“…okay and i’m seungmin?”

this man does not care. he acknowledges it and appreciates it. he’s very much in the “if i like you, i like you” category. case rested.

౨ৎ — YANG JEONGIN 🦊

indecisive pt. 2

in theory, yes. i think he’s probably taken some influence from chan, or maybe even seeing how changbin has been affected and treated by media would alter any negative views he might have had. to be fair, i just don’t even see jeongin dating LMAO like he’s content as he is, and if the person that happened to come his way was plus sized? if he likes your personality, he’s down.

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fairycosmos · 3 days ago

Note

this is a pretty silly question, but do you ever feel like it’s been getting harder & harder to speak to/befriend people our age? i do, especially online. maybe i’ve personally just been having really bad luck? but dozens of dozens of people i’ve met have just been really mean, judgemental, try to come off as apathetic as possible, etc. ive been in so many gcs/spaces where ive seen if someone tries to strike up a convo people just respond with “oh” or “erm.” or they’re all just cringing at someone for liking or enjoying something. i’ve also had a lot of experiences of being unable to hold convos with people bc they only want to talk about themself/ their own interests & then the convo dies when i try to do the same. idk where i’m going with this honestly, but i feel a huge difference from even just a few years ago? even if we were strangers or didn’t end up clicking i could still have a lot of interesting convos with people, it honestly makes me a bit sad to see so many of us being so scared to talk to people and have more silly interactions

oh yeah i mean broadly speaking ppl are absolutely allergic to anything or anyone that exudes the slightest bit of earnestness esp online. i think its gotten worse the last few yrs like this absolute need for everything to be dripping in irony, hyper self awareness, nonchalance …… anything that’s not super curated is going to get that “oh!” or “that’s not-“ reaction. weirdly feels like that school environment where everyone is kind of laughing at you all the time (or waiting for the opportunity to.) and unfortunately that makes it rly hard for like any authentic human connection to happen which is shit bc i feel like we’re all so lonely but our communication skills have collectively atrophied …….. i rmr back in the day i could talk to the most random ppl in skype group chats even if we had nothing in common it was just ppl hanging out from all over the world and that was so cool ! now the internet just feels like one big performance and one big shopping center simultaneously lmfao. there’s not a lot of substance or even fun there anymore. ANYWAY! im sorry you’re having this experience too, i completely understand how isolating and depressing it is. if you ever want to chat about stuff you’re interested in my inbox will be open - i would love to hear it 💌💌

#anon #ask chloe

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vampyrochor · 2 days ago

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I really appreciate you taking the time to share this—especially bringing in your own lived experience. I absolutely agree that “eldest daughter syndrome” encompasses so much more than just being parentified. It’s a deeply emotional and complex dynamic rooted in sacrifice, emotional labor, and a sense of responsibility that’s often invisible or dismissed. Your explanation gives that experience the nuance it deserves.

That being said, I think it’s important we distinguish between characters we identify with and characters who canonically share that experience. When people see Dick Grayson and say “he’s one of us,” I understand it’s because they see reflections of their own pain and burden in his emotional arc, which is completely valid as a lens for connection. But I don’t think the text supports the idea that Dick was forced to grow up too soon for the sake of others in the same way many eldest daughters are.

From the time Dick becomes Robin, Bruce is a very present and protective guardian—not someone who offloads responsibility onto Dick. In fact, Bruce deliberately pushes Dick away from adult responsibilities as a teen, leading to Dick leaving and founding the Titans to assert his independence. He’s frequently portrayed as someone trying to escape from being consumed by the Bat-family’s dysfunction, not someone stuck in the center of it.

When Jason comes into the picture, Dick is already estranged from Bruce and out of the house. During Tim’s early years as Robin, Dick is supportive but again not central to his upbringing as anything but a brotherly figure/mentor—he’s with the Titans or Nightwing-ing in Blüdhaven. And even when Damian enters the fold, Dick only takes on a fatherly role as Batman, and only because Bruce is presumed dead. That’s an adult stepping into leadership during a temporary crisis, not a child sacrificing his own life to hold a family together.

In canon, Dick’s emotional arc is often about choosing to step up for others when Bruce fails—not being forced into it from a young age. That’s a meaningful distinction. It makes him heroic, but it doesn’t make him a narrative stand-in for the lived experience of so many eldest daughters.

None of this is to say people can’t relate to him that way. But I do think it's worth drawing a line between personal interpretation and canon-based analysis—especially when that interpretation (if even unintentionally) leans into gendered or stereotypical readings like “eldest daughter = emotionally selfless caretaker.” We can recognize that people relate to Dick as a symbol without retrofitting that dynamic onto his actual story.

Can we.... stop referring to Dick as an eldest daughter? There was never any expectations for him to raise his siblings and he's usually doing his own things when they just start out under Bruce's care. Yes, he took over some of the responsibility when Bruce was caught in the time stream, but he was a grown adult by that point. A grown adult cannot be 'parentified'. Also, this was a crisis situation beyond just having an absent parent, not their day-to-day life.

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transboyswitchytales · 1 day ago

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Busy Woman

Governor Claire DeBella (Alpha) x Student Fem Reader (Omega)

Part 1

Sugar Mama Claire DeBella is having a hard time away from her bonded mate.

SMUT WARNING (MDNI) 18+

Alpha/Omega/ Mommy kink/ Power kink/ Sugar Mama/ FaceTime Masturbation / Possesive kink / Jealousy Kink / G!P

(Glass Onion Fandom)

My Masterlist

You took a hit of your inhaler before sighing at the load of homework you had spread across your bed. The only thing illuminating the small apartment is the low, dim light of your computer screen. You sat with a partially empty chip bag to your right. Adorned in grey sweatpants and an old tie-dye sweatshirt. You’d been sitting at the stupid computer for hours trying to finish your finals.

Your cold toes are cramping in the cool air of your apartment.

You groaned and set the inhaler aside, scratching your scalp nervously. Aching for a cigarette. Just as you thought it, your phone lit up.

‘How are finals going?’

You groan again, and before you can type back you see her text again.

‘You better not be smoking.’

You roll your eyes now, before unlocking your phone to type back.

‘I have a night full of crazy fun times ahead of me. Hows work?’

You never had to wait long. Claire didn’t take long to respond like, ever. She was anal about your quick response as well. You didn’t mind her possessive, nit-picky behavior not even when it came down to midnight texts.

You fidgeted your bound band around your finger subconsciously. She’d given it to you pretty quickly into your courting. Her poor ex-husband hadn’t even seen it coming. The second she’d sniffed you, you’d belonged to her.

‘Frustrating. People are incompetent as usual. Which class?’

You pulled the throw blanket at the bottom of your bed around your shoulders and grabbed your phone, heading towards the fridge. Yanking open the fridge door only to see slim pickings. Lots of condiments, a few fancy beers, not so much food. Claire usually sent groceries, but you'd told her she didn’t need to. But she believed you needed supervision in taking care of yourself. You’d called Claire your Sugar Mama on more than one occasion for these tendencies. She seemed to only grin like the cat that ate the canary at this nickname.

Grabbing a water bottle, you kicked the fridge closed with your heel as you typed back.

All of them. Do you go to New York this week?

No, don’t change the subject sweet girl. Tell me.’

,American Foreign Policy.American National Government. American Political Thought. Contemporary Political Ideologies.

‘Well, that’s hot.’ Your screen lights up with her message, using that cheery dinging chime for her texts. You started to chew on your bottom lip. A bad habit she told you.

Lol, the fact that all of my classes are around politics turns you on?

You typed with one hand as you sipped at the water. It’s cold and refreshing as it slips past your lips.

‘You’ll just be such an adorable first lady when I’m president.’ You tilted your head back and laughed in the small apartment alone.

‘Now that, I can see.’

In truth, you really could see Claire as president. She was powerful and had mafia-level kind of connections. It is kinda scary to think of the power she holds. If it wasn’t so sexy.

‘You flirt. Do you need help with your papers?’

‘I think you being here would only make me horny and unable to do any homework.’

‘Are you sure about that? I can be very helpful.’

You are tempted to send back an eggplant emoji.

‘Oh, Yeah? ‘’

‘I can make you feel so good. ‘

‘I don’t see how that helps with my papers, lol.’

‘I could send a car around.’

That's how the two of you had been meeting up. She’d send a car around and you’d either meet her at her townhouse or the apartment near her work. Claire then would fuck you till you were a whimpering mess, she’d feed you dinner. And you’d fall asleep in her million-count Egyptian cotton bed. Only to have to make a mad dash to classes the next morning.

‘That will really help with my homework, huh?’

‘Who said anything about homework?’

You downed the water and threw it away.

‘Lol, you did just a few seconds ago Governor.’

‘Not my favorite thing that you call me, but I don’t mind it.’

‘Now if I called you what you want me to we’d both have blue balls.’

You suddenly had a very vivid memory of her dick sliding into your throat over and over as drool flowed down your bottom lip. Talk about blue balls.

‘Hmmm, now that's a gross term for what we have.’

You chuckled but sat back down and repositioned your laptop. Blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders you shivered in the chilly state of your apartment. You missed her body heat next to you in bed. Maybe you were getting sick?

‘I’m not gonna get jack shit done if you make me horny.’

‘I like to keep my baby in a constant state of wanting. I think that makes it easier for both of us.”

You laughed as you flipped on the TV to see Claire’s earlier press conference on national affairs on CNN. Closing your laptop you turned up the TV to hear her talking back to some lowly pentagon pencil pusher.

‘I don’t know if I’d say easier.’

‘Just don’t forget the rules.’

She sure as shit caught you just as your hand was reading to the strings on your sweatpants. You sighed. Well fuck.

“I won't.’ You text back and wish she didn’t know you so well.

‘Let me hear it. Say it.”

“I won’t touch Mommy’s property without permission.”

“Now that's a good girl.”

You could practically hear her purr the sentiment back at you.

There was no way you were finishing your homework tonight. You fluffed a pillow next to you and hugged it wishing you weren’t alone in bed. Closing your eyes as you listened to Claire on CNN lull you to sleep.

_________________

Next morning was not as forgiving as the night had been. You walked onto campus with a backpack slung over your left shoulder. Your white high top converse made squeaky noises on the linoleum floor of the library. Your phone vibrated and you snuck your hand into your jean pocket to pull it out. A librarian gave you the evil eye but you opened it up to see Claire’s name lit up.

‘Are you being a good girl?’

‘You know I am.’ You text back only to get a reply quickly.

‘I need to see you this weekend.’

‘You know we can’t.’

Claire rarely followed her own rules. She’d said during this media storm she’d need to keep a bit of distance. It wasn’t that she was ashamed. She was an Alpha in the public opinion, with a much younger college girlfriend. It was a little taboo that she’d already mated and put a ring on you. She’d wanted to pump you full of pups. But she was waiting until she was re-elected before putting that stress on the relationship.

Though you weren’t rushing things, the idea of being a college student married to a governor was going to make things very complicated. You enjoyed not being seen on campus as it was now.

‘I don’t give a shit. I’ll send a car.’

You smile but shake your head. That’s all they needed, was to get caught by some cub reporter wanting to make a buck on some sleazy website.

‘Bad idea Claire. But I saw you on CNN again this morning. That’s some sexy pantsuit Governor.’

‘Are you teasing me?” You could practically see her sexy smirk.

“I would never, Madame Govener.’

‘Good girl , but don’t change the subject.’

‘You know that it would be super hard. Too many eyes.’

‘When this election is over I’m marrying you. Fuck everyone's eyes.’

‘I thought we were waiting for me to graduate college?’ You pulled out a book on a top shelf down and slid your phone between the pages so it at least looked like you were doing what you came to the library to do.

‘Nah, I want my eye candy on my arm. I’m tired of endless workdays and all I can come home to is a bottle of wine. I need my good girl home. Where she belongs.’

You can’t help but smile like an idiot. But the librarian clears her throat and points to the no phone sign to her left. You smile apologetically now and tuck the phone in your pocket. Putting the book back and slinking guiltily out of the library. The phone buzzed not a minute later.

‘Hello? You know I don’t make a habit out of making marriage proposals and then getting no text back.’

‘Sorry, I’m here. ‘

‘The tracker on your phone tells me you are at school, but you don’t have class today?”

“I love it when you stalk me. No class, but I’m looking for a book I can cite for my paper.’

‘What time will you be home?’

‘An hour tops, why?’

‘I am scheduling groceries.’

‘Ya know, I can pay for my own food right?’ You scoffed.

‘Mama’s got it covered.’

‘You are such a tease.’ You look around you to find an exit. Pushing it open and hoping it’s not an emergy exit that is going to blare loudly in the library.

‘You obviously have spent too much time away if that’s how you talk to me.’

‘Thank you for the groceries. Do you want to Facetime tonight?’

‘Will you be naked?’

‘If that’s what Mama wants.’

You turn down the hall to the cafeteria and go straight to the small coffee stand. Ordering a black coffee and slip an AirPod in. With the sole purpose of listening to the audio version of your textbook. But your phone lights up with an incoming call. You answer it and put two dollars in the tip jar.

‘Govenor slutty hotline. You call I fall to my knees.” You answer to hear a heady dark chuckle.

“Cute.”

The barista smiles at you with a big grin and hands you a coffee. She’s adorable and she’s got purple hair. And her bracelet says ‘my body, my choice.’ And then there’s a few vote rubber bracelets too.

“Thanks, nice bracelets, have a good day.” You say sweetly and grab a coffee sleeve.

“I thought you were at school?” Claire asks, and you swear she sounds little jealous. Which is ridiculous but you don’t call her out on it.

“I needed coffee.” You balance the phone against your shoulder as you slip the coffee cozy on and sip at the bitter drink.

“How much coffee have you had today?”

“My usual four cups. And two energy drinks?”

You hear her shuffling paperwork and stop when you answered her. Obviously that was not the answer she’d been hoping for.

“That’s too high for your age.”

“Until I’m pregnant with your pups, I get to drink as much coffee and energy drinks as I want.”

“You think so, huh?” It sounded dangerous out of Claire’s mouth now.

“No,no, no, don’t make this a rule. This is so not cool.” You whine.

“There are medical studies that back it. Too much coffee is not good.” She says it in her Mommy voice now. It’s smooth and caring like butter on toast.

“Ok, and how many cups of coffee do you drink a day?” You tried to tease lightly in hopes of not getting in trouble.

“I don’t believe we were talking about me.”

“Pot meet kettle.” You let out a puff of frustrated air. Which Claire heard of course.

“You obviously need to be taught a lesson with the amount of sass I’m getting today.” A memory of being spanked by Claire came into your mind. Past mistakes and sore bottoms were no fun.

“No sass. Just firm boundaries when it comes to the magical bean.” You took another big gulp of coffee and sighed happily.

“There’s a dirty joke in that sentence I won’t make.”

You chuckled and looked at the clock on your phone. Realizing Claire was talking to you at an odd hour. Not your usual times to talk.

“How's work?”

“Horrible. I need you.”

It was so sweet that she said this kind of stuff to you. You knew she’d never admit that to her ex.

“Where are you?” You turned to look at your surroundings, not wanting to say something incriminating.

“In my office, where else?”

“I don’t know, I was always hoping you’d call me in your office with your hand down your pants.” You mused and licked your lips at the idea. Claire made a satisfied noise in the back of her throat.

“Do not get me started, only to leave me like you did last night.”

“Hey, I fell asleep, and I didn’t even touch myself!” You’d had dirty dreams of her again, though. Waking up a mess, your underwear soaked through and your sheets. You weren’t even supposed to have a heat. It was like your hormones were going nuts and you didn’t know why.

“Like a good little girl.” Claire praised.

“Wonder if everyone in parliament is as kinky as you. Calling their partners good girls and flogging them?” You imagined a bunch of old men in cock cages.

“You’ll never find out.” Claire was chronically possessive. Even though she really didn’t need to be.

“I bet there's an underground kinky club with whips and chains.” You’d imagined her in leather with a bullwhip now.

“I think I am rethinking your career choice.” She said and you heard her breathing change. The alpha coming out in full force.

“Hey!” You scoffed.

“The only dungeon you’ll be seeing is the one in my townhouse.”

“You don’t have one, I checked extensively.” You’d expected her to have her very own red room. But no such luck.

“We’ll have to re-model after we’re married. Is that what you are telling me?” Claire sounded excited at the idea. And you blushed in the public place.

“I’d never make such lofty demands.”

You knew Claire was going to correct you, telling you that when you were married things would change. But before she had the chance she was interrupted by someone opening the door. You knew Claire hated it when people didn’t knock on her office door before entering.

“What? What is it?” Claire was obviously talking to someone who had just walked into her office. And she did not sound pleased one bit by the interruption.

“I’ll have to call you back,” Claire said through gritted teeth. You pitied the fool who interrupted her.

“Good luck.” You said before she hung up. Looking down at your phone, you switched back on the textbook and made your way back to the library. Quickly hiding your coffee as you slipped back in to find your book. You started to feel sweaty, but pushed it down.

___________________________________

Eighteen bags of groceries later, you were sitting on the floor of your kitchen trying to figure out how you were going to fit all of it in. It was around five pm when Claire called again.

“This is too much food.” You grumbled instead of pleasantries. You were holding a huge case of strawberries. Which were your favorites, but still.

“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” Claire defended a little taken back by your lack of excitement at her call.

“I don’t eat this much.” It was true that you forgot to eat on the regular. If it wasn’t for your early morning runs, you wouldn't eat breakfast at all. But lately, you’ve been chronically running to help with your libido. Ever since your mating bite, it had been extremely hard not to masturbate. You were needy and horny all the time.

You longed to be filled by Claire. You missed her scent. You missed her everything.

‘I know, you are too thin.”

“My kitchen physically cannot hold this much food.” You look at the overwhelming produce on your kitchen counter. You weren’t going to comment on your weight with her.

“You don’t eat three meals a day, and we both know it.” There was an edge to her voice now. It sounded angry, but you knew it was laced with concern. You hated to admit Claire was right, you knew she worried about you.

“Let me try this again, good evening, darling wife. How was work in the big city?” You changed the subject knowing this would not end well if you two kept going. Claire was like a pitbull, she’d lock jaw onto something and never let go.

“I like the sound of this. It was horrendous. People can’t follow simple directions and that is why our entire system is failing.” You heard her sigh and you knew she was rolling her neck, where her tension sat.

“Well, that's a cheery tone. Can’t wait to get into politics.”

“Goodnight Larry.” Claire was obviously talking to the driver, and you heard her heels clicking on the cement stares up to her townhouse. Where the sound of the lock sliding and the door slamming shut. Her alarm system made soft beeps and she put in the code. Which you now knew was your birth month, her birth month, and then the date you met.

“Facetime me,” Claire demanded tiredly.

You flipped your phone on and stood so that only your naked shoulders were visible. Your breasts were on full display and you forgot as you walked naked in your apartment all the time.

“Oooh, I didn’t realize you were naked.” Claire’s face warmed at the sight.

“I’m not I just worked up a sweat putting away enough food to feed all of Africa. I’m wearing your boxers.” You said self-consciously looking down.

“Lemme see.” She cackled as she bound up her stairs to her bedroom.

“No way! You are fully clothed! It’s not fair!” You whined wanting to see her naked too. Your nipples hardened at her stare.

“Did you just say no?” Claire stopped walking to light glare at you, and you groaned in defeat.

“Oh come on, this is-” You stopped when she gave you a certain dominatrix look. One you’d seen before and sent a chill down your spine. You grumbled but set the phone down on your coffee table in the living room so she could see your light blue Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Claire had bought them for herself but you’d stolen them.

“Now that’s a yummy sight to come home to.” Claire kicked off her heels and pulled her hairpins out for her long, dark hair to unravel from its tight bun.

“Stoooop.”

“Is my little girl blushing?” Claire teased, and it did what she’d intended. Your chest flushed all the way to your ears.

“Claire!” You whined again in a submissive tone.

“You are just too cute.” She unzipped her dress and grabbed the phone, pulling it into the closet.

“Can I move now?”

“Nope, I like my view.” Claire put her dress in the dry cleaning pile. You’d been in her closet before to steal sweatpants and her old college sweatshirt. Which had mysteriously gone missing from her wardrobe. A staple to your sleep attire ever since. It had the faint smell of her perfume still lingering. You’d worn it religiously to bed when the two of you were apart.

You walked out of frame only to get a clear cough of disapproval. Before you brought the phone over to the kitchen and propped it so she could still see your naked torso. Goosebumps formed over your chest at her gaze. It still never got old. The idea of her wanting you.

You heated a pan on your small stove. Watching Claire drop her bra. Smiling at seeing her naked, you took a quick screenshot. Before she pulled on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweater.

“I saw that.” Claire teased you, but her face was not upset.

You tried not to giggle.

“Governor Debella, I haven’t the foggiest what you mean.” You put the camera over by the stove and pulled out some of the various veggies that were now in your fridge.

“What do you do with all these dirty screenshots?” Claire asked as she turned the closet light off and her bare feet bounced down the stairs to her kitchen. Where she picked out a wine that you were sure cost as much as your rent.

“Maybe I’m going to make a dirty scrapbook.” You pulled out a cutting board and started to chop a red pepper.

“Ah, youth.” She poked fun, only for you to point the knife at the camera in defense.

“Hey!” You had way too many photos on your phone of Facetime screenshots and videos and dick picks….yeah ok maybe it was a little bit of a dirty scrapbook.

“What’s for dinner?” She deflected.

“Stir fry with my garden of vegetables.” You said as you chopped skillfully. Claire knew you used to work in kitchens. You’d been a line cook for a while in one of DC’s Michelin-star restaurants. But that was a lifetime ago. Just to pay for college.

Your girlfriend took a minute to admire you slicing veggies with speed and precision. Every piece looked perfect as you moved the extra-sharp chef's knife you’d kept from your time on the line. After a few minutes of staring at your naked chest and your talented hands. Claire sipped her wine and picked up her laptop, turning it on as her work never finished. She stopped looking at the computer to look back at you quizzically.

“Do you like to garden?”

You took a moment to consider where the question was coming from.

“It’s kinda hard to garden in an apartment in DC. But one day it would be nice to have a little veggie garden or a greenhouse type of thing.” You said, remembering the kitchen greenhouse combo in Practical Magic. You’d loved Sandra Bullock in that movie, a huge crush for sure. But something about magic, herbs, and a big greenhouse attached to a kitchen seemed nice.

You knew Claire’s ex-husband Devon had gotten their country home. You wondered if that was something she’d been upset about now that Claire was ready to start a family with you. Or if the governor had been happy to leave Devon with the giant house full of bad memories.

You weren’t being jaded about Devon, you knew Claire had said there weren’t happy times. She’d found him un-intelligent and they’d had sex twice. Neither one of them came. Claire realized Davon thought she was going to take it in the ass for him, and she wasn’t ever. And he didn’t wanna touch her dick. They were never going to be compatible.

He got votes for her from Kentucky; that was his whole purpose. He was a dumb piece of shit that opened her door. But it made the Republican Party less threatened by her. Because she was obviously married to a nice man who wore the pants…how wrong they’d been.

Claire quickly told him that if he slept with someone else, her career would suffer. So he’d need to have whatever girl sign an iron-clad NDA, or she’d pay him monthly to stick to his hand.

I guess Devon didn’t like an alpha woman telling him what to do in any capacity. But he liked money. So for the duration of their marriage they’d slept in separate rooms, and while Claire had stayed celebate Devon had gotten addicted to internet porn. And evidently some pretty intresting chat rooms.

All that had changed when Claire saw you.

“Hmmm.” Claire said, bringing you out of your thoughts now.

“You keep flowers in your house.” You pointed out remembering her townhouse always had fresh cut flowers in large vases.

“I like plants. But the housekeeper waters everything. I don’t have the time.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder.

“That makes sense.” You wondered what she was picking at before her gaze went back to her email.

“Fuck, I should have called Lionel today.” She mumbles as you see her start typing rapidly. You know she’s been sucked into the void. You don’t mind as you start to saute veggies.

Unlike Devon, you didn’t mind that Claire was addicted to work. You always thought the love of your life needed something outside of you. Because you weren’t going to drop everything for them either. You were studying to work in politics. But you definitely hadn’t expected to be mated into the job.

Rubbing your tense shoulder, you mute the FaceTime. Moving over to your laptop, you set it on some tunes on Spotify as Claire gets lost in work. This goes on for about twenty minutes before she comes up for air. You are listening to Sabrina Carpenter's

‘Busy Woman’. It was on a playlist you’d made for Claire. You sing along as your alpha gets lost in work.

I'm so mature, collected and sensible

Except when I get hit with rejection

To turn me down, well, that's just unethical

I'll turn into someone you're scared to know

But if you need my love

My clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place

And if you don't need (if you don't need) my love

I didn't want your little bitch-ass anyway

Yeah, I'm a busy woman

I wouldn't let you come into my calendar any night

But if you want my kisses

I'll be your perfect Mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies

Claire watched you singing now and was trying to figure out which song you were happily performing in your kitchen. Claire eventually flags you down and you pause the song.

“Darling?” She says, and you turn the burner off.

“I’m here.” You say soothingly to her, it seems to do the trick, and Claire’s face doesn’t look so anxious. You knew this had been a bit of relationship ptsd.

“Sorry, work emails.” Claire sighs at how stupid her team is.

“You don’t have to apologize.” You tell her and you mean it.

You’d said this to her a million times. You knew Claire had a huge workload and a lot riding on her career. You found it sexy. You were happy to study or read next to her while she checked emails. It didn’t bother you.

You moved the phone and your bowl of food over to the sofa. Propping her up as you sat with your bamboo chopsticks with little doves on them. Eating a little sloppily as she went back into her emails. The two of you sat in silence before, eventually, you started to yawn.

“Sleepy, baby?”

“Nah, I’m awake.” You lied, and she grinned sweetly at you. Like she’d caught you with your hand in a cookie jar.

“Come on, sweetheart, off to bed,” Claire told you, and you missed her even more. You wanted to go to bed next to your mate.

“I gotta shower. I have class super early tomorrow.” You told your alpha instead. You still felt a little under the weather, and you really did like the idea of bed. But you needed a shower. You’d been sweating and slick between your legs all day.

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind a view.” She smirks as she sips her wine.

“You didn’t have dinner.” You chastised her back for her lack of appetite.

“I’d rather be devouring you.” The alpha showed her perly white canines and you felt your clit throb.

“SToooop.” You blush and whine. She grins back in a seriously naughty fashion. You know there’s no arguing with her. So you leave the dishes and bring her into the bathroom. Claire goes into her bedroom at the same time. Putting the phone against a pillow. As you propped her up on the sink, you dropped Claire’s Calvin Klein boxers. The patch of pubic hair does little to shield your stiff clit. You could already see the outline of her cock hardening in her yoga pants. She pushed the band of her pants and her dick springs free. It was already leaking.

“Fuck Mommy.” You brought your one hand down to your stomach. Thinking about how her cum would make your tummy buldge.

Letting your fingers graze over your mound to show her your clit. It was hard and pink and ready for Claire’s mouth.

“Get in the shower, baby girl.” Claire started to stroke her cock gently. Bringing the bit of precum around her veiny shaft. Her mushroom head was a darker shade of pink than normal. Usually, the shade matched her perfect nipples. But you realized she’d been hard for a while, because the head of her cock looked like it had been rubbing against her clothes today.

You started the water, turning the nob over to the hottest setting. You moved over to rummage through a drawer.

“What are you up to? I didn’t say you could touch.” Claire smirked as she moved her palm over her impressive dick. It was a good eight and a bit inches, you’d asked her to measure, and she’d refused. So you had to guess, and when it was inside of you, you’d sworn it was at least ten inches. You’d never fucked an Alpha before Claire. Only betas, one omega girl as a one-night stand, and one guy in high school had been five inches, and you’d been uncomfortable with him inside of you.

But Claire was good, she always worked you up. And because you two were mates your body oozed slick so fast. You were always wet around her. It was embarrassing to you, but the governor was obsessed with the taste of your arousal. You’d tried to use pads to stop it from ruining your pants and her bedding. But your alpha had none of that. She’d forbid you from using anything to stop the pool between your legs.

Claire would lick it like she was eating a meal. Not caring how much you begged her to stop or fuck you. Claire would just grin and be enamored as more poured out of you. Her pheromones just caused your body to do it.

But in return, Claire had said she was always hard when she could smell you. It was a good thing you both hadn’t been in public together much.

You brought out your favorite item in the apartment, a large pink dildo, very phallic with its veins and mushroom head. A perfect match for Debellas cock. You’d gotten it for Valentine's day. It was a mold of Claire’s dick. She’d said she didn’t like you using dildo’s. The possesive Alpha had thrown your toys away. The idea of something else inside you made her alpha enraged. But you’d seen a casting kit online and bought it. It had been surprising that Claire allowed you to do it. But she liked the idea of you working your hole for her. But only when she allowed it, and always on video for Claire.

“Oh baby, you miss your alpha’s cock that much, huh?” Claire’s voice was thick with arousal and you knew she wasn’t gonna let you cum. You nod enthusiastically, and you spit on the tip of her dildo. It slowly drops from your bottom lip onto the pink toy.

“Oh, baby. Good girl. Take it all the way down your throat.” She loves your spit, any fluids really. The governor instructed you, and you were all too happy to listen.

Obeying Claire, relaxing your throat, and taking the toy deep inside. Feeling it stretch your throat, as saliva started to ease the burn.

“Oh fuck yes.” Claire sighed her hips pushed up as she twisted her hand around her cock and bared down. Biting her bottom lip as she watched. Claire was not being kind to her dick. You’d be so much nicer to her. But maybe that was why she was being so cruel, because if she’d touched herself kindly, it would hurt her heart.

You walked into the shower but kept the door open so Claire could watch. As you moved the dildo in and out of your throat. You twisted and sucked closing your eyes and wishing it was Claires. Remembering her smell, her taste, god, you missed your mate.

“No, no baby girl. Keep your eyes open.”

You hesitated for only a second, and in that time Claire's alpha voice growled out.

“I mean it.”

You almost came on the spot. Knees going weak, you grab the wall.

Opening your eyes to see her heavy breathing and flushed. Her hair was in a bit of a frenzy as she watched you with a devilish smirk. Her right hand was working faster than she meant for it to.

“Can I?” You say taking the toy out and bringing it down to your pubic hair slightly. The pubic hair got a little wet from your saliva. Blue eyes stared at your cute little hair.

“Is that how you ask?” Claire practically pants out as she doesn’t slow down.

“Mommy, please, it hurts so bad.” You drop your bottom lip and pout. She smiles at your game.

“Inside slowly.” Claire knows you tend to force her dick inside of you too quickly and you had torn and bled during her rut once. It had made her upset to no end. She’d wanted you to stop her, and you never could. It just felt so good, sometimes you forgot to stretch. But as stated, Claire didn’t ever again.

“But, I don’t want it slow.” You kept up your pout but moved the head of the dildo in between your folds. Feeling the pressure of it entering you so slowly. You accidentally humped the air and she laughs deep in her throat.

“It’s not about what you want, baby girl.” Her knot was building now, and you knew she didn’t even notice. But she was about to make a mess. Too much time away from you, too much cum in her balls. She needed release, and her knot was at attention. You wondered how she got it that big without you there. But then you saw a flash of black lace.

“Is that my thong?” You pant looking at her. Claire doesn’t look even a little phased as she brings it to her nose and sniffs. That’s how her knot had formed. The smell of you. You couldn’t believe it. Alphas couldn’t usually knot from masturbation alone. So the smell of you did it.

You licked your hand and brought it down to the dick to twist it as you would to the base of her shaft so you could tease her knot. She moaned and handled her cock a little too roughly. Making her pump faster than before.

“I need you inside.” You whimper as you sink deeper down onto the cock.

“Back up.”

You do so, and the hot water falls over your shoulders and rolls down your arms. It moves down your chest and stomach. Making the bit of saliva on your pubic hair dissolve with the water. You get goosebumps from the hot water. Tilting your head back so your hair can get wet. Now you are dripping water.

“Now that is screenshot worthy.” You hear from Claire just as she does so. You see the flash just as you bring the dildo all the way inside. Your clit is throbbing from the lack of touch.

“Mommy…”

“No, baby, you know the rules.” You weren’t going to get to cum. It was becoming very clear that you were shooting porn for your alpha. So you figured you’d at least give a great show.

You picked up the pace of the dildo and threw your head back as the sound of your wet hole flooded the bathroom. The loud slaps of your thrusting. You heard her before you could say anything. Claire came with ropes of white semen. She cursed as she got it on her scrunched-up yoga pants and bedding.

“Damn it.” She groaned. You didn’t stop, and she cleared her throat.

“Please, I’m so close.”

“Take it out, now Omega.”

You let out a sob of objection. But do so, taking the toy out and licking the side of it. Tasting yourself as you saw Claire's dick start to semi-harden again.

“Are you trying to get into trouble tonight?”

You know how much Claire loved watching you lick your own cum off her cock after you had sex.

“I was innocently cleaning.” You put the toy under the showerhead to clean your cum off of it.

“You are going to make me hard again. Put the toy down and shower.”

“You're no fun.”

To be Continued....

#claire debella #glass onion #kathryn hahn x reader #kathryn hahn #claire Debella x reader #fanfiction #Spotify

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