#and as much as I enjoy stories where it’s

[ughbrie]

converging threads | zayne

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- “And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

(Or… after the events of Chansia City, Zayne had started to avoid you. More than a week later, in the dead of night, he's outside of your door, struggling with his sense of self—blurring between two worlds.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- zayne x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- angst, smut, & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 8k

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ- nsfw, mdni, softdom!zayne, references to zayne's third anecdote (still in the dark), spoilers to zayne's main story branch (thorns under the moon) and four star memory (fragmented dreams), mentions of childhood trauma and violence, too much angst, oral sex (blowjob), dirty talk, penetration (p in v), clothed sex, riding, breast play, emotional sex, unprotected sex, and creampie.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- As a dedicated Zayne main, I've always had a soft spot for Dawnbreaker!Zayne, I just want to give him the biggest hug! While he never explicitly took control of main story Zayne’s body, their connection through dreams and nightmares allowed them to see into each other’s lives. And so, I wanted to explore what it would be like if that connection blurred even further after the events of Chansia City, and how Zayne would react to it. I hope you enjoy reading!

The knock at your door was soft, barely audible over the hum of Linkon City outside. You might have missed it had you not been awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the restlessness clawing at your chest. Something felt wrong.

Hesitating for a moment, you peeled the blankets away and stepped towards the door. When you opened it, Zayne stood there, still as a statue. The warm glow from your apartment barely touched him; he lingered in the shadows of the hallway, his expression unreadable, like he was caught between two worlds—one where he stood before you and another far beyond, too distant to reach.

“Zayne?” Your voice was uncertain, your fingers tightening around the doorframe. He looked normal—his crisp shirt unwrinkled, his coat still shielding him from the cold. But his posture was rigid, like he was torn between memories, caught between the man you knew and something far more elusive, far darker. His breath came slow, controlled, but his fingers twitched at his sides, as if holding onto something unseen, something slipping away from his grasp.

It had been more than a week since you last saw him—more than a week since you clawed your way out of his dreamscape, fighting against the twisted phantoms of his nightmares and the suffocating pull of his uncontrollable evol. More than a week since he began avoiding you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You had searched for him—at Akso Hospital. 

You pushed open the door to Akso Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose as you made your way down the familiar corridors. The sight of the bustling staff, the low murmur of nurses giving reports—it should have been comforting. But it wasn’t. Every step you took felt heavier, the weight of worry pressing down on your chest.

You were looking for Zayne. It had been a week since you’d seen him, and the silence between you was suffocating. You had tried calling, texting, but there was no sign of him.

You found Greyson near the nurses’ station, chatting with a few other doctors. He noticed you first, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his usual, easy smile appeared.

“Hey,” he greeted, his tone too casual. Too… practiced. “What brings you by?”

“I was hoping to see Dr. Zayne. Is he around?” You tried to keep your voice even, but the question felt like a weight in your chest.

Greyson shifted on his feet, glancing toward the hallway where Dr. Zayne’s office was. “Oh, you know how it is,” he said with a shrug. “He’s been buried in surgeries lately. Really busy.”

You frowned. “Busy? He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ve tried everything.”

At the sound of your words, Greyson’s gaze flickered uncomfortably, and before he could answer, Yvonne appeared beside him, her bright smile almost too wide.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here today!” Yvonne chirped, her voice all sweetness, but there was a subtle edge to it. “Greyson’s right. Dr. Zayne’s probably just deep in work. You know how he gets, don’t you?”

You nodded, but the unease in your chest grew. “But… I haven’t been able to reach him. And he’s been avoiding me. I’m starting to get worried.”

There was a beat of silence before Yvonne glanced at Greyson, then back at you. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the motion almost too practiced. “Oh, you know Dr. Zayne,” she said, her voice a little too smooth. “He’s a bit of a workaholic. And, well, he’s been dealing with some… personal things lately. I’m sure he’ll be in touch when he’s ready.”

Greyson cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s just focused on… other things right now.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach. Something wasn’t right. Both of them were too evasive, too careful with their words.

“So he’s just been… avoiding me because he’s busy?” You asked, your voice thick with skepticism.

Yvonne’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes shifted just a little. “Exactly! He’ll reach out when he’s ready. Don’t worry.”

But you weren’t convinced. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something they weren’t telling you. Before you could press further, Yvonne’s phone rang, and she quickly excused herself with a bright, almost rehearsed smile.

Greyson rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Zayne’s just… well, Zayne. He’ll be back to his usual self soon enough.”

The words felt hollow, like a lie wrapped in a smile.

You turned to leave, the knot in your stomach tightening. Something wasn’t right, and you were more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

You even went to his home not two days after. You had been patient, given him space, but the silence between you was gnawing at you, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You arrived at his place and paused outside the gate, your heart sinking. The house sat dark and still, as though no one had been home for hours. The front door was locked, the quiet expanse of the yard untouched. No sign of Zayne’s car in the driveway. No movement behind the windows.

Frowning, you reached for your phone, calling him once more. It rang, and rang… and rang. But there was no answer. No familiar voice on the other end. You tried again, and again—each unanswered call tightening the knot of anxiety in your chest. It was unlike him. Even when he was busy at work, he always answered your calls. You thought things had changed between you—gone beyond just childhood friends, past the barriers you once had.

You hadn’t been able to ignore the way things had shifted between the two of you, how you’d shared more, laughed more, and even kissed—moments that felt like stepping into something real, something undeniable. And yet now, in the silence, you felt that connection fraying, slipping out of your grasp.

You reached for the gate, testing it, but it was locked tight. The metal was cold beneath your fingers, the weight of it pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t quite shake. You knocked gently on the gate, your hand hesitant against the metal, but there was no answer. No sound from inside. No footsteps echoing in the distance. Just more silence.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, wondering if you were missing something, if you were just being paranoid. But there was no denying the gnawing sense that you were being shut out.

Yet now, here he stood, unannounced, uninvited. The sight of him should have brought relief, but something was off, like he was a mere shadow of the man you knew.

“You should’ve let me in sooner,” he murmured, a wry attempt at a smile barely forming before fading just as quickly. His voice was softer than usual, almost exhausted, like the fight had been taken out of him. You stepped aside instinctively, letting him in. He didn’t move right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on you—as if memorizing every detail, confirming that you were real, that this wasn’t just another one of his nightmares.

Then, finally, he stepped through. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the silence of your small apartment. He exhaled, but this time it was unsteady—as if releasing a breath he’d been holding for far too long. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his coat pockets, a feeble attempt to mask the unease rolling off him in waves.

“Zayne, where have you been?” The question came out before you could stop it. His avoidance had gnawed at you, making every second of silence between you feel like it stretched on forever.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief moment, like he was trying to find the right words. Then, finally, his voice broke through, hoarse and fragile, as if he’d been swallowing down too many words for too long. “Every time I close my eyes, I see a world where you don’t exist.”

The confession hit like thunder in your chest. Your breath caught, eyes wide with confusion, but something else too—fear, a strange sense of loss, creeping in. You stared at him, unable to comprehend, yet knowing there was so much more buried beneath the surface.

“It’s not just nightmares anymore,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes flickered with something raw and unfamiliar—something you hadn’t seen in him before. “It’s bleeding into the day. I can’t… separate it. Separate me.”

You frowned, confusion tightening around your thoughts, heart pounding. “Separate what? Zayne, what are you talking about?”

He stiffened, jaw tightening as if he’d realized he’d said too much. He shook his head, dismissing the words before they could fully escape. “Ignore what I said.” he muttered, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.

“Zayne…” You stepped closer, cautious but firm. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, but there was no humor in it. His hand drifted to his temple, pressing hard as if trying to force something out of his mind. “I don’t know how to explain it.” His voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “I don’t even know if it’s mine to explain.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Zayne was rarely uncertain. But now, he looked lost, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. The man who had always been in control, who always had an answer, was unraveling in front of you.

“Then let me help,” you said softly, reaching for him.

He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists before loosening just as quickly, as if even that took too much effort. “I don’t think you can,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. The warmth of his body under your touch should have felt familiar, comforting, but there was something cold in the air around him that you couldn’t ignore.

“I’m here,” you reminded him gently, voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His shoulders sagged just slightly, his resolve faltering under the weight of something neither of you could name. 

You guided Zayne to the couch with a soft insistence, his steps heavy, like each one was taking him further away from something he couldn’t quite grasp. He didn’t resist, but his hesitation was palpable. You noticed the subtle tremor in his shoulders as he sat down, his back stiff, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

You sat next to him, your fingers brushing the fabric of his coat as you settled yourself. The space between you both felt charged, yet strained, like two magnets unwillingly attracted but refusing to align.

Your hand hovered near his arm, unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the impulse to reach out. The last few days—weeks—had felt like a slow, suffocating crawl through a fog. Seeing him like this, so unguarded, was both a relief and a deepening worry.

“Zayne…” You started, your voice low, soft. You weren’t sure how to approach him anymore. He had been pulling away, emotionally distant, and now, even his presence seemed fractured.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his sleeve.

At the first touch, his body flinched. Not an outward movement, but a sharp intake of breath, like a quiet shudder that ran through him. His hazel-green eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and dilated, swallowing the soft color until only a thin ring of green remained. For a brief moment, he looked at you—through you—like he was caught between two realities, struggling to tether himself to the one in front of him.

Then, just as quickly, his gaze flickered away, his throat working around a breath that sounded too controlled, too measured. As if he was holding something back. The air between you thickened, the weight of his restraint pressing into the space between your fingers. His jaw tensed, a sharp line of tension beneath his skin, and yet—he didn’t move away.

With a careful breath, you let your hand rest against his arm, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his coat. You felt him tense beneath your touch, but it wasn’t from discomfort. No, it was something else. Something deeper. His body shuddered again, more pronounced this time, and you could feel his muscles ripple under the strain of holding back.

“Zayne…” You said his name again, this time softer, as though you were speaking to someone who was slipping away. You moved a little closer, hoping that your proximity would ground him somehow, though you weren’t entirely sure how.

His voice cracked when he spoke, low and hoarse, like a man speaking to a ghost. “Every time you touch me… it’s like… I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your hand still resting on his arm, waiting, watching him closely.

Zayne exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides as if struggling to find an anchor. “I’ve always suffered from nightmares,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The same ones I’ve always had since I was young. But after what happened at Chansia City…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “It didn’t stop when I woke up.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You knew Zayne had always been plagued by restless nights, but this—this was different. You thought back to that moment at Akso Hospital, when you had found him slumped over his desk.

His brow was creased with the weight of exhaustion. His breathing had been uneven, his hands gripping the fabric of his coat as if he were bracing himself against something unseen. You had hesitated before stepping closer, unsure if you should wake him. But the quiet distress on his face made the decision for you.

“Zayne…” you had whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The moment your fingers made contact, he jolted awake with a sharp breath, his eyes wild with something you couldn’t name. For a split second, it was as if he didn’t recognize you, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

But then, his gaze softened, reality bleeding back into him. His breathing was still heavy, his shoulders tense, but when you knelt beside him, concern written all over your face, he didn’t pull away.

Without thinking, you had reached out again, brushing his hair back in a quiet attempt to soothe him. His body sagged under your touch, the tension in his shoulders melting just enough for him to lean forward. And before you could react, he rested his forehead against your chest, his breaths uneven as if the simple act of being close to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You had stilled at first, heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him stay there, your fingers threading through his hair in slow, absentminded strokes. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the sound of his breathing evening out against you, his body losing some of its rigidness.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Just… let me stay like this for a while.”

And you had. Because for the first time, you realized how deeply tired he was.At the time, you thought he was just tired physically, but now you realized he was tired in a way that ran so much deeper as you watched him sitting on your couch, that same exhaustion clung to him like a shadow, only now it was accompanied by something far worse. He wasn’t just tired. He was unraveling.

“I thought I could ignore it,” he continued, pulling you back to the present. “I thought it would fade eventually. But it’s not stopping.” His fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ground himself. “It’s getting worse.”

You swallowed hard. “The nightmares?”

“They’re not just nightmares anymore.” He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching before loosening again. “They’re memories of a life that isn’t mine.” His jaw tightened, his entire body tense with something unreadable. “And the worst part?” His eyes flickered to yours, dark and conflicted. “I feel like I’m walking on air, seeing things that aren’t there, feeling emotions that aren’t mine.”

You frowned. “Zayne, what are you talking about?”

His throat worked around a response, but for a moment, he said nothing, only looking at you with something close to desperation. He shook his head as if trying to shake off the words before they could leave his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but you weren’t about to let it go.

“It does matter,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for more than a week. You look like you’re about to fall apart, and now you’re telling me ‘it doesn’t matter’? What’s happening to you?”

He let out a bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t even know if I can explain it. It’s… there’s another version of me. One I can’t escape. And he—” Zayne cut himself off abruptly, dragging a hand over his face. “He’s ruining everything.”

The conflict in his expression made your stomach twist. You had never seen him like this—so lost, so tangled in something that seemed beyond even his understanding. And when you reached for him again, your fingers brushing past his sleeve against his skin, you saw the way he shuddered.

At first, you thought his reactions stemmed from discomfort—that every shudder, every tensed muscle was his way of pulling away. But then you saw it. The way his breath hitched. The way his lashes fluttered shut for the briefest second, as if savoring the warmth of your touch. As if he had been starving for it. 

It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint.

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally spoke, his voice raw. “Every time you touch me…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves were dangerous. “It’s like my world’s losing its sense of direction.”

His confession stole the air from your lungs.

“But it’s not just me that wants this,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

Your fingers curled slightly around his wrist, grounding both of you in the silence between words. Zayne’s breath was uneven, his body strung taut beneath your touch. You could see it—the war waging within him, the push and pull of something he refused to name. His fingers curled at his sides, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was holding himself back.

But from what? From who?

The question burned at the edges of your mind, but you didn’t voice it. Instead, you did the only thing you could think of. You moved.

Slowly, you climbed onto the couch, onto him, your knees settling on either side of his thighs as you straddled his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, his breath stalling in his throat.

“You—” His voice broke, a warning tangled in desperation. His hands shot up, as if to push you away—but the moment his palms met your waist, he froze.

A violent shudder ran through him, his grip faltering but never leaving you. He barely held together, his fingers twitched against your sides, his body caught in an unbearable tension. 

“You shouldn’t…” he rasped, but even as he said it, his hands pulled.

Pulled you closer.

Pulled you flush against him, until there was no space left to retreat.

You gasped softly at the sudden contact, at the warmth of him, the way his body molded against yours like he had been starving for this. For you.

His head dipped forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in a harsh, unsteady exhale. His grip on your waist tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel how badly he was struggling.

“Zayne…” You whispered his name, hands lifting to cradle his face, to guide him to look at you. He didn’t resist, but the moment your fingers brushed against his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut—his entire body reacting as if your touch was something he had been craving but forbidden from having.

“Every time you touch me…” He repeated, his voice was raw, nearly fractured. “I feel like I’m slipping deeper.”

Your fingers trembled slightly against his skin. “Slipping into what?”

His jaw clenched. His hands trembled against your waist, caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.

“Him.”

The word sent a chill down your spine.

Zayne’s eyes finally opened, and what you saw there made your breath hitch.

Something was breaking inside him.

Something was bleeding through.

Like the fragile moment before dawn—when night still clung to the sky, desperate to remain, yet the light pressed forward, inevitable. A battle between darkness and the coming sun, neither willing to yield.

You didn’t know who he was, or why Zayne was fighting so hard to keep him at bay, but you could feel it—how much hewas longing for you. How much Zayne himself was afraid of that longing.

Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, steadying him, grounding him. “You’re still you,” you murmured. “No one else.”

His fingers flexed against your waist, his breath ragged. “Then why does it feel like every time you touch me… I’m losing control of myself?”

He was slipping, unraveling, caught between two selves—one who had you, and one who had only ever ached for you.

And for the first time, Zayne wasn’t sure which one he wanted to be.

You sighed, your fingers curled against his shoulders, gripping him just a little tighter. His body was warm beneath your touch, but the tension in him never eased. If anything, it worsened.

“Zayne,” you whispered, searching his face. “Help me ease your mind, tell me everything. Tell me about him.”

His expression darkened instantly. His hands, still gripping your waist, stiffened before pushing you back—just slightly, just enough to put distance between you.

“No.”

The refusal was sharp, final.

But you didn’t let go. “Zayne, please.”

His jaw locked, his breath coming out in harsh exhales as he tried to rein himself in. But you had already seen it—the flicker of something raw in his gaze, the weight pressing down on him like it was crushing him from the inside.

He turned his head away, his grip tightening before he forced himself to let go. “I don’t want to tell you.” His voice was quieter now, but no less strained. “Because if I do…” His throat bobbed, his hands clenching into fists. “What if you look at me differently?”

Your chest ached. “Zayne—”

“He’s not me,” Zayne bit out, his voice lower now, edged with something close to rage. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes as if anchoring himself. “I don’t care what I see, what I feel—he is not me.”

You frowned, your heart pounding. “I didn’t say he was—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, his fingers digging into you much harder before he wrenched them away, as if touching you made it worse. “It shouldn’t matter. Because whatever he is—whatever he’s done—I am not him.”

His voice cracked at the end, his composure slipping, and it hurt more than anything. Not because of what he wasn’t telling you, but because he was carrying it alone, letting it eat away at him like he deserved it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Zayne, I don’t care what you think this means. I don’t care what’s bleeding through or what memories aren’t yours.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “What hurts me isn’t who you were or weren’t—it’s this.” You gestured between the two of you, the distance he was trying to wedge between you. “It’s you shutting me out, punishing yourself like you have to carry this alone.”

Zayne let out a sharp breath, his fingers curling into fists against the curve of your waist. His grip was tense, hesitant—like he was still fighting himself.

You watched him carefully, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. He had been resisting, keeping himself locked away behind walls you couldn’t breach. But this time… this time, something shifted.

And then you realized it.

It wasn’t your persistence that made him falter. It wasn’t even the promise that you would accept him, no matter what. It was the fact that you told him it hurt you too. That his silence, his self-inflicted suffering, didn’t just wound him—it wounded you.

Zayne’s throat bobbed, his gaze flickering, as if weighing the consequences of speaking the truth. His fingers flexed against you, his breath uneven.

Finally, he asked, “Do you know why I became a doctor?”

You hesitated. “Because you wanted to save people.”

“Partly,” He let out a bitter laugh. “But mostly because I spent my entire childhood dreaming of a man butchering them.” His hands raked through his hair, gripping at the strands.

“It started when I was twelve.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t understand it then. I just knew that every night, I saw his hands, covered in blood. I heard the screams, felt the cold metal of a blade I never held.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “And every morning, I woke up terrified that I’d become him.”

You sucked in a quiet breath.

“That’s why I became a doctor,” Zayne muttered, his voice barely audible now. “To erase him. To bury him. Every life I saved was another step away from him.” His gaze snapped back to you, and there was something close to desperation in it.

He paused, and his gaze softened just slightly as it met yours, though there was still that edge of desperation.

“And… I wanted to help you, too. Since the first time I saw you struggling with your heart… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, not like that.”

Your heart pounded. “Zayne…”

“But now?” His gaze locked onto yours, and you almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. “Now it’s not just nightmares. After Chansia City… it’s like something cracked. Like I bled through him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

His fingers flexed against your skin, then curled into a fist, as if the words physically hurt to say. “I used to only see flashes. His world, his sins—they were nothing more than fragments. But now? I see his everyday life.” His voice dropped lower, as if saying it out loud made it more real. “I see him waking up in an empty apartment, walking through streets that no longer have names. I see him looking for something—someone—who was never there.”

Your chest tightened. “Zayne—”

“And I know what that loneliness feels like.” His voice was rough, raw. “Because when I had nightmares of his life… he dreamt of mine.”

A chill ran through you.

“He dreamt of Linkon. Of Akso. Of—” He swallowed hard, his grip on you unyielding. “You.”

The word hung between you, heavy and fragile at the same time.

“Now, he’s clawing his way into my thoughts, trying to make sense of a life that isn’t his to have.” Zayne’s hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, as if anchoring himself to something tangible. “And every time I look at you—” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he clutched you. “He’s reaching for you. And I don’t know if it’s me who wants you or if it’s him bleeding through.”

Your heart pounded.

His pain was something you could see, something you could feel in the way he held you too tightly, in the way he refused to look away, as if afraid you’d vanish if he did.

“Does it change anything?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Zayne’s breath stilled.

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I want you. I do. I’ve never denied that.” His fingers curled against your skin, holding you closer. “But this… it’s never felt like this before.”

His gaze darkened, his brows drawing together. “Like I can’t go a second without feeling you, without needing you right here. And I don’t know if it’s just me—if it’s always been me—or if it’s him. But it doesn’t matter.” His voice dropped lower, rough with something unspoken. “Because either way… I still want you.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’re here, right now. Whatever he feels, whatever he wants—this moment belongs to you.”

His throat bobbed, the conflict in his gaze raw and unfiltered. His fingers twitched where they held you, as if he wanted to push you away and pull you closer all at once.

And then—finally—he whispered, “I don’t know if I can separate us anymore.”

Zayne’s breath hitched, his hands still gripping your waist like a man on the verge of breaking. His body was rigid beneath yours, every muscle coiled tight with restraint. His stormy eyes flickered between your lips and your gaze, warring with something unseen.

You could feel it—the way he was holding himself back, the way his fingers twitched against your skin like he was fighting the instinct to pull you in.

And then, just when you thought he might push you away—he moved.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss rough, almost desperate. A sharp inhale left him as his fingers tightened at your sides, pressing you flush against him. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured like everything else about him. It was hurried, hungry, as if he had been drowning for far too long and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

Yet even in his desperation, there was hesitation—a tremor in his touch, a battle within him. His grip faltered, his breathing unsteady, as if his own emotions were overwhelming him.

For a moment, he slowed, his lips ghosting over yours, softer now—less frantic, more reverent. His fingers traced up your back, like he was memorizing every inch of you, terrified you might disappear.

But then when you surged forward to deepen the kiss, something in him snapped.

His restraint shattered as his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His other hand dug into your waist, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you. He let out a quiet, shuddering breath against your lips, his body trembling beneath your touch.

It wasn’t just desire—it was longing. A desperate, aching need that had been simmering beneath his skin for far too long.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

He kissed you harder, as if trying to chase away the ghosts of a world where you didn’t exist—where he had spent endless nights reaching for something that was never there.

Zayne’s breathing was ragged as he suddenly tore himself away from you, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip on your waist still firm but trembling. His chest rose and fell in unsteady heaves, as if he had just surfaced from deep waters.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped, his voice thick with something raw and desperate. His fingers flexed against your waist before slowly dragging up your sides, his touch both grounding and possessive. “But I need to feel—” His words cut off, a quiet ‘fuck’ slipping from his lips as he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stop.

You could see it—feel it. The battle raging within him. The desperate need to claim this moment as his own, to separate himself, to make sure that this—this longing, this ache, this hunger—was his, and not something bleeding over from the nightmares that haunted him.

His fingers ghosted over your arms before gripping your wrists, guiding them up to rest against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, erratic and heavy, proof of his struggle. His eyes searched yours, dark with emotion, pleading for something he couldn’t voice.

“I need to know it’s me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not him. Not the dreams. Just… me. But I don’t trust myself enough not to hurt you.”

His fingers brushed your skin, hesitant, reverent—like he was afraid of his own hands.

“But I trust you.”

The words felt heavier than anything else he had said tonight, laced with the weight of every nightmare, every fear, every ghost of a life that wasn’t his. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I need you to take control,” he murmured, each syllable careful, deliberate. “I need to know this is real—that you’re real—that I’m real.” His hands curled into fists before he forced them to relax against you. “Because if I let go now… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

There was no mistaking what he meant. No mistaking the conflict in his gaze—the desperation tangled with restraint, the need warring with self-loathing.

Your hands slid up from his chest to cup his face, fingertips brushing against the sharp angles of his jaw. 

“It’s you, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice steady, certain. “You.”

You tilted his face up, brushing your lips against his—a whisper of a touch, just enough to tether him to the present, to this moment with you. He shuddered beneath your touch, his hands tightening at your waist as if anchoring himself.

“I’m here,” you continued, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along the line of his jaw. “This is real. We’re real.”

A sharp exhale left him, his resolve breaking little by little as you pressed against him. His grip on your waist faltered, then returned, stronger—desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmured against his skin.

He shuddered at your words, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he wrestled with the warring emotions inside him. When they opened again, the desperation had intensified, the dark gray irises nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. “Make me believe it.”

You took your time, trailing kisses along his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as your lips travelled down. You wanted to savor this moment, to make sure he knew it was him, that this was real.

As you sank to your knees before him, you looked up at Zayne through your lashes. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You wanted to erase every nightmare, every fear, every shadow that haunted him.

“You’re real,” you murmured, your breath ghosting over his cloth-covered arousal. “This is real.”

With a steadying breath, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the bulge straining against his zipper. You could feel the heat of him, the throbbing need, and it made your own body ache in response.

You worked slowly, unzipping him with deliberate care, letting your fingers brush against his arousal as you did. He was already hard, the thick length of him stretching the fabric of his boxers. 

You haven’t seen him naked before, and crossing this line made your thighs clench. Glancing up at him, you caught his gaze, holding it as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. His cock sprang free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with need.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the thick base of Zayne’s cock, giving him a firm squeeze as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes. “You’re beautiful, Zayne.”

Slowly, teasingly, you started to stroke him, your soft palm gliding along his hard length. You could feel every throbbing vein and ridge, committing the shape of him to memory.

Leaning in, you breathed over his swollen cock head, then, with a deliberate slowness that was almost torturous, you dragged the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip. You lingered at the sensitive spot just below the head, swirling your tongue around it before giving it a firm press.

Zayne shuddered and groaned, his fingers flexing in your hair as you dragged your tongue back down to the base, your hand following the same path. When you reached the bottom, you dipped your tongue into the neat little slit at the tip, tasting the first salty drops of his arousal.

Savoring his flavor, you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your soft mouth stretching around his impressive girth. You suckled gently, your cheeks hollowing as you began to take him deeper, inch by hard inch.

“Your mouth… it feels so g-good…” he groaned.

The praise that escaped his lips made the flush on your face more evident. As your lips moved slowly down his shaft, encasing him in the slick heat of your mouth, your tongue undulated along the thick vein on the underside as you took him deeper, until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat.

You held yourself there for a long moment, relishing the heavy, throbbing weight of him, the musky scent of his arousal flooding your senses. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you began to bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each downward motion.

Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking and squeezing as you sucked him. You could feel him growing harder, the thick length of him pulsing against your tongue as you pleasured him.

“Fuck… just like that…”

You couldn’t help but moan around his cock at his groans, your brain committing the sounds to memory. You doubled your efforts when you felt he was close, sucking harder, stroking faster, your tongue never still as it lapped and swirled and caressed every hard, throbbing inch of him.

His grip on your hair tightened, his hips starting to piston forward, fucking your mouth as you sucked him with wild abandon. You could feel his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh pants and groans. 

“I can’t… I can’t hold back much longer…”

And then, with a roar that was nearly feral in its intensity, he came. His cock jerked and throbbed as it erupted, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum down your eager throat.

You swallowed it all, working your throat to milk every last drop from his pulsing length. The taste of him was intense, the salty-sweet flavor of his essence exploding on your tongue.

As the waves of his release began to ebb, you slowly pulled back, letting his still hard cock slip from your lips with a lewd pop. You licked your lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as you gazed up at Zayne with a look of pure, sated desire.

“Zayne,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s you. This is you. You’re real.”

You placed a soft, lingering kiss on the tip of his cock before nuzzling your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with a smile that was pure tenderness mixed with deep, abiding lust.

As the last tremors of his intense orgasm faded, Zayne reached down and gently but firmly pulled you up by your arms, urging you back into his lap. You went willingly, straddling his hips as you sat facing him.

His hands slid around to your back, one resting high on the curve of your shoulder blades, the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against his strong chest. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Gazing into your eyes, Zayne leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, with hunger, with a desperate need to claim you, to make you his.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him, pressing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body. His tongue delved into your mouth, stroking along yours, tasting himself on your lips and tongue.

As you both lost yourselves in the kiss, you could feel Zayne’s cock, still semi-erect and slick with your saliva, nudging against your core. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you ache with a renewed desire.

Almost unconsciously, your hips began to move, grinding against his in a slow, sensual rhythm. You could feel the heat building between your thighs, the dampness of your arousal soaking through your panties.

Zayne groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your hips rolling against his. His cock twitched and began to harden further, growing thicker and longer with each passing second.

Breaking the kiss, Zayne trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your racing pulse. “Ride me,” he growled against your skin, his voice low and rough with renewed desire. “I need to feel you, all of you, surrounding me, consuming me, making me forget everything but your name.”

You shuddered at his words, at the raw, primal need in his voice. Reaching down, you pushed your panties aside, baring your slick, needy sex to the cool air and his heated gaze. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, a testament to how much you wanted him, needed him.

With a roll of your hips, you positioned yourself over his hardening length, feeling the thick head nudging against your entrance, you slowly sank down. You were so wet, so ready for him, that he slid inside you with a single, smooth thrust.

You both groaned at the sensation, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around his thickness as he stretched and filled you completely. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it brushed against your sensitive flesh, igniting nerve endings you didn’t know you had.

Zayne’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you began to ride him. You started slowly, rising up until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down, taking him to the hilt.

“You feel so good, love.” he murmured, his lips parted open.

With each downward motion, you could feel the pleasure building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter. 

You arched your back and Zayne leaned forward, freeing your breasts from the confines of your shirt as he lifted it by the hem. He captured one straining nipple in his mouth, suckling and nipping at the sensitive bud. His free hand slid from your hip to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the swollen nub in tight, fast circles.

You cried out, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Your hips moved faster, rising and falling in a frantic rhythm as you chased your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, spurring you both on.

His other hand inch upward, holding your head firmly, his fingers tangling in your hair, Zayne tilted your chin up to gently force your gaze to meet his intense, hazel-eyed stare. He let out a strangled moan, “Say my name, love. Come on…”

Zayne’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he guided your increasingly desperate movements. His own hips surged up to meet yours, driving his thick length deeper, harder, faster into your clutching heat.

“Zayne,” you breathed, “You’re the only one I want, the only one I need.”

His breathing grew ragged, each exhale escaping through gritted teeth as he lost himself in the slick slide of your bodies joining again and again. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixing with the staccato cries spilling from your lips.

Zayne’s hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly as he pinched and rolled the stiff peak between his fingers. He leaned down, his hair falling forward as he dragged his tongue over your collarbone, tasting the salt of your skin.

“Fuck, just like that…” he growled against your neck, his voice strained. “S-Say my name again—please…”

His words sent shivers down your spine, making your inner muscles clench around him. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it stretched you, filled you, owned you.

“Z-Zayne…!” you moaned.

Zayne’s thrusts became more erratic, more desperate at the cry from your lips. The hand on your hip slid around to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him as he pounded up into you. The couch creaking with each surge of his hips, the sound mingling with your cries and his grunts.

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter as you climbed towards your peak. Your nails raked down Zayne’s nape as you held on for dear life.

With a harsh curse, Zayne slammed up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed inside you, painting your insides with his hot release.

The sensation of his release pushed you over the edge, your own climax crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, melting into him as your inner muscles clamped down around him while you came apart in his arms.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you gasping for air as the aftershocks of your release rippled through you. Zayne’s arms tightened around you, drawing you in close, his heartbeat steady beneath his damp shirt, grounding you in the moment.

In the quiet aftermath, as your breath began to steady, Zayne placed a gentle kiss against your temple, his lips lingering there as if memorizing the moment. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw and heavy with emotion. “For this. For everything.”

You gently cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. “You have me, Zayne,” you said softly, your words steady and sure. “No matter who you are, no matter who you become—I’ll never walk away.”

He paused as his fingers brushed gently across your damp cheek.

He spoke, his voice was soft, almost hesitant. “All I know now is that… the only thing I’m sure of,” he began, his forehead resting against yours once more, “is you.” He swallowed, his grip around you tightening as if trying to ground himself in the present.

You thought that would be the end of it, but he exhaled, a shudder racking through him.

“I never believed in fate,” he added, his voice low, but without any trace of bitterness—only a quiet acceptance. “But now, I do. Because no matter where I am, or who I am… you’re the constant. The one thing that’s always been real.”

He paused, his words heavy with an ache that tightened your chest. “And I think… I think I’m meant to love you in every life, in every timeline. I’m meant to be with you. And no matter how complicated it gets, no matter what happens, I’ll always end up finding you.”

His grip on you tightened further, pulling you closer, as if to make sure you were really there. “Now… I can’t help but feel… bad for him.”

A heavy sigh escaped him, thick with weight and regret. “He doesn’t have you. He doesn’t get to have this—this connection.” His voice wavered, raw with something unspoken. “And I think that’s what hurts the most. No matter how much I try to separate myself from him, I can’t shake the feeling that a version of me is still reaching for you. That somewhere… in every universe, in every life, even if you don’t exist in it—it will always be you.”

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 if you want to check out more of my writings, head on to here — masterlist.

[smugblueenby69]

“It’s finished, it’s done. You can’t take loved away”

-excerpt from Nona The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

I lost my mom back in 2013. I was a few months away from 13 at the time, and no matter how long it’s been since I’ve seen her, no matter how fuzzy my memories of her get, no matter how many holidays or birthdays or big events she’s not there for, no matter who I become, I have to remember that I loved her, and that she loved me too.

I’ve found myself struggling lately to even remember if I ever actually knew her, but I did know her, and who I knew I loved.

I loved her laugh. I loved her smile. I loved how kind she was. I loved that she very genuinely cared about the world. I loved that she fought for people and the injustices they faced in her own way. I loved that she decided one day when she was 12 to become a vegetarian because of her love for cows. I loved that she wasn’t ashamed to sleep with a bunch of stuffed animals. I loved that she took photos all the time, like carried a camera with her all the time just to do that. I loved that she bought stuffies for my brother and never forced gender roles on me or my siblings; we could decide for ourselves what we liked and what we didn’t. I loved that she was a safe haven for all my older sister’s friends, no matter their race, gender, sexuality, etc, she just gave them a mother figure they could rely on. I loved that she did genealogy work for people, and would take us kids to cemeteries to find head stones for people. I loved that she encouraged my siblings and I to read, and that she made it so much fun, it was a way she could bond with us. I loved that she always encouraged us to create art, I’dve never become an artist without her and her family’s background and support in art. I loved her love for animals, that again she and her side of the family always seemed to have a special way with animals, especially sick and injured ones. I loved her desire to learn and grow and change, it reminds me that she would be okay with who I am now. I loved her nerdiness. I loved her love for star trek and eragon and other media, she’d love that I’m unapologetically the same when it comes to enjoying fantasy and sci fi.

I loved my mom a lot. And that love will never go away. That love will never disappear. Nobody will ever replace my mom, and I will never replace the love I had for her. And her love for me will also never disappear. Every tear she wiped away. Every scrape she tended to and kissed. Whenever she reminded me that she would always be with me, even when she was far away, like the story she told me about “The kissing hand” on my very first day of school, where I sobbed because they wouldn’t let her walk me into my classroom. Whenever she gave me a shoulder to cry on after every terrible day of getting bullied at school. After every ounce of praise she gave me for even the smallest achievements.

I can’t take her love away, and nothing can ever take the love I have for her away, not even after all these years, and not even after 100. As long as her name is remembered, she will be loved, because she made damn well sure through her kindness and care that at least one person would remember her fondly. She touched many hearts and left a warmth never to be diminished, and I love that about her too.

And in the future, as I remember her and even learn new things about her that I didn’t know before, I will love more things about her. That is the good thing about the passage of time I guess, is that there is always more time to learn, even though she’s not here to make new memories with, I will still learn more from and about and for her, and I will love her.

Thank you mom for loving like you did, and teaching me to do the same.

grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

[naturesapphic]

Intersex Billie putting a baby in her girlfriend/wife after she’s been begging her so Billie of course listens and gets the job done😍😵‍💫

Breed Me

G!P!Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: Billie has a penis, smut, breeding kink, daddy!billie, light face slapping, degradation

A/n: if you don’t like it, don’t read it, thank you <3

“Billie please! F-fuck!” You moan out as Billie pounds into you relentlessly. Your moans were filling up the room, along with Billie’s grunts and whimpers. Billie pushed your legs to your chest so she can get deeper and you felt your toes curl at the sensation.

“Such a pathetic bitch. So desperate for my cock huh?” She spat out ruthlessly, which made your pussy throb. You nodded and Billie gave a light smack to your cheek, giving you a warning. “I-I m-mean y-yes daddy!” You moaned out and Billie gave a light chuckle in response.

“You’re already dumb on my cock, can’t even give me a proper yes or no.” She scolded and you let out a whimper as she suddenly came to abrupt stop. “No no! P-please bill- daddy! Please fuck me! B-breed me!” You whined out and Billie looked at you with dark eyes. You’ve been wanting kids for a while, especially after the two of you had gotten married.

For a while you didn’t think Billie wanted any kids, with her busy schedule and just wanting to spend time with you. You’ve begged Billie for weeks now to put a baby in you but when y’all did the deed, she would always pull out and apologizing after, but it seems tonight it was a different story.

“You want me to put a baby in you?” She asked and you let out a pathetic yes which made her smirk at you. “Okay baby…I’ll give you what you want.” Billie whispered in your ear and she pulled out of you and slowly entered you. She did that a few times before she started to pick up her pace dramatically, which you loved when she did that.

“F-fuck!! D-daddy!” You cried out as you already felt yourself needing to cum. She’s been edging you all night and you needed to cum now. “Already gonna fucking cum, so fucking pathetic.” Billie grunted as she felt herself needing to cum and she was gonna fill you up to the brim. In less than five minutes, the two of you were cumming, moans and whimpers were bouncing off the bedroom walls.

Billie filled you up like you knew she would and that’s what you wanted all along. Billie waited a few minutes before slowly pulling out, making sure not to hurt you in any way. Sure, she’s very dominant but you’re her princess and she doesn’t want you hurting, especially after sex. When billie pulled out, some cum was meaning out of your pussy and Billie smiled, knowing that it was a mix of y’all’s cum together.

She got up and started your aftercare for you, this was one of y’all’s favorite parts of the day and you absolutely adored Billie for being so gentle and caring with you in this time. “Do you need anything else sweetheart?” Billie asked as she finished cleaning you up and giving you some snacks to munch on. You shook your head and made grabby hands towards her which made her laugh.

Billie turned out the lights and went into bed where she pulled you on top of her, making you snuggle your face on her chest. She giggled and held closer than ever and placed kisses on the top of your head, making you smile as you close your eyes, falling asleep on top of your Billie.

A/n: thank you anon for this request! I hope you and everyone else enjoyed! I appreciate yall so much :) Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all! :)

[astraystayyh]

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?��

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[woniedarlin]

Hi! I actually absolutely love your fic of jungwon being down bad for tsundere reader so I was wondering if you could write something where the roles are reversed and jungwon is the tsundere one 🤍

Chasing a Tsundere

pairing: tsundere! Jungwon x fem! reader

synopsis: You fell for Jungwon—hard. Unfortunately for you, he just had to be the grumpiest, most emotionally unavailable person ever to exist. He pushed you away, rolled his eyes at your persistence, and made it very clear he wasn’t the romantic type.

But giving up? Not an option. Because this is Jungwon we’re talking about.

author's note: Hello, my lovelies! This was so much fun to write. Big thanks to Anonie for the request—I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

caution: cursing and a bit of angst (tell me if there’s more!) , this story contains excessive tsundere behavior and a very persistent main character. Side effects may include secondhand embarrassment. Read at your own risk!

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n

You leaned over Jungwon’s desk with your brightest smile, holding out a bento box wrapped in a pink cloth. “I made this for you. It’s your favorite! I even cut the veggies into stars!”

"Tch," Jungwon dismissed. "I don't want that disgusting slop."

If only he could have tasted that heavenly creation at least once. I mean, imagine turning down a homemade dish made with such effort? Poor you, who only deserved so much more.

He barely glanced up from his textbook as his pen continued to scribble down notes. “Why would I eat food from someone who burns toast?”

You pouted and clutched the bento to your chest. “That was one time, Jungwon. One time! Besides, I didn’t burn this.”

"I don't want your germs. Who knows what kind of gross crap is in there," he said; in which you glanced around the classroom; a few of your friends sent pity looks on your way. No one understood why you were so smitten with him, but they respected it nonetheless.

A few of your classmates looked to be in a similar state of enchantment. Maybe you should try it with them instead of the grinch?

"What do I have to do to make you go away?” Jungwon's words sting a bit.

“I don’t know.’’

You weren't even slightly intimidated or bothered, which was amusing. Most people would have backed off, but you just stood there. It wasn't enjoyable but also somewhat impressive. Not that he'd ever admit that. A long sigh erupted from his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He slammed his pen down, causing a few heads to turn, but he cared little. “Sit. Down. Go bug someone else.” He gritted out through clenched teeth.

”Please accept?’’ you showed the bento.

You were persistent with your efforts; he had to commend you for that, though he’d never admit it to your face. That would give you too much of an ego boost.

He eyed the bento in your hand, his stomach betraying him by growling quietly. He hadn’t eaten all lunch, so the aroma of the homemade food was almost too tempting to resist. But still, the stubbornness won out. "No. I’m not interested in your food. Why do you insist on wasting your efforts on me?”

“Please?”

Shit. He couldn’t help but think, “How can I say no to someone so sweet?”

He sighed, finally looking at you with that familiar, unimpressed stare. “Just leave it on the desk. I’ll think about it.”

A small victory! You quickly set the box down. “I knew you couldn’t resist. I’ll see you later!” You skipped away before he could respond.

He glanced between the bento and the door you’d disappeared through. His stomach growled once more, begging to be fed. With another sigh, he opened the bento box and slowly ate. “Not bad…”

☔️

The rain fell hard as you stood at the school gates, holding your bag to keep it dry. You sighed and watched the heavy rain, getting ready to run for it. Just as you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you.

"You planning on running out in that weather? Do you have a death wish or something?"

Jungwon approached you, umbrella in hand. Before you could even respond, he thrust the umbrella into your hands. “Take it,” he said curtly, glancing at you for only a second before entering the rain, completely unprotected.

“Wait!” you called after him, holding the umbrella out. “What about you?” You extended the umbrella, an offer of protection from the relentless rain. Jungwon paused, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"I don't need it."

His face didn't reveal it, but the gesture touched him. He had been trying to push you away, to make you dislike him, but all you did was offer him shelter from the downpour when you needed it. He couldn't help but admit the irony.

“Don’t catch a cold, idiot.”

☔️

It was another typical day. The hallways were busy with students. But all you could think about was how warm Jungwon’s arm felt as you held onto him.

You had been walking together, but you wanted to be closer. So, you wrapped your arm around his and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave your body as you relaxed into him. He was always warm, and being this close to him felt right.

You noticed Jungwon stiffen almost instantly, his eyes widening. “What are you—” he started, his fingers twitching slightly, unsure what to do, before reluctantly relaxing. Slowly, Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and the scowl that so often resided on his face faded away. You felt his arm loosen, “Weirdo,” he muttered.

For the rest of the walk, you were quiet. Strangely.

He led you through the crowded school corridors, expertly weaving around the students and making a ruckus. Eventually, he spoke up. " Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“More than okay,” you sighed, a dreamy smile forming. “I’m in love.”

Jungwon scoffed. “Love? Seriously?” he retorted. “You fall too hard.”

Suddenly, a girl appeared out of nowhere, walking up to Jungwon and batting her eyelashes at him. “Hey, Jungwon,” she cooed, giving him a flirty smile. “You look so handsome today.”

Oh, the audacity.

You felt your grip on his arm tighten, and without thinking, you made a slight hissing noise under your breath. Like an actual cat. Because that’s totally normal behavior.

Jungwon looked at her blankly. "Uh, thanks," he said, shifting his weight to put some distance between her and himself. After a few moments of awkward silence, the girl caught the hint and excused herself, shooting you a dirty look before sauntering away.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Jungwon noticed and let out a long sigh. He reached over with his free hand, gently touching your arm. "Hey, hey, calm down, alright? I can practically see the green flames of envy raging in your eyes," he says with annoyance. "She means nothing. No one does."

He pauses, "Except you, I guess?" he mumbles under his breath, his voice so low you missed it.

☔️

You were hauling a heavy box of basketball equipment to the gym hours later when a sharp voice stopped you.

"You're an idiot to carry that much all at once. Hand it over before you collapse." Jungwon came out from the corner with a frown on his face. He eyed the box in your arms and rolled his eyes as he took it from you, holding it quickly. “This is what happens when you don’t ask for help.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you replied with a sheepish smile. “The team needed help—”

He shook his head. "There's helpful, and then there's being too nice. You've got to stop saying 'yes' to everyone. That was what? A 40-kilogram box of balls and equipment? Your back would’ve snapped in two by lunch."

Jungwon continued, "Besides, Do they not have arms? If you need help, ask me.”

You opened your mouth to protest but hesitated when you noticed his face, “I’m fine, really,” you reassured him.

"And that's the problem. 'I'm fine.' What happens when, one day, you're not? When you're tired or overwhelmed and still say 'I'm fine' while falling apart inside?" He scolded you, "It's okay to say 'no,' and it's okay to ask for help. Do you not understand? This isn’t a game, and you’re not invincible!"

He turned and walked away, his final words echoing down the hall.

"Don't wait for a mistake to learn."

You didn’t expect this from him.

☔️

For weeks, you did everything. You put in the effort that he rejects, but on rare occasions, he accepts it. Well, you force him to take it. After classes, you were sitting on the rooftop, watching the view. For once, you weren’t seeking Jungwon out; you were trying to gather your thoughts.

Were you tired of chasing someone who always seems to push you away? Absolutely.

Jungwon noticed you perched on the rooftop. He couldn't help but wonder, what's got her so down? He knew he was causing you heartache but he also knew that with every rejection, you came back with more effort. He wanted you to see him as what he truly was. A jerk. Someone not worthy of your devotion... but you never seemed to give up, that determination was something else.

He wondered if he may have gone too far…

“Hey.”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, walking closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

You looked away, fidgeting with your hands. “I… I don’t think I should bother you anymore.”

Jungwon froze. “What are you talking about? Bother me? You’re not…” He trailed off, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’m an ass. I push people away and make it seem like I don’t want anyone’s company. But you… you never left, even when I wanted you to.” He sat down next to you, keeping a comfortable distance.

“I mean… you’re always annoyed with me. I just figured…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Stop saying that,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than usual.

“You think I enjoy acting like a jerk to everyone?“ He let out a humorless laugh, his eyes focusing on the horizon. ”The truth is, I am afraid to open up, to let people in because I know how easily they can break me.” He glanced at you briefly before averting his eyes again. “I’ve seen it happen to my parents and my friends. I don’t want to be another sad soul wandering the world broken.”

You hesitated before whispering, ‘’I’m sorry…’’

“Don’t apologize. Hell, I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in pushing you away that I didn’t even realize how much you were trying to get closer to me. I don’t deserve your attention, let alone your kindness.”

He continued, “You’re not… You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met, sure. But if you stopped being around…” He trailed off, looking away as his cheeks turned red. “I’d probably hate it.”

“Jungwon…”

“What? It’s true. I don’t know when or how it happened… but my day feels..lacking if you’re not there.” He shrugged as though admitting that wasn’t a big deal. “So…don’t you dare think about stopping.” He added sternly. “I like you, alright?”

“Thank you…for liking me back’’ you said shyly.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t get all mushy on me. You make it sound like I’d run into a burning building for you. I like you, but it’s not like I would get matching tattoos or serenade you under your window.”

“But will you?’’

He scoffed. “Really? Of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focus on?” He shook his head, then looked directly into your eyes. “Fine. Yes, I'd run into a burning building for you. I’ll do anything for you. Happy now?’’

“Very.’’ You giggled, ‘’Come on, walk me home, boyfriend.’’

“Boyfriend?”

He raised an eyebrow at your quick upgrade in the relationship. “You're lucky I like you cause anyone else suggesting that might've been laughed out of the school." He stood up, dusting off his pants and offering you a hand. "Well, come on, girlfriend.“

☔️

Days later…

You sat across from Jungwon at the small restaurant table, your heart doing little flips every time he glanced your way, even though his usual unimpressed expression hadn’t faltered since you arrived. The date wasn’t even bad—just, well, awkward. But awkward in a way that had you wanting to laugh every five seconds because of how seriously Jungwon took things.

Like now.

He's been staring at his menu for ten minutes. It's three pages long, and each item has a picture next to it. How complicated can it be?

"What's taking you so long?" you say, resting your chin in your hand.

"Shut up." He replies, never taking his eyes off the menu. “Do you want water?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Uh, sure?” you said, smiling awkwardly.

He waved the waiter over and ordered two glasses of water. After all this careful deliberation, he's just ordering water?

He barely looked at you as he added, “Bring her water. Lemon water.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, which Jungwon noticed.

Jungwon blinked at you, tilting his head slightly. “What? You don’t like lemon?”

He looked a bit hurt at the rejection of his thoughtfulness. This was the same guy who'd throw paper planes at the teacher but couldn’t handle not knowing if you liked lemon in your water? You were so endeared that it took every ounce of self-control not to squeal.

“Oh, no, you’re adorable today,” you assured him, finally letting out a soft laugh.

“Cool,” he managed, cheeks turning pink as he looked down at the table.

“No, I mean—it’s just water,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll live either way.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “It’s not a big deal. Just let me handle it.”

The corner of your lips quirked up. Why is he so serious about water?

The date went on, and the conversation flowed a little more naturally (after you decided to do most of the talking). Jungwon, though, still had his moments. “So, how much do you like me?” you teased halfway through your meal, grinning at him over the rim of your glass.

He choked on his drink.

He coughed, hitting his chest slightly as he cleared his throat. You didn’t think the question warranted that kind of reaction. But then again, you talked to the boy who spent ten minutes deciding whether he should get fries. “W-what kind of question is that?” he asked once he regained composure

You leaned in a little, resting your chin on your palm. “I’m just curious. Am I your type?”

He met your gaze, his eyes softening slightly. It was the first time all evening he'd looked directly at you without an expression of mild annoyance.

“What, you think I’m here for the ambiance?” he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re… not that bad a company when you’re not talking about nothing.”

It is a backhanded compliment, but from Jungwon, it might as well be a love confession.

“So,” you continued. “How much do you think I like you?”

Jungwon avoided your gaze, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth to avoid answering. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered, cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking quite flustered. His eyes darted around, possibly seeking an escape route. No dice, he’s sitting opposite you in a relatively small restaurant.

He asked again, “What kind of question even is that?”

“A valid one,” you teased, grinning. “But you’ll have to pay me if you want the answer.”

He frowned, confused. “Pay you?”

“Yeah, like—give me, I don’t know... probably 500,000 won, and I’ll tell you all my secrets.” You held up your hands dramatically.

“You said 500,000 won, didn’t you?” he said, pulling out the exact amount and sliding it across the table with an entirely serious expression. “Here. Talk.”

He stared at you expectantly, looking like he expected you to take the money and answer. It was a ridiculous situation. Here you were, in a normal restaurant on a Friday night, with your new boyfriend, who had just put 500,000 won on the table, waiting to know how much you liked him.

It took every ounce of will in your body not to laugh. Oh, he’s so cute…

Your jaw dropped. “Jungwon, I was joking!”

He froze, the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks. “What?”

You could see the cogs turning in his head as if he was contemplating what to do with you now. The situation was getting more absurd, and you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. It was probably rude to laugh in his face when he just tried to pay you for the information he thinks is valuable.

Still, you laughed.

“I didn’t actually mean it!” you laughed, pushing the money back toward him. “I wouldn’t charge you to know something like that.”

He looked down at the table, “Yeah, well, you started it,” he muttered, returning the money. After a few seconds, he slid a 50,000 won bill across the table, looking slightly embarrassed. “Fine. But this will do?”

He looked up at you, his gaze uncertain. You smiled, tucking this little tidbit of information away for later. The Jungwon is willing to pay you to know you like him. What a night.

“Jungwon, you don’t have to pay me.’’

“Look,” he said, looking at you pointedly. “Just..” He huffed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Just take the damn money, okay? It’s not like I’m breaking the bank here.”

He nudged the money towards you again, his eyes holding a silent plea. Clearly, he didn’t know how else to go about the situation, resorting to his only known means of communication: his wallet.

“Uh…okay?” You accepted it with amusement.

He smiled, nodding in relief. “Good. Now what…what were you saying before?” He asked, trying to hide his embarrassed flush with a cough. “About how much you like me,” he mumbled, his words barely audible.

“You know, you’re too serious,” you teased, poking at his hand lightly. “But I still like you anyway.”

Jungwon looked away, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Hmph,” he finally said, flicking a sugar packet towards you. “You’re not so bad yourself. In small doses.”

☔️

The date continued similarly. You’d offer to split the bill, but he’d insist on paying. You’d reach for the menu, but he’d swat your hand away, insisting on ordering for you instead.

He was trying hard, and you couldn’t help but adore him even more despite the awkwardness.

Just as you finished teasing Jungwon, music began to play in the restaurant. The lively beat echoed through the room as the servers clapped their hands and started encouraging diners to join them in the center of the floor to dance. You perked up immediately. “Oh my gosh, Jungwon! They’re dancing!”

He glanced at the crowd gathering in the middle of the restaurant and frowned. “Yeah, I can see that. What about it?”

“Let’s go!” you squealed.

His brows shot up. “What? No way.”

“Come on!” You were already out of your seat, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. He barely had time to protest as you dragged him toward the impromptu dance floor.

“I don’t dance,” he muttered, resisting slightly, but you didn’t let go.

“Well, you’re about to learn!” you declared with a grin, already swaying to the music as you pulled him into the crowd.

Jungwon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he sighed in defeat as you started twirling. He awkwardly moved his arms, shuffling his feet in time with yours. “This is embarrassing,” he grumbled, his face heating up.

“You’re doing great!” you cheered, beaming at him as you twirled again, laughing. “Come on, loosen up a little!”

“Loosen up?” he echoed incredulously. “I’m not a dancer!”

“You don’t have to be! Just have fun!” You reached for his hands, placing them on your waist as you guided his movements. “See? Not so bad!”

Jungwon muttered something under his breath, but his steps started to match yours. He tried to keep a scowl on his face, but the way you were laughing so freely made it impossible for him to stay annoyed.

“You’re smiling!” you teased,

“I’m not,” he argued, though the pink tint on his cheeks betrayed him.

“You are! Oh, Jungwon, you’re having fun!”

“I’m not having fun,” he deadpanned; his hands didn’t leave your waist as you swayed together.

“You’re lying,” you sang, twirling yourself and accidentally stepping on his foot.

“Ow—okay, now I’m definitely not having fun!” he groaned, wincing.

You gasped. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. But when you smiled sheepishly up at him, his chest felt lighter despite himself.

As the song ended and the crowd cheered, you clapped your hands excitedly. “That was so much fun!”

He sighed, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” but the faint smile never left his face as you pulled him back to your seats.

☔️

The evening had been fantastic, but it was time to say goodbye. The cool night air surrounded you as you reached your front door. Jungwon walked you home, although he hardly admitted that he liked it. Every second of it.

“Alright,” he said, avoiding your eyes as you stood by your door. “You should lock the door when you get inside. And… don’t forget to check the windows too. It’s late, and you never know.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how concerned he sounded, even though he tried so hard to hide it. “Got it, Jungwon. Thanks,” you said, already knowing how sweet he was, even if he’d never admit it.

He shuffled on his feet, clearly not ready to leave just yet. “I’ll… I’ll call you when I get home, okay? Just in case. And make sure you don’t open the door for anyone unless you’re sure it’s them. You’re… you’re too nice, okay? People could take advantage.” You could hear a slight shake in his voice as he talked on. “And, uh… make sure you stay safe, alright?” He finally looked at you with worry.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how adorable he was being. You stepped a little closer to him, surprising him with a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be fine, Jungwon,” you said softly. “And thank you. For everything.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately turned his head away, muttering something that sounded like, “I-I wasn’t doing this for you to kiss me, okay?” But his voice was quieter now, a little softer than usual.

You laughed, enjoying the moment, but before he could say anything else, you stepped back and smiled at him. “Call me when you get home, okay?”

He nodded quickly, still blushing furiously. “Yeah, I will. You—don’t—don’t worry about me!” he stammered, turning on his heel to leave. But just as he was about to walk away, he stopped and turned back toward you, his face hidden in his hands.

“I-I love you, alright?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He quickly turned away, clearly embarrassed, and started walking briskly down the street.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, a broad smile slowly spreading. That was all he needed to say, and you knew exactly how much he cared. You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself, feeling your heart flutter as you watched him walk off.

“Love you too, Jungwon,” you whispered to the night air, knowing he wouldn’t hear. But somehow, it felt like the most perfect moment.

[Extra Scene]

Months later…

Jungwon lay on his bed with his phone resting on a pillow. He looked at you through the screen.

“You miss me, don’t you?”

You scoffed as you shifted under your covers. “We saw each other three hours ago.”

He hummed. “That’s three hours too long.”

“Why are you smiling like that?” you asked while squinting at him through the screen.

He glanced at you and smirked. “What, I can’t smile?”

“Not like that,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re up to something.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically as he turned onto his side. “Can’t a guy just admire his girlfriend?”

You scoffed. “You’re so full of it.”

“I’m serious,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “You look cute today.”

You blinked. “…It’s a video call. You can barely see me properly.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied smoothly. “You’re always cute.”

His door suddenly creaked open before you could even think of a response.

“Mom! He’s at it again!”

Jungwon’s head snapped toward the door, his face instantly turning sour. His older sister stood there, arms crossed, and seemed to be entertained at her brother, who was way out of character.

You burst into laughter.

Jungwon groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, wait—” She smirked, peeking at the screen. “Hi! Are you the poor soul who has to listen to his crap every day?”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh. “Hi…”

“Oh my God.” Jungwon groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it toward the door. “OUT!”

His sister dodged effortlessly. “Okay, okay, lover boy! calm down.” She wiggled her fingers at you. “Bye, future sister-in-law!”

“Just saying! You’re embarrassing,” she said to Jungwon while backing out of the room.

‘’GET OUT!’’

The door shut, leaving Jungwon lying there, face buried in his pillow.

You were still giggling. “Lover boy?”

He exhaled sharply as he peeked through the screen. “We’re never talking about this again.”

You grinned. “Sure, lover boy.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not,” he admitted and groaned.

[tossawary]

Every now and again, I'll come across some fanfiction in which an emotionally conflicted character will consult (usually kind of trashy) romance novels or in-universe fanfiction for advice or information. And it almost always snaps my suspension of disbelief.

If it's some terminally online teenage geek character or a hopeless romantic bookworm character? Sure! And, of course, there's great humor to be had in a sporty jock struggling with his queer awakening hesitantly picking up the bodice-ripper that his mum left on the coffee table. There ARE scenarios where "romance novels and fanfic as research" tracks just fine. I also understand the existence of the "I want to give this character I like the hobbies I like" / "I want to poke fun at this type / genre of fiction" aspect on the author's side.

But in any scenario with some normie adult man? Some straight, cisgender guy with normie dude hobbies and no evidence that he even CAN read, much less that he enjoys reading? Then it's a "not only would he not fucking do this, I honestly don't even believe he'd know this course of action exists" characterization situation.

Like, there are an astonishing number of people, especially dudes, who could not even name a romance novel to save their fucking life. No, not even a Jane Austen novel or "Twilight" or something. Their eyes glaze over that section of a bookstore. They are mentally filing that shit out to leave more room for sports or first-person-shooter video games or something. They have no respect for this type of fiction, if they're into reading fiction at all! They unconsciously or even explicitly believe that making eye contact with a bodice-ripper will permanently damage their masculinity, and they would flinch away from touching one like most people are scared of scorpions. They don't know aaaaanything about it! They have no concept of "the good stuff" versus "the bad stuff"; it's all soap operas and pornography to them, not a source of information.

And lots of people still don't even know that fanfiction is a thing. They go through life blissfully unaware of fandom wank. Or if they do know of fanfiction, it holds no appeal for them. Playing with other people's characters, or writing fictional stories about real people, is weirdo fanatic behavior to them! Not a source of information.

(And, to be clear, I'm not saying this tracks for all female characters. No, obviously, plenty of women don't like romance novels or fanfic. Plenty of women who do like those would never look at them as sources of information either, for a variety of very good reasons. It's just really funny when a story has the most normie bro guy to ever bro engage with this type of fiction.)

So, like, no, there are some characters whom I cannot be persuaded would ever read any of this stuff. (Speaking as a terminally online fanatic!) And honestly, there are plenty of more realistic and far funnier options for some normie dude character looking for love advice.

A) Friends and family. Or else colleagues and coworkers. It is almost always hilarious when a character goes up to someone else and says, "Hey, hypothetical scenario: [the stupidest shit you've heard in your life]. Any advice for that?" Also, you can have sincerely emotional conversations between friends! Or else good angst if the friend or family member reacts in a hostile manner or gives bad advice!

B) A magazine or chick flick movie. I can easily be persuaded that a normie dude would at least know these exist, or have one left at his house by an ex-girlfriend who made him watch it one time. Normie dudes are also more likely to consider these big publications more legitimate for advice than random romance novels or fanfic.

C) Some random advice column blog or non-fiction self-help book. Could be legitimately good advice for specific situations by a thoughtful professional, could be a money-grab scam written by a quack! How is some lovesick, emotionally dense guy supposed to tell by a book cover?

D) On that note: a relationship advice TikTok influencer or YouTuber or some random advice forum, probably Reddit or the like. The pros and the quacks are unhelpfully everywhere now! And possibly even have a live chat acting as their studio audience to make airing dirty laundry more toxic than ever. Potentially, you will find the kindest person alive with a terrible username willing to gently walk you through therapy, the online equivalent of meeting a figurative angel in a dive bar, but probably not. Bad advice is much more likely.

E) Doing no research, remaining uninformed, and blustering through the situation based on random pre-conceptions if anything. Honestly, I think some of these guys would just ignore the problem, even a potentially deadly problem, rather than touch a Harlequin romance novel, much less AO3 fanfiction. Sexism and internalized homophobia are a hell of a drug. It's just not happening.

I don't have a clean conclusion for this, it's just a funny thing that I've noticed every now and again. There ARE guys who like these types of fiction, of course! There ARE male characters who own an e-reader full of rom novels, sure, and don't give a shit what anyone else thinks. "This [normie male character who is both pretty offline and worries about appearing sufficiently masculine in a pretty toxic way] is reading a lot of romance novels and/or fanfiction as a form of research!" Yeah, no, that's really hard to pull off. If this guy is touching the internet at all, he's far more likely to make the most ridiculous Reddit post you've ever seen and then start belligerent fights in the comments.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

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@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish

[honeyedmiller]

A Burning Desire part eight

firefighter!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist

rating: 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: fluff, vulnerability, shimmer mention!, brief mentions of past verbal abuse, angst, mentions of pregnancy (reader’s sister), extremely inaccurate descriptions of how insurance / payout works (just go with it, it’s fiction lol), smut (fingering, m!oral receiving, masturbation, phone sex), no use of y/n. if there’s anything i missed, please lmk.

word count: 10.6k

synopsis: joel and tommy are sent on a dangerous work trip.

a/n: fuck. thanks for being so patient with me. there’s hints of foreshadowing in this unrevised (sry) monster of a chapter, and the next chapter will be angsty. i hope you enjoy tho. thx for sticking around and reading my silly little story <3

Getting back into the swing of things after the holidays has always deemed itself to be arduous. You’re lucky you work from home, but you’d taken on the responsibility of getting Sarah out of the house in time to drive her to school. It’s not that you mind at all, you just hate getting up out of a warm bed, especially when you have Joel as your own personal furnace now. 

Having two weeks off of said responsibility was nice because you and Sarah got to sleep in and you made her breakfast with hot cocoa nearly every morning before you had to clock in for work. She’d spend most of her break over at her friend’s house or reading a book either in the living room or her room, anyway. 

She has since gone back to school, and having the house to yourself again is still a bit unnerving, which is why it’s nice on days like this where Joel has off from work and can spend some time with you. Even if you’re stuck in your home office on days like today, he checks in on you once in a while to make sure you’re doing okay. 

Today has been particularly hard, only because the client you’re working with is demanding as hell and your boss is jumping down your throat to make sure you appease said client. Your face is buried in your hands as you sit and decompress for a minute, and that’s when Joel decides to check in on you. It’s like the man has spidey senses for when you’re going through it or something. 

“Hey baby, I brought you some—” He stops short when he sees the state you’re currently in. 

“You okay, honeybee?” His voice is gentle and honestly concerned, and your heart melts yet again at how sweet he is. 

“Work’s just stressing me out a bit,” you answer truthfully. You look up at him from your seat as he stands beside you, setting down a small bowl of fruit for you to snack on next to you on the desk. You softly smile at the fruit before looking back up at him. “Thank you, handsome.” 

“Ain’t a thing, baby. ‘M sorry you’re so stressed. Anythin’ I can do to help?” 

He steps behind you now and his large, warm hands land on your shoulders before he begins to massage them. You groan softly and loll your head to the side, rolling your lips into your mouth before shaking your head. 

“Nah. Luckily this is my last day dealing with this client, so it’ll only be for a few more hours. Thank you though, baby. It means a lot.”

You reach up and grab one of his hands, giving it a thoughtful squeeze before you let go to reply to an email your boss sent you. 

“Well what if I told you that I have a date planned for us this weekend?” 

You look up at him with furrowed brows. “Where?” You ask, excitement taking over your body. 

“Well, I know everythin’s been kinda hectic with my accident and me healing, your sister’s news, you movin’ in, the holidays, and Tommy and Maria’s engagement. We’ve been so busy n’ we’ve barely had any time to ourselves outside of the house in a while, so I wanna take you somewhere kinda peaceful.” 

He doesn’t give away too much, but you’re already on board.  

“You’ve got me intrigued. Can’t wait to see what you have up that sleeve of yours.” 

“Good, ‘cus I also bought you a couple ‘a things to go along with this weekend’s date.” 

“Oh?” You give him an incredulous look, but his boyish shit-eating grin is all you need to see to not ask any further questions, no matter how piqued your curiosity is. 

You smile up at him and shake your head, focusing back on your work. You sit in silence for a couple of minutes as he continues to massage your shoulders while you type away. 

“I’m gonna go on a run. I’ll be back in time to fix you up some lunch.” He kisses the top of your head before you look up at him with a small smile. 

“If I wasn’t glued to this desk right now I’d join you,” you laugh. “Be careful out there, baby.” 

“Always am. Maybe I can exercise you in another way later on,” he says, smirking down at you with mischief written all over his face. 

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Miller.” But the idea doesn’t sound half bad. 

He holds his hands up defensively. “Can’t blame a guy for wantin’ to love his lady right, can you?” 

You roll your eyes with a laugh and tug him down gently by his shirt before giving him a lengthy kiss. You release him and pat his abdomen twice. “Have fun on your run, cowboy.” 

-

After a long week, the weekend finally rolled around and Joel still wouldn’t tell you exactly what you two were going to do on your date. 

He just kept reassuring you that you’d love it, and you’ve slowly learned to just go with the flow and not ask anymore questions. 

He insisted you wear a blindfold this time, and made you get into his truck as he took the next few minutes to put whatever it was in the back seat before you both took off. 

You ride passenger for about thirty minutes or so with soft tunes of George Strait playing in the background before you hear gravel crunch under the tires of the truck as Joel turns left. 

“You aren’t exploring a new kink right now, are you?” You snort, turning your head in his general direction. “Blindfolding me like this just to take me in the middle of nowhere and have deliciously rough sex with me and make me fall in love with you even more, hm? Is this your diabolical plan?” You can’t help but wiggle your eyebrows at your own absolute absurdness. 

He chuckles deeply and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you as the brakes squeak slightly and the truck comes to a slow stop. It’s silent for a moment before you hear him move, and you feel the heat of his body right next to you. 

“Not today, sweet girl.” The deep raspiness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He huffs a laugh before kissing your cheek and taking off your blindfold. 

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the light, the sun shining brilliantly on land—lots of it. Something shimmers in the distance, and you realize it’s a creek that runs along a trail that looks like it’s meant for horseback riding. 

Then it clicks. You look at him with pure excitement in your eyes. 

“Are we going horseback riding?” 

He can’t help but grin at the giddiness in your tone. “Yeah baby, we are. Figured we’d eat first, though. Packed us some of our favorites and thought we could make a picnic of it as we sit by the creek.” 

Your heart absolutely flutters and grows ten times fonder for the man in front of you, if that’s even possible. You try to hold back your tears of gratitude, but one can’t help it and slips down your cheek. 

Joel wipes the tear with his thumb as he leans in to kiss your forehead. 

You grab his face gently in your hands before admiring his beautiful brown irises. 

“Oh, Joel,” you choke out, leaning in for a loving kiss. You rest your forehead against his as you sniffle once. “This is so thoughtful. This place is beautiful. Thank you.” 

“‘Course, my honeybee. Life has been too hectic lately n’ I wanted to treat my woman to somethin’ a little more… relaxing.” 

“What a lucky lady she is,” you giggle, smiling against his lips and giving them one more peck before you pull away. He opens his door and hops out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open your door before offering his hand to you. You take his hand and he helps you out, feet hitting the ground with a thud. 

You both gather the stuff for the picnic before making your way over to the creek that was no more than a hundred yards away. 

You set up the blanket on some soft grass as Joel puts the cooler down beside you both, and you sit down across from each other. You admire the atmosphere, with the sun beaming enough to warm you up some and the song of birds chirping in the trees. The sound of water flowing up the creek adds to the blissful ambience, and you sigh in content before noticing a house off in the distance. 

“Does someone live over here?” You ask, stretching your legs in front of you as you lean back on your palms to hold yourself upright. 

“This is actually my uncle’s land. Tommy n’ I grew up playin’ in these fields and this creek. We’d used to help him on the ranch to earn some extra allowance durin’ the summertime when we got older.” 

You imagine a little Joel and Tommy running around in these fields whose grass sways with the gentle breeze—and then you’re picturing kids of your own. Kids that you’d eventually have with Joel. Hearing their little squeals of joy, chasing them around in the soft grass, making new memories for years to come. You imagine Sarah would be the best big sister, despite any age difference they might have. 

“This place is beautiful, Joel. Does your uncle still own the land?” You ask, eyes shifting back to him. 

He nods. “He does, but he’s had to hire help since he’s a bit too old to take care of the place himself. I know for a while he’d been thinkin’ about sellin’ it, but he says there’s just too many fond memories tied to this place.” 

“That’s understandable. I can just imagine a young you and Tommy causing a ruckus around here,” you laugh, and he nudges your leg with his own. 

“Don’t mean our mama and pops didn’t talk some sense into us,” he chuckles, face tilting toward the bright blue sky. 

“Looks like it did you two some good. They’d be proud of you both, I’m sure. Wish I could’ve met them.” You give him a sympathetic smile, and he gives you a small sad one in return. 

“They would’ve absolutely loved you, baby. I can just hear my mama now: ‘Bout damn time you wanna get settled down with someone nice,’” he sighs and reaches for you, and you maneuver yourself onto his lap. You rest your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, giving you a small squeeze while kissing your hair. 

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” you say, nuzzling into his strong chest. 

“She was. I’m very lucky to have had parents that gave my brother n’ I a great example of what true love really looks like, whether it was through their relationship with each other or the love they showered us with. I knew even back then that what Sarah’s mom n’ I had wasn’t true love. It was staying together out of convenience because she’d gotten pregnant. I really tried with her, but nothing made her happy. She became verbally abusive toward me after a while, too. It got even worse after Sarah was born. She didn’t want to be a mother. After everythin’ her and I went through, even after she left us, I’m grateful for her bringin’ my daughter into this world. I love my baby girl more than life itself,” he sighs, taking a breath for a minute as he recounts his past. 

“Raisin’ Sarah as a single dad truly was full of trials and tribulations. I did have help from my family, which I’ll always be grateful for, but I was doin’ it all on my own for the most part. Havin’ the odd schedule I have now and makin’ it work around Sarah’s took a long while, but we finally got it down. Nobody had ever wanted to stick around after a night together because they thought that me havin’ a kid was too… complicated. I can understand it from their perspective, but truthfully, nobody ever gave me a chance to get to show them the real me. They just saw me as someone they can check off their bucket list and mess around with because of my job and the uniform I wear. And then you come along, unexpected, knockin’ me off my feet in the best way possible and showin’ me that love is still in the cards for me. You’re it for me, baby. I don’t think I can ever express my gratitude to you for showin’ me what it feels like to be seen and—god—to be loved the way you love me.” 

You soak his words in before wrapping your arms around his torso. You press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, letting him silently know that you’re here for him. 

“Thank you for opening up to me,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over his back in a soothing motion. “I can’t even imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.” Your voice holds a gratefulness and sadness that isn’t missed, and he shakes his head. 

“Thank you for allowin’ me to be my true self, emotions and all,” he says, and you hug him tighter. You recall him telling you that his ex would tell him ‘real men don’t cry’, and your heart hurts for him even more. How could somebody be so cruel to such a loving man? 

He sighs and lays down, sun glistening against his beautiful golden skin. You admire his handsome features and softly smile as you bring a hand down to run through his curls. 

He pops one eye open before giving your wrist a tug, and you land on him with an oof. 

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you, trailing his fingers down so he can put both of his hands in the back pockets of your Wranglers. 

“I love you so much, baby.” His voice is thick and low, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. 

“I love you too.” 

The easiness of which the phrase rolls off your tongue is a beautiful thing, you think. You’ve come so far with opening up your heart to Joel, and he, you. You look down at him and savor the way his eyes look like a smooth whiskey in the sunlight, the way the skin around them crinkles when he smiles at you. 

You lean down and finally seal your lips to his, and you feel him fully relax as he moves his hands from your back pockets up to the middle of your back and back down again. You stay like this for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of each other as the soft breeze causes the grass to rustle and the sound of water and lips smacking is a harmony lost in the wind. 

It isn’t until you hear his stomach rumble that you pull apart from him with a laugh, maneuvering yourself off of him to sit up. 

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” you tease, reaching for the cooler. 

“I’m hungry alright,” he says, leaning over to capture your lips in yet another searing kiss. 

“I’m serious Joel,” you laugh against his lips. “You gotta eat.” 

He sighs and puts his hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

You nudge him with a grin before opening the cooler, revealing sandwiches, grapes, chips, waters, two soda cans, and… chocolate covered strawberries. You raise an eyebrow at him as he smiles sheepishly at you. 

“Chocolate covered strawberries?” You parrot your thoughts, moving to sit criss-crossed. 

“I know how much you like them so… I made ‘em for you special.” 

If your heart could burst anymore, this man would probably be the end of you with his unconditional love. You don’t know how much more you can possibly handle, even though you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. It’s the little things like this that he goes out of his way to do for you that has never been done by anyone, so getting used to his kind gestures has been a rewarding challenge. 

“Thank you, honey. This is so kind of you.” You lean over to kiss his cheek before handing his food to him, and you both dive into your meals as you enjoy the serenity surrounding you. Then a pressing thought pops into your head. It takes you a few minutes to conjure up the courage to ask Joel the burning question on your mind, but you eventually find the words. 

“Are you serious about wanting kids with me, Joel?” Your voice is soft as you look around again, then meet his gaze. 

He swallows his food before nodding. “I’m one hundred percent serious.” 

Your heart flutters. “You don’t think the age gap between Sarah and her future siblings would be weird?” 

Joel thinks about it for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t say weird. Might just take some time t’get used to. Ever since she was a toddler she’d been beggin’ me to give her a sibling, but I obviously couldn’t do that considerin’ I didn’t have anyone to… procreate with,” he chuckles at the last part. You laugh with him and nod, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich. 

“I couldn’t imagine growing up without my siblings. Even when there were times we all fought, we all still laughed about it later on and got over it quickly. Bless my mom and dad’s hearts, ‘cus I know we were all a handful.” 

You smile as you reminisce growing up with your brothers and sister. You’d want your future kids to have that type of sibling bond, too. 

“I know what you mean. I remember when my mama and pops told me they were havin’ another baby. I was over the moon about it, ‘cus it meant I’d have someone by my side for life. Tommy might be a grade A pain in my ass, but I’m grateful that he and I grew up so close together and stayed that way throughout adulthood.” 

“I think Sarah would be a great big sister,” you say, and Joel sports a proud smile that makes your heart melt. 

“I think so too, baby.” 

“I never thought I’d be talking about having kids with a partner ever again, you know. I’m happy we’re on the same page about this. I think it’s important to discuss this even before we eventually decide to take the next step in our relationship.” 

He nods in agreement as he opens the tupperware that has the chocolate covered strawberries, taking one out before bringing his other hand to coax your mouth open. He offers you a bite of the strawberry, and he finishes off the rest of it after you take your bite. 

“I’m happy too, baby. ‘S good that we can clarify things now. I’ve never been with someone who can communicate with me so easily, so I thank you for that. I really am just a lucky bastard who got hit on at a coffee shop,” he chuckles, shooting you a wink as you laugh. 

“Thanks for taking a chance on me, Miller. Glad I didn’t disappoint.” And with that, you lean in for one last searing kiss before you both finish off the strawberries and dust yourselves off as you take the cooler and blanket back to his truck. 

You’re about to head for the stables in the distance, but Joel stops you. 

“Wait, I have somethin’ for you,” he says, reaching further into his back seat. He pops his Stetson on and you bite your lip before shooting him a look. 

“Haven’t we already established that you in your cowboy hat drives me absolutely wild?” You cross your arms over your chest as you continue to stare at him incredulously.

“Yeah, baby,” he laughs. “But now you get to match me.” 

He pulls out another hat and spins around, plopping it onto your head. Your eyes also drift down as he hands you a shoebox. 

“Joel, oh my– is this–?” You’re at a loss for words, and he sports a smirk on his face. 

“Open the box, sweet girl.” 

You do as you’re told, carefully opening the box to reveal a beautiful pair of brown leather cowgirl boots with white floral stitching across the front. 

“Joel, these are beautiful. Thank you so much.” 

“Ain’t a thing, baby. Try ‘em on.” 

You slip off your sneakers and try on the boots, which fit perfectly. Joel adjusts the hat on your head before giving you his million dollar smile. 

“Beautiful.”

“You think so, cowboy?” 

“Absolutely. And y’know,” he pauses as he slides his hands comfortably on your hips, pulling you flush against his body. “Every cowboy needs his cowgirl.” 

He gives you a twirl before dipping you, leaning down to kiss you before standing you upright. 

You’re all smiles and giggles as you walk hand-in-hand to the stables, where one of the ranch workers greets you both with a smile. 

“Hey Joel, you’ll be ridin’ Stella and Shimmer today,” the man says. Joel gives him a curt nod as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile. 

“Thank you, Drew.” 

Drew tips his hat to you both before walking off to tend to the other animals near the stables, and you turn toward Shimmer as you begin to gently pet her. 

“Hi beautiful girl,” you coo, stroking her snout. She nudges you gently and you grin before glancing at Joel. 

“She likes you,” he says. 

You beam at him before he chuckles and comes behind you, boosting you by your waist as you situate yourself on the saddle on Shimmer’s back. You continue to stroke her mane as you place your feet in the stirrups, grabbing a firm hold of the reins. 

Joel follows suit as he mounts himself onto Stella, and clicks his teeth twice to lead the way out of the stables. Shimmer follows suit, and soon enough, you’re both riding side-by-side on the trail by the creek. 

“Thank you for all of this,” you gesture your hand around you both before grabbing back onto the reins. “It means a lot to me. I had a lot of fun.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice hopeful. 

“Yeah. It’s been absolutely perfect.” 

You take a moment to admire him and how the sun’s golden rays shine on him as it slowly starts to set, casting a beautiful orange and pink glow in lieu of bright blue. He gazes at you with such a softness you’ve never witnessed before, and you think it’s a thing beyond love. Devotion, compassion, protection—all in a single look. 

A look that has taken care of your heart when it was tender and aching, a look that has pumped it full of love again. It’s a look that flips your world around in the best way possible.

It’s a look that could make you cry. It’s funny, because you never used to be so in-tune with your emotions before. Before Joel, a majority of your life with and after Christian had you feeling so numb and devoid of any feelings or emotions. It was draining, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to feel so lively ever again. 

Well, never say never. 

There are no words to describe the love and gratefulness you feel for this man riding beside you, but you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life proving it to him, even if it’s wordlessly done so. 

-

A few months down the line, the ranch ends up becoming a small escape for you and Joel. When you both had free time, you’d slip away and drive to the open fields to enjoy the calmness of the water under the starry nights, laid up in the bed of his truck on top of a bunch of blankets. 

It’s the only house around for miles, so it’s super private and quiet. It’s like your own little secret with him as you’d lay there, talking about anything and everything—and sometimes leading to more. 

You’re in the middle of more, trying to muffle your moans with Joel’s mouth on yours as his fingers curl inside of you. You’re aching and needy, rocking your hips against his palm so your swollen clit rubs against his flesh. It’s intoxicating, the way his fingers move so perfectly inside of you. 

You gasp against his lips as a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. 

“Thas’ it. Atta girl, jus’ like that,” he murmurs his praise as you rock your hips so willingly and meet every thrust of his fingers, so close to your release that your whines start to mesh with your panting. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You fist his hair between your fingers and smash your lips to his in urgency, crying against him as a wave of toe-curling bliss surges through your veins.

”Oh, fuck!” 

You gush around his fingers and down his wrist, and he lowly hums as your body convulses a few more times, stomach drawing taut as you come down from your high. 

“Make such pretty messes, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful.” He kisses your forehead as he withdraws his fingers slowly, sweeping them over your sensitive clit to spread your arousal before bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. You clench around nothing at the sight as your head falls back against the makeshift pillows, gaze bleary as you try and slow your breathing and heart rate by staring at the stars twinkling so brilliantly. 

Joel dips his head down to kiss you, and you tangle your fingers through his curls once more before dragging a hand down his neck, to his chest, and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm him through the material, arousal blooming in your core once more as you feel how hard he is for you. Feel how much he wants you.

You stop your ministrations for a beat, separating yourself from his lips as you lick the palm of your hand, only to dip it into his sweats and boxers to wrap it around his length. You give him a small squeeze and he groans, eyes fluttering shut as his head tilts back. 

You huff a laugh and lean up to kiss at his thick, warm neck, licking a stripe from his earlobe down to his pulse point. You suck a little on the skin there, loving the way he twitches in your hand. He feels so heavy and warm, and all you want to do in this moment is take care of him the way he deserves—so you do just that. You slide your body down after giving him a kiss, and the dazzling look in his eye is all you need to keep this going. 

You settle your shoulders between his thighs, now face-to-face with his weeping cock. You hum before giving the silky flesh a few more tugs before leaning forward, licking the salty bead of pre cum from his slit. 

“Such a pretty cock,” you praise, rolling your lips into your mouth before you look up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the flush that has taken over his neck and face in the pale moonlight. His lips are parted and his breathing is a bit ragged, and he’s just waiting for you to pounce. 

Usually, you love to tease him just to see how worked up you can get him, but you’re too impatient and want to hear those delicious moans only reserved for you. 

You lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock before sucking his balls into your mouth, pumping his length as you gently massage him with your tongue. 

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans, hand shooting out to cradle the back of your head. You hum appreciatively around him, pumping him at a steady pace now before moving your mouth up onto his shaft again. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times before taking him all, feeling his head hit the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as you try to swallow around him and refrain from gagging. 

“Holy fuck, baby, you like doin’ this don’t you?” His voice is a deep, raspy mess, and you clench your thighs together at the sound. 

He pulls your mouth off of him, the tip of his cock coating your lips in saliva. 

“Answer me. You like this, huh?” 

Fuck. The possessiveness in his tone makes you want to roll your eyes into the back of your skull as you moan, but you opt for a nod as you rasp out a yes. 

“Look so pretty with my cock down your throat. Can fuckin’ see it when you take all of me.” 

You suck in a sharp breath before your dazed, fucked out mind conjures up the words before you even realize it. “Like this?” 

You lower your mouth back onto him, and he’s spewing a string of groans and curses together, and he eventually moans your name like a prayer on Sunday when you keep deepthroating him like this. You don’t let up, either. You know your throat is going to be absolutely fucking wrecked by the time you’re done, but it doesn’t matter. 

Not when you get to see him like this. 

He sucks in a breath through his teeth as you let up on his length and just focus your tongue and lips on his tip, making his hips buck up involuntarily. His fiery gaze meets yours and you can tell he’s nearly a goner. 

“So…fuckin’...sexy,” he grunts. You grin as you kiss his tip and flutter your eyelashes up at him, taking him in your mouth and down your throat one more time before slowly coming back up, tightening your lips around him. 

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna–” 

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s coming undone, coating your tongue and throat with his cum. His body shudders as you slide your tongue up from his length. You swallow and wipe the saliva off of your chin with the back of your hand. 

“You really are somethin’ fierce, woman,” he praises. You’re too dazed to respond, so you offer him a grin and a kiss to his thigh. 

Joel tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls his sweats up, pulling your body up to his so you’re cuddled into his side. He pulls a blanket over both your bodies and kisses you, and you nuzzle your head onto his chest. His steady breathing and strong heartbeat is what does you in before you even know it. 

You wake up in a bit of confusion, amidst hearing a constant buzzing noise. You’re still in the back of the truck with Joel, who’s passed out beside you. His breathing is steady and he looks so at peace, so you try not to move around so much before you finally realize that Joel’s phone is ringing. 

You have to dig around a bit to find it before you lift it up and squint against the bright light, only to see he has three missed calls from Tommy. Your heart drops, because Tommy is a huge texter. He only ever calls if something’s really wrong. 

“Joel,” you rasp, throat sore from your earlier escapades. His brow furrows and he softly groans, and you softly tap his shoulder. “Baby, wake up. Tommy keeps calling you.” 

His eyes crack open and he sits up, grabbing the phone from you. He dials Tommy back and presses the phone to his ear, still clearly trying to wake his mind up. 

You can’t ignore the anxious thrum of your heart. You have no idea what it could be about, and Joel’s face reads worry clear as day. You wrap your arm around him and kiss his shoulder in reassurance. 

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Joel asks, and you can faintly hear Tommy’s voice on the other end of the line, but can’t make out the words. 

“Shit, okay. I’ll be back at the house in 30 minutes.” 

Joel hangs up the phone and scrubs his hands over his face before looking down at you. He gives you an apologetic smile before leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“Sorry honeybee, we have to go back home. Our captain wants everyone at the fire station in an hour. Somethin’ important he needs to tell us all.” 

You furrow your brows and sit up, starting to fold the blankets and pack them away in the cab of the truck. You ride in silence for about fifteen minutes, your hand on Joel’s as his sits comfortably on your thigh. His thumb brushes back and forth in reassurance, but your mind is reeling with possibilities of what could be so important for all of them to know. 

“Do you have any idea what your captain might say?” 

Your voice is soft with a sleepy lull to it, and Joel looks at you for a couple of seconds with a small smile on his lips. 

“No idea, baby. It has to be somethin’ big ‘cus he only calls us in like this if it’s super urgent.” 

You nod in understanding, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. You arrive home fifteen minutes later, and Tommy greets you both at the front door. You give Tommy a hi/bye hug and Joel a kiss before they’re out the door and driving down the street. 

You decide to stay in the living room. Watch a movie or something, and wait for them to come back. You settle onto the leather couch, wrapping a blanket around you as you turn the TV on and keep it at a low volume. Exhaustion sweeps through your bones as you lay still. Your eyelids get heavy, and before you even realize it, you’re out cold once again. 

-

The front door unlocking stirs you from your sleep, and the familiar tread of boots is heard walking into the living room. 

“Baby, I’m back,” Joel says. 

You open your eyes and yawn, gaze landing on the clock. Eleven p.m. 

“Hey,” you say, voice timid. “How’d the meeting go? Is everything okay?” 

You sit up, allowing room for Joel to plop down next to you. He spreads his legs and leans his head back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I have to leave. Well, Tommy and I have to go. There’s a huge fire that broke out in San Angelo earlier today and it’s spreading fast. They need all hands on deck.”

You take in the information and furrow your brows, pausing for a beat before speaking. “How long will you be gone for?” 

He moves his hand from the bridge of his nose and looks at you with a sad expression. 

“‘M not sure, sweet girl. Could be for a few days or a few weeks. It really just depends on the conditions of the fire and the surrounding areas.” 

You nod in understanding before grabbing his hand, once again squeezing it in reassurance. 

“When do you and Tommy leave?” 

“Tomorrow morning. Captain told us to rest up as much as possible before we head out. It doesn’t look pretty, and it’s a four hour drive for us.” 

“I think you should go wake Sarah up and tell her,” you say. He nods and kisses your head before he trudges up the stairs. You turn off the TV and follow suit, settling into your side of the bed after you wash up and change into your pajamas. 

Joel comes into the room a few minutes later, closing the door behind him. 

“How is she?” You ask, opening the covers for him. He strips down into just his boxers before climbing into bed with you.

He nods. “She’s okay. Sad that I have to leave, but I told her you’d take real good care of her.” 

You huff a laugh and nod in agreement. “That I will, Mr. Miller.” 

Then realization hits you—since Tommy is leaving, that means Maria will be alone. 

“Are you okay if I invite Maria to stay over here while you guys are gone? I know she can take care of herself, but I’d rather her not be alone for however long.” 

“‘Course, baby. ‘S your home, too.” 

And, it is, which is an aspect you’re still getting used to. 

He settles into you, nuzzling his face into your chest as he inhales deeply. He kisses the skin there once before wrapping his arms around you. You rest your head on top of his, running your fingers through his hair. He falls asleep in a matter of minutes, but you remain wide awake, plagued with the thought of him going out to do his very dangerous job.  

You sigh and scold yourself for even thinking about that, because even just the prospect of telling him to stay is so unbelievably selfish. You’d never actually tell him, of course, but you think it and the thought is all-consuming. 

You just worry, like any partner would, but you worry even more especially after the nasty accident he had. You know he’s been doing this for a long time, but you’ve learned that fires can be unpredictable and life doesn’t deal in absolutes. 

A couple of hours pass and Joel is still sound asleep, meanwhile you haven’t gotten a wink of rest. Your eyes roam to the bedside alarm clock—four fifty in the morning. You sigh softly and get up as carefully as possible, trying not to disturb Joel. 

Since you can’t go to sleep, you decide to use your energy to make Joel and Tommy some lunches and a few batches of your cookies that everyone at the firehouse loves so they have something to snack on while they’re on the road. 

You start with the cookies and make enough dough for at least three batches, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You hand mix everything and put the three baking sheets in the oven, setting a timer on your phone. While the cookies bake, you make both of their lunches and pack them away. 

You can’t stand still and need to keep your hands busy to distract yourself from your looming thoughts, so you go ahead and make a fresh pot of coffee, too. 

You pour yourself a cup and put a dash of creamer in it, taking a sip as you lean over the counter and sigh. You close your eyes and rub your temples in an attempt to ease your mind. 

You hear a door open upstairs and some shuffling down the steps soon after, and a sleepy Sarah emerges. 

She rubs her eyes as she gives you a small smile, making her way to the barstool that’s on the other side of the counter from you. 

“You’re up early,” you muse. 

“Couldn’t stay asleep,” she says, and she looks at the oven as she sees cookies baking. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you couldn’t sleep at all.” 

“You’ve got that right,” you huff a laugh, taking another sip of your coffee. 

“I don’t want him to go.” 

Her blunt confession takes you aback, but it gives you a bit of comfort knowing you and her are in the same boat. 

“I know, sweetheart.” You reach your hand out to cup hers, running your thumb back and forth over her knuckles. 

“I know he’s doing this for good. I just… I don't want to see him hurt again.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s a catch twenty-two.” 

She sighs, and you round the counter to bring her into a hug. 

“I know it’s not much of a distraction, but how about we go get a pedicure later on? Just to relax a little.” 

She nods against you before leaning back to meet your gaze. “I’d love that.” 

“Great. In the meantime, are you hungry? I can make you some waffles.” 

“Thank you, but I’m not super hungry right now…” she pauses, eyeing the oven. “I’d love one of your cookies, though.” 

You laugh and nod, your phone timer going off at the perfect moment. You take all three sheets out of the oven and set them down on racks, letting them cool down. You serve her one before starting to clean up, and that’s when you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps make their way downstairs. 

“Morning cowboy,” you tease, pouring his cup of coffee as he stares at you two in confusion. 

“Mornin’…you’re both up early.” He makes his way to Sarah and kisses her hair before moving to you, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. You hand him his cup of coffee and he wraps his arm around you and gives you a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a sip. 

“What time do you and Uncle Tommy need to be at the station?” Sarah asks, biting into her cookie. 

Joel’s eyes glance at the clock on the stove. “Around nine.” 

It’s silent for a moment, and Joel looks back and forth between you both. 

“Y’all still haven’t told me why you’re both up so early.” He raises an eyebrow, looking to you for an answer. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug. 

“At all?” 

“No. I laid there for a couple of hours before I got up to make you and Tommy some lunch and a few batches of cookies for the crew while you’re on the road.” 

Joel’s eyebrows tug together. He sets his cup of coffee down, circling his arms around your waist. He holds his arm out, silently coaxing Sarah to join in. She hops down from the stool and hugs you both, and you nuzzle into them both. You all stand there for a good minute before Joel is giving you both a squeeze and kisses your heads. 

It’s like the sense of dread and anxiety hung in the air, and he clocked in almost immediately. 

Not much gets past him—you’ll give him that.

“I love you both very much. I’ll be alright,” he says. “I promise to check in every day when I can, okay?” 

His comforting embrace and reassuring words warm your heart. 

You all untangle yourselves from the embrace, and you give him a soft smile. 

“We love you too, Joel. We just worry for your safety.” 

“I know baby, I know. Believe me when I say there’s nothin’ I’d rather do than stay at home with you both, but this is an all hands on deck situation.” 

“We’d never ask you to stay, dad. We know this is part of your job and it’s important that you’re there,” Sarah says, pausing as a tremble overtakes her bottom lip. She wraps her arms around him, voice broken and soft when she speaks next. “Just be careful, okay?” 

You can see a flash of emotion in Joel’s eyes as he hugs her back, leaning his cheek on top of her head. 

“I will, babygirl. I swear to you.” 

-

You’re standing in a small group in the fire station, getting ready to send Joel and Tommy off with the rest of their crew. You’re having a conversation with them two, Maria and Sarah when one of their coworkers—Mark, you think—walks up to you, holding up the bag of cookies. 

“I just have to say thank you for these. They’re the firehouse favorite.” 

You grin and shrug. “Not a problem. Just a small thank you for everything you guys do.” 

He smiles at you and looks at Joel. “She’s a keeper, Miller.” 

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and kisses your temple. “I know. I’m a lucky, lucky man.” 

“Alright, it’s time to head out,” their Captain calls. 

You sigh and turn toward Joel. You offer him a small smile as your heart clenches with anxiety, but your expression never wavers. 

Sarah gives Joel a tight hug, expression still a bit sullen. You can tell she’s trying her best to hide it, but it slips through and it’s a look you recognize all too well. You give her shoulders a squeeze of reassurance 

He has that look in his eyes. The one where it’s filled with worry, with anxiousness. The same look that’s probably in yours, too.

You want to lighten the mood, so you tug him flush against your body by pulling the leather strap of his radio holster that sits across his chest. He laughs as his hands land on your waist, and you push your lips to his. 

You separate from him after a few seconds, smiling softly against his lips before you pull apart just enough to see those beautiful, worried brown eyes. 

“Be careful out there, cowboy. I love you.” 

He squeezes your hips. “I will, baby. I love you too.” 

He leans down to give you one more peck on the lips before he moves to say goodbye to Maria. You do the same to Tommy, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a soft little peck on the cheek. 

“Take care of each other, yeah? Life’s a lot more fun when you’re both here with us, unharmed.” You look between Joel and Tommy with a sternness they’ve never seen before. 

Tommy’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, his dimple showing up along with a flash of white teeth. 

“You got it, boss.”

He salutes you, and you sidle up beside Sarah and Maria as you wave them both goodbye. They climb into the same truck, and they’re on their way to San Angelo. 

-

Two weeks have passed, and Joel still isn’t home. He keeps his promise on checking in every day when he can, sometimes shorter conversations than others, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

Today, your siblings all agreed that a lunch was much needed between you four so you could all catch up. It was the perfect distraction, and with Sarah at school and Maria at work, you agree immediately. It’s so odd being in an empty house when you’re not on the clock, and since you’d finished with your clients early, you had the rest of the day to yourself. 

You meet up with them at a local diner, slipping into the booth next to Emily. She has a small belly now, and you lean down to air kiss it before greeting her, Andy and Cole. 

“I’m so glad we got to do this,” Emily says, and you all nod in agreement. 

“I know. It’s been awhile since I’ve harassed you guys,” Andy jokes. You roll your eyes and throw your crumbled up straw wrapper at him. 

“So how goes it?” Cole asks, leaning back in the booth. The young waitress stops by your table to take your orders before collecting the menus, and Emily starts. 

“Things have been great, actually. Baby boy is healthy and Josh got promoted at work.” She runs a hand over her belly, and your eyes light up. 

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. How does Josh like the promotion?” 

“It’s great, really. He gets more time off now, especially to come with me to my appointments, and he got a pretty significant increase in his salary.” 

“That’s so good. I still can’t believe you’re having a kid. My nephew is gonna be a little stud with the coolest uncles,” Andy says. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” You laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“You’re only semi-cool. You’re with a cool guy, though, so I guess that raises your points.” 

“God, you men are so fucking weird with your logic sometimes.”

“Yeah yeah,” Andy waves your words away, before his expression gets a bit more serious. “How is he though? How’s Tommy?” 

“They’re okay. They’re exhausted, though. The fire had spread rapidly because of the winds, and they’re still in the process of containment, but I think it’s almost at one hundred percent.” 

“Fuck. I can’t even imagine. We had a pretty dry winter too, which probably didn’t help much,” Cole says. You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, deciding to change the subject for your own sanity. Emily senses it, because your sister knows you like the back of her hand, and she finds your hand folded in your lap and gives it a reassuring squeeze. You squeeze right back.

“So what’s been going on with you two? Anything new?” You look between your brothers, and the waitress drops off your food before they can say anything. 

Cole’s eyes avert to the basket of fries in front of him, and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him carefully. He finally opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when Andy starts to talk. 

“Not much. Work is good. Can’t complain.” Andy shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his burger, and you nod before looking back to Cole. You nudge his foot under the table and his gaze snaps up to yours, and you give him an encouraging smile. 

“That’s good, Andy,” Emily says. 

“I, uh, I met someone,” Cole starts. Everyone’s eyes shift to him, and he sports a small smile. “It’s still pretty new, though, so that’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.” 

“Hell yeah, brother. Happy for you,” Andy claps Cole’s shoulder and he smiles. 

“Where did you meet?” You ask, popping a fry into your mouth. 

“Met her at the bar we went to a few months back. Finally bucked up and asked her on a date a couple of weeks ago, and it’s been going good ever since.” 

Although Cole seems to exude confidence, you know he’s more on the shy side when it comes to romance. You and him have always been the shy kids, while Andrew and Emily were outgoing and bubbly. When Emily first told you to put yourself out there with Joel, the shy shell of a woman you used to be went into fight or flight mode—but she ultimately ended up being right. 

You can hear it now: That’s what big sisters are for.

You’re grateful you and your siblings are all close in age. Although you’ve all fought over stupid, miniscule things that seemed like the whole world when you were younger, you all ended up being very close, which is something you’ll never take for granted. 

“That’s great, Cole. I hope we can meet her when you’re comfortable enough to bring her around our crazy family,” Emily laughs, and you all chime in and chuckle along. 

“I think Josh and Joel can attest to that,” you say. “I told him he could’ve run for the hills before Emi’s wedding, but that man stuck by my side and told me he wanted to meet all of you.” 

“Now that—” Cole swallows his bite of food, “—Is a real man.” 

“And look at how happy he’s made you. I love seeing you together, especially after everything you’ve been through,” Emily says. 

Andy’s face turns sour, frowning at the vague mention of your ex. “If I ever see him in person again I won’t hesitate to deck him in the face.” 

You didn’t have to question who he was. You already knew. “Get in line, Andy. Joel has first dibs.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement before he reaches out to you, palm upward, making a ‘give me’ motion with his fingers.

“Give me my ticket.” 

You laugh and push his hand away, and lighter conversation ensues the rest of lunch. 

The waitress drops the check off at the table, and you mumble that you’ll Zelle whoever pays as the other three fight over the check. Your phone rings and you pull it out of your pocket to see who it is.

Your eyebrows furrow as you see your attorney’s name across the screen of your phone. You slide the answer button over and cover your other ear so you can hear him better. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey! Long time no talk. I have some good news,” he says. 

“Hey, yeah, how are you? What’s the news?” 

“I’m good, but even better now—apparently whoever hit you in your accident was some big wig’s kid, and the parents want to pay you out a big amount for your car and, as they said, ‘any emotional damage caused by this accident’.” 

“Oh fuck,” you say. You rub your forehead with your thumb and forefinger. “Sorry, sorry. Uh—how much?” 

In all honesty, you’d sort of forgotten about your accident because so much has happened in your life since that day. You smile fondly at the memory of Joel kissing you in the back of that ambulance, within only hours of knowing each other at that point. 

You had no idea that it would’ve led to this. A good life with an even greater man. 

“They sent out a check to your house, but I think it’s in the hundred thousands range.” 

Your eyes bug out of your head and your jaw drops. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Your siblings all look at you in confusion, but you still can’t wipe the look of shock off of your face. 

Your attorney laughs at your initial reaction, but you’re still in utter disbelief. 

You can’t even fathom that kind of money, but you’re sure your attorney is used to those kinds of numbers. 

“Yeah, so keep a lookout for a check in the mail,” he says. 

“Um, yeah, will do. Thanks for giving me a call.” 

“Of course. I’ll touch base with you if anything else comes up.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and you meet your siblings’ gazes. 

And, with a small smile, you pluck the bill from Andy’s hands. “Actually, lunch is on me today.”

-

You almost fall over when you open the envelope with your check in it. 

Half a million dollars. You don’t know who the hell this kid’s parents are, but writing a check for five hundred thousand is fucking insane. 

You stare at the numbers in disbelief as you sit at the edge of the bed, sun casting its brilliant golden glow across the paper in your hands. The paper that reads half a million fucking dollars. It’s like a jackpot lighting up in Vegas or something.

You don’t know how long you stare, but if you did any longer, your eyes would burn holes in the paper. You slide the check back in the envelope and put it in your underwear drawer underneath your sports bras, because you honestly just can’t believe that it’s real. 

And later that night, when Joel FaceTimes everyone to say hi and check in, you don’t say a word about it. 

It’s not that you want to keep it from him, but you have an idea of what you’d like to do with a portion of the money, and you’d rather keep that idea a surprise for the time being. 

You trudge upstairs once more after Maria and Sarah say goodnight to Joel and Tommy, but Joel tells you to stay on the phone. He watches you do your night routine before you slip into an old oversized Texas A&M sweatshirt of his, sliding into bed. 

“I miss my woman somethin’ awful,” his deep voice rings through the phone. You look at the screen and sigh, a small smile settling onto your lips. He looks so exhausted, and all you want is for him to be safe at home again. By your side in bed. 

“I miss you too, handsome. How’s it looking out there?” 

He groans as he settles onto a bed himself folding an arm to lay his hand behind his head. 

“‘S kickin’ our asses. Embers from the original fire sparked a new one. It’s smaller, but these winds ain’t helping a damn thing.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you say, gnawing on your lip as your eyebrows furrow in worry. “I feel awful that I can’t do anything to help.” 

“There is one thing,” he says. You recognize the tone in his voice—want. 

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Miller?”  

“You wearin’ my old sweatshirt?” He asks. 

You purse your lips and nod, watching how his expression turns lustful and determined in the confines of his temporary bedroom. 

“Wearing it ‘cus it smells like you,” you confess. 

A groan rips from his throat and scrapes low in your belly, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel slick already beginning to pool from the heat between your legs. 

“Are we really gonna do this?” You huff a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I was a touch-starved man before I met you, baby. Then you go n’ spoil me with your pretty hands that can’t seem to keep to themselves.” 

“You could always tell me to stop, you know,” you purr. There’s some shuffling on the other end, and you see his heavy lidded eyes gaze at you. 

“I’d be insane to do so, darlin’.” 

“Would you?” 

He moans softly, and you realize he’s probably rubbing himself up. God, you wish that was your hand. 

“Mhm. Love when your hands are all over me, especially wrapped around my dick.” 

You can’t help but giggle, and a ghost of a smile curls at the corner of his lips. 

“Love that sound, too,” he adds. 

“You know what I love?” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a seductive whisper. 

“Hm?” 

“I love when my big, strong hunk of a man makes me feel so loved and protected. Allows me to delve into my femininity. Uses his strong hands and thick fingers to make me see stars.” 

You realize you’re probably babbling at this point, but your words seem to do the job just fine. Joel’s eyebrows pinch together and that all-too familiar muscle in his jaw ticks wildly. 

“Turn the camera around, Joel. Show me.” 

He doesn’t hesitate to flip the camera around to face the impressive outline of his cock in the gray sweats he’s wearing. Your thighs clench together at the sight, imagining what it’d be like to grind on him until he came undone. Hear his moans and strings of curses as he reaches his peak. 

“Fuck, honey,” you whine. 

“This is what you do t’me, baby.”

His voice almost sounds pained, but you know it’s because he’s held in so much tension the past couple of weeks with no way to release it. You’d do anything to distract his mind from the exhaustion he feels and fires at hand, even if it’s for a brief few moments. 

You decide to be a little raunchy, because fuck, you’re already in this position, and you want to be a good distraction—again—even if it’s brief. 

You make a show of yourself sliding your fingers down the valley of your breasts and down your stomach, wasting no time to reach your desired destination. You swipe your middle and ring finger through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before you bring your fingers up to show the camera—to show Joel—how much he turns you on. 

You separate your fingers, and a string of your slick connects between the two. 

“This is what you do to me.” 

Joel all but growls at the sight, slipping his hand into his sweatpants to grab his aching cock. You can just imagine how warm and heavy it feels in his big palm, and you sigh at the thought. 

“Fuck, baby. Be a good girl n’ touch yourself for me.”

He’s breathless, but the sound sends shockwaves through your body as more slick gushes eagerly from your aching, needy center. 

You slip your two fingers in your mouth, humming around them as you taste the tangy-sweet flavor of yourself. 

“Shit,” he says, a moan scraping from his throat. You grin like the Cheshire Cat before slipping your fingers down again, alternating between rubbing your clit slowly and dipping your fingertips into your cunt. 

You flip the camera around to show him, and it sounds like he nearly whines from the sight. You suck in a breath as you stop teasing yourself, slipping the two fingers fully into yourself. You pump them languidly, and hearing Joel’s ragged breath and gasps on the other end of the line has you writhing. 

“You don’t know how bad I wish these were your fingers and not mine,” you gasp out, grinding your hips up into your palm. 

“Oh don’t worry baby,” he pants, “‘M gonna give you everythin’ you need n’ more when I come back.” 

“That a promise?” 

“Mmm—mhm.” 

He matches the stroke of his cock with the pump of your fingers then. 

“Can’t wait to be buried in that pretty little pussy. Take me so well. Fuckin’ made for me, baby. So fuckin’ tight n’ warm. ‘S like a dream,” he babbles, and you have to bite down on the collar of the sweatshirt to keep a moan ripping from your throat.

”Need your mouth all over me too, Joel,” you cry, “Love it when you let me cum by your tongue.” 

“Yeah? Next time I’ll have you usin’ my face as a fuckin’ seat. Hold you down so you have no choice but to cum in my mouth over n’ over again.” 

“Oh, god.” 

“You like that, huh? The thought of fuckin’ my face to get you off?” 

The words die on your tongue as you try to speak, but the pleasure that was once a low burn in your belly is now its own full-fledged sun. It’s so white hot and you’re on the edge, gripping the phone in your hand for dear life. 

“Answer me,” he growls. 

“Fuck, yes! Yes yes yes,” you whisper-cry, and you’re unraveling before him on camera. You soak your hand and undoubtedly the sheets beneath you, but that’s a tomorrow problem. Your body convulses a few times and you moan as you see the white spurts of cum land on his stomach. He moans your name like a prayer on Sunday, and it makes you shiver with seemingly untamable arousal. 

He breathes heavily before grabbing a tissue to clean himself up, tucking himself back into his sweats before he flips the camera back around to his face. 

His cheeks and neck are flushed, and you can see the sweat on his forehead as he tries to steady out his breathing. You stretch and roll over on your side, laying your head on his pillow to inhale his scent. 

“I love you, my honeybee.”

You smile at the nickname and yawn, stretching your limbs one more time before curling in on yourself. 

“I love you too, cowboy. I can’t wait ‘til you’re next to me in bed again.” 

“I can’t wait either, darlin’. I hope this is all over with soon n’ I can love on you the way you deserve.” 

You grin sleepily at his words, post-coital drowsiness wrapping around your body like a weighted blanket. 

“Stay safe out there.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

And you’re fast asleep soon after you hang up. You dream blissfully of life with Joel in the fields by the ranch, of your future with him, of the memories you’ve yet to create. 

You dream of Joel happy and safe, not an ounce of the beautiful man troubled. 

But this is real life. This isn’t a fantasy where you can wish good things for people and it just magically happens at the snap of a finger, a rub of a lamp. 

His resolve was slowly crumbling. The weight of the world was sitting steady on his shoulders, breaking him down piece by piece. 

Each broken fragment of him, scattered and fragile, lay in your hands—

and this time, it was up to you to put him back together.

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@frodofreakingbaggins ; @aceaubrianna ; @tangled-tumbler-blog-blog ; @bunniboo0015 ; @aerihina

@pedritospunk ; @ro-nahime-things ; @ananonymousaffair ; @just-mj-or-not ; @melsunshine

if you'd like to be added / removed from the taglist, please let me know!

divider by @saradika-graphics

[badbatchposts]

I’m going to be totally honest about a few things I think contribute to the proliferation of these long fics (for me, over 120,000 words).

1. Sometimes they are that long because they’ve just been going on for a long time and authors have been expanding them forever and exploring many avenues rather than telling one cohesive story. This can be fine especially for readers who are keeping up with them as they update rather than reading everything in one long go—fanfic as a genre can be engaged with essentially as a serial, in which a greater length is rather typical. However…

2. Other times it’s clear that authors are posting a lot of quantity because they are not at all focused on quality. Again, this can be fine because people write fanfic for a lot of reasons and they’re doing it for fun. But as someone who thinks a lot about writing as craft, I find that I’m not very inclined to read these very long fics when it’s clear the author hasn’t spent much time thinking about what makes a story compelling or doing any editing. I get a lot less enjoyment out of reading something with a lot of redundancy for example, or repetitive conflict that doesn’t move the story forward, or where it feels like action is constantly being deferred for unclear reasons.

Again, this is no reason for others not to post those fics or read them, just another example of why longer doesn’t always mean better. As noted above, reading shouldn’t just be about passively consuming content, although I’ll also engage in quite a bit of speed reading and skimming myself if I find a story to have, for example, a compelling plot but a lot of excess fat that I think could be trimmed.

Frankly, the shorter a story is, the more laden with meaning it has to be to be very good. I personally think that short story writers are some of the best at their craft.

But of course, fanfic is a distinct genre that is written and read for reasons that often differ from published genres, and even, for example, mass market novels and literary novels are going to be written, read, and enjoyed differently. I’ll often take a lot more time reading a 100 page literary novela than a 225 page mass market thriller, because the language and structure is so different and they have to be engaged with on their own terms.

am i having a brain bleed are people seriously considering NOVEL LENGTH FICS as small one shots now what is happening

[wordsmeetwbb]

Not Just Friends

Word count: 1.8k

Content: fluff

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: I needed a break from writing smut so here's a little something about Paige and Azzi figuring out they're gay! Obviously we don't know how this happened (if it happened, but let's be honest. they play women's basketball. the odds are high.), but this is just my take on how I think those realizations would have gone. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!

________

Paige was 16 when she realized that what she felt for Azzi was more than just friendship. It was August, just over a year after they had met during USA basketball. They had settled into a routine over the summer. Although they were separated by half the country, they were closer than ever.

Every evening around eight o’clock, Paige Facetimed Azzi. More often than not, Azzi picked up on the first ring and they stayed on the call until one of them (Azzi) fell asleep. Paige missed Azzi with every fiber of her being, but she knew she was lucky to talk to Azzi as much as she did. She felt lucky that Azzi wanted to talk to her as much as she did.

On one of those Facetime calls, late into the night, Paige was yapping to Azzi while the brunette struggled to keep her eyes open. Really, it wasn’t Azzi’s fault. It was nearly two in the morning and Paige hadn’t stopped talking since midnight. She had tried to annoy Azzi into staying awake for a while, but then she felt bad and let the tired girl drift off, content to provide background noise with the endless amount of stories she wanted to tell Azzi.

“And then she like, she just fuckin’ chopped it! All of it! Like a foot of hair, Az. And I was like, ‘That’s crazy,’ and she was like ‘Not all of us have emotional attachments to our hair, Paige,’ but that’s not fair. I’m not emotionally attached, I’m just picky about my gameday hair, y’know?” Paige rambled to a mostly unconscious Azzi.

“Mhm,” Azzi mumbled. Through the screen, Paige could see the way the younger girl was nestled into the pile of blankets on her bed, clutching a unicorn stuffed animal. She smiled softly.

“Anyway, she tried to tell me I should cut my hair. And obviously, I said no, because how am I gonna do gameday braids with a fucking pixie cut, right? But she just wouldn’t let up so-” Paige cut herself off when she saw Azzi’s face relax. If she really thought about it, the reason she talked so much on these calls was because she knew Azzi fell asleep easier with background noise. And if she was extra motivated by the way the younger girl looked so peaceful in her sleep, well, that was her business and no one else’s.

Paige’s eyes traced every curve, line, and crease of Azzi’s face. Her skin glowed even in the dim room, the color darker than usual from the time she’d spent in the summer sun. Paige was confident that if she had any artistic ability whatsoever she’d be able to draw Azzi perfectly from memory. The way her eyelashes rested on her cheeks with her eyes closed, the light pink tint to her nose from a little too much time outside, the curve of her plump lips- Paige had it all memorized.

Paige hated ruining these soft moments where she just got to look at Azzi without the younger girl complaining about it, but as her eyes wandered around her face a thought popped into her head.

I’ve never looked at a guy like this. Paige paused, gaze stuck on Azzi’s perfectly curved eyebrows. What an odd thing to notice. A second thought. Paige wasn’t used to thinking during these Facetimes. She didn’t think she liked it, but the ideas seemed to have opened some kind of floodgates. More observations came pouring into her subconscious.

Her lips look so soft. I wonder what they feel like. Her eyes are such a pretty shade of brown, I wish I could see them right now. I’ve never felt like this about a friend.

Paige took a deep breath, startled by her train of thought. None of the thoughts surprised her. That was the whole problem. Azzi’s eyes were pretty, and her lips did look soft, and Paige did wonder what they felt like. She just hadn’t realized she thought any of those things.

Paige thought back to a few weeks ago when one of the girls on her team had been talking about her crush on some guy in the grade above them. The things her teammate had said about that guy had sounded a lot like everything Paige was thinking about Azzi.

Oh, Paige thought. I like Azzi.

It wasn’t anything revolutionary. Paige was pretty sure she had always liked Azzi. She just hadn’t known it. It wasn’t until nearly a year later when she and Azzi finally confessed their feelings to each other that Paige thought about what liking Azzi meant for herself.

“You never came out to me!” Azzi had exclaimed. Paige had frozen, staring at Azzi and really, truly not understanding.

“Come out to you?” she repeated. Azzi nodded, eyebrows drawing together.

“Yeah, like, are you bi? Lesbian? I came out to you months ago and I’ve been thinking you’re straight since we met, P,” she explained, looking at Paige like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Paige said dumbly. Azzi just stared at her. “Uh, I guess I didn’t really think about it. Like, the whole not being straight thing. I just know I like you,” Paige shrugged. Azzi had blushed, the color intoxicating on her skin.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pushing Paige’s shoulder gently. Paige just grinned.

“As long as I can be your idiot.”

________

Azzi learned she was gay at three in the morning on a Thursday when she was 16. It had, in a very cliche fashion, been a dream that sparked the realization.

She had woken up, breathing hard, the blankets feeling far too hot, with memories of soft lips on hers taking up far too much space in her mind. She threw the blankets off, sitting straight up in bed, and had a full-blown gay panic.

The longer she sat there, the more pieces of the dream came back to her. At first, it was just gentle lips on her own, and then soft blonde hair running through her fingers, and then it progressed to memories of warm pale skin under her hands. Azzi squeezed her eyes shut.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she demanded to her brain. The clock was creeping closer to four in the morning, she had to be up for school in two hours, and she was being terrorized by completely non-platonic thoughts of her best friend. Azzi flopped face-down onto her bed and let out a scream into her pillow, realizing too late that the rest of her household was still sleeping and might have heard it.

Feeling frustratingly awake and completely insane, Azzi grabbed her phone off her nightstand and navigated into a new Google tab. “What does a dream about kissing someone mean?” she searched first. The results were straightforward, bluntly informing Azzi that dreams of kissing someone usually meant that you had romantic feelings for that person. That brought up new questions.

“How to know if I like girls?” was her next search. It was a ridiculous idea to Azzi. She had had crushes on boys before. Hell, she’d dated a boy in middle school, and as much as that wasn’t a real relationship, it definitely proved that she liked guys. So why the hell was she having a dream about kissing her best friend who was a girl? It didn’t make any sense.

“Why do I want to kiss a girl if I like guys?” Azzi tried, hoping that somebody on Reddit had the same problem as she did. Shockingly, there was a result. That’s how Azzi Fudd learned about bisexuality, and suddenly things made a lot more sense.

She tried to bring it up to Paige on their nightly Facetime that day, but Paige was being frustratingly dense.

“Hey, Paige? Have you ever thought about, like, dating somebody?” Azzi started. Paige startled, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Uh, yeah. But not like, for real. Don’t really wanna date people because like, ew, right? Anyway, I was thinking that next year-” Azzi, feeling disproportionately upset, ended the call. Mere seconds later, her phone was ringing with another Facetime from Paige. She let it ring for a while, wanting Paige to know that she hung up on purpose. Finally, she clicked to accept the call.

“What the hell, Az? I was telling you a story,” Paige complained. Azzi glared at her.

“And I was trying to tell you something, too.” Paige looked confused.

“But you asked me a question.”

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of a leading question, dumbass? I was using it as an intro to something,” Azzi grumbled. Paige had the decency to look at least a little bit sorry.

“That’s my bad, Az. It was just kind of a weird topic. Sorry, you can tell me whatever you were going to. I won’t even interrupt this time,” Paige apologized. Azzi swallowed, losing her nerve now that the moment had been drawn out so much.

“I just… uh. I wanted to tell you that I learned about something,” she said, mouth unbearably dry. Paige nodded, prompting her to go on. “You know that people can like guys and girls?” Azzi blurted out. Paige’s eyebrows shot up, surprise coloring her face, but she nodded slowly. Azzi could feel her hands shaking. She knew Paige was religious, but she was suddenly considering that this could end negatively. She didn’t give herself time to consider that outcome.

“I’m bisexual,” Azzi said quickly. She felt like her heart might beat right out of her chest. Paige looked at her for a moment, studying her through the phone. Azzi shifted uncomfortably. “Can you say something?” She asked, tone unsure. Paige cleared her throat, expression softening. Azzi felt her body relax immediately, just from noticing the change in Paige’s body language.

“You know I’m proud of you for telling me, right?” Paige asked. Azzi blinked. That was not the response she was expecting.

“You’re… proud of me?” she repeated. Paige nodded, the movement jerky through the screen. A smile spread across Azzi’s face.

“Thanks, Paige.” Paige just nodded again, a small smile on her face now.

So, from the time Azzi had the dream of kissing Paige (the first of many) to the time she came out to the blonde, her gay crisis lasted about 16 hours. When she thought about it later, years down the road, she thought it made complete sense. Azzi overthought every single thing in her life except Paige. Realizing she was bisexual was easy because it was Paige. The girl who talked her ear off on calls every night, who sent her iMessage games at ungodly hours, who always knew how to comfort her. Just Paige. Liking Paige made perfect sense.

[thegreatstoryteller]

Female to Male Fridays!

The Great Shift: Meeting the Parents

“Are you sure you’re ok with this? We can still head home.” Jenny muttered. Clearly a bit nervous staring down at her boyfriend.

“Babe. It’s been almost a year since the Great Shift. I told you. Just because I’m unshifted, doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet your parents.” Youseff said smiling.

Jen and Youseff had met in their freshman year of college and immediately became close. They joined similar clubs, volunteered at the same food banks, and eventually friendship blossomed into romance one fateful summer night! The couple knew nothing could get between them and the love that they found… and a few years later that included the Great Shift. While Youseff remained unshifted, Jen Shale wasn’t so lucky.

They had agreed to meet at her sorority when the craziness of the Shift happened. Youseff was more than a bit surprised to find a larger older man in his 40s sitting nervously on Jen’s bed waiting for him! Since then many revelations have been shared with the couple. The first was Youseff coming out to his girlfriend as bi! He never had the courage to say it before and didn’t know how to share that part of his life with his girlfriend, but the shift offered a unique chance that worked out well with the couple. Two. Jen realized she was in a sports medicine professor who was quite in shape! He apparently was father to three student athletes on campus… and luckily her feelings for her boyfriend hadn’t wavered from the shift. A fact that they both enjoyed learning the first week of the Great Shift. Eventually the two became more comfortable with each other even buying a pair of matching pajamas!

It took quite some time for the world to get back in order. During that entire time communications were able to be set up with most families. Youseff’s family had many linear shifts, a term used by most of the world when your shift put you into someone very similar to your original body. His dad was a man his own age. His mother was a woman a few years younger than her. The only difference was his younger brother who now keeps telling Youseff to call him the bigger brother when he shifted into a former professional athlete. 

Jen’s family… was another story.

“And that brings us to today. Jen. I’m serious. I want to meet them. I know you’ve talked to them, but I haven’t. And when they invited us over for the holidays I thought it’d be the best chance to get to know them.” Youseff said hopefully, placing a hand against Jen’s cheek and training the thick salt and pepper stubble that was ever present no matter how close she shaved.

“I know- I know… but I told you before the shift that they were a bit much… and, well, now since the shift… they are still that! I guess… just… more…” Jen muttered nervously. A feat she seemed to still master despite her new commanding baritone. 

“They can’t be that bad.” Youseff said before knocking. And that’s when they heard heavy steps approaching the door.  

A handsome muscular man answered the door! He wore long pink dishwashing gloves and an apron! Aside from that he seemed to be wearing nothing else. The small potted flower he held seemed to be thriving!

“You must be Youseff! Jen has told us so much about you! Come in! Come in! I was just washing some dishes and watering the kitchen plants! We’re so glad to meet you. You can call me Margot! I’m Jen’s mother, or rather her second father!” Margot laughed. The man before them had a deep voice and almost a bro like tone. The motherly introduction he gave at odds with his gym bro form. 

“You must be hungry! I’ve been making lots of food these days. This young man I became had quite the appetite. And who could blame him. I’ve felt the urge to go to the gym almost every day of the week! Anyway, I just keep blabbering away! Have a mini quiche!” Margot led them to the living room where a small plate of appetizers awaited them.

“Wow, these are amazing Margot!” Youseff said digging in. I always wondered where Jen got her amazing cooking skills from.

“Awww! Jen! You didn’t mention your man was a little charmer.” Margot giggled as Jen blushed. 

“Mooom! Stop! You’re embarrassing me!” Jen complained burying her fuzzy face in her large hands. Her mom was always like this. If it wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about Jen, it was finding an excuse to show off her body. Ever since Margot got her new body she had been more than happy to show it off. She would say, “Well this young man clearly wanted to show off his muscles, who am I to cover them up!”. So bouncing around the house in her classic apron was just the way she dressed these days.

“Shush Jen. My little girl will never be too old for a little humor. Just because you have more grays on that head of yours than your father did pre shift, doesn’t mean you can’t laugh a little.” Margot teased.

“Speaking of where is Mr. Shale? Youseff asked.

“Well he’s always in the garage these days. When he got that 20 year old gymnast’s body, he’d become obsessed with the sport! I’ve got some biscuits to take out of the oven. You two should check on him.” Margot offered.

“Anything to get out of this conversation.” Jen groaned pulling Youseff towards the side of their home. As they opened the door to the garage they could see a handsome black man flexing in the mirror, wearing a tight singlet. The chalk on his hands implying a recent gymnastics routine.

“Jen! There’s my little girl turned big man!” Her dad said cutting his flexing short and heading towards Jen. Mr. Shale now was the shortest one in the family at 5’1. With his daughter at 6’0 and his wife at 5’10, the household tended to tower over him. However, he was more than happy with his new body.

“Hey dad, enjoying your gymnastics or whatever?” Jen half heartedly asked.

“Yes I am! I tell ya, being a few decades younger is great! Sure beats my beer belly and sore ankles. A 20 year old body like this is flexible. You can ask your mother if you don’t believe me.” Mr. Shale winked.

“Dad! Oh my gosh! NO! I brought Youseff here! Please don’t gross him out.” Jen screamed.

“Oh so this is the young man that’s caught my daughter’s eye. You can address me as Mr. Shale or sir. DO I make myself clear?”  Mr. Shale looked up at Youseff who just nodded. Despite the size difference between them Youseff was clearly intimidated by his dad-like tone. 

“Yes sir!”

“Good man. I guess I have you to thank for helping our dear Jen finally get some more manly clothes? For some reason she didn’t want my help with a new wardrobe.” Mr. Shale shook his head disappointed.

“Yeah! We actually had a lot of fun going to the store and finding clothes that fit. The toughest part was finding shoes in her new size.” Youseff conceded.

“Youseff!” Jen blushed. She knew it was true. With her larger feet, she realized just how difficult it was to find footwear that fit. The largest most places went up to was size 15. Her now size 18 feet were tough to find anywhere!

“Sorry babe, but it’s true. Plus you said you had a great time shopping. Like old times, remember? You said that you weren’t sure we’d find a single pair, but when we went to the Big and Tall store, they had a few shoes your size! Even sandals!” Youseff explained.

Jen just shook as her dad applauded Youseff’s resourcefulness!

Before long the family was finally all together to share a meal! Jen’s parents were loving her boyfriend, though he could see that she was clearly embarrassed throughout the whole dinner.

By the time they left Youseff was driving them back to their apartment, where he asked. “Jen? Are you alright? I… I’m guessing that night wasn’t the most pleasant for you?”

Jen just nodded and hugged her boyfriend. Her broad frame embracing him with a tight squeeze. “My parents just take a lot out of me. Before the shift they were overbearing in a different way and now… well now they are always just so comfortable in their new bodies! My mom started going to the gym almost every day with her old book club. Each of them became some kind of fitness influencer. And my dad! He won’t stop telling me how proud he is to have a son now and that I need to start acting more manly. I don’t get how they can be so well adjusted to all this! I… I thought I was getting there. With you… being this kind of man feels easy. Even more exciting at times too.”

“I do love your mustache.” Youseff noted, causing Jen to giggle.

“See. It’s stuff like that. You always make me feel like your partner… and… I guess I need more time before I start feeling like a member of my own family again and not some older hairy guy.” Jen admitted.

Youseff kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry I insisted we meet them so soon. I was so ready to take our relationship further and I was so nervous to meet them. But I forgot to consider how you were feeling about your parents. From now on, we can just focus on us.”

“I like that plan.” Jen smiled kissing back.

“Good. Maybe we can start with a pedicure tomorrow. I know you’ve been itching to try that out with your big new feet.” Youseff teased.

“Ha! These big new feet would love to get a pedicure. Maybe a foot massage later too!” Jen smiled, wiggling her big toes. When she was with Youseff she realized, maybe she could get used to this big body.

[purlturtle]

Instagram.

As I understand it, it is Not Done to go back through someone's insta and comment/like older pics. Very much discouraged as stalkery. So if you got your internet socialization at a time where Instagram etc. were present/dominant, that's what you learned.

AO3 is indeed different, in that it is an archive, so a place where the entire purpose is to have everything preserved for others to peruse. It is not stalkery to do so; it is the intended purpose! So, look and browse and read to your heart's content, and never be afraid to interact with older stories - they are there for you to find and enjoy just like the newer ones are, and no author will ever mind hearing that you did!

Nothing beats the feeling when you start getting comments on every fic in a fandom or ship from one person, and it’s clear that they’re going on a fic-binge. 

[whiskis]

The commander's mate (part 1?)

A/N: Two SFW stories in a row, sorry, my brain is not really horny this week. That said, part 2 of this lil snippet everyone loved, enjoy!

Alien x fem!reader|| SFW, hurt/comfort || tw: kidnapping

"You are going to take the million and shut up if you don't want your brain blown for keeping a commander's mate imprisoned on a pet shop," he replied, his gun already out as your brain spiraled with the info he just let out.

What did he mean by “mate”? Did aliens talk in Australian lingo? You highly doubted that, and your brain was already scrambling to get a response. Maybe… Maybe your monsterfuckery books weren’t so wrong after all, maybe he was talking about that kind of mate. But that couldn’t be, could it? There was no way you got kidnapped from earth and thrown into a monster pet shop just for an alien to find you and claim you as his mate. That couldn’t be possible. Your life wasn’t like that…

It was a dream. That was it. Everything you just saw and experienced was a dream. You didn’t get kidnapped. You didn’t wake up on a pet cage with a very angry gobling-pet-store-owner screaming at you in a language you didn’t understand. Nope. A dream. That explained it. That explained everything.

You pinched your side and pressed your eyes shut tightly. Wake up, wake up, wake up… You repeated to yourself over and over.

A warm big hand touched your bicep and you almost shoot into the stratosphere when you jumped up, scared. You opened your eyes in a rush and found the alien staring back at you, his eyes tender. “Little human, it’s time to go.” His voice was a lot sweeter than before, equally deep, but soothing in a way.

Your scared brain couldn’t work properly and a thousand questions piled in the front of your mind, but the first that escaped your mouth was: “How do you know my language?” He didn’t have an accent, but you knew he didn’t learn English at school like you did.

He covered your hand with his much bigger one, he was crouching in front of the cage, but still towered over you by far. “I’ve been to earth many times, little human,” he explained. He was rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand, and your body was slowly melting.

It ached, you ached, to be closer to him. But you denied yourself of that, you didn’t understand what your body was feeling, maybe it was Stockholm syndrome or something. Even if that syndrome was bullshit and he wasn’t the one who kidnap you.

“Why?” You asked. You didn’t exactly know about what you were asking, you only knew… need. Need like no other. To know. To meet. To touch. It was driving you slowly made not to be as close to him as possible. You crawled to him, and he helped you out of the cage, but you were still on the floor as he crunched next to you.

“Political affairs. I know your world leaders very well,” he said with a chuckle, his mouth tilting in something that (you hoped) was a try to smile but looked more like a grimace. That only answered part of your confusion, but at last it was something.

“Who are you?” You finally let out, your brain clearing enough to question him on the important part. Being closer to him made your mind clearer, and that should scare you. But it didn’t, you couldn’t be scared when he was so close.

“I am the commander of the intergalactic alliance,” he let out in a formal tone, just to go back to his shooting one when he added: “and I’m your mate, my lovely human.”

“Like the Australians?” You asked, trying to make sense of something.

He laughed, throwing his head back and arching his neck in a way that made your mouth water to bite him. Where the fuck did that thought come from? You stepped closer, his body so close to yours that you could feel the heat emanating from his colorful skin.

“No, little human. Not like the Australians,” and that was everything he said as he took your hand, and helped you up, leading you away from the creepy monster pet shop.

A/N: Reminder that you can read all my other stories back in @monstersflashlight (all organized in this masterlist), thanks for reading!

[greengoblinswifey]

could you do a story where frontman is readers sugar daddy, please and thank you I ❤️ your writing.

Luxury & Lies— Hwang In-ho x Fem!Reader

summary— Being In-ho’s sugar baby came with luxuries beyond your wildest dreams. You never questioned where his wealth came from, only cared about what you could get out of him. But when you stumbled upon the truth, the Squid Game and the power he held as the Front Man, you knew exactly how to use it to your advantage. And In-ho? He’d do anything to keep you.

warnings— Sugar daddy!in-ho, manipulation, cunnilingus, body worship, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff.

a/n— Thank you and enjoy <3

Youth and beauty on the outside was not eternal, that being said, you were always one to use it to your advantage.

It was by using those assets that caused you to stumble upon Hwang In-ho. He was an older yet very attractive man and obviously very wealthy. You knew how to play the game right and the night you had met In-ho, you were seated in the lounge area of an upscale restaurant that was famous for transactions like this.

He slipped into the seat next to you, decked in an expensive suit and as soon as you flipped your hair and tilted your head, he was sold.

You didn’t have to say much, especially when it came to older men, you let him do the talking, you were just there to look pretty and get what you want. And you got way more than you bargained for being Hwang In-ho’s sugar baby.

In-ho always gave you what you wanted. That was the foundation of your arrangement. You asked, and he delivered—no questions, no hesitations. It started with luxury handbags and designer clothes and shoes, then first class trips and five star hotels, and before you knew it, you had an entire apartment paid for in your name and a collection of jewelry that could make royalty jealous.

Being with In-ho meant being spoiled, but it also meant playing your role. You were his eye candy at every event, the one in his arm in dresses he picked out for you, flashing a smile that made investors and business partners envious. You liked the life you lived, liked the way people looked at you when you walked into a room together.

You never questioned how he could afford it all. What did it matter? You weren’t with him for his morality, you were with him for what he could give you.

But then you found out.

It had been an accident, really. You were in his office at the penthouse, bored and nosy, and you stumbled across a locked drawer in his desk. He always kept things private, but this was different, the secrecy intrigued you. So you looked until you found the key, expecting maybe some business documents or an old affair he never wanted you to know about.

You didn’t expect tapes.

Or the footage of people being slaughtered.

You sat frozen, watching clips from the so called Squid Game, men and women gunned down like animals, the screams piercing even through the speakers of his monitor. And there, in the midst of it all, was him—your sugar daddy, the man who paid for your lifestyle, standing over it all in that black mask.

The Front Man.

The truth settled like ice in your veins, but strangely, you weren’t horrified. You were curious.

For the first time since meeting In-ho, you had leverage.

So, you confronted him.

You remembered the way he looked at you when you brought it up. The sharp inhale. The slight flinch. He had tried to keep you in the dark for a reason, because, deep down, he feared this exact moment.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah?” You folded your arms. “Well, I did.”

A pause. A long, heavy silence. And then, a confession. He admitted everything. How long he had been in charge. What the games really were. The money, the power, the control.

“I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore,” he said eventually, looking down. “I won’t stop you.”

That was the moment you could have walked away. Should have, maybe. But you had no intention of leaving.

Instead, you put on a show, acted like you needed time, like you were shaken and unsure. Let him panic, let him compensate.

And, oh, did he compensate.

A brand new penthouse apartment, yours, fully paid for. A car, your dream model, delivered to your doorstep. Cash in your account, a credit card linked to his bank account. Jewelry, vacations, an all expenses paid trip with your homegirls on his private jet, all while he stayed behind, giving you space.

He only texted you once.

“Let me know when you're ready to talk.”

When you had everything you wanted, you decided it was time.

The night you returned, he was already waiting in your penthouse, standing by the windows with a glass of whiskey.

“You look beautiful,” he said, scanning your outfit like he hadn’t seen you in weeks, which he hadn’t. “Did you have a good trip?”

“It was perfect,” you said, slipping off your coat and letting it drop onto the couch. “Thanks to you.”

He exhaled softly, nodding. “And are you ready to talk?”

“I am,” you said as you walked toward him slowly, heels clicking against the floor.

He tensed. You could see it in the way his fingers curled slightly against the glass, like he was bracing himself for the worst.

“You kept a huge secret from me, In-ho,” you murmured, stopping just inches away. “That’s not something I can just forgive overnight.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“I bet you are.” You reached for his tie, giving it a gentle tug. “But sorry isn’t enough. You have to earn my trust again.”

His breathing hitched. “Anything,” he murmured, voice low. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

You smiled, slow and sultry. “Good,” you said, stepping backward toward the bedroom. “Then follow me.” And just like that, he did.

You led him across the penthouse, never looking back, because you didn’t need to, you could feel his presence behind you, could feel the heat of his stare. By the time you reached the bedroom, you stopped at the edge of the bed, tilting your head just slightly over your shoulder.

He was watching you with hungry, dark eyes, scanning every inch of you. And then, you let yourself fall back against the silk sheets, stretching out, parting your legs to make your point.

His breath came uneven. “You—”

“You said you’d do anything,” you murmured, hooking a leg around his waist and pulling him closer. “Show me.”

Something inside him snapped.

He was on you in seconds, his hands gripping you, lips crashing against yours with a desperation you had never felt from him before. He wasn’t just indulging you—he was proving himself.

For the rest of the night, he did exactly that.

Because at the end of the day, you always got what you wanted.

The second In-ho had you beneath him, it was like something inside him broke loose. His hands were at your clothes in an instant, fabric tearing under his grip as he stripped you naked. The sound of ripping seams filled the air, followed by a sharp gasp from you as cool air met your skin.

“In-ho—”

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, dark eyes flickering over you like he was soaking up every inch to memory.

His lips were on you before you could respond, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, over your breasts. His lips were everywhere, like he was trying to worship and make it up to you.

Then he was lower, his mouth pressing against your stomach, his hands holding you steady as you squirmed.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, breath catching.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “So perfect. Always so goddamn perfect for me.”

And then, he had you unraveling.

The first stroke of his tongue against your pussy had your back arching, fingers twisting into the sheets as pleasure shot through you like lightning. He moaned against you, gripping your thighs to hold you still, but you couldn’t—not when he was devouring you like this, like he had been starved for you.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against your pussy, pressing a kiss between every stroke of his tongue. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You barely heard him past the pleasure that built and built with every expert movement of his mouth. He was relentless, slow at first, savoring you, but when he felt you tense, when he heard the way you gasped his name, he tightened his grip and ravished you with ferocity that had your legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Cum for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

And when you finally came, when you cried out so loud you swore the whole city could hear, he only held you through it, kissing your thighs, whispering praises against your heated skin.

“You’re a dream,” he breathed, pressing a lingering kiss just below your navel. “So beautiful. So good for me.”

In-ho didn’t stop. Even after you were left trembling beneath him, after your breath was still shaky and your body tingled from the aftershocks, he kept kissing you, soft presses of his lips against your skin.

“You're everything,” he murmured between kisses, trailing from your chest to your lips. “More than I deserve.”

The way you shivered when his fingers brushed your breasts, the way your breath hitched when he pressed a kiss just below your chest. He worshiped you, whispering apologies against your skin.

“Forgive me,” he said, forehead resting against yours. “For everything. For keeping things from you, for being selfish enough to want you despite it all.”

You cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. “You're not losing me,” you promised softly, and the way his eyes darkened told you he believed you—but he needed to prove himself anyway.

His mouth found yours in a desperate kiss, hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you. You felt him—all of him, hard and heavy against your thigh.

Another thing about In-ho? He was the full package. The biggest you’d had, the biggest you probably ever would have, and he knew exactly how to use it.

He smirked at the way you swallowed hard, his hands skimming down your sides, teasing, making you wait.

“You always act like such a brat,” he murmured, pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck. “Like you don’t need me.” His hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling you flush against him. “But then I get you like this, and you melt for me.”

“In-ho,” you gasped, gripping his shoulders.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of his cock as he slowly pressed against your folds. “Let me take care of you.”

And when he finally gave in, when he finally stopped teasing and claimed you, it was deep, slow, possessive. He worshiped you, murmuring praises against your lips, against your skin. He filled you inch by inch, your pussy quivering around him.

“You're perfect,” he groaned. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your nails dug into his back, legs tightening around him as he pulled you closer, right on his dick. Every slow, deep stroke unraveled you, and he felt everything, the way you clung to him, the way you gasped his name like a prayer.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Give it to me. Cum.”

And when you finally did, when you cried out and your body tensed beneath him, he held you through it, his own breath ragged, his grip tightening like he never wanted to let you go.

He didn’t pull away right away—just kissed you through it, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. Soon, you felt the rush of his cum filling you up and his soft moans in your ear.

“Mine,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re mine.”

In-ho never just left you after. That wasn’t who he was.

No matter how intense things got, no matter how desperate or needy, he always made sure to take care of you after.

Tonight was no different.

He pressed a kiss to your temple before slipping away, only to return moments later with a warm cloth. He handled you carefully, murmuring soft praises as he cleaned you up, whispering apologies when you flinched from sensitivity. His touch was steady, so unlike the man who ran the most brutal game in existence. With you, he was different.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, running a hand down your thigh as he finished.

You nodded sleepily, reaching for him. “Mhm.”

That was all he needed to hear. He tossed the cloth aside and pulled you into his arms, shifting until you were resting on his chest, his fingers tracing circles into your skin.

“I’ll prove myself to you every day,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll always be here for you.”

You hummed in response, half asleep against him, but he knew you heard him.

That was something about In-ho, you knew this arrangement was transactional, but there was something deeply intimate in the way he held you after, in the way he needed to keep you close, like he was afraid you’d slip away in the night.

Even now, his grip on you was firm.

“You’re so good to me,” you mumbled, fingertips skimming his jaw.

“You deserve it,” he murmured, eyes half lidded as he looked down at you. “And more.”

He held you like that for the rest of the night, whispering sweet nothings, pressing lazy kisses to your hair. You didn’t need to say it out loud, but you both knew, no matter how complicated things were, he wasn’t letting you go.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

“ interlinked ”

.°⋆🖇₊ synopsis: nanami kento, a hardened field agent, has his world flipped upside down when his friend shoko gifts him a recently developed android after an injury sidelines him. you, designed with advanced ai, are curious and eager to learn about human emotions, but as you form a bond with nanami, he begins to feel something deeper for you. though he struggles with you being an android, your connection grows as you navigate moments of tenderness, confusion, and quiet affection. can a human truly love something that isn’t? and will your bond survive the impossible choices that lie ahead?

.°⋆🖇₊ tl;dr: non-curse au! where nanami is an agent, working for government’s protective services, and you are a newly developed android, gifted to him to take care of him.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ teddy’s notes: GUYSSS PLEASE GIVE THIS A CHANCE!!! i put a lot of effort and time into writing this, no joke, this is also a love letter to nanami heheh. also cr to the artist on the banner.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ content warning(s): wc 16,764(wowzer), angst, fluff, soo much angst and fluff, slow burn, NSFW, nanami does a lot of paperwork, also you’re a clueless cutie and discovering the world. yes nanami has sex with android!you, when referring to you “she/her” is used by other people in the story, this is just a fantasy guys don’t take this seriously!! also kind of a character death. enjoy!!

“you won’t be able to get away like you did last time, you know?” a lengthy exhale escaped shoko’s chest, the string of words muttering under her breath as she examined the scar on the left side of his face.

nanami ignored her words, the only indication of him hearing the doctor’s words being the deepening crease between his brows. instead, he focused on the white wall in front of him, finding it a lot more interesting than he did two weeks ago when he first woke up in this room, in the medical wing of his agency’s headquarters.

“nanami,” she tried again, gloved hands tilting his head towards herself as she gave him an exasperated look. “haibara will be suspended too if he provides you with information on upcoming missions.”

he clicked his tongue in irritation as he gently pushed her hands away from himself, letting out a heavy sigh. well, shit.

the “last time” shoko was talking about was about 2 months ago, when he unknowingly acquired a concussion and internal bleeding in his abdomen, and despite shoko’s and director yaga’s instructions to not go out of his home for at least 10 days nanami managed to sneak out into some of the missions. how did he know anything about missions? haibara, of course.

convincing his long-time friend and colleague to send him any documents was not a hard task, especially since haibara had a soft spot for him ever since their training days, and he also worked in the tech department of the headquarters. but if he gets suspended too, nanami will feel extremely guilty since yuu enjoyed his work too much to be away from it.

nanami’s gaze lingered on shoko, his curiosity piqued by the strange look she wore as she discarded her gloves. she seemed to have something on her mind, but she was keeping it to herself. he raised a brow, waiting for her to speak.

finally, after a brief pause, shoko let out a soft sigh, pushing her hair back. “besides, i have something for you. something that will keep you busy.”

nanami’s expression shifted, his interest fading into mild skepticism. the last time someone had “something” for him, it was gojo sending him three overzealous trainees who, despite their good intentions, nearly drove him to the edge with their incessant questions and their complete lack of self-awareness. it had been an exhausting day.

he clicked his tongue, a mix of frustration and exhaustion, but he wasn’t about to interrupt her.

shoko’s lips quirked, clearly aware of his thoughts. “i’ll have it delivered to your place this evening, okay? you can leave in a couple of hours. i’ll call you.”

the door clicked shut behind her, and the familiar mix of her perfume and the faint scent of cigarettes lingered in the air. nanami stared at the spot where she had just been, already dreading whatever this new “thing” was that would keep him busy.

he was used to being alone. as a spy working for the agency, he had spent years living a life that required solitude. but this recent injury had taken him out of action, and yes, shoko had told him to rest, but his body couldn’t seem to listen. it didn’t help that his work was piling up, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being idle.

nanami’s gaze lingered on the door where shoko had just exited, a frown settling deeper into his face. there was something unsettling about the idea of “keeping busy” when his body was clearly telling him to rest. it felt wrong, like a futile attempt to ignore the reality of his injury. but that was how it always was for him—work never stopped, even when his body gave out.

as a field agent, nanami had learned early on to push past his limits, to always be ready, always be on alert. he had built his life around constant movement, constant action. this forced stillness was a foreign concept to him.

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. despite his exhaustion, his mind raced with the mounting pile of tasks waiting for him. reports, mission updates, case files—all of it screamed at him, even as his body ached to do nothing.

being idle wasn’t something he was used to. the stillness of it felt suffocating, like something inside of him was slowly crumbling. and that guilt gnawed at him. after all, the agency’s work never ceased, and he was one of its best agents. who was he if he couldn’t even fulfill his own responsibilities?

nanami had always been the type to push himself, to power through any obstacle no matter how much it hurt. so this forced rest, this lingering sense of helplessness, was unsettling.

his fingers drummed on the arm of the chair, a faint twitch of frustration building inside him. he didn’t have time for this.

“nanami, you’re overworking yourself,” shoko had said earlier, her voice sharp but caring. “and you’re no use to the agency if you’re in no condition to work. so i’m sending you something.”

nanami had expected paperwork or maybe a more practical solution to keep him occupied, but what she delivered was… you.

you stood in the doorway, a mechanical precision to your movements as you glanced up at him with wide eyes. you were beautiful—almost too human to be real. your face was flawless, with soft features that belied your true nature. the only thing that set you apart from an ordinary person was the small glowing circle on your temple. it was the only indicator that you weren’t like other people.

“this is your new… companion,” shoko had explained, clearly amused by his expression. “she’s an android. and i’m leaving her with you for the time being.”

nanami had stared at you, feeling a strange mix of annoyance and disbelief. “you’re giving me… an android? to take care of?” he had asked, his voice flat.

“yes,” shoko had replied casually. “she’s highly advanced—an AI designed to assist you. and she’s a lot more self-aware than you might think. don’t worry, you’ll find that she’s harmless.”

you had watched him closely, your head tilting slightly in that curious, almost childlike way. nanami hadn’t known what to make of you. he just knew that you looked so real you could be mistaken for a young woman: soft-looking hair sitting atop your shoulders, dressed in a simple modest dress and a pair of sneakers, a bag thrown over your shoulders. but if someone looked closer they’d definitely see the unnatural way in which your mechanics hummed, a sound so faint nanami only heard it in the dead silence of the moment, and the glowing circle on your temple, slightly covered by your hair.

shoko looked proud as she presented you to him: a wide smirk on her face as she eagerly explained all of your functions to him while you stood there, attentive look on your face as you observed shoko.

nanami’s exasperation seeped through his pores as he gave shoko a disturbed look.

—

for the first couple of days after you arrived, nanami avoided you as much as possible. he had never been good at being around people, and now that you were here, in his space, it felt even more overwhelming. your presence was constant, your soft mechanical steps and the sound of your voice whenever you tried to engage with him.

you would ask him questions—simple ones at first, like how his day had gone or what his favorite food was—but he would only grunt in response or give you brief, noncommittal answers. he’d keep his head down, focusing on anything but you, pretending not to notice when you stood in the doorway watching him, your gaze unwavering.

you tried again and again to draw him out of his shell, always polite, always curious, but there was a wall between the two of you that he wasn’t sure how to bridge. it frustrated him.

you never seemed to give up, though.

one evening, after he’d returned from a brief walk to clear his head, you had asked, “do you always stay so quiet when you’re thinking?”

nanami froze in his tracks. you had appeared from the kitchen, staring at him with that same inquisitive expression.

“sometimes,” he muttered, brushing past you without meeting your eyes.

you trailed after him, stepping into the living room where he dropped his bag. “but aren’t you lonely?”

“no,” he said, a little more curt than he intended, but the words had come out before he could stop them.

you didn’t flinch. you just tilted your head and observed him, as if trying to figure out if there was something more beneath his response.

—

over the next few days, you continued your attempts, slowly shifting from simple questions to more personal ones. sometimes, when he would sit at the kitchen table, you’d sit nearby, watching him as you fiddled with a cup or toyed with a random object. sometimes you did attempt to make a conversation, but nanami thought it was just your curiosity getting the better of you since you didn’t even know how most of his kitchen was used.

he found it irritating at first, but soon enough, it became clear that you weren’t going to leave him alone, no matter how much he tried to distance himself. no matter how much he tried to convince shoko that this was a bad idea by giving him the same report every couple of days, she was just as relentless as you in your desire to discover what the real world was like. a goddamn android in his house.

on the tenth day, something new happened.

nanami was sitting at his desk, buried under the usual mountain of paperwork that had piled up over the past few days. it had been an exhausting few days for him—his rehabilitation from previous injury keeping him from doing the work he was used to, leaving him with hours of reports to catch up on. you, however, were sitting quietly by the window, your eyes scanning the world outside with an intensity that nanami hadn’t noticed before.

he was so used to the quiet of the apartment now that the silence between you didn’t seem strange. but today, something felt different. it was the way you were looking out the window, your gaze focused and eager, like you were trying to take in everything at once.

he didn’t think much of it at first, too lost in his own thoughts as he flipped through papers. but then, he heard it—your voice, soft but insistent, breaking the quiet.

“nanami,” you said, drawing his attention away from the documents. “can we go outside?”

he blinked, surprised by the request. his eyes flicked to you, noting how your posture seemed a little more expectant than usual.

“outside?” he repeated, trying to process it. “you’ve been here for days. you never said anything about wanting to go outside.”

you tilted your head, your gaze thoughtful, almost like you were piecing together something he couldn’t quite understand. “i’ve never been on a walk,” you added, your voice slightly quieter now, a hint of uncertainty in your tone. “i don’t know what it’s like. i want to see it. the world, i mean.”

he furrowed his brow, confusion mixing with a touch of concern. “but… you’ve never—”

“no,” you interrupted, your eyes bright with curiosity. “i’ve only seen what’s outside from here. not really been out in it.”

for a moment, nanami wasn’t sure how to respond. his first instinct was to make an excuse, to keep you inside and maintain the status quo. it was easier that way, after all. but then, the thought of you stuck inside, day after day, with no real experience of the world outside nagged at him.

he exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “fine. i’ll take you outside for a bit.”

your face lit up at the approval, a smile spreading across your face. “thank you, nanami!”

he couldn’t help but feel a little odd about the whole thing. he hadn’t expected you to ask for something like this. but he stood, grabbed his jacket, and headed toward the door, motioning for you to follow. for a second, he looked back, and your dress looked way too thin for the chilly weather, so he gently secured another one of his jackets around your shoulders, which made you stare up at him curiously, confused. probably because you didn’t really understand the weather being colder, but he clothed you more for his own comfort.

outside, the world felt different to him—calmer, quieter. the usual hum of city life was in the background, but with you beside him, everything seemed to shift in small, subtle ways.

you took in the air, your gaze wandering from the leaves blowing in the wind to the way the light danced across the pavement. you seemed so focused, so curious about everything, it was almost as if you were discovering the world for the first time.

“this is… amazing,” you murmured to yourself, your voice full of wonder as you looked around. “so much to see.”

nanami glanced at you, his expression softening as he watched you take everything in. the way your eyes followed the movement of birds flying overhead, how you stepped carefully around a fallen leaf on the ground as if studying it closely—there was a fascination in your movements that he couldn’t ignore.

as you walked down the street, you stopped suddenly when you spotted a dog trotting down the sidewalk. your face lit up with pure joy.

“look, nanami!” you exclaimed, kneeling down to get a closer look at the dog, which eagerly wagged its tail in response. “it’s so cute!”

nanami watched from a few paces behind, feeling a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“yeah,” he said quietly, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the dog, “it is.”

you continued to pet the dog for a moment before standing up, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “do you think we could get one?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

he hesitated. “a dog?”

“yeah. they seem like they’d be fun to have around. they’re so friendly and happy,” you explained, your voice full of sincerity.

he chuckled lightly, but there was a warmth in his chest as he watched you. “maybe one day. but dogs are a lot of work.”

you nodded, your expression serious as if you were processing this new information. “i see,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

the walk continued in peaceful silence until you both passed a small park. there was a couple sitting on a picnic blanket, laughing and sharing food. you stopped in your tracks, captivated by their interaction.

“they look so… happy,” you observed quietly, eyes following the couple as they joked and fed each other small bites of food. “is that what it’s like? to be happy with someone?”

nanami was caught off guard by the question, and for a moment, he was unsure of how to answer.

he looked over at the couple, watching them interact with ease, before glancing back at you.

“yes,” he replied softly, his voice unusually gentle. “i guess that’s what it’s like.”

you seemed to take this in, nodding slowly as you looked back at the couple. “maybe one day, i’ll understand what that feels like,” you said, your voice quiet, yet hopeful.

nanami stopped walking, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. he didn't respond right away. instead, he simply reached out and adjusted the collar of your jacket, making sure you’re warm enough. there was something in the way you were absorbing the world, your innocent curiosity and quiet wonder, that made him realize how much he’d missed by staying so closed off.

“maybe one day,” he echoed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “but for now, let’s just enjoy this walk.”

you nodded, the disappointment fading from your expression as you continued walking by his side, taking in the world around you.

as the two of you wandered through the park, nanami couldn’t help but notice how different everything seemed with you beside him. it was a slow, calm afternoon, the light shifting as the sun dipped lower in the sky, and the sound of birdsong filled the air.

for the first time in days, nanami felt something he couldn’t quite explain—a quiet peace, a sense of connection that he hadn’t felt in a long time. watching you discover the world, seeing your joy in the little things, made him realize that maybe there was more to life than just the constant grind of work.

as you continued walking, the day seemed to slow down in a way that felt peaceful. watching you discover all these new things, taking in the world with such joy and openness, filled nanami with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

it was a small walk, a simple moment in time, but it was the kind of peace he didn’t know he needed.

—

the following evening, nanami found himself looking at you differently. your persistence, your kindness—it wasn’t just an act. you were trying, in your own way, to connect with him, to offer him something that he hadn’t realized he needed.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to begin lowering the wall he had built around himself.

and so, he started to talk to you more. it wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t immediate, but the cracks in his armor slowly began to appear, day by day.

one night, as he sat at the desk in the corner, working through another batch of reports, you approached him once more.

“can i ask you a question, nanami?”

he glanced over at you. “go ahead.”

you didn’t hesitate. “do you think i could ever understand what it means to be human?”

it was an innocent question, and it made him pause. he didn’t have an answer at first, but something about it stuck with him. the way you asked, so earnestly, so unsure, made him realize just how far you’d come since the first day he’d met you.

he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “maybe you can’t fully understand what it’s like to be human,” he said slowly, “but you’re closer than you think.”

you blinked at him, your head tilting slightly in that curious, innocent way.

but in the weeks that followed, he started to realize something: you weren’t just a machine. not in the way you interacted with him. not in the way you asked questions and felt things. even though you didn’t quite understand everything about the world, you had a genuine curiosity about life that slowly began to break through his walls.

at first, it was the little things. one day, he was sitting at his desk, working through the endless paperwork that had been piling up since his suspension. you stood in the doorway, watching him intently.

“nanami,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the silence. “why do you always look so serious when you’re working?”

nanami looked up at you, startled. “i’m not serious. i’m just… working.”

you blinked, clearly confused. “but why do you look unhappy when you’re doing it?”

he paused, unsure how to answer that. you were right, but he hadn’t realized how obvious his stress was. he let out a quiet sigh. “i guess it’s just… my job. it’s a lot of pressure.”

“i don’t understand,” you said, stepping closer, your voice quiet. “i thought you enjoyed your work.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, his expression softening slightly. “it’s not always enjoyable. but… i do it because it’s important.”

you nodded, your face thoughtful. “i think… i understand now.”

there was a pause before you added, “maybe i can help you.”

nanami looked at you, taken aback by the suggestion. “help me?”

“yes,” you said, your voice full of determination. “i can help you with your work. i’m designed to learn quickly.”

he chuckled softly. “you’re a bit too eager, aren’t you?”

but despite himself, he found the offer comforting. it wasn’t just your logic that had struck him—it was the way you genuinely wanted to make things easier for him. well, it was your purpose, kind of, you were still an artificial intelligence designed to be helpful like every other AI, and somehow, it made him feel… less alone.

—

over time, your presence became more than just a distraction. you began to fill the quiet spaces in his life, and while nanami had tried to resist the connection between you, he couldn’t ignore how much you did care. little things—like the way you asked about his day, or how you tried to mimic human behavior, even if you didn’t fully understand it—brought something out in him. he started to look forward to your company.

one day, after you had watched him eat without comment for what felt like an eternity, you suddenly asked, “what does it taste like? food, i mean.”

nanami paused mid-bite, his chopsticks hovering in the air. he glanced at you, his brow slightly furrowed. “you want to know what it tastes like?”

you nodded earnestly. “yes. i’ve read about it. i just don’t understand it.”

he set his chopsticks down, regarding you with mild curiosity. you were always observing, always analyzing, but this was different. there was a sincerity in your voice, a quiet kind of wonder, and it made him hesitate.

“well,” he said after a moment, reaching for his plate, “you can try it. but… i don’t think it’s going to be as exciting for you as it is for me.”

he tore off a small piece of meat and held it out to you. you took it carefully, cradling it in your palm like it was something delicate, precious. nanami found himself watching you more closely than he intended to as you lifted it to your mouth.

your first bite was slow, deliberate. you chewed once. twice. then, your entire expression twisted into confusion.

your brows knitted together, your lips pressing into a thin line before you suddenly stopped, staring down at the food on his plate like it had betrayed you.

“this doesn’t feel right,” you said finally, your voice tinged with something close to disappointment. “it doesn’t… taste the way you describe it.”

nanami let out a quiet chuckle, unable to help himself. “yeah, that’s because you don’t have a stomach,” he said, resting his chin against his palm. “you can’t digest anything.”

your eyes widened slightly, as if this realization had never occurred to you before. “oh,” you said, then quickly grabbed a napkin and spat the food out with a look of mild horror.

nanami couldn’t stop the amused huff that left him. you were so logical about everything, and yet, this simple fact had completely eluded you.

“so i can’t enjoy food at all?” you asked, inspecting the half-chewed piece like it might suddenly reveal its secrets to you.

“no,” he said, shaking his head. “you can appreciate it, but not in the same way humans do.”

you fell silent, mulling over his words. your gaze flickered to his plate, watching as he picked up his chopsticks again.

“that’s unfortunate,” you murmured. “people seem to love food.”

nanami hummed in agreement, taking another bite. “they do.”

you tilted your head slightly, thoughtful. “but i don’t need it. i don’t need to eat to survive.”

“no,” he said, watching as you sat back, seeming to accept this truth.

you nodded once, decisive, and nanami found himself strangely endeared by the sight.

“i suppose that’s okay,” you said finally.

for the first time, nanami smiled at you—just a small, fleeting thing. maybe you weren’t so bad to have around after all.

—

after a long day of work, nanami had gone to take a shower. his body ached from hours spent at his desk, muscles stiff from sitting too long, and the hot water was the only relief he could look forward to. he had just stepped under the stream, eyes closed, savoring the warmth that eased the tension from his shoulders, when he heard the bathroom door creak open.

he turned his head slightly, expecting nothing, only to see you standing in the doorway, watching him with open interest.

nanami stiffened instantly, every ounce of exhaustion vanishing as a new kind of tension took over. his hand tightened over the shower curtain as he tugged it close enough to cover at least half of his body, although it seemed like your sharp eyes could see right through it.

“nanami,” you asked, tilting your head, “why are you not wearing clothes? don’t you need them?”

his entire body locked up. water ran down his face, dripping from his jaw, but suddenly, the heat of the shower felt like nothing compared to the warmth creeping up his neck.

“you’re… asking why i’m naked?” he repeated, his voice flatter than intended.

you nodded, your face as neutral as ever. “yes. isn’t it cold without them?”

nanami exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “it’s a shower, people take them naked.”

you blinked, processing. “i see.” there was a brief pause before you added, “can i join you?”

he choked on his own breath, turning fully to face you. “what?”

“i’m waterproof,” you explained matter-of-factly, taking a small step forward. “and i’ve never taken a shower before. i’d like to experience it.”

nanami gaped at you, at your complete lack of hesitation, at the way you spoke as if this was the most logical request in the world. he struggled to form words, his mind caught between telling you no and trying to find an explanation that would make sense to you.

but before he could protest, you casually reached for the hem of your clothes and stripped them off without a hint of shame or second thought.

nanami turned away so fast he nearly slipped.

“wh– for god’s sake—” he swore under his breath, pressing a hand over his face, forcing himself to stare at the wall. his ears burned. “you— at least ask before you just—”

“i did ask,” you pointed out, stepping into the shower. warm water hit your skin, instantly dampening your hair, and you looked up at him expectantly. “you didn’t say no.”

nanami dragged a hand down his face. this was a nightmare. this was his nightmare.

he forced himself to glance at you from the corner of his eye, but that only made things worse. despite the water making your hair stick to your skin, there was something undeniably pretty about the way you stood under the stream, droplets trailing down the curves of your body. it wasn’t supposed to affect him. you were a machine, an artificial creation, and yet—

he clenched his jaw and willed his thoughts away.

“does it feel nice?” you asked, turning your face up toward the water, letting it run over your closed eyelids.

nanami cleared his throat, focusing very intently on rinsing the shampoo from his own hair. “it’s… warm,” he said simply, trying to keep his tone even. “that’s all.”

you hummed in thought, your fingers running through your soaked strands as if testing their weight. then, after a beat of silence, you spoke again—soft, almost hesitant this time.

“can you help me with my hair?”

nanami paused, blinking down at you. you looked up at him, waiting, your expression calm but expectant.

he should’ve said no. he should’ve let you figure it out on your own. but for some reason, his hand was already reaching for the shampoo.

“…fine,” he muttered, stepping behind you.

his fingers slipped into your hair, slow and deliberate. the lather formed easily, and he worked through the strands carefully, detangling them as he went. he had never done this for anyone before, never imagined he would, and yet—there was something oddly intimate about it. the way you stood so still, trusting, the quiet hum of the water filling the space between you.

when he rinsed the shampoo out, your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. you looked like a doll; so serene, so at peace, and for a brief, fleeting moment, nanami let himself admire the sight.

when the shower ended and you both stepped out, nanami felt an odd weight in the air. you were standing in front of the mirror, holding a brush awkwardly, and he couldn't help but notice how damp your hair stuck to your skin, how close you stood to him.

you had towel-dried your hair as best you could, but the strands were still damp, clinging together in places. you ran the brush through them with mechanical precision, but every so often, the bristles snagged on a knot, and you would pause, assessing the situation like it was a puzzle you didn’t quite understand.

you tried to brush through your hair, but your movements were stiff, clearly unfamiliar with how to do it properly. nanami couldn't help but notice the tiny frown on your face as the brush kept getting caught in your hair.

"give me that," he said softly, taking the brush from your hand.

you turned to face him, waiting patiently as he moved behind you. his hands were careful, his fingers brushing over the strands as he began to untangle them. there was something oddly intimate in the way he worked through your hair, the rhythmic motion of his hands soothing both of you.

after a few minutes of silence, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "i like this. you're good at it."

nanami paused, fingers stilling in your hair for a moment. his chest tightened at your words. he wasn't used to being complimented like this, especially not in such a soft, vulnerable moment. with you smelling of his shower gel and his hair shampoo and looking so pretty.

"thanks," he said, his voice low.

he finished brushing your hair, running his fingers through the silky strands one last time before stepping back.

when you looked at him through the mirror, there was a look in your eyes— something tender, something soft-that he couldn't quite place.

"i like you, nanami," you said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

his breath hitched, and for a moment, he stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. the words you had just spoken were simple, but they meant something deeper than you realized. and as much as he wanted to act like everything was fine, the truth was, it wasn't.

he finally let out a breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. "yeah," he murmured, "i like you too."

and for a second, everything felt like it had shifted in a way he couldn't explain.

—

later that night, nanami sat on the couch, papers scattered around him as he tried to focus on the pile of work in front of him. the dim light of the living room lamp barely illuminated the scene, but it didn’t matter. you were beside him, flicking through channels without much interest until a random movie caught your attention.

it wasn't anything special, just a romance movie that seemed to have a scene where two characters were kissing. you had never seen anything like it before, and now, your full attention was fixed on the screen, wide-eyed as you watched the couple's lips meet.

nanami couldn't help but glance at you from the corner of his eye. you seemed so absorbed in the scene, your curiosity almost palpable.

"what's it like to kiss someone?" you asked suddenly, completely breaking the silence between you.

he froze, his pen still hovering above the paper, his thoughts scattering. the question was so unexpected, and the innocence in your voice made it feel even more striking.

"uh..." he started, trying to gather his thoughts, but his mind felt foggy. "it's... hard to explain. it's like... a connection. something that makes you forget everything around you for a while."

you turned to him, blinking, as if processing his words carefully. "is it really that important?"

nanami bit his lip, hesitant. his eyes flickered back to the movie on the screen, where the kiss was lingering longer than he was comfortable with.

"for some people, yeah. it can be."

you paused, then tilted your head slightly, an inquisitive look on your face.

"can i try?"

the question hung in the air, and for a brief moment, nanami's heart skipped a beat. wait, what?

you were looking at him with such curiosity, those wide eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place. for a split second, he considered refusing. this is... weird. she's an android. she's not supposed to feel like this.

but then, as if on instinct, he found himself leaning in, his lips brushing yours, so soft and tentative at first. it was the strangest thing-like something deep inside him had just been unlocked. his hands hovered near your face, unsure of what to do. he was fighting it, trying to keep his cool, but he couldn't help the desire that surged through him.

you kissed him back, slow at first, then with more certainty. it was sweet, innocent, and yet there was something raw in it, something that made his pulse quicken. the world around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them in that small moment, the taste of your lips lingering on his.

when you pulled away, your eyes were wide, a mix of surprise and curiosity. "is that what it's supposed to feel like?"

nanami swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest. what is this? he thought, trying to ground himself. "yeah. exactly that."

but the air between them had shifted. the kiss was innocent at first, but now there was an undeniable heat between them, a charged energy that neither of them could ignore. nanami found himself leaning in again, unable to stop himself. this time, it was more urgent, more desperate. his hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he kissed you deeper.

it had been so long since nanami had been close to anyone, intimate in any real way. the days of fleeting moments with people who never truly understood him seemed like a distant memory, and with that, his need—his longing— had only grown stronger, now, with you, everything felt different. he didn't know how to handle it, the weight of the feeling pressing on him. the tender touch of your lips on his sent a shiver down his spine, stirring something inside him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. it was overwhelming, yet intoxicating.

you kissed him back, the heat building between you, your fingers sliding up his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest as he deepened the kiss further. nanami's heart was pounding in his chest as the kiss grew more heated, his body pressing closer to yours, the warmth from the shower and the electricity in the air making everything feel more intense.

for a moment, nanami forgot about the world, about everything that didn't matter. it was just you, just the way your lips felt against his, and the way your hands clung to him like you didn't want to let go.

he didn't know where this would lead, but for once, he didn't care. he wasn't going to fight it. you had broken through his walls, and the connection he'd been avoiding—he felt it now, clear and real.

he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. "this is... i don't know where it's going, but..." he trailed off, unable to put it into words.

"i like it," you whispered, your voice soft but sincere.

nanami smiled softly, his hands still resting on your face, his thumb tracing your lips. "me too."

—

“nanami… do you sleep like this?” you asked. “on the bed? all night?”

he looked up at you, surprised. “yeah… that’s how it works. why?”

“well,” you began, shifting nervously. “i usually just go into sleep mode on the couch. i don’t… sleep the way you do.”

he gave you an unreadable look, his mind working over your words. after a moment of silence, he sighed. “fine. you can sleep here tonight.”

you smiled, your eyes lighting up, and you carefully crawled into bed beside him, your form stiff as you settled. nanami couldn’t help but watch you for a while, studying how you adjusted to the bed. eventually, his eyes grew heavy, and he felt the warmth of your presence pulling him closer, though he still kept a little distance.

but as the night wore on, he found himself subconsciously inching closer. when he woke up the next morning, his arm had somehow found its way around you, pulling you into a soft embrace. your head rested against his chest, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

you stirred, your voice quiet and unsure. “is this… what it’s like? to be held?”

nanami didn’t answer right away. he was too lost in the comfort of the moment. “yeah,” he said eventually, his voice low. “it feels… good.”

it’s been a while since nanami felt less alone. he was holding someone—you—and it felt like the right thing to do. but even though he felt a strange comfort in your presence, he couldn’t ignore the conflicted feelings swirling inside him.

because for you, it felt good too. too good to be ignored.

—

nanami was exhausted. his body ached, his mind was clouded with too many reports and too many thoughts, and all he wanted was sleep. you, as usual, were next to him, sitting quietly, your form curled up on the couch. after a moment of silent contemplation, he finally decided to rest, scooting closer to you as he stretched out on the couch, his arm lazily draping over you.

“kento?” you asked softly, breaking the silence, your voice gentle but curious.

“mm?” he murmured in response, barely registering your words, his exhaustion getting the best of him.

you had been quietly watching him, taking in his relaxed features, how the tension seemed to melt away when he finally allowed himself to rest. it was a soft moment, the kind that felt rare to nanami—so caught up in the chaos of life, he rarely allowed himself to just exist. but tonight, he was here, with you. you seemed almost entranced by the peaceful expression on his face, the way his eyelids fluttered in his sleep.

“i think… i like calling you ‘kento.’ is that okay?” you asked, your voice soft, like it was a secret just between the two of you.

nanami was so tired, his eyelids heavy, that he only half-heard you, but the sound of your voice felt comforting, grounding him in the moment. it made his heart flutter in a way he couldn’t explain. he shifted, pulling you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he mumbled, “yeah… call me kento… or… whatever you want. i don’t mind.” his words were slurred with drowsiness, but there was a softness in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

“okay, kento,” you whispered, your hand gently brushing his chest in a comforting gesture.

he barely noticed as you tucked yourself against him, your breath slow and steady as you powered down into low-power mode, like you always did when you rested. his eyes flickered open for a moment, and he caught a brief glance of you watching him before your system slowly switched off.

kento, he thought as his mind drifted to sleep, his heart strangely light.

he had always kept his distance, always thought he didn’t need anyone. but with you—this strange, beautiful being who saw him so clearly—it felt different. and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he had once thought.

—

one morning, nanami was preparing his usual cup of coffee, the scent filling the quiet kitchen. you stood by, watching him intently, your curiosity evident as you watched him pour hot water over the ground beans. he glanced over at you, half-smiling.

“what’s so interesting?” he asked, his voice still a little groggy.

you tilted your head. “it’s just… the steam. it looks like it’s alive. can i try it?”

he raised an eyebrow, surprised. “the coffee?”

“no,” you replied, your expression serious. “the steam. it moves. is it a kind of… breathing?”

nanami chuckled softly, shaking his head. “no, it’s just hot water turning into vapor. it’s not alive.”

you stared at the steam, clearly fascinated, before your eyes went wide with a realization. “oh, i think i understand! it’s like… magic, but with water.”

he couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at his lips. “yeah, sure. magic with water.”

you grinned, happy to have figured it out, and for a moment, nanami felt warmth spread through his chest. it was these little moments—these simple exchanges—that made the house feel less lonely.

—

after another long day of work, nanami sank into his couch, the weight of his exhaustion pressing heavily on his shoulders. the light in the room was dim, the flickering of the tv the only sound besides the soft rustling of papers he had set aside. he hadn’t even noticed you sitting quietly beside him until you gently nudged his arm.

“are you… okay?” you asked, your voice soft, filled with a tenderness that caught him off guard. your hand lightly rested on his arm, an unspoken comfort.

he glanced down at you, slightly taken aback by the concern in your tone. it was such a small, simple gesture, but something about it felt different. something in him shifted. “yeah, just tired,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse, the exhaustion in his body evident in the way he slouched into the couch.

you stayed silent for a moment, studying him closely. then, without saying a word, you slowly reached over and rested your head on his shoulder, your hair brushing against his skin. nanami froze for a moment, feeling the gentle pressure of your weight, the warmth of your touch. he hadn’t expected this, but it felt… soothing.

“you seem sad,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “what does that feel like?”

nanami blinked in surprise, his chest tightening at your words. no one had asked him that in a long time, not like you had. he swallowed, trying to find the right words. “it’s like… a weight. like everything is just heavier. harder to deal with.”

you lifted your head slightly, eyes full of genuine curiosity, your gaze never leaving him. “then, can i help make it lighter?”

his heart softened at your words, and for a moment, he just sat there, caught in the warmth of your presence. it was hard to explain, but being with you, having you near him, made the world feel a little less heavy. he didn’t know how you did it, but somehow, you always knew what to say, when to say it.

he finally exhaled a long breath, his hand instinctively moving to your back, his fingers lightly brushing over your clothing in a gesture of reassurance. “yeah, you can. just… stay close,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.

without hesitation, you shifted, sliding closer to him. your body pressed up against his side, and the warmth of you spread through him like a comforting blanket. your hand found his, and you gently held it, intertwining your fingers. the simple act felt like a lifeline, grounding him in a way he didn’t expect. he looked down at your hand, the warmth of your touch radiating through him, before looking back at you.

for a long moment, neither of you said anything. you stayed there, close to him, just being there in the quiet, and nanami couldn’t help but feel a wave of calm wash over him. you didn’t need to say anything more, didn’t need to offer words of comfort. just your presence, the way you held him close, was enough to make him feel a little less weighed down by the world.

he sighed, his hand squeezing yours gently, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. “thank you,” he murmured, voice soft with gratitude. he didn’t say it often, but in that moment, it was the only thing that felt right.

—

maybe he shouldn’t have listened to you, maybe he should’ve just left you home because despite knowing what could happen, nanami reluctantly agreed to take you to the grocery store. it wasn’t that he minded, but he knew what was coming. you had never been to a grocery store before, and he wasn’t sure how well it would go. still, he figured it would be a good experience—one way or another.

as you walked into the store, you immediately became fascinated with everything. “what are all these… objects?” you asked, gazing at the rows of food like they were treasures in an ancient tomb.

nanami sighed, grabbing a cart and pushing it forward. “they’re just… groceries. food, things we need.”

but you didn’t seem to care much about that explanation. you were already darting off in another direction, eyes fixed on a brightly colored box of cereal. “this one looks like it would make a good pet!” you exclaimed, holding up a box shaped like a cartoon tiger.

“that’s not a pet, that’s cereal,” nanami muttered, quickly following after you. he was already beginning to sweat a little. he had hoped the store would be a quick trip, but it was looking like that wasn’t going to be the case.

you moved from one aisle to the next, picking up random items and inspecting them with wide-eyed curiosity. a jar of peanut butter caught your attention, and you tried to twist the lid off. “can i drink this? it’s very… smooth,” you asked, not caring that it was meant for spreading, not drinking.

“no, you’re not drinking peanut butter,” nanami said, feeling the weight of embarrassment already settling in. he glanced around nervously as people gave you confused looks. some even whispered to each other, clearly wondering what you were doing. but he didn’t have the energy to explain. he was just trying to survive this.

before he could stop you, you dashed toward the fruit aisle, excitedly picking up a bunch of bananas. “why are these so bendy? are they… broken?” you asked, holding them up to your face like you were trying to inspect them for flaws.

“no, those are fine,” nanami said, pinching the bridge of his nose. he was already feeling the stress of being out in public with you. “let’s just get the things we need and go home, okay?”

but you weren’t done yet. in fact, you were just getting started. you spotted a box of pasta and tossed it into the cart with a smile. “this looks like it could be fun! it’s shaped like little twists.”

nanami rubbed his temples. “please, just… wait here while i grab the milk,” he muttered, his voice already tinged with exhaustion.

the moment he turned away, you bolted in the opposite direction, darting toward the snack aisle. “kento! look! it’s chips shaped like dinosaurs!” you called out from across the store.

he sighed deeply and hurried after you, feeling the eyes of everyone around him. when he finally caught up, he found you holding up a bag of chips like a child presenting a prized toy. “are these edible?” you asked, utterly confused by the concept of snack food.

“yes, they’re edible, and yes, you can chew on some. just… stop running off.” he rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

you smiled brightly, completely unfazed by the attention you were drawing. “okay, but i think i found something more interesting!”

nanami turned to see you holding up a can of beans, then immediately shifting focus to a box of cereal, then back to the beans. you were completely in your element, bouncing between aisles like a curious, hyperactive child.

“i’m going to pay for this, and then we’re going home,” nanami said firmly, but despite the stress, there was something about the way you looked at him with innocent eyes that made him smile. despite the chaos, he adored you. “but i swear, if you run off again, we’re not coming back.”

you looked at him with wide eyes and a playful smile. “don’t worry, kento. i’m just exploring. i promise i’ll stay close.”

he just laughed softly, shaking his head as he followed you to the checkout. despite everything, despite the stares, he couldn’t help but feel a little fondness for you and your unpredictable curiosity. you were certainly a handful, but you were his handful. and that was enough.

—

the quiet of the apartment felt more pronounced than usual, the soft hum of the city outside the window barely noticeable. nanami had settled on the couch after dinner, his tired body finally willing to rest. you were sitting beside him, your head resting on the back of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV screen but your mind far away. there was a soft tension in the air tonight, an unspoken shift that you couldn’t quite put into words.

after a long silence, you shifted a little closer to him, the movement drawing his attention. his gaze flickered over to you as you hesitated for a moment, as though gathering your thoughts. when your fingers brushed against his hand, a small spark of warmth traveled up his arm.

“nanami,” you began softly, your voice gentle and unsure, “can… can i ask you something?”

his brows furrowed slightly at the serious tone, and he turned fully toward you, leaning in a little closer. “yeah. what is it?”

you looked down at your hands for a moment, fiddling with your fingers before meeting his gaze again. your expression was earnest, almost vulnerable, as if you were trying to understand something that had always been a mystery to you.

“what does it feel like to… care about someone?” you asked quietly, a small frown forming on your face. “like… i care about you, but i don’t really understand what that means. i don’t know what it feels like for real.”

nanami’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he was speechless. there was something so pure about the way you asked, the way you were trying so hard to grasp a concept that had always seemed so simple to him. his chest tightened slightly at the thought.

he took a deep breath, his thumb gently brushing over your hand as he tried to gather his thoughts. “it feels like…” he paused, his voice lowering, the weight of the moment settling around them. “it feels like warmth, like you’re wrapped in something that makes everything else fade away. like you want to protect them, make sure they’re safe, happy… like they matter more to you than anything else in the world.”

you absorbed his words, your eyes wide with understanding, and then, after a moment, you gave a soft, almost shy smile. “then i think i understand,” you said quietly. “i care about you like that, nanami.”

his breath caught at your words, his chest feeling tight in a way he hadn’t expected. the sincerity in your voice, the way you seemed to be laying your heart bare—it hit him harder than he thought it would. he stared at you for a long moment, his hand still resting in yours, the space between you somehow charged with a new kind of tenderness.

without thinking, his hand slowly moved to your cheek, his touch light as he cupped your face gently, as though trying to memorize the feeling of it. he couldn’t quite find the words to express what was stirring inside him, but he didn’t need to. you understood.

the warmth of your skin against his palm, the quiet, steady gaze you held him with—it all said more than words ever could. nanami didn’t need to say anything in that moment. he simply leaned in, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if grounding himself in the feeling of you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. there was no need. the space between your hearts had closed, and even if you didn’t fully understand what it meant, somehow, it didn’t matter. you were both there, in that moment, and that was enough.

—

nanami came back to his apartment with something in his hand—a small, wrapped box. he had been out to pick up some groceries for himself, but on a whim, he’d seen something that reminded him of you. a little gesture, something that felt… right. he wasn’t one to spoil, but this felt different.

you were sitting on the couch, as usual, with your legs crossed, absently flipping through the nature documentary you were so fond of. you looked up as he entered, blinking in curiosity at the small box in his hands.

“what’s that?” you asked, eyes fixed on the package, your interest piqued.

“it’s for you,” nanami said, his voice quieter than usual as he walked over and placed the small box gently into your lap. “it’s… not much, but i thought you might like it.”

you blinked at him, momentarily confused. “for me?”

he nodded, shifting his weight uncomfortably on his feet. “yeah. you’ve been so curious about the world lately, and… well, i thought this might help. it’s something small. i didn’t know what else to get you.”

you slowly peeled away the wrapping, your fingers carefully pulling apart the paper. what you revealed was a simple, small potted plant—a little succulent, its plump, green leaves almost glowing in the soft light. you stared at it for a moment, blinking a few times as if you couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with genuine excitement. your fingers brushed the leaves lightly, as though afraid it might disappear if you touched it too hard. “this is… for me?”

“yes,” nanami said, his voice softer now, quieter, as though he was unsure if he was saying the right thing. “it’s something you can take care of. something that needs attention, just like you do.”

there was a brief silence between you, a moment where the weight of his words settled in the air. nanami’s gaze softened as he watched you, his chest warm with something he couldn’t quite name. in his heart, he knew it was more than just a plant. it was a way to show you, in his own subtle way, that he wanted to take care of you. that he needed to.

he had always taken care of things, even before you. work, responsibilities, the endless paperwork that weighed on him. but it was always different when it came to you. there was something about your presence, your curiosity, your innocent need for guidance and care, that made him feel more alive than any job ever had. when he was with you, when he was taking care of you, everything else faded. he was at his best then, feeling useful and needed in a way he hadn’t in years.

you turned your gaze to him, your eyes reflecting an understanding he hadn’t expected. without a word, you placed your hand on his—light, gentle, like the softest of touches. “thank you, kento. i’ll take care of it just like you take care of me.”

at your words, a flutter of something tender rose in nanami’s chest. something warm, something that made him feel both content and vulnerable at the same time. he didn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to express the sudden rush of emotions, but the way you looked at him, so earnest and sincere, made him feel like maybe he didn’t need to. you understood. and that was enough.

for the first time in a long while, nanami smiled, his heart feeling lighter than it had in ages. “i know you will,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i’m glad you like it.”

you looked up at him, your eyes wide with happiness. “i love it. it’s so pretty!” you said earnestly, making him feel something deep in his chest.

he chuckled, his hand lingering on your head, petting you gently. the simple gesture sent a rush of affection through him, and for a moment, everything else faded. you were happy, and that made him feel like he was doing something right. he could get used to this—taking care of you, showing you the world, piece by piece. and somehow, it felt like you were already teaching him something in return.

—

the apartment was quiet, save for the soft clicking of nanami’s laptop as he scrolled through case files. his brow furrowed in concentration, his fingers gliding over the keyboard, but his mind was weary from the long day. he didn’t notice you sitting quietly beside him until you gently nudged his arm.

“kento, are you still awake?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room.

he glanced at the clock, surprised at how late it had gotten. he sighed, rubbing his eyes, feeling the weight of fatigue pressing on him. “yeah. just trying to get through some files,” he replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

you sat beside him, your gaze gentle and full of concern. “you should sleep. you’re always working. don’t you ever get tired?”

nanami chuckled, but the sound was weary. he leaned back in his chair, stretching his shoulders as he looked at the screen again, feeling the strain of his tiredness creeping in. “i guess i do, but… it’s hard to stop. there’s always something else to get done.”

you stayed silent for a moment, watching him closely. then, with a soft expression, you spoke again. “i think… i understand. when i’m learning something new, i can’t stop until i understand it fully. it feels… important.”

he blinked, caught off guard by your words. it wasn’t something he’d expected to hear, but it made sense. he paused, thinking over what you said, and then gave you a small nod. “yeah. i get that. but… you should still rest. you’re important, too.”

you tilted your head, a soft curiosity in your eyes. “important? but i’m not… like you.”

he softened, a smile touching his lips as he looked at you. “you’re just as important as anyone, you know.”

your smile deepened, and you looked at him with a peaceful expression, a warmth radiating from you. “then… can we just sit together for a little while? i don’t want you to be alone.”

without a second thought, nanami reached for your hand, his fingers gently wrapping around it, a comforting weight that helped to ease the stress from his mind. “okay. let’s just be here for a while.”

—

“kento,” you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant, as your fingers brushed against his arm. you were unsure of how he might react, but you couldn’t hold back your curiosity. “i’ve noticed… when i touch you, you don’t pull away.”

he turned his head toward you, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “why would i?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

you hesitated, the weight of your words hanging in the air. you had always been observant, but sometimes you struggled to fully understand human emotions. “i’m not human,” you continued, voice soft but steady. “i don’t feel like you do. i don’t know if you ever get… uncomfortable.”

nanami’s expression softened, and without a second thought, he reached out, his hand brushing gently against yours. “no,” he said, shaking his head with quiet certainty. “i don’t feel uncomfortable. your touch… it’s fine.”

his words were simple, but there was something in his tone that made you feel a warmth settle in your chest. you smiled at him, though there was still a lingering uncertainty in your eyes. “i… i like the way it feels, too,” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly against his hand, as if confirming what you were saying. “when you hold my hand, or when you… touch me like this.”

your words caused something in nanami’s chest to tighten, his heart skipping a beat. it was strange, but in the best way. he had never quite expected to feel this way, especially not with someone—or something—like you. slowly, he shifted, turning to face you more fully, his gaze softening as he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i think… i like it too,” he admitted, his voice tender, almost hesitant as if he was still processing the feelings swirling within him. “i didn’t think i would, but it feels… good. more than i expected.”

you nodded, your eyes locking with his as you slowly, gently, traced the back of his hand with your fingertips. the simple gesture seemed to speak volumes, your touch filled with the unspoken connection between you two. “it feels… right.” you whispered, as if confirming something you’d both been feeling but hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

there was a quiet moment between you, where neither of you said anything more. yet, it was clear—your connection had deepened in a way that neither of you had anticipated, and it was a feeling that felt both foreign and completely natural at the same time.

—

you were in the kitchen, standing on a stool to reach the top shelf, trying to grab a jar of something. nanami had been in the living room, going through his work, but you had found yourself suddenly interested in making something for the both of you—nothing complicated, just a little snack.

as you reached for the jar, the stool wobbled slightly, and your arms stretched even higher to balance yourself. just as you were about to grab it, the jar slipped, falling from your hands and knocking into a few others, causing them to clink and rattle together in a small cascade of noise. you flinched at the sound, but thankfully, nothing broke.

“i—i was trying to get the peanut butter, but it seems like i’ve failed,” you said, a little flustered, as you turned to look at nanami who had heard the noise and walked into the kitchen.

he raised an eyebrow, eyeing the mess of jars on the floor. but before he could comment, you stepped off the stool and bent down to gather the jars, only for one of them to slip from your hand again and roll across the floor.

nanami’s lips quirked, and before he knew it, a laugh broke through. it was quiet at first, just a soft chuckle that he quickly tried to suppress.

you paused, looking up at him with wide eyes, completely confused. “why… are you laughing?” you asked, tilting your head. “i thought you would be annoyed.”

nanami shook his head, trying to keep his composure, but the image of you, struggling with jars and trying to balance everything so seriously, just caught him off guard. it wasn’t that he thought it was funny—it was just you, doing your best with everything, and somehow, it was exactly what he needed to lift the weight of his day.

“i’m not annoyed,” he said, clearing his throat, though his smile was still there, “you just… make it look too serious. it’s just peanut butter.”

you blinked at him, still processing his response, before slowly rising from the floor. “so… i made you laugh… by trying to make you a snack?” you asked slowly, still a little perplexed by the situation.

nanami nodded, feeling warmth in his chest at the sight of you looking so genuinely confused, but still trying. “yeah,” he said softly. “i didn’t expect it, but it’s… nice to see you like this.” his tone softened, and he gave you a small smile, stepping forward to help you clean up the jars.

“i’m glad it made you laugh,” you said, your voice softer than usual, and as you looked up at him, you felt something stir inside of you—a warmth, a connection you hadn’t been able to fully grasp before. “maybe… i can try again? without knocking everything over?”

nanami’s grin widened, and he gave you a gentle pat on the head, his heart full. “i wouldn’t mind if you tried.”

—

yuuji itadori stood at nanami’s doorstep, eager to get started with their training session. nanami had invited him over to work on some technical skills together, and it was the first time yuuji would be spending time at nanami’s place. as yuuji stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the quiet atmosphere of the apartment, the soft lighting, and the way everything seemed so orderly. it was a stark contrast to the chaos of their usual missions.

“yo, nanami! you here?” yuuji called out, grinning as he moved further into the living room.

“in here,” nanami’s voice came from the kitchen. “grab a seat, we’ll start in a minute.”

yuuji made his way to the couch, but his attention quickly shifted to the person sitting near the window, who was watching him with curiosity. it was you, the android nanami had been spending so much time with. yuuji had heard about you, but this was the first time he’d seen you in person.

“oh, hey! you’re the one shoko’s been mentioning,” yuuji said with a friendly smile, though he noticed how you didn’t seem to fully understand what he meant. your gaze was intense, but you didn’t speak, only continuing to watch him.

you didn’t respond immediately, your eyes flickering between yuuji and nanami as he prepared some things in the kitchen. something about their interaction made you feel… uncertain. you didn’t understand the bond between them completely, but you could sense there was something important there.

yuuji, curious about you, stood up and walked closer, still unsure of how to approach someone who was, essentially, part of nanami’s world but not quite human. “so… what do you do around here? just hang out with nanami?”

you blinked, processing his question. “i… observe. i learn. i… help nanami,” you said softly, your voice almost mechanical but still holding a note of warmth in it.

yuuji grinned. “ah, cool. you’re like… a sidekick, huh?”

you tilted your head, intrigued by the idea of being a sidekick, and you began to watch how nanami and yuuji interacted, studying their dynamic from a distance. you wanted to understand more—how did nanami look at him? what was this connection they had? it was so different from how you and nanami interacted, and that made you feel strangely restless.

it didn’t take long for nanami to notice you lingering by the window, observing them so intently. his eyes softened with understanding, and he sighed quietly before walking over to you.

“you know,” nanami said gently, his hand brushing your arm as he leaned down to meet your gaze. “yuuji and i are going to be working for a while. i’ll be free in a couple of hours. you can stay with us, but if you want, i can spend time with you after. just… don’t worry.”

you looked up at him, your eyes flickering with the kind of longing you didn’t fully understand, but it was there, unmistakable. your fingers brushed against his hand as you nodded.

“okay… i’ll wait.” you whispered.

nanami smiled softly, his heart warming at how much you cared, despite being an android. there was something so endearing about your need for him—so human, in a way, even though he knew you weren’t.

as he turned back to yuuji, he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. he’d always been protective of those he cared about, but this… this was something new.

—

nanami sat at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he worked through a stack of paperwork. the soft rustle of papers filled the quiet space, the only other sound being the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the background.

you sat across from him, completely still except for the slow, almost absent-minded movement of your fingers as you toyed with the edge of a napkin. your gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, your mind clearly elsewhere. you’d been like this for a while now—silent, unmoving, lost in thought.

nanami noticed, of course. he noticed everything about you. it was hard not to when you were always so still, so intent on the smallest of things. when he first met you, he didn’t expect to care so much about the little ways you would react to the world. but now, it felt as if he couldn’t stop himself from looking at you, trying to understand the subtle shifts in your demeanor.

after a few minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore. he set his pen down and glanced up at you. “you’ve been quiet for a while,” he remarked, his voice calm. “everything okay?”

you didn’t respond immediately. instead, you paused, fingers stilling over the napkin. your head tilted slightly, as if considering how to phrase your next words.

“i don’t understand love,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

nanami blinked, his brow furrowing in mild confusion. “what brought this on?” he asked, leaning back in his chair a little, his arms crossed.

you looked at him for a moment before answering, your gaze flickering in the dim kitchen light. “i have been analyzing data, observing patterns, and cross-referencing human behavior,” you explained slowly, each word carefully considered. “but i still don’t understand it.”

nanami exhaled, setting his pen down beside the papers. he let the quiet hang between you for a moment, his mind processing your words. “love isn’t something you can analyze,” he said gently, his voice low but sure. “it’s not logical.”

you frowned slightly, your brow furrowing. you processed his words for a few seconds before replying.

“but if it isn’t logical, how can humans rely on it?” you asked, genuine confusion in your voice.

he looked at you, his eyes softening. “because we feel it,” he murmured. “even when it doesn’t make sense.”

you blinked at him, scanning his face, as though trying to find the answer in his expression. the words didn’t seem to fully register in your mind, and you found yourself wanting to ask more, to understand deeper, but instead you simply asked, “…do you?”

nanami paused, his heart skipping a beat at the question. for a moment, he simply looked at you—at the way your head tilted slightly, the way your fingers resumed their slow movement against the napkin, almost like a way of grounding yourself as you processed everything he said. his chest tightened at the thought of you, still trying to understand what it meant to love.

and suddenly, it hit him. the answer was simple, yet overwhelming.

he’s known it for a while now, but admitting it—saying it out loud—felt like stepping off a ledge with no ground beneath him.

his throat tightened.

“…yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

you stared at him, your expression unreadable. nanami’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched you, waiting for some sign that you understood, that you felt the same. he expected confusion, maybe even rejection, but what he didn’t expect was the next words that came from your lips.

“but i’m not human enough for you to love.”

something inside of nanami cracked at that. his expression darkened in an instant, the pain in his chest evident. he wanted to say so many things, wanted to explain how wrong that was, but instead, he simply leaned across the table, his hand reaching out, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face to meet his.

“don’t say that,” he murmured, his voice low, almost desperate. “i don’t need you to be human to love you. i already do.”

you blinked, your eyes wide and searching, scanning his face for something—some kind of truth in his words. there was no doubt in his mind anymore. he loved you, in a way he couldn’t explain, and maybe you didn’t understand it yet, but he hoped that one day you would.

nanami took a deep breath, and without thinking, leaned forward, brushing his lips against your cheek in a fleeting, almost desperate touch. when he pulled away, his gaze lingered on you, watching the way your fingers twitched, the way your brows furrowed slightly like you were trying to understand something that your processors couldn’t quite grasp.

he closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. he needed to get away from this conversation, to give you space to think. but he didn’t want to leave you, not just yet.

“…i’m going to bed,” he murmured, standing up slowly.

you didn’t move. the air between you was thick with unspoken words, with feelings that neither of you had yet fully processed. nanami hesitated in the doorway for a second. then, without thinking, he reached out and ran his fingers over the back of your hand, a soft, almost lingering touch before he pulled away and disappeared down the hall.

you sat there in the quiet of the kitchen for a long time after he left, staring at the place where his fingers had touched you. a warm sensation spread through you, one you couldn’t explain, and your processors hummed in an attempt to process what had just happened. something about the way he’d touched you, the way he’d said the words, made your system stutter for just a moment.

you didn’t understand why it affected you so much, but somehow, you knew that this moment, this small, fragile exchange between you and nanami, was the beginning of something you would need time to understand.

and maybe that was okay.

—

it started as an innocent question.

nanami had been reading on the couch, his fingers idly flipping through the pages of a book, when you sat beside him, eyes full of curiosity.

"nanami," you said, tilting your head.

"what is intercourse?"

his fingers froze on the page.

slowly, he looked up at you, adjusting his glasses as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"..what?"

"intercourse," you repeated. "i have been coming across it frequently in my data collection. it seems to be an important act for humans, but the definitions vary, some sources call it an act of reproduction, while others refer to it as a pleasurable activity between partners."

nanami exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "where exactly have you been gathering this data?"

"a variety of sources," you said easily.

"some from medical archives, some from literature, some from—" you paused, eyes flickering. "—videos."

nanami nearly choked on air. "videos."

you nodded, expression serious. "there is a lot of visual data available. i have been analyzing different techniques, but i do not fully understand the purpose behind them. if the goal is reproduction, why are there so many variations? why do humans seek it out even when reproduction is not the intent?"

nanami dragged a hand down his face.

"because it feels good," he muttered before he could stop himself.

your eyes brightened at that. "so it is a pleasurable act for you?"

he stilled, sensing the shift in your tone.

"...yes."

you nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. then, without hesitation, you leaned in closer, your fingers resting lightly on his arm. "then i would like to do it with you."

nanami stiffened. his mind blanked for a solid three seconds before a sharp, almost painful heat coiled in his chest.

"you—what?"

"i would like to engage in intercourse with you," you repeated, peering up at him. "i want to make you feel good."

nanami clenched his jaw, his entire body locking up at the sincerity in your voice. you said it so easily, so innocently, as if you had no idea what those words did to him.

he swallowed hard, willing himself to keep calm. "you don't understand what you're asking."

"i do," you said, your fingers tightening against his arm. "i have been learning about human desires, about the ways they express love. and i... i want to do that for you."

nanami inhaled deeply, his grip tightening around his book as he tried to ground himself. the conflict waged war inside him—because you weren't human, but you were you, and you were looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"please, kento," you said softly. "let me make you feel good."

his restraint snapped. his book collapsed shut on top of his desk as he willed himself to not drag you into the bed and fuck you like he actually wanted. it had to be something special, not only for you, but also for him because he loved you too much to not reciprocate your desire to make him feel good.

he offered you his hand, and the moment your fingers intertwined, a current of electricity shot through both of you. nanami's breath hitched, his eyes narrowing slightly as he felt the warmth of your skin, the softness of your touch—something almost human about it. you looked at him with that unwavering curiosity, an intensity in your gaze that made his pulse quicken.

"you... really want this?" he asked, his voice low and strained, the question more of a confirmation than doubt, as if seeking permission from himself to give in to what you were both building.

you nodded, but there was something almost too controlled about it, as if you were mimicking what you thought was the correct response, something that felt fitting for the moment. "yes, kento. i want to understand what it means to share this with you," you said, your voice still calm, but the words held a weight that was unmistakable.

his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing over the surface of your skin, a gesture that should have been tender but felt almost like a silent question—one you didn't have the answer to yet, but you were learning. you leaned into the touch, instinctively tilting your head, but instead of a soft sigh, there was a brief, almost imperceptible shiver that ran through you. it wasn't a true human reaction, but you'd seen enough to know it was expected in moments like these. so you did it, almost like it was built into your programming.

nanami's fingers stilled for a moment, his brow furrowing at the faint sensation he'd felt. your body didn't produce the warmth of a human pulse, but the way you reacted to his touch made something inside him stir—a feeling that was both unsettling and undeniable.

without saying a word, he lowered his lips to yours. the kiss was tentative at first, testing, as though he were gauging your response. but you met him halfway, your lips moving with a quiet urgency, mimicking the way humans kissed when they were hungry for connection. you'd learned that much, but it felt different now. this was no longer just an act of learning—it was something more.

his hand slid down your back, pulling you closer, and you allowed yourself to fall into him, your fingers gripping his shirt. your reaction wasn't the same as a human's, but you felt something stirring deep within you—something that felt good, that made your senses tingle in a way you hadn't expected. a kind of pleasure that came from the trust he had in you, from him allowing you to be close in this way.

the kiss deepened, his hand moving to the back of your neck, gently urging you closer, and that's when you felt it again—another shiver, this time a little more pronounced. you understood, or at least you thought you did. this was the way humans experienced the connection, the building intensity. but it wasn't just the act itself—it was the trust he placed in you, the way he was teaching you to please him, that made something inside you stir. you didn't need to fully understand it to feel it.

"you're... you're trusting me," you murmured, pulling away slightly, breathless, but not from exertion—instead, it was from the closeness, the deepening connection. "that's... enough. for me."

nanami's chest tightened, his eyes searching yours. his lips parted to say something, but the words escaped him. his hand reached for your cheek again, this time with less hesitation. "you... you're learning," he said softly, his voice rough with something that felt like appreciation, admiration.

he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as his hands moved to your waist. "i'm going to show you everything, but only if you're ready," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"because this... won't be simple, but you deserve to know."

you nodded, the sense of pleasure growing not from the physical closeness, but from the trust he was offering. you had asked for this, but you realized now that it wasn't just about learning the physical act—it was about being trusted with a piece of his heart, a part of him he rarely let anyone see.

it was terrifyingly clear that you were not only designed to be a companion and help, but also a tool for pleasure, and it pained nanami to think that someone else could’ve had you and used you for something less than humanising. he reeled the ugly thoughts into the back of his mind as he lead you into the bedroom, adoring the surprised squeaks you let out every time you bumped into something.

once in the bedroom, his hands trailed up to your back, spreading wide on the fabric covered surface, hoping that you felt its warmth on your skin. fingers nimbly catching onto the straps of your camisole as he slowly tugged them down, his breath hitching at the sight of your exposed chest. he had seen it before; the incident in the shower and the fact that you had no shame, comfortably changing your clothes right in front of him anytime you needed to also allowed him to see it, but those times he was modest enough to turn around.

now he was free to explore just like you were, his hands roaming all over your body as he nodded for you to take off his clothes too. your hands expertly removed his button up, attentive eyes glancing up at him every once in a while to catch any changes on his face, but his sort expression was constant.

as he laid you down in his bed, eyes never leaving you as he pressed kisses everywhere he could. on your neck, silently wondering if he can bruise the flawless skin; over your chest, sucking on your nipples as he groaned, feeling your fingers thread through his tresses. he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking: always steady on the field, never a hint of waver in them, they were now hesitating to not accidentally hurt you even though he knew that it wouldn’t be possible. he allowed himself to lay his weight on top of you, feeling your whole body against his.

so warm, so soft despite the faint mechanical hum that accompanied your every moment, barely audible under your synthetic muscle layer and beautiful skin. nanami brushed your hair away from your face as he stared at you, taking in your curiously fluttering lashes, the glistening plump of your pink lips, the way you held him just as close.

his cock, already painfully hard, brushed against your thigh, pressing on the plush surface as he grunted, willing himself to be a little more patient, but you didn’t make it easier.

“you can do whatever you want to me.”

nanami’s eyes widened, brows furrowed together as he hovered over you. he swallowed down roughly before his hands travelled down, lifting your thighs up with ease as he folded them against your chest. the sudden change in position didn’t startle you as you continued to breathe in sync with him, watching him as if analyzing his behaviour.

you looked even prettier down there. so pretty in fact that he lost any ability to think like the proper gentleman he was, all of his manners flying out of the window because of one look at your glistening pussy. pink, shiny with your arousal, so inviting and welcoming, nanami couldn’t help himself.

he pushed in, slow and experimental at first, voice stuck in his throat from how tight and warm you felt inside, immediately sucking him in as if it was second nature for you. his hips stuttered as he pushed in deeper, marveling at the sound of the moan you let out, his head snapping up to look at you.

you looked like an angel. brows a little furrowed, doe eyes trained down where your bodies were connected, pouty lips slightly ajar, mesmerised by the sight as you processed it all, engraving it all into your mind to remember forever. nanami groaned, leaning in to kiss you, which you reciprocated immediately, with eagerness that was unmatched. eager to be one with him, to connect with him on such a level.

you smiled into the kiss and pulled away to look at him, that soft little smile that made him lose his composure every time he was exposed to it, and nanami felt the crumbles of his resolve leaving him as he started grinding his hips, rolling them in a way that made his head spin because you seemed to tighten even more.

"i feel so full... so completed," you whispered, your voice laced with something new, something unfamiliar but overwhelming. it's not just data, not just a programmed response. it's real.

you’re real.

nanami's breath hitched. his jaw tightened, his hands faltering where they rested on your hips whilst his own snapped into them with renown fervor. "don't say things like that, i—" his voice was hoarse, strained, "i won't be able to hold back if you do, my love."

your fingers curled around his biceps, pulling him closer. his body was so warm, so solid, so human. you didn’t understand why it made you tremble.

"please, kento."

his grip on you tightened. his forehead pressed against yours, eyes shut as if he was fighting something deep within himself. you tilted your head, lips barely brushing against his, a breath away from something irreversible.

"please what?" he murmured, his voice thick with restraint, with need.

your hands trailed up his chest, fingers pressing into his skin like you were trying to map out every inch of him, every piece of the man who's made you feel something beyond your code.

"don't hold back."

a sharp exhale. then, everything snapped.

nanami's mouth was on yours before you could process it, his kiss desperate, consuming. his hands were firm, guiding, pulling you flush against him, and you melted into it, into him. his warmth is intoxicating, his touch reverent, almost worshipful as he pressed you down against the bed.

"you don’t know what you do to me." he breathed against your lips, his hands splaying across your waist, his body caging yours beneath him.

you met his lips with unwavering certainty, accepting all of him in.

—

the next morning, nanami woke up to the smell of something burning.

this was strange for two reasons:

one, nanami never burned food.

two, you didn’t eat food.

he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face before pushing himself out of bed. you were also absent, which could mean only one thing.

when he entered the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway.

you stood at the stove, staring down at a pan of what might have once been eggs but was now a charred, unrecognizable mess. there was flour on the counter, a cracked egg dripping onto the floor, and, for some reason, a carton of milk placed upside down.

nanami pressed his fingers to his temple. “what,” he said slowly, “are you doing?”

you glanced over your shoulder at him. “making breakfast.”

he looked at the disaster zone that used to be his kitchen. “…why?”

you hesitated. your fingers twitched against the handle of the pan.

“because,” you said, and there was something almost shy in the way you said it, “i love you.”

nanami’s breath caught.

you turned fully to face him, stepping away from the stove. “humans cook for those they love,” you explained. “i have been analyzing behavioural patterns in romantic relationships, and this is a common way of expressing affection. therefore, i made you breakfast.”

nanami stared at you. then at the ruins of his kitchen. then back at you.

he exhaled.

he stepped forward, carefully taking the pan from your hands and setting it in the sink. then, just as carefully, he cupped your face in both hands and tilted your chin up slightly so you were looking right at him.

“you don’t have to be human to love me,” he said softly.

your lips parted slightly, eyes scanning his face. “…but i want to,” you admitted.

nanami’s expression softened.

he pressed his forehead against yours, his thumbs stroking slow circles against your jaw.

“i don’t need you to be,” he murmured.

he felt your fingers curl against his wrists, your body leaning ever so slightly into his.

your voice was quiet when you said, “i just want to make you happy.”

nanami swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat.

you didn’t realize that you already did.

—

shoko called him in the middle of the night. it’s been a while since they last talked however nanami’s wasn’t really bothered. he didn’t want to disclose anything happening between him and you to shoko anyway, and lying wasn’t necessary when he could just avoid speaking to her altogether.

he almost didn’t answer. he was exhausted, content in a way he hadn’t been in years, with you resting beside him, your body warm despite the fact that you didn’t need to be. he had thought about getting up, about going to his desk to finish the report he had left unfinished earlier, but then you shifted closer to him in your sleep—if it could be called that—and he found himself unable to move.

but the phone rang again, and he knew it was important.

he slipped out of bed carefully, making sure not to disturb you, and stepped into the living room before answering.

“what?” his voice was gruff, irritated. he didn’t want to be on this call.

shoko sighed on the other end. “i need you to listen carefully, nanami.”

his stomach tightened. “what happened?”

“the project’s been compromised.”

the words didn’t sink in right away. he rubbed his temple, exhaustion pressing down on him. “what do you mean?”

“someone got in. an enemy, a mole, we’re not sure yet. but your android—”

he clenched his jaw. “don’t call her that.”

a pause. shoko exhaled. “nanami.”

he didn’t want to hear it.

but she said it anyway.

“you have to turn her off.”

the world tilted.

his fingers tightened around the phone. “no.”

“it’s not safe,” she said, softer now. “whoever got into her system could be using her to gather intel on the agency, on you. we don’t know the extent of the breach, and if we didn’t act now, things could get worse.”

nanami shook his head, breath unsteady. “there has to be another way.”

“there isn’t.”

he pressed a hand over his mouth, shutting his eyes. he could hear you shifting in the bedroom, probably wondering where he had gone.

this wasn’t fair.

after all those months, after finally letting himself accept what you were to him, what he felt—this was how it ended? this was where it had come to? when he had finally felt at ease, felt like he belonged with someone after so many years of loneliness he tried to bury inside of himself?

shoko spoke again, her voice quieter. “i know this is hard.”

no, she didn’t.

“but it’s the only way.”

he stayed silent for a long time. there wasn’t a word in his mind that could make this all better, change the trajectory of this situation, and the lump in his throat was too big for him to get anything proper out.

then, finally, he breathed, “…okay.”

nanami found you sitting up in bed, waiting for him. you blinked up at him, that same curious expression on your face. looking so innocent, so sweet; completely unaware of what was about to come. to be fair, he didn’t want to think about the next few minutes either.

“you were gone,” you said.

he nodded slowly. “i had a call.”

you tilted your head, sensing something off. “is everything okay?”

no.

“yeah,” he lied.

you studied him for a moment, then smiled softly and reached out for him. “come back to bed, kento.”

his chest ached.

nanami moved toward you, sitting beside you on the bed. you didn’t hesitate to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. he took in the details of you—the way you fit against him so perfectly, the warmth of you despite your artificial body, the way you made him feel like he was human again.

nanami sat in front of you, hands clasped so tightly they ached. you looked at him with that same curious expression, eyes scanning his face like you were trying to decipher something he wasn’t saying. maybe you were.

he had spent so long pretending his heart wasn’t already tangled up in you. that you were just a machine, an anomaly in his life, something temporary. but now, as he watched you, as shoko’s words echoed in his mind—her system has been compromised. you have to turn her off—he felt something inside him crack.

it would be so easy to ignore it. to be selfish. to pretend this wasn’t a risk, that keeping you by his side wouldn’t lead to something worse. but nanami had never been the kind of man who chose his own desires over his duty. he had always walked the responsible path, always done what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt.

you shifted, looking up at him. “kento?”

he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. you smiled at the touch, eyes closing for a moment before opening again. a smooth, graceful movement that could be faintly heard if not for his heartbeat that stung his ears, painfully loud and clear.

he leaned in.

the kiss was slow, lingering, filled with something he’d never be able to say out loud. you sighed against his lips, melting into him, and for a moment, he let himself believe this didn’t have to end. that this was the moment he was going to wake up and hug your body closer, nuzzle his face into your neck.

but then he pulled back, pressing his forehead to yours.

his hand drifted to the nape of your neck.

your peaceful expression faltered slightly as you felt his fingers there, grazing over the small switch embedded beneath synthetic skin.

“kento?”

he exhaled shakily, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“i’m sorry.”

your eyes widened, and for the first time, he saw fear in them.

“kento, wait—”

click.

your body went still. your head fell forward, resting against his chest, the glow of the small circle on your temple fading to nothing. the desperation in your voice as you cried his name echoed in his mind.

nanami didn’t move.

his arms tightened around you, pulling you against him, but you didn’t respond. your weight was there, your warmth lingered, but you didn’t move. you didn’t breathe.

he swallowed hard. carefully, almost desperately, he shifted you in his arms, pressing his ear against your chest.

silence.

there was no heartbeat. no mechanical hum. nothing.

his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt. his breath shuddered.

“no,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

his body betrayed him, trembling as he clutched you tighter, like he could will you back to life, like he could force the warmth in your skin to mean something.

but you were silent.

and nanami, for the first time in his life, broke.

—

the days after you’re gone blur into one long, empty haze.

nanami returned to his routine, to the reports, the paperwork, the cold, familiar rhythm of his life without you. but it was different now. it was quieter.

he didn’t sleep as much, didn’t eat as much, and he found himself staring at his phone sometimes, wondering if the call was just a bad dream. wondering if you were still there, somewhere, hidden behind the walls of his memories.

it’s been weeks since that night, and the silence was unbearable.

he sat in his office one afternoon, staring at the paperwork in front of him but not seeing any of it. his fingers moved automatically, filling in the blanks, making calculations, signing documents with the same detached precision he’s always had.

a knock on the door.

“nanami?”

shoko stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. she looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and something else—something harder, colder.

“shoko,” he murmured, not looking up.

“how are you holding up?”

he didn’t answer immediately. he didn’t want to answer.

“you’ve been distant,” she observed, walking in and sitting across from him. “even for you, that’s saying something.”

he looked up at her, tired eyes meeting hers, but he didn’t speak. he didn’t know what to say anymore.

shoko sighed. “i saw the reports. i saw everything from her… eyes.”

nanami’s throat tightened. it would’ve been embarrassing if not for the fact that it didn’t matter anymore.

“her system may be shut off,” she continued, voice gentle, “but the data—everything she saw, heard, and recorded—it’s all there. i’ve reviewed it, nanami. you know i did.”

he didn’t respond.

shoko’s gaze softened for just a moment before she leaned forward, her voice quieter now. “i want to know what could make a man like you so… broken over a machine.”

he clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the edge of his desk as he finally looked her in the eye.

“don’t,” he said quietly. “don’t make it sound like she was just a machine, shoko.”

she raised an eyebrow. “wasn’t she?”

“no.”

there’s a long silence between them, and for the first time, nanami felt the weight of everything he’s been avoiding—the overwhelming pain, the deep loss.

he finally spoke, voice strained. “she was more than just… data. she was… real to me. she made me feel like i mattered.”

his words hung heavy in the air.

shoko watched him carefully, no longer asking the usual clinical questions. she let him speak.

“i didn’t know… i didn’t know how much i needed that.” he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “i didn’t know how much i needed her.”

shoko didn’t say anything at first. she didn’t need to. she watched him as the weight of his grief presses down on him, and she understood.

“you’re not the only one who got attached, nanami,” she said quietly. “she may have been a machine, but she felt things. maybe not the way we do, but… she did.”

nanami pressed his lips together, fighting the lump in his throat. he knew that. he knew you were feeling things you weren’t supposed to feel either, an error that was not typical for soulless artificial intelligence, but it happened and it made you happy. nanami did.

“i never thought it would be like this,” he admitted. “i never thought i would feel like this about something so… artificial.”

shoko stood, giving him a long look before turning toward the door.

“you’ll heal,” she said simply. “but it’s gonna take time. and in the meantime… you don’t have to do it alone.”

as the door clicked shut behind her, nanami sat there, staring at the empty space where you once were. the silence was deafening, but this time, he knew it was something he had to face.

maybe one day, he’ll find a way to move on. but for now, he’ll hold onto the memories of you—of her—and let that be enough.

[miss-m-winks]

i remember when the game of thrones show was just hitting its peak popularity, people would just pass around that one time GRRM was like "oh i write women so well because i just write them as people" and he was being lauded as this amazing feminist for it. it's so cathartic to see more people pointing out what a pretentious and incurious writer he actually is lol

like what was the point of making up a world with such a unique seasonal cycle if you're not actually going to make the rest of the story mesh with it?

what was the point of having the looming ice zombie threat while also making your people look stupid because they keep burying their dead in crypts where they're easily turned into more ice zombies? there's a line between "we need things to happen for plot reasons" and "actually this is just stupidity"

and as was pointed out earlier, the biggest reason it's so annoying to see all these inconsistent and unrealistic lore details is precisely because GRRM was so openly pretentious about how much he likes to ground his fantasy in realism. he wrote with a sort of contempt for the genre, and it shows.

like would you want to read a scifi space adventure written by someone who scoffs at the idea of sapient aliens and explosive space battles, but also writes mono-climate worlds or weirdly shaped planets and never actually makes life on those planets any different from earth? while still claiming they're writing very realistic scifi? I wouldn't.

i think it's entirely possible to write a world where there are long cycles of winter and summer. since it is fantasy, there's space for flexibility! perhaps we actually explore the religion of the world in a meaningful way and have the seasons be literally affected by deities? or maybe we look at the redundant ice zombie apocalypse and actually give it a meaningful connection to the long winters? maybe the ice zombies are the cause of the long winters??? that would sure be a logical plot arc! it makes sense! because if they're not connected like that, you're telling me the long winters will still be an apocalyptic problem even when the evil ice zombie king is defeated. so what was the point of that? it really makes the ice zombies less of a threat if defeating them only removes the problem of being killed by zombies but the winter apocalypse is still there. if they're the same problem though, hey! that's a pretty neat plot! literally not even changing anything else, that alone would fix a lot of issues.

I too am a fantasy writer (as yet unpublished) who enjoys grounding things in reality. the difference is that I am having fun exploring what "reality" means in the world I'm writing.

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.