#and feel like they stepped into a musical or something

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts

Word Count: 6.1k Contents: their first date, cursing, a little angsty, but mostly fluffy, not proofread (barely skimmed this so again, dunno how much sense it makes)

“Before you get any bright ideas, just know I’m sharing my location with at least ten people.”

Whistling, the biggest pain in your ass saunters over to you

The moon is full, a big white orb that would otherwise bring you a lot of peace to look at but right now, only pisses you off for reasons you’d rather not spend too much time pondering. Rarely anyone comes around these parts; it’s at the very edge of the city, a half-hour drive from campus, and surrounded by miles of dull, old suburbia. You’re standing in front of a metal gate, slightly taller than you, with vines wrapping around the pickets. It swings slowly with every gust of wind, creaking before it meets the stone wall with a bang.

Gojo grimaces. 

“Seriously, did you have to choose the scariest place in all of Eden? I mean, I respect the commitment to the aesthetic, but this is just crazy,” he grumbles, eyeing the cathedral from its huge marble pillars to the sharp spires piercing the night sky. 

You roll your eyes. Trust him to leave the date planning to you just to complain every step of the way. You’re already regretting playing along with whatever games he’s conjured up this time, but at least you’ve got home turf advantage; you know this place like the back of your hand. There won’t be any surprises happening tonight. 

Without replying, you walk off, heading straight through the gate. 

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Shrugging, you say, “If you’re scared, you can go back home.”

When he doesn’t say a thing and follows you, you smile. You win. But that feeling of victory doesn’t last very long because then he starts muttering about the cobwebs and how they’re everywhere, then about the tombstones, how they’re so messy with moss covering the engravings and that ‘the spirits must definitely be like so mad about all that’, and when you don’t respond to any of his musings, he even complains about the eerie music foreshadowing his pending doom, like in Jaws.

There is no music. 

“Where are we even going?” He pokes your shoulder, snatching his hand back faster than you can swat at it. “I thought we were going to, I don’t know, have a picnic under the stars and cuddle on top of someone’s grave, like Mary Shelley did.”

“How the fuck do you even know about that?” 

Gojo lifts one shoulder. “Must have heard it online or something.”

You roll your eyes again — you have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight, maybe even for the rest of your life if things go the way your parents plan. When you had first found out the village idiot is the president of the most sought-after fraternity of the most prestigious university in the country, you thought maybe no one else had stepped up. But then you found out he’s a Legacy --the Gojos have governed that fraternity since its conception -- and well, the pieces fell into place. 

Mischief no doubt sparkling in your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes are full of suspicion and when they meet yours, he becomes even more doubtful of your intentions. With a grin, you whisper, “We’re going someplace no one will hear you scream.”

“Kinky.”           

That didn’t have the desired effect. How annoying. Though you don’t fail to notice how he moves in closer to you, his warmth radiating to your body through your black, fur cloak. You don’t shift away. 

Gesturing for him to follow you through a gap in a wooden fence, you squeeze through to avoid splinters, pulling at your dress when a piece of lace catches on a nail. Just as you’re about to offer advice on how to contort his body to get through, he climbs over the fence and lands on his feet without stumbling, all in one quick sweep, like he’s who wanders these hallowed grounds at night and not you. 

“What?” He asks when he spots your glare. 

Not even those stupid sunglasses are out of place. Very annoying, indeed. 

“Come quickly,” you bark, fixing your silk gloves to cover more of your skin as the chill settles in. It’s only six in the evening, and yet there’s no hint of light in the broad expanse above you, just the moon and the stars lighting your way, and occasionally your companion’s phone flashlight when he needs to look at what he’s stepped in. 

He laughs. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk about your sex life with a girl on a first date?”

“You’re the first, so not a habit. Not yet anyways.” 

Screeching to a halt, your hand clutches his elbow to still him. Your jaw is slack and you’re staring, completely disbelieving. “There’s no way this is your first date. You took that girl to the casino.”

Gojo stares off into the distance as he ponders the notion, fingers tapping his chin. Then, he insists, “No, it really is my first date. And anyways, I don’t consider that night a date; she pretty much invited herself along. It was more like I was just taking her to the casino as her escort. Or maybe that does count as a date. If so, then I’ve been on a lot of dates. But none where I’ve actually used the word date. Does that even matter because —“ 

You wave a hand in front of his face to cut off his rambling; he talks way too much. “So, you’re telling me, I’m the first girl you’ve ever asked out on a date? That’s insane, Gojo. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests with a frown.

“You sure acted like you did for months,” you counter. 

He insists, “I don’t hate you. Never did. I just acted out but yeah, I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and continue walking. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get on my knees and beg.”

“Don’t tempt me, Gojo.”

He catches up to you and hums a playful tune, his light mood returning; Serious Gojo is gone like he never existed. “Guess that’s what you’re into, huh?”

“You’ll never know,” you snort, pushing a branch away from your face and letting it snap back into his chest, he yelps.

His hand reaches past you, lifting a thicker branch high above the both of you, before leaning close to your ear and whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll see.”

Disregarding the shiver than runs through you, you push on, moving almost on muscle memory alone. Your mind is attempting to distract itself by scanning the area, being careful not to be caught on church grounds after hours, pushing through the woodland to get to the clearing tucked away at the very back, where you go for peace and quiet. 

Truthfully, you have no idea why you decided to have this date here, of all places. This place is sacred. Literally but also figuratively — this is the place you always ran to when the world got a little too loud, a little too busy and bright for you. No one else knows about this haven as far as you’re aware and you always thought you’d do anything to keep it that way. And yet, you’re showing it to him. Actually, guiding him to the place. 

You should have at least blindfolded him so he couldn’t memorise the way. 

Maybe you wanted to spite him by living up to his expectations and being the gothic monster that he thinks you are -- you want to scare him off before he lets his curiosity take him too close to something that might scald him. He needs to be afraid of you. 

Or maybe you recognised that shadow in his eyes, the ones that suggests he’s lost as much sleep about this whole farce as you and thought he could do with a little silence. 

You both arrive at a thick bush, a massive wall of a shrub towering over even Gojo. Behind you, the cathedral is only a blob, lit up by lanterns, whereas you’re both submerged in darkness; there are no streetlamps here. 

“I’m totally going to be murdered here, aren’t I?” He whistles as if to say, ‘it’s been a good life, and I’ll have to just accept my fate’. 

“Yeah, I was lying when I said it was all water under the bridge. I’ve actually been colluding with the devil to sacrifice your white ass.”

Gojo laughs.

He laughs a lot, but rarely like this, you note. He chuckles when his friends do something stupid like push him into the fountain, and he snorts when he reads the most recent article on The Bulletin. But you’ve never really seen him throw his head back and clutch his stomach, at least not with anyone but you. He does it when you get caught texting him under the dinner table, when you give him the middle finger from across the Quad, and that one time you bumped into him in the hallway and almost apologised before you realised it was him.

It’s the kind of laugh that’s infectious, and you hoped every time he does it that you’re somehow immune. However, when he looks at you with a brightening sparkle in his eyes, you realise you’re very much not. 

You clear your throat again. 

“Through here, is a very special place. You must swear you will not desecrate this place, lest the Mother Crone curse you for your treachery,” you announce, wiggling your fingers at him for extra flair. 

Placing a hand on his heart, he stomps his foot like a soldier and swears, “I would never. I will take this secret to the grave.”

Satisfied, you grab the loose part of the hedge wall and pull it aside to reveal the little doorway to your secret hideout. He throws you a side glance before he ducks down and enters. You follow behind him, tucking the disguised door behind you. 

He doesn’t say a thing as you zoom to the side where you grope for something in the grass, right under part of the hedge. When you feel the smooth, cold plastic, you don’t hesitate to switch it on. 

Long wires of fairy lights light up, bulb by bulb, along the top of the hedge and down, like a really wide Christmas tree circling the hidden clearing. You hear him mutter a ‘woah’ under his breath as he scans the area — there’s only one thing here on the flat ground, it’s also lit up fairy lights along the top pole. It’s your most prized possession.

“You have a swing?” He shouts incredulously. Giggling like a child, he makes a run for it, jumping onto one of the two seats where he rocks back and forth on his feet. Then he’s whooping as he swings higher and higher, hair whooshing back and forth as he grins, taking in the cold autumnal air and the growing warmth of the lights. “This is freaking awesome!”

Sitting on the spare seat, you kick your feet gently so you can swing a little. Deep down there was a worry festering within, anxious that he would find this place boring, that he’d scoff at your idea of fun especially on a first date, but looking up at him, still hollering and grinning, you think, that was such a silly thought. 

Gojo slows to a mild back and forth momentum and wonders, “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? This place seems pretty private, like your own mancave or something. Do girls have a version of a mancave? ‘Womancave?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him clamber down to sit as you answer his question. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if you weren’t allowed, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me and hide my body in a grave.”

“Neither.” You shrug. 

He laughs. 

Eventually, you both swing side by side, alternating up and then down. The wind is howling a little, rustling the trees surrounding you and the moon’s obscured by dark cloud. Neither you nor he say anything to break the silence. You were also worried that you’d come to hate his presence in your safe space, finding his tall, lanky presence an irritation, but surprisingly, you don’t mind it. 

It’s nice to have company. 

Especially when that company is keeping his mouth shut. 

“How often do you come here?”

Or not. 

With a sigh, you reply, “Like twice a week. I can’t come as often as I’d like because of all the classes and stuff, not to mention all the wedding planning we have to do.”

“Guess you have it worse than me since I don’t even need to be fitted for a suit; they already have my measurements,” he muses. 

“For whatever reason, it’s always the women who have to plan these things, even though it’s the men that propose.” You accidentally make eye contact with him. “Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.”

Gojo hums, a little sheepishly, before he changes the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”

“We buried my grandmother in the graveyard when I was fifteen. We were close and I took the loss pretty hard. I couldn’t stand all the people pretending they cared so I ran off, got lost and found this clearing. Well, I actually fell through the hedge, but I found it, nonetheless. And this swing was here already. I don’t know how long it’s been here or why it’s here, but it is.”

“That sounds like a fairytale.” He swivels, swinging a long leg over to straddle the seat, facing you as he leans back against the metal chain. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I lost my grandmother too and it was rough.”

You saw that on the news years ago, it was one of those private family events that make the national headlines by complete virtue of the family name. Your parents grieved in public like it was their own loss and you didn’t understand why. Of course, as you got older, you became more and more acquainted with the idea of ‘reputation’ and ‘public image’, but you still feel that same distance to the concept as you did when you were but a child. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you repeat back to him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ve got my gramps. We’re best buddies.”

“You have a lot of best buds, don’t you?” 

Gojo strikes you as the kind of guy who makes friends easily, thought you question the depth of most of those friendships; sincerity is a rare phenomenon in your world. 

“No,” he huffs, “I have Suguru, the girl that gave you my number, and gramps. I have lots of close friends, though.”

Considering his words, you realise you don’t have any best friends. Sure, you have friends you hang out with often, people that share your interest, that you can party with, but none you feel as strongly about as he does with those three people. You can hear it in his voice, the conviction, the pride, the confidence. And when you glance at him, you know he doesn’t even realise how defensive he sounds about his people.

How nice it must be to have someone like him as a friend.

“We could be friends, if you’d like,” he offers, and when you look at him with confusion, he adds, “You said it out loud, silly. You think I’m a good person to be friends with. Which, of course I am. I’m like super awesome.”

You burst out laughing. What he said isn’t even funny and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to be, but for some reason it is. So, you laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach. He makes noises of complaints, telling you it’s rude to laugh at people. That makes you laugh harder. 

“Gojo, be serious for a second. We can’t be friends, idiot,” you push out between puffs of laughter. 

He frowns, lips twitching to fight back a smile at your flushed face. “Why not? We’re getting along fine right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, for now. But we’re going to be married. Or at least, we’re supposed to be. And think of all the complications that brings, it just doesn’t provide the conditions for a healthy friendship, especially considering our beginning. Think of all the people in our circle who had arranged marriages. How many of them get along? Like, really get along. Hell! Think about our parents.”

“Well, we could be different. We don’t have to end up like them. We can break the cycle or something.”

You stop laughing.

Something shifts in the air, like the moon’s reappeared, the wind’s slowed down, and his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s sudden and you almost don’t notice it, almost shrug it off. But there’s a sincerity lingering between you and it demands your attention.

Fixing him a solemn look, perhaps similar to the one he gave you before, you assert, “That sounds an awful like an admission of surrender, Gojo.”

“Maybe it is.”

The speed at which he concedes, the sheer resolution in his eyes and the way he doesn’t falter when he says it all scream at you something you won’t accept. Can’t.

He grips your elbow, his long fingers wrapping around the limb with ease, demanding your attention. The sombre expression on his ghostly face haunts you. It’s like he’s shifted into a different person, into someone years older, a man burdened with great responsibility. 

“I’m sorry. About how I started this year off. I regretted everything I said as soon as I said them. I can’t even remember why I said and did those things, but I definitely don’t have a good reason,” he rasped, a desperation lacing his words like he needs you to understand, like he tosses and turns over it. “I know you’re just as much a victim of this as I am, but I was facing a problem I didn’t know to solve, and I lashed out. At you. At someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry.”

You reel back, snatching your arm away. His touch burns the way ice does, and you have to rub warmth back into it, despite the layers between your skin and his. The sincerity in his eyes is alien, revealing far more about the ongoings of reality than you can absorb in one night. Confusingly, your heart is pounding to the beat of a song you’ve never heard before. 

This date thing, taking him to your secret haven, giving him the opportunity to see you not as the enemy but rather as a woman was a mistake. It’s all one big mistake. It would have been fine if he had stayed as the Gojo you knew, the boisterous, obnoxious party animal that cares only about immediate gratification. But the man in front of you is not someone you can marry. He isn’t the type of man you can be around and feel absolutely nothing for. 

“I’m hungry,” you mutter, standing abruptly.

He looks up at you, something passing in his eyes, almost akin to disappointment or sadness, and you can’t bear to think about what that could mean, so you simply gesture for him to follow you. 

In silence, you walk back the way you came, using your phone’s flashlight to navigate through the thick haze of darkness. This was a mistake; you let him in for a second, gave him a glimpse into your life, and you aren’t even sure why. Was it because you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to do whatever it takes to drag the man to the altar or because, despite yourself, you actually wanted to see what going on a date with Gojo means? 

Maybe it was both. 

Or neither. 

You’re losing more and more of yourself these days, doing things you’d never thought you’d do for one reason or another, and you no longer even know what you want. Your pride or your family? A marriage with Gojo or the friendship he’s offering? Is there’s a third option.

“What’d you wanna eat?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet as he stares up at a streetlight. 

You’ve both made it back onto the main road, the swings a mile away. He didn’t press the topic more, simply walked beside you and pushed branches away like before. 

It’s nearing eight in the evening and your stomach growls. 

“Who said I’m eating with you?”

Gojo rolls his eyes and pokes your shoulder. With a sulky tone, he groans, “Don’t be mean. You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s eat. Simple!”

“Can you cook?” 

He beams, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks at you over them, bright eyes sparkling with what you can only guess to be mischief. You realise you really should think before you speak. 

—

That’s how you find yourself in his frat house kitchen, cloak discarded, hair up and gloves off. His frat members are out, partying, he claims, so the whole house is free. When he suggested it, you looked at him like he was insane, but he only wiggled his brows.

“You scared?” He cocked his head, grinning at you in a way that made you want to punch his teeth in. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you responded, “No, of course not.”

Gojo bent his arms and rocked his head, making clucking noises that echoed in the empty street. Every note pierced your body, mocking and goading. You knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fucking working, the stupid bastard. Without responding to his accusation, you stomped over to his car and gave him a glare. He fetched his car keys and spun them on his finger with a victorious whistle.

“Grate this,” he orders. 

His kitchen is huge, which is understandable for the size of the house and how many people live here. Apparently, there’s three more kitchens in the damn place, not that you believe even a quarter of the guys that live here know what a cutting board is. The kitchen is surprisingly clean, however. It’s sparkling clean. 

“We have cleaners that comes in every other day,” he chuckles, noticing your looks of complete judgement whilst he boils some pasta. “But we are pretty strict on cleanliness, regardless. And everyone knows, I’m not afraid to crack the whip to keep everyone in line.”

Scoffing, you clarify, “You? Cracking whips? I find that hard to believe.”

He leans against the island you’re stationed at, the sound of water simmering filling the small space between you. Watching you grate the cheese, he hums, fingers fiddling with the lace of your sleeve. He mutters, “I know how to be serious when I need to be.”

You hum too. 

Still fiddling with the fabric, you ignore his wandering hand, fingers slipping under to roll the soft lace between his fingertips. Goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch is tentative, hesitant and gentle — one would think he’s just afraid to snag the fabric, acknowledging the craftsmanship, but one glance up at him, seeing his gaze fixated on your exposed skin more than your sleeve, you know otherwise. 

“Hands to yourself, Geralt.”

“If I’m Geralt, that must make you Yennefer,” he retorts. With a laugh, he pulls away, returning to the stove to tend to the pasta sauce. You don’t realise how much warmth he generated until you feel a sudden draught. 

The smell of frying onions and garlic is delicious and you’re becoming more and more starved by the second. He’s agile, moving swiftly and on muscle memory as he opens drawers and cabinets to gather the things he needs. 

“How often do you cook?” You ask, arm getting tired from the motion of grating the block of cheese.

Gojo shrugs and admits, “Not as often as I’d like. Weekends are for parties and pizza and all the other days, everyone’s doing their thing, studying or whatever, and eating by myself is kinda sad, so I just eat out usually.”

“How is it possible that you eat out so often but still remain so skinny?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being spun around and pressed into the island with a hard body. His arms are caging you in, keeping you still as he grins at you. 

He had thrown his jacket by the door when you both walked in; his biceps bulge as he flexes. They’re so much bigger now, or maybe they were always like that. And he’s pressed so close his Adam’s apple is right in front of you, bobbing when you tilt your head back so you can meet his eyes. 

“I’m plenty jacked, actually,” he brags and to add salt to the wound, he leans down, cheek brushing against yours to whisper against your ear, “wifey.”

You shove him off, snorting at his lame line. He back away with little protest. Trying to hide the heat in your face, you wash your hands, turning away from him completely. 

The rest of the hour passes by in a blink of an eye, and you finally sit down at the dining table across from each other. He’s a decent cook and you pay him a compliment even though it physically hurt to do so. 

“Do you not cook very often?” 

“I make sandwiches and ramen, that’s as far as I know how to do,” you admit with no shame.

He pours you a cup of water and asks, “Do you not have a chef to pre-make meals for you? My father insisted I have one, but I complained to my gramps about the lack of privacy and independence, and he gave up pretty quickly.”

You pause. It’s a stupid question to ask someone, from anyone else it’d drip in condescension, but you know he’s genuinely asking and it’s a valid question, just not one you’re ready to answer. So, with a careful shrug, you say simply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Gojo doesn’t sense the tense quiver of your voice, or if he does, he has enough tact to ignore it, so he continues the conversation. He talks to you about what being a frat president entails, and you tell him your experiences as the Treasurer. 

He also shares stories of his friends: the time ‘the gang’ snuck into the gym to put shaving cream in Toji’s locker after he had his room bubbled wrapped down to every single pair of boxers, each and every one of his friends’ drunk habits, and how he’s actually a lightweight so he sticks to beers most of the time but he hates the taste and actually much prefer cocktails. 

“Wait, wait,” you say between laughs, “you drink cosmos in secret ‘cause you don’t want your frat mates knowing their president actually hates beer?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But it isn’t my fault those things taste like wheat piss!”

You laugh harder. “They do! They totally do!”

“Has anyone ever said you have a pretty la—“

“Woah!” A voice yells out. “What’s going on here?”

You both turn to look at the wide-open door. Two men walk in, they’re in gym clothes, wide toothy grins on their faces as they stare between you and their president. You recognise them as second years, often hanging around Gojo in pictures or loitering in the Quad. 

One guy, a fake blond, wolf whistles when he sees you. “Satoru, you didn’t tell us you were having a girl over. It’s been a while; we rarely even see your bestie nowadays.”

“Yeah, this is a sight for sore eyes. This place was getting too much hotdog and not enough buns, if you know what I mean.”

When they both guffaw, you grimace. Their voices are grating, like sharp notes, and despite yourself, you cower in your seat. You hate the way they’re looking at you, in half desire and half repulsion — they’re enjoying the sight of a woman in their space, but they don’t know what to make of your attire. Usually, you don’t let people like them get to you, not their comments and not their stares. But something’s different, you’re more sensitive, less guarded. 

“Isn’t she your fiancé? We’ve heard all about her. The girls from Delta Sigma said she dresses like a witch, and well, they aren’t entirely wrong.”

“Get out.”

Three heads turn. Gojo’s standing; you hadn’t seen him move. He’s leaning on his fingertips, head hanging as he stares at his empty plate. No one says a thing. There’s no air in here anymore. Only silence, a grim, gut-wrenching silence. 

They stammer. “H-hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, we’re just messing around,” the fake blonde chuckles nervously. 

Gojo looks up, slowly, like a creaking door. When his eyes settle on them, they stagger back with the force of his disappointment, and again with his wrath. Though you feel the tendrils of that infinite space between you, you don’t bear its impossible weight. 

With his body tense, veins bulging along his arms, broad shoulders pushed back ready for something you can’t quite grasp in this moment, you realise he really is jacked. And those muscles aren’t just for show or pressing girls against marble countertops. 

As great as it would be to be his friend, it’s even greater to not be his enemy. You didn’t realise it then, but you do now, if Gojo had ever really wanted to make someone disappear, he probably could have done so. 

“You would do well to remember that I, as descendent of the founder of Alpha Phi Delta, have a right to terminate any fraternity brother’s membership without a need for sufficient cause. Just because I’ve never exploited that clause doesn’t mean I’m above it. So, get out. Now.”

Cheeks red and heads hung low, they walk back out without sparing you another glance. 

Gojo sits back down, shoulders still tense. 

The silence hasn’t disappeared, but it has lightened, much more tolerable now. With an uncertainty in your movements, you push your knife and fork together and pat your lips dry. 

“Well, this has certainly been an eventful night,” you say. “I really ought to go, though.”

Gojo nods and takes your plate, leaving to go to the kitchen whilst you freshen up in the bathroom. 

When you come out, he’s already waiting outside with his hands tucked in his pockets, staring up at puffs of clouds he breathes into the night sky. There’s a sombre air around him, like you’re better off not disturbing him, but when he spots you from the corner of his eye, that air evaporates and he beams, literally brightens, practically shadowing the moon. 

“Hey, come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm,” he asserts with a smile. 

And he does. You get into his car for the second time of the night and watch the campus blur past you. Through the ten-minute car ride, he sings along to the pop songs on the radio, bopping his head to every beat like they’re coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t know these songs? Really?” 

He’s completely incredulous, looking at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You roll your eyes and jokingly explain you’re committed to the aesthetic. He finds that funny. The rest of the ride continues wordlessly.

“Alright, this is me,” you announce when he parks. He climbs out the car with you, leaning against his door as you shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Despite certain parts of the time being…stiff, should we say, I had a lot of fun. Surprisingly.”

A tinge of red colours the tips of his ears. “Yeah, me too. I expected to lose my life, or at least a few limbs, at that graveyard, so I’m pretty happy with the turnout.”

You roll your eyes. “And I’m very happy I’m not covered in pig’s blood coming out of your frat house.”

“No, closest we had to that was the pasta sauce,” he chuckles. 

“Which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. You should cook more often instead of the junk food you eat.”

“Says you?” He pushes your shoulder lightly. “Miss Cup Noodles.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation dies there, laughter fading as both of you eye the doors of your dorm building. You pull your cloak tighter around you, irritated that, even though he’s just in jeans and a plain graphic tee, he’s seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. 

“You should go in,” Gojo suggests, voice softer, barely louder than a whisper. 

You nod and make a step to go, but then a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back. He’s carrying the weight of it in his palm, thumb grazing your wrist. There’s electricity thrumming where he touches and you’re about to snatch your hand away before he tightens his grip. 

“Just a second,” he mutters, before pulling out something from his pockets. Something black. 

Your gloves. 

You forgot to put them on, having left them in the kitchen. 

He’s taking his time, smoothing the material over your knuckles, ensuring your fingers are tucked in properly. His thumb lingers on the curve of each finger, exploring the slopes. Your breath hitches as his hands envelope yours completely, his touch deliberate and light and there’s no other way to describe it: it’s positively reverent. 

The glove slide snugly into place, a second skin but they feel new, as if fresh from the machine, still warm. 

You shouldn’t let him reach for your other hand, shouldn’t just watch as he unfolds the other glove, slipping it on with much more care than you yourself had ever done. His eyes are watching the fabric consume more and more of your skin, until they meet the ends of your sleeve, and no skin remains. 

“Gojo,” you breathe out. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

When he finally looks up, your eyes meet and your pulse quickens, quick and short breaths pulling your chest up and down. You didn’t even realise one hand is clutching his shoulder whilst the other remains in his grip. And you certainly don’t notice that you’re standing much closer than before, only a hair’s breadth from finding out whether his lips are as soft and plush as his touch. 

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, thumb running across your knuckles, like he’s willing warmth into your hand. 

You’re so close it only takes one gust of wind to push you together, to taste what a future with him could mean, to seal the first date with something that’ll keep you up at night. Just one kiss, one bad decision and everything could fade away for a second. You could pretend he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl and this is a normal date, that you have a normal relationship and tomorrow you could go back to being arranged lovers. 

His lashes flutter, so long and wispy and you’re jealous. Flickering between your eyes and your lips, you know he’s searching for any sign that you might want this just as bad as he does. You’re craning your head back, back arched to reach him, and when your chest rubs against his for a millisecond, he shuts his eyes with a groan.  

“Hey! If it isn’t Gojo,” a gruff voice bellows.

You step back, gasping for air and desperately smoothing your skirt down as you give a shaky smile to the newcomer. He’s a tall, buff man wearing shorts and carrying a basketball. He pats Gojo on the back, oblivious to the tension, to the way his friend is pouting, grumbling about how he ‘ruined the moment.’

The man looks at you with a friendly enough smile, eyeing your appearance with nothing more than curiosity before he gives you one of those manly nods. 

“Whatcha doing at my girl’s dorm?” He asks. 

Clearing his throat, Gojo answers, “Just dropping my wi—I mean, my friend off. Yeah, just stopping by.”

The guy doesn’t look ready to stop talking. So you take the initiative to excuse yourself with an awkward kiss on the white-haired boy’s cheek and you whisper, “Goodnight...Satoru.”

You don’t wait for him to reply.

Just as you’re about to enter your dorm building, you hear a distinct, “Dude, I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I? Fuck, put that thing away. You’re gonna poke my fucking eyes out!”

You smile just as your phone pings.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: single dad

Bruce admits that he is unsure of the seriousness of his relationship with Daniel Fenton. He had never meant to run into the man after the parent-teacher conference. Yes, his introduction had a breath of fresh air, but Bruce was not naive.

It may have all been a trick, and Fentong was merely waiting to try to get closer to him or his money later on. He has always been optimistic about the good in man's hearts, but Bruce is also familiar with the equal darkness there.

That's why spotting the man in a busy cafe was such a shock. Bruce had gone on a walk between meetings, wanting something sweet to tie him over for the follow-up one.

He walked into a random family-owned place with a spicy smell. Bruce had been browsing the menu when he heard the soft melody for Fairy Tale Ending by Dumpty Humpty. Looking around a pillar, he found Daniel Fenton bobbing his head to the music while tapping away on his old beat-up laptop.

The cashier sees him staring and smiles apologetically. "We don't usually have people here, so we let him play his music. If it bothers you, I can ask him to get his headphones on."

"Oh no. I actually like the band." He assures her, paying for his drink and dropping a ten in her tip jar. He glances at Fenton again, then points, "What is he drinking?"

"Gingerbread Latte and a chocolate croissant," She responds easily, and at that moment, Bruce knows she hasn't recognized him. Not that he expects everyone on the street to point him out in a crowd, but it does mean she won't take pictures of him.

She doesn't know the photos could get her some money from down-on-their-luck gossip rags. He considers Fenton a little longer before nodding at her. "Can I have a gingerbread Latte? The exact same as his."

"You got it."

Bruce doesn't know what urges him to approach Fenton with the two drinks- though the cashier giving him a wink might have clued him in and clears his throat just as Fenton gets to the chorus. Blue eyes blink up at him. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. Hi."

"Good afternoon," Bruce starts, which causes Fenton to snort. With good-natured humor, he grins up at Bruce, and Bruce feels his intrigue rise just a few notches higher.

"Good afternoon to you as well, milord." The man says, one hand over his chest, bending his neck a little in a mock bow. "Has thy golden carriage brought to thy to me?"

"Having a golden carriage is a privilege for only the Roayl family. My carriage is made of silver, I assure you." Bruce laughs, stepping closer. This is different from the cashier. Fenton knows who he is, but he simply doesn't care.

Bruce is merely Bruce to him instead of the wealthiest man in the city and the country. It's....well, it's liberating, like being reminded that there are good and wonderful things still left in life. If this is how Fenton makes him feel only after the second meeting, what else could Bruce experience if he formed a bond with him?

Fenton's eyes catch the extra drink Bruce holds, lighting up when the other man offers it to him. He accepts the cup, offering the chair opposite from him. When Brue sits down, he asks about what he was writing where. Fenton admits to being a fantasy novelist and moves the conversation to what they enjoy reading.

Bruce arrived late to his next meeting but felt lighter, and a phone number scribbled on the back of his hand just like when he was a teenager and traveling states away to attend Dumpty Humpty Concerts.

The rest, like they say, is history.

Danny had quickly become a part of his life. It was odd how giggly the other man made him feel. Danny was a good balance to Bruce's brooding. Ironically, while Bruce believed the best in humans, keeping a calm center persona, Danny was cynical and bubbly. He assumed people were terrible, but there was no reason to give them any mind, and he was unapologetic for being himself.

After their third date, Bruce has worked up the nerve to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, only to have the other man laugh. "I thought we were boyfriends?"

"I didn't want to assume."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman? Look at those soft hands. You've never seen a day of work. Gentle-handed man," Danny teased while watching the people around them. Bruce knew there wasn't any real danger, but Danny had a habit of watching their surroundings in public places.

He didn't like being caught unaware. Bruce thinks he's in love. The thing is, Bruce has thought that before, and every single time, his relationship had fallen through.

He had a hand in it, but that didn't mean his partners never broke his heart one way or another.

But this time, things would be different.

Dick had pointed it out when he ran into the two at the grocery store. Danny had invited him to help pick out dinner while Dani had been on an overnight field trip at the planetarium. His eldest had cornered him when he returned the next day, smiling widely.

"Danny seems excellent. He's like an undercover goth dating an undercover prep. You both are literally the opposite of each other and seem to like spending time around each other."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure whether it was a bad or good thing, but he was happy that his kids approved of him dating again. He did get a little nervous about Damian, only to find out his youngest had come to idolize Dani, and that only made him hope the relationship would work out even more.

He could see it now, Danny tapping away on his laptop while Dani painted next to him in the Wayne Manor yard- Both preferred to be in nature- on cozy weekends. His children crowding the breakfast table while Danny sang songs from bands he'd never heard.

Birthday candles are being blown out with the cheering family. Christmas mornings followed the candle lighting of Hanukkah on the previous eight nights. Graduation ceremonies that will bring Bruce to tears despite claiming he has trained too hard to do so. Boyfriends and girlfriends, the two could tag team into scaring while their children regretted ever bringing them over for an introduction.

Danny would be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes before bed and the first thing he saw in the morning light.

Bruce wasn't sure how their relationship was going, but he hoped, oh, he hoped.

[seospicybin]

NEPTUNE.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: In a distant future where an app can predict your death, a retired dancer and an ambitious swimmer cross path by chance. With their final day looming, they choose to share it together, finding unexpected connection in the fleeting hours they have left. (19,6k words)

Author's note: With this fic, I hope that you get to realize that no matter how small your achievement is, it matters. You are matter. Happy new year, everyone! ❣

In the distant future, death isn’t a mystery. It’s an appointment.

It started with a breakthrough—an algorithm said to be so precise it could predict the exact day someone would die. Governments called it progress, a tool to manage the chaos of an overburdened planet. They named it Mortem. What they didn’t expect was how quickly the app would seep into the fabric of life.

People stopped planning for the long term. Relationships became fleeting, careers lost their permanence, and calendars filled with expiration dates. Death notifications became part of the noise—just another alert blinking alongside weather updates and dinner reservations.

But Mortem wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t tell you the when—only the day. That meant hours, minutes, or fleeting seconds could separate you from the end. For some, it was a mercy. For others, a torment.

Tonight, the city pulses with quiet tension, as it always does. Neon lights flicker against a backdrop of endless skyscrapers, their glass walls reflecting a future built on progress and control. Somewhere, phones buzz softly, notifying their owners of an unchangeable truth: Tomorrow is your last day.

For those who receive the message, there are choices to make. Will they cling to the comforts of routine, pretending the day ahead is like any other? Or will they seek something different—a chance to hold onto life for just a little longer?

Two strangers will soon find themselves asking that same question. Their lives have never crossed before, but by the time tomorrow ends, they will have shared something no one else can understand.

-

5:00 a.m.

The alarm pierces the early morning silence, jolting Hwang Hyunjin awake. With practiced ease, he silences it, sitting on the edge of his bed as he stretches his long arms. His back arches slightly, muscles awakening as he bends forward to gather his thoughts.

The world outside is still cloaked in darkness, but Hyunjin is already lacing up his running shoes. A quick double knot secures them before he presses play on his playlist, music flooding his ears and sharpening his focus.

The crisp, cool morning air greets him as he steps outside. It stings against his skin, but he welcomes it, inhaling deeply as he begins to run. His strides are steady, powerful, each one cutting against the wind. His long, dark hair bounces with the rhythm of his movement, dampened slightly by the early morning mist.

After completing his route, Hyunjin stops by his favorite bakery, where the warm aroma of freshly baked bread envelops him. He orders his usual: a selection of warm pastries and a steaming cup of coffee to go. Back at his apartment, he settles by the window, the city stirring to life beyond the glass. He takes slow bites of his breakfast, sipping his coffee as the first golden rays of sunlight paint the skyline.

It’s moments like this, quiet and unassuming, that he treasures most. They remind him of the beauty in simplicity, grounding him before the demands of the day.

By ten o’clock, Hyunjin arrives at the training center, his focus razor-sharp. He begins with a grueling gym session, pushing his limits to strengthen his arms and back. The burn in his muscles is a familiar companion, one he embraces with resolve. Sweat drips down his chin as he finishes his final set, his determination unwavering.

But this is only the beginning.

Hyunjin steps into the aquatic center, the sharp scent of chlorine filling his lungs. In the locker room, he changes into a sleek pair of swimming briefs.

"How are you feeling, my man?" A friendly pat on his back pulls him from his thoughts.

"Excellent," he replies confidently, catching his reflection in the mirror as he adjusts his swim cap. His friend's grin widens, sensing the energy radiating off him.

"What's your current record?"

"For the 100 or the 200 medley?" Hyunjin asks, slipping the last strands of his hair beneath the cap."You know which one I'm asking."

"47.12." A proud smile curves his lips.

"Bet you can take it to 46 today," his friend challenges, tossing his shoes into his locker.

The words hang in the air, lighting a spark in Hyunjin. He doesn’t need the push—he’s already determined—but the encouragement fuels his fire.

Hyunjin steps onto the pool deck, his reflection shimmering on the surface of the water. Memories of his younger self flicker in his mind, the boy who first discovered the joy of being in the water. Back then, it felt like another world—quiet, weightless, serene.

That love hasn’t faded.

He dips a hand into the pool, splashing the cold water onto the back of his neck. It’s a small ritual, an anchor before the dive. His goggles are snug against his face, a protective barrier between him and the world above.

Hyunjin climbs onto the starting block, his heart steady, his goal clear. He holds the current record in the 100-meter freestyle, but today isn’t about records or accolades. It’s about pushing himself to the edge, chasing a version of himself he’s yet to meet.

The whistle shrieks, and Hyunjin dives.

The water welcomes him, enveloping him in its familiar embrace. Each stroke propels him forward, every kick slicing through the resistance. His body moves in perfect harmony, years of training reducing the act to instinct.

To Hyunjin, the sky isn’t the limit—it’s just the beginning. And soon, he knows, he won’t just swim among the clouds. He’ll soar beyond them.

-

8:02 a.m.

The studio is quiet, save for the soft creak of polished wood beneath your bare feet. Sunlight streams through the high windows, casting long beams across the mirrored walls. You breathe in the familiar scent of resin and faintly worn leather, grounding yourself in this sacred space.

This is how you always start your mornings: alone, warming up in the quiet before the day begins. It’s a small luxury, one you’ve come to cherish in a world that feels anything but certain.

You stand in the center of the room, your reflection poised and still. Slowly, you move through the routine, arms lifting, legs extending, muscles lengthening with every step. The rhythm flows from memory—an old habit, a comfort that never falters.

Then, it happens.

A sharp ping breaks through the silence, echoing off the walls.

You freeze mid-pirouette, your balance wavering. Across the room, your phone sits on the bench, its screen lit up with a single notification. For a moment, you don’t move. It’s not unusual for your phone to chime—messages from parents, reminders for classes—but something about the sound feels heavier this time.

You exhale, lowering your arms. Whatever it is can wait. You’ve always finished what you started, and today will be no different.

You push forward, completing the warm-up with careful precision. The movements are second nature, your body carrying you through muscle memory. But there’s a weight in the air now, and with each step, your focus frays a little more.

Finally, you stop.

The studio falls silent again as you walk toward the bench. Your pulse quickens when you see the notification’s source: Mortem.

You stare at it, your breath catching in your chest. The app sits there, waiting, the message unread. Tomorrow is your last day. Is that what it will say? Or will it be another date, far off in the future?

For a moment, you consider turning away. Dancing has always been your escape, your solace. Maybe one more routine will help you clear your mind.

You step back toward the center of the studio, muscles coiled and ready to begin again. But something stops you. A voice, faint but insistent, whispers at the edge of your thoughts: Face it.

Your hands tremble as you pick up the phone. You swipe the screen, heart pounding in your ears, and open the notification.

Your eyes lock onto the date, and for a moment, everything freezes. Confusion flickers in your chest, followed by the sharp pang of disbelief. You’d told yourself you were ready for this, that the day would come eventually, but seeing it spelled out so plainly shakes you.

And then, as quickly as it came, the chaos fades. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself as you’ve done countless times before. The truth is undeniable, and no amount of fear will change it.

You’ve made your peace with death. You always knew it would come soon. And now, soon is here.

-

3:22 p.m.

Dahlias.

Your mother’s favorite flowers. They stand out vividly against the muted tones of the hospital’s inpatient ward, clutched close to your chest as you make your way to her room.

It started with an ache—sharp and unrelenting—but she didn’t see a doctor until the nausea and loss of appetite became impossible to ignore. Six months ago, the diagnosis came: stage 3 pancreatic cancer. The doctor gave her six months to a year to live, and with every agonizing moment, you’ve come to understand why she wishes the end would hurry along.

But the notification she hopes for never arrives.

“Honey, I haven’t gotten my notification yet,” she mutters the moment you step into her room. Her voice is flat, a mix of irritation and resignation, as her eyes glance at the flowers in your hands.

She’s always irritable after chemo, so you don’t let her tone sting. Instead, you walk to the sink, filling a vase with water.

After the nurse checks her IV and blood pressure, you’re left alone with her. The silence isn’t new, but it feels heavier today.

“They said six months. Why am I still here?” she groans, struggling to adjust her pillow.

You hurry to help, carefully setting the vase of dahlias on the bedside table. They brighten the room immediately.

“They’re beautiful,” she finally says, softening just a little.

“I’m glad you like them,” you reply with a faint smile.

Your mother has always lived with vivacity. She wasn’t one for small dreams; she lived a thousand of them. In her teens, she wanted to be a singer. By her twenties, fashion called her, leading to an internship at a fabric shop. There, she befriended a chef who inspired her to pursue culinary arts. It was during that chapter of her life that she met a classical musician—your father.

And you.

Her dreams shifted then, morphing into family and love, and for years, she poured herself into creating a home filled with warmth. When your father passed, she found a new dream: becoming a florist. She turned it into a thriving business.

Until six months ago.

“Are you eating well?” she asks suddenly, her concern for you breaking through her fatigue.

You nod. “Yes.”

“What did you eat this morning?”

It’s a routine question, part of her new reality where food tastes like nothing. Asking you lets her imagine the flavors she misses.

“I had cranberry ciabatta from the bakery across the street,” you lie gently.

She hums contentedly, closing her eyes. “They make the perfect ciabatta.”

“Mom,” you say softly, taking her frail hand in yours.

“Yes, my darling?”

“What would you cook for your last dinner?” You smile to hold back the lump in your throat.

Her face lights up, pleased by the question. She’s always loved sharing her stories, and now they’re all she has left to give.

“For an appetizer, I’d make eggplant croquettes,” she says with a teasing grin.

“Mom, not the eggplant,” you protest, wrinkling your nose.

Her laugh is weak but genuine. “Okay, okay. How about scampi bruschetta?”

“Now that’s more like it,” you say with exaggerated approval.

She closes her eyes, envisioning her creation. “With thyme and lemon. I’d toast the ciabatta for five minutes—just enough for a crunch—and sear the shrimp with olive oil and a pinch of salt. Then sauté spring onions with thyme, lemon zest, and honey. Acacia honey.”

As she speaks, her voice gains strength, her enthusiasm igniting memories of her former self. Between recipes, she slips in anecdotes, turning her imagined last meal into a tapestry of her life.

You hang on every word because you know these stories matter. They are her, distilled into moments you’ll carry forever.

And yet, the cruel irony doesn’t escape you.

You were supposed to be the one holding her hand at the end, not the other way around. The thought pierces through your heart as you sit there, smiling at her stories. She has spent six months longing for death, only for it to come for you first.

She deserves to rest, to find peace after everything she’s endured. You would have done anything to give her that. But the universe is merciless. It has flipped the natural order, leaving her with the unbearable task of outliving her child.

The injustice of it sits heavy in your chest, threatening to choke you. How is it fair that the one who wants to die must keep fighting, while you—her child—are robbed of the chance to live?

By the time she moves to selecting drinks, her eyelids grow heavy.

“You’re sleepy, Mom,” you whisper, smoothing the duvet around her.

She nods, offering a tired smile. “I’m just a little tired these days.”

You watch her closely, memorizing every line of her face, every glimmer in her weary eyes. “You look beautiful today.”

Her smile deepens, faint but radiant. “I know.”

“You’ve always been beautiful,” you add, unable to stop yourself.

She chuckles weakly. “I look good with cancer, huh?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, committing her image to memory.

As you stand to leave, her hand clasps yours, pulling it to her chest. For a moment, it rests there, and just when you think she’s asleep, she lifts her other hand to pat your head.

“You’re a superstar,” she whispers. “I adore you so much.”

Those were her bedtime words to you as a child, and now they hit deeper, wrapping around your heart with bittersweet comfort.

In her eyes, you will always be her child, no matter how much of the world you’ve seen or what you’ve become.

As she drifts to sleep, you kiss the back of her hand, releasing it gently. You take one last look at her before leaving the room.

This isn’t goodbye. It’s not the last mother-daughter moment, either, because in life and in death, she will always be your mother.

For you, death isn’t the opposite of life. It’s simply a part of it.

-

6:16 p.m.

“46.92!”

The words ring out in the humid air of the locker room as Hyunjin’s friend pats his back enthusiastically. They’re both standing under the shower, letting the day’s fatigue wash away.

“I see a gold medal in your near future,” his friend adds, grinning.

Hyunjin can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his face. The thought of victory is intoxicating, the image of standing atop the podium almost tangible. He can taste it—sweet, like honey.

“Beers? What do you think?” another teammate calls out as Hyunjin turns off his shower head.

For a moment, he’s tempted. He deserves it, doesn’t he? Breaking his personal record, getting closer to his dream—surely, a small celebration wouldn’t hurt.

But discipline pulls him back. His body is his temple, and the bread he allowed himself this morning was already a rare indulgence.

“Not tonight,” Hyunjin says, his tone polite but firm.

“Next time, then,” his friend replies easily, shrugging it off as he heads for the lockers.

The others filter out, their laughter and chatter fading down the hallway until silence envelops the space. Hyunjin is alone now, drying his damp hair with a towel. He moves methodically, packing his bag, folding his towel, tucking everything neatly into place.

When he pulls out his phone, a cluster of notifications greets him. Most are messages from his teammates—congratulations, plans for the weekend, harmless banter. He skims through them absentmindedly until one notification stops him cold.

It stands out like a blot of ink on an otherwise pristine page.

Mortem: Tomorrow is your last day.

For a moment, Hyunjin forgets to breathe. The locker room feels impossibly quiet, the white noise of the air conditioning fading into nothingness.

He reads the notification again, hoping—no, praying—that he’s misunderstood. But the words remain the same.

Hyunjin’s legs feel unsteady as he forces himself to move, his bag slipping from his shoulder as he stumbles toward the pool. He steps onto the edge, the scent of chlorine sharp in the air. The water is eerily still, reflecting the overhead lights in perfect symmetry.

He looks down at his reflection, and what he sees isn’t the confident, ambitious swimmer who broke his record earlier today.

It’s someone hollow. A boy with dreams just out of reach, crushed under the weight of a cruel truth.

His fists clench at his sides as anger rises in his chest, hot and unrelenting.

“FUCK YOU!” he screams, his voice tearing through the silence, reverberating across the chamber.

The sound ricochets off the walls, rippling across the surface of the water. His reflection distorts, breaking apart into fragments before settling again, unfamiliar and unkind.

They say death comes at the right time. A gentle visitor, arriving only when it’s supposed to.

But that’s a lie.

It doesn’t care about dreams or sacrifices. It doesn’t care that Hyunjin has spent years of his life in pursuit of one thing, pushing his body and mind to their limits.

It doesn’t care that he’s so close.

And now, when victory is within his grasp, it will take everything away.

He closes his eyes, chest heaving as he fights to steady his breathing. The rage doesn’t subside—it sits in his chest, a molten core of grief and frustration.

Hyunjin knows there’s nothing he can do to stop what’s coming. But for tonight, he lets himself curse the unfairness of it all, his voice echoing into the void until there’s nothing left but silence.

For Hyunjin, death is a thief.

-

7:22 p.m.

Alcohol is never your first choice. You’re not a fan of the bitter aftertaste or the burn as it slides down your throat. But tonight, you need something to dull the ache.

Your phone lies face-up on the bar, the notification glaring at you like a cruel joke. It’s accompanied by offers—a funeral service arrangement, a hotline for counseling.

You stare at the screen, unsure how to even begin processing it all. Sadness feels too small a word for the heap of emotions weighing you down. Beneath the sorrow lies a sliver of joy at the thought of not having to endure another day. And beneath that, a fragile sense of relief that it will soon be over.

How do you explain that to anyone? How do you untangle that mess of feelings, let alone share them with a therapist?

The bartender doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. Your sadness is written all over your face.

An hour passes, your drink long since gone, and you finally decide to leave. The bartender approaches, not with the check but with a bottle in hand.

“Here,” he says, taking your empty glass away.

You blink at him, confused. “I’m ready to pay—”

“I’m not taking your money,” he interrupts, pouring liquid from three different bottles into a pair of shot glasses with precise movements.

It clicks belatedly in your mind—some unspoken gesture, one you wouldn’t have recognized if you didn’t spend most of your nights at home.

“May I ask what this is?” you say, eyeing the amber liquid as he slides the shot glass toward you.

“The Three Wise Men,” he says with a faint smile.

“And who are they?”

“Johnnie Walker, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels,” he explains, gesturing to the bottles on the counter.

“Ah...” A small laugh escapes you. “Very wise indeed.”

He lifts his shot glass, holding it up in a silent toast. “Ready?”

You hesitate, your hand wrapping around the glass. “Any tips for this?”

“Don’t think. Just swallow.”

You nod, mirroring his stance.

“To the three wise men,” he says.

“To the three wise men,” you repeat, exhaling before tipping the shot back. The liquid burns all the way down, leaving a warmth in its wake.

“Whoo...” the bartender exhales, slamming his glass upside down on the counter.

You mimic him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “That was…” You pause, laughing nervously. “…something.”

He chuckles, leaning on the counter as his gaze sweeps the bar. “They say you’re either living to die or dying to live.”

The room feels quieter for a moment as his words settle.

He sighs, his voice softening. “But you know what? I only pity the living.”

The statement strikes you in a way you can’t quite articulate. You don’t want to die, not really. But the thought of living, with all its weight, feels far worse.

“Another round?” he offers, holding up one of the bottles.

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I haven’t eaten dinner, so I don’t think that’s… wise.”

“See? You learned from these men,” he teases, capping the bottle with a grin.

You pull out your wallet, sliding a card toward him. “At least let me pay—”

He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Use the money to buy yourself a nice dinner, okay?”

There’s no arguing with him, so you reluctantly tuck your card away. “Thank you,” you say softly, your voice heavier with gratitude than the words can carry.

He nods, his smile kind. “Hey, I needed that shot too.”

You rise from the stool, glancing back as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Have a great night.”

The bartender is busy with another order, but a few steps later, his voice calls out to you.

“See you on the other side,” he says, raising a hand in farewell.

For a moment, you pause, then nod, offering a faint wave before stepping out into the night.

-

7:45 p.m.

There's nowhere to go.

You’ve been walking aimlessly since leaving the bar, letting your feet lead the way. Your hands are stuffed into your jacket pockets as you stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. The thought of returning to your apartment, where silence lingers like an unwelcome guest, feels unbearable.

You could visit your mother again, but the idea of seeing her only to leave her forever—it's too much to handle.

There are so many things you want to do, yet none of them feel right.

The light finally turns green, and you step off the curb. But before you can take another step, something grabs your shoulders and pulls you back. A motorcycle speeds past, narrowly missing you.

Your mind goes blank. Instead of your life flashing before your eyes, everything shuts down for a moment.

"Come on!" a voice urges. A hand takes yours, pulling you across the street just as the light turns red again.

You don’t realize what just happened until you’re safely on the other side. Someone has just saved you. If they hadn’t stopped you, that motorcycle might have dragged your body halfway down the street.

You turn to look at your savior and freeze. He’s beautiful—stunning, even—and for a moment, you’re speechless.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but tinged with concern.

His words snap you out of your daze, and you hurriedly compose yourself. "Yeah, I’m sorry, I was—"

"No, no, it’s not your fault. That motorcycle ran the light," he interrupts, shaking his head.

Why are you apologizing? You should be thanking him. But when you look at him, the words catch in your throat, so you glance away. "Thank you… for, uh, earlier," you manage to say.

He smiles, and his eyes curve along with it, warm and genuine. But then his next words take you by surprise.

"Your death isn’t today, right? I’m pretty sure it said tomorrow."

You freeze again, alarm bells ringing in your head. How does he know that? You take a step back, suddenly wary.

Realizing he’s scared you, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I’m sorry—I should’ve explained first."

He lowers his hands and exhales before continuing, "I was in the bar earlier. I accidentally saw the notification on your phone when I was getting my drink. And then I followed you..." He grimaces. "Wait, that makes me sound like a creep."

He stops rambling and pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, tapping the screen until it lights up. He turns it toward you, revealing a notification identical to yours.

His death is tomorrow, too.

"I guess we’re doomed, huh?" he says with a shrug, his tone oddly lighthearted.

You’re at a loss for words, staring at the screen and then at him. How is it possible that someone like him—this beautiful, radiant man—is doomed?

He puts his phone away and looks at you earnestly. "I know this is sudden, and random, and... probably really weird. But do you want to have dinner with me?"

It is sudden, random, and undeniably strange. But as you look at him—this stranger who saved your life—one thought crosses your mind: What’s the worst that could happen?

You’re going to be dead in a matter of hours anyway.

"Okay," you say.

-

08:10 p.m.

The two of you decide to walk to dinner, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, his adjusting his beanie every few steps. He finally breaks the silence as you pass the second block from where you met.

"I'm Hyunjin, by the way," he says.

You glance at him and give your name in return. When you expect the exchange to end, he extends his hand, and you shake it, feeling the chill of his skin against yours. His long fingers, adorned with rings, seem oddly delicate.

"Nice to meet you," he says with a small smile, pulling his hand back to adjust his beanie again.

“So... when did you get your notification?” he asks after a beat.

“This morning,” you reply, freeing your hands from your pockets now that the silence has been broken. “You?”

He tilts his head back slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “Two hours ago.”

A strange feeling of unease stirs inside you, but he doesn’t let the conversation falter. “How do you feel about all this?”

“All this?” you echo.

He nods, waiting for your response. You search for the words, trying to name the whirlwind of emotions you’ve carried since the moment you opened that notification.

“I feel... alright, I guess.”

Hyunjin stops mid-step, turning to look at you with incredulity. “Alright?”

You shrug, unsure how to elaborate.

“You’re not angry? At all?” His tone sharpens, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

Angry? That hadn’t crossed your mind. There’s an odd peace in accepting what you can’t control, a clarity you never expected. You shake your head. “No.”

His eyes darken, and he mutters, “Well, I am.” He starts walking again, this time faster, his strides growing wide and purposeful.

“I’m livid,” he says through gritted teeth. “If death had a face, I’d punch it.”

You pick up your pace to match his, almost jogging, until he notices and abruptly halts.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his frustration dissolving into concern.

You nod, panting slightly.

He chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. “Sorry, I tend to walk fast when I’m angry.”

The two of you fall into a slower, more deliberate pace, hands swinging at your sides. You want to ask what exactly makes him so angry, but before you can, he stops again.

“We’re here,” he announces, holding the door open for you.

You step inside and immediately feel out of place. The restaurant is elegant, full of people dressed to the nines. Self-consciousness creeps up your spine, and you spin around to look at him—only to bump into his chest.

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking down.

Hyunjin steadies you with a firm grip on your shoulders. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, stepping back to stand behind him.

“Table for two, please,” he tells the hostess.

She leads you to a table by a large window overlooking the city, the full moon casting a gentle glow over the skyline. As she places menus in front of you, Hyunjin mutters a polite thank-you, his attention already elsewhere.

You glance at him as he removes his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his chair. He seems unbothered by the setting, completely at ease. He flips open the menu, his eyes scanning the options.

“Any ideas on what to have?” he asks, glancing up at you.

You fumble to open your menu, pretending to read it while avoiding his gaze. Finally, you lean forward and whisper, “Don’t you think we’re underdressed?”

He gasps dramatically, as if your words remind him of something crucial. Tugging off his beanie, his dark hair tumbles down, slightly damp and shiny, framing his small face. He ruffles it quickly, then shrugs.

“Steak? Pizza? Pasta?” he suggests, ignoring your question entirely.

You hesitate. When he offered to take you to dinner, you’d imagined a casual spot, maybe a pizza joint or noodle bar. Not this. And while you’re trying not to think about money, the menu’s prices make your stomach turn.

“I think we should go somewhere else,” you say quietly, your eyes darting over the options.

“Why?”

“It’s... too expensive.”

Hyunjin laughs, low and amused. “Do you think I can’t afford it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“I’m kidding,” he interrupts with a grin. Leaning forward, he drops his voice to a whisper. “Honestly? I can probably only afford a plate of pasta and garlic bread.”

Your eyes widen, but his sly smile makes it clear he’s joking again.

“Good thing we’ve got the pity card,” he says, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug.

You freeze, reminded of the pity card. It’s a small perk that comes with the notification—a free pass to almost anything, covered by taxes. A gesture from the system to say, “Sorry you’re dying soon—here’s a little something.”

But the thought of using it makes your skin crawl.

“No,” you say, shaking your head firmly. “Not the pity card.”

“Why not?”

You struggle to explain. “It just... feels wrong. I don’t want their pity.”

Hyunjin raises a brow. “Who cares? We’ll be dead in a few hours.”

Before you can respond, a waiter approaches to pour water and set down a plate of bread. Hyunjin thanks them softly, then turns back to you.

“It’s not like we’re taking their pity with us to the grave,” he says, lifting his glass. “So, what do you say?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. Four hours left. Soon, none of this—money, pity, pride—will matter.

“We only die once, right?” you say, lifting your glass awkwardly.

Hyunjin laughs, his grin lighting up his face. “We only die once,” he echoes, clinking his glass against yours.

-

8:20 p.m.

You're not much of a conversationalist, so Hyunjin takes it upon himself to break the silence, his curiosity about you driving him forward. He has a myriad of questions on his mind but decides to start simple.

"May I ask what you do?"

His question makes you look up at him, and after a moment's hesitation, you place your hands under the table and answer with a sheepish smile, "I'm a ballet instructor."

The pieces click into place for him—the flowy skirt, black tights, and your hair tied neatly into a bun.

"So, you're a ballerina," Hyunjin remarks, nodding thoughtfully.

"I was," you correct him softly.

He tilts his head, his brows furrowing slightly. "Was?"

"I'm retired," you say briefly, offering another shy smile.

Hyunjin blinks in confusion. Retired? You seem far too young for that. "May I ask why?"

You adjust the cutlery in front of you, your hand steady despite the weight of your words. "I got into an accident a couple of years ago. I badly injured my leg, and the doctor insisted I stop dancing if I wanted to keep walking..." Your voice trails off, and your lips curve into a sad smile as you avert your gaze.

The weight of your story hits him. He can empathize with the sense of loss; after all, his situation is eerily similar. You had to give up your passion because of an accident, while he faces an abrupt end because of the ticking clock. Both of you are here, grappling with the unfairness of it all on what could be your final hours.

"It's like that saying," you continue, "‘Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.’ So that’s what I’m doing now." You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and flash him a reassuring smile, but Hyunjin isn’t convinced. He recognizes the facade; he’s worn it himself.

"And you're not mad about it?" he asks, fully aware he might be treading into private territory.

"I was, for a long time. But eventually, I realized there’s no point in drowning myself in anger."

This time, your smile is different—genuine, even serene. It’s as if you’ve made peace with the cruelty of life, embracing it with quiet strength. Hyunjin admires it, though he knows how hard it must’ve been for you to reach that place.

He takes a breath and shifts the conversation, sensing the need to lighten the mood. "So, you’re teaching at a dance company?"

"A dance academy," you correct him with a nod. "I teach girls between the ages of seven and sixteen."

He can picture it easily—you, guiding a room full of eager young dancers, patient and warm. You probably make their favorite teacher list without even trying.

"And what about you?" you ask, lifting your glass of water for a sip.

"I'm an athlete," he replies.

"Ah..." you murmur, intrigued. "What sport?"

"Take a guess," he says with a playful grin, leaning back in his seat.

Your laughter fills the air, and you give him a once-over, your eyes narrowing as you search for clues. After a moment of deliberation, you venture, "You’re tall and lean so... basketball?."

Hyunjin chuckles, pleased with the compliment but shakes his head. "Nope."

You purse your lips in thought. "Soccer?"

"I like soccer," he admits, leaning forward, "but that’s not it."

You groan in mock defeat, covering your face with your hands. "I’m terrible at this!"

Hyunjin laughs, finding your reaction endearing. "I’m a swimmer," he reveals.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "That’s amazing!"

"I was scouted for the national team," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "I was supposed to compete this summer."

The realization of his words hits him mid-sentence, and the excitement drains from his face. Summer is two months away—a future he knows he won’t see.

"That’s incredible," you say gently, your empathetic smile offering comfort.

Just then, the waiter arrives with the menus, saving the atmosphere from slipping into melancholy.

"Would you like to order some wine?" the waiter asks, presenting a list.

You scan the menu and suggest, "I think I’ll have white wine."

Hyunjin glances over the options, muttering to himself, "Vanilla and peach... sounds nice."

"Viognier, sir?" the waiter recommends.

Hyunjin looks to you for approval, and your small nod seals the deal. "We’ll have that," he says.

The wine arrives alongside your meals, and the two of you fall into a rhythm of eating, sipping, and conversing between bites.

"How long have you been swimming?" you ask.

"Since I was eight," he replies, pausing to take a sip of wine.

"Wow. I didn’t even realize I wanted to be a ballerina until I was twelve," you admit.

He’s struck by how much more at ease you seem now, whether it’s the wine or simply warming up to him. "What did you want to be before that?"

"A lot of things. An astronaut, a doctor, a ventriloquist..." You pause, your cheeks flushing with a laugh. "A vampire slayer."

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really wanted to be everything."

"My mom broke my heart when she said I couldn’t be a vampire slayer," you say, your expression deadly serious.

"Honestly? I’d be sad too," he jokes, grinning.

You lean in, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. "Then she told me this: ‘It’s okay if you can’t achieve your dream. You can always go back to sleep and live a new dream.’"

Your laughter carries across the table, and Hyunjin smiles faintly, though the sentiment hits too close to home. Finding a new dream is one thing—but having the time to chase it is another entirely.

You finish your meal and dab your lips with a napkin. "The academy I teach at isn’t far from here, just a few blocks away. I actually have to stop by to grab a few things."

You glance at him, your expression soft. "Do you want to come with me?"

The invitation catches him off guard, but the warmth behind it makes it impossible to refuse.

"I’d love to," Hyunjin answers, smiling. For a fleeting moment, he feels less alone in facing the inevitable—because now, at least, he has a friend.

-

09:15 p.m.

"We'd like to pay with this," Hyunjin slides his phone across the table to the waiter.

The waiter studies the screen for a moment. You can see the subtle shift in his expression as realization dawns—Hyunjin's pity card, stark proof of his limited time, is what he offers as payment. The waiter looks back at both of you, his eyes softening, probably assuming this is some kind of farewell dinner.

He forces a smile and says, "We'll process it right away."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you, a small grin tugging at his lips as if to say, Here it comes.

Sure enough, the waiter, taking a step away, turns back around and says solemnly, "We're very sorry."

Both of you burst into quiet laughter, your shared amusement breaking the gravity of the moment.

"That's one!" you tease, raising your coffee cup as if to toast.

When the waiter returns with Hyunjin's phone and the bill, his demeanor is still tinged with melancholy. As Hyunjin signs, the waiter fidgets slightly, clearly wrestling with unspoken words. In the end, all he offers is another subdued, "I'm very sorry."

You glance at Hyunjin with a smirk. "Two," you whisper under your breath.

The waiter departs, but not before the lady at the till calls after you as you're leaving. "Thank you, and we're very sorry."

The moment the door closes behind you, you and Hyunjin burst into unrestrained laughter.

"A hat trick!" he says, shaking his head, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

As you stroll to the academy, you find yourselves critiquing the meal like professional food critics, though the details blur in your slightly tipsy haze. The wine stands out—delicious enough that you’d kept asking for refills. Thankfully, the cool evening air helps clear your head by the time you reach the academy.

You unlock the studio door, the faint scent of wood polish and faint traces of rosin welcoming you. The dim overhead lights flicker on, casting a warm glow over the polished floor and mirrored walls. Hyunjin steps inside, his eyes widening as he takes in the space.

"This is where you work?" he asks, his voice tinged with awe.

You nod. "My second home."

Hyunjin walks around the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the floor. He pauses by the ballet barre, running his fingers lightly over the smooth wood. "This place is beautiful," he murmurs.

You smile, setting your bag down. "It has its charm, doesn't it?"

His gaze falls on the wall of framed photos—groups of smiling children in costumes, candid shots of performances. "Are these your students?"

"Yes," you say, walking up beside him. "They’re the reason I still love what I do."

Hyunjin glances at you, his expression soft. "I can see why they'd love you as a teacher."

The compliment catches you off guard, and your cheeks warm. Quickly, you motion to the barre. "Want to try something?"

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are you offering to teach me ballet?"

"Why not?" you say, grinning. "You’re an athlete. It’ll be fun."

-

10:25 p.m.

You stand in front of him, arms crossed, as Hyunjin tentatively grips the barre. His tall frame looks comically out of place in the elegant studio.

"Okay," you begin, stepping closer. "We’ll start with something simple—a plié."

Hyunjin looks at you skeptically. "A what?"

You laugh softly. "It’s just bending your knees. Easy."

Demonstrating, you lower yourself gracefully, your knees bending outward as your back stays straight. Hyunjin watches, nodding, and attempts to mimic you.

His execution is… not as graceful.

"No, no," you say, laughing, stepping behind him to adjust his posture. "Straighten your back. And don’t forget to keep your heels on the ground."

You place your hands lightly on his shoulders to guide him. The moment your hands touch him, he stiffens, looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

"Relax," you say softly, your gaze meeting his.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally eases into the position. You step around to face him, studying his form critically.

"Not bad," you tease. "But your turnout needs work."

"What’s that?" he asks, genuinely curious.

You tap his knee gently. "It’s the angle of your legs. Let me show you."

You crouch slightly, your hands brushing his calf as you adjust his stance. He watches you intently, his dark eyes following your every move. When you glance up, you find him staring.

"Something wrong?" you ask, standing upright.

He blinks and shakes his head. "No, it’s just… you’re really good at this."

You chuckle, stepping back. "It’s my job."

Encouraged by your patient coaching, Hyunjin tries another plié. It’s still a little stiff, but he manages to get through it without wobbling.

"See? You’re getting the hang of it," you say, clapping lightly.

"Don’t lie," he says, laughing.

"Okay, you’re still stiff," you admit with a grin, "but that’s expected. Ballet is all about control and precision."

Hyunjin straightens up, rolling his shoulders. "It’s harder than it looks."

"Now you understand why ballerinas are tough," you say, playfully nudging him.

He laughs, the sound light and carefree. "Okay, what’s next?"

You hesitate, considering. "Maybe a pirouette?"

"A what?"

You demonstrate the spin, moving with effortless grace. Hyunjin stares, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, no," he says, laughing nervously. "I’ll break something."

You step closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I’ll guide you. Trust me."

As you position him for the spin, your hand lingers on his waist. The closeness brings an unexpected tension between you, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

"You ready?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes locked on yours.

"Okay. One… two… three."

He spins—clumsily, of course—but the two of you dissolve into laughter as he nearly stumbles into you. You catch his arm to steady him, the laughter fading as you find yourselves standing mere inches apart.

"Not bad for your first time," you say softly, your hand still on his arm.

Hyunjin smiles, his gaze lingering on you. "Only because I had a good teacher."

-

10:55 p.m.

The quiet of the studio wraps around you like a soft blanket, interrupted only by the faint hum of the overhead lights. Hyunjin leans against the barre, watching you adjust your pointe shoes with practiced precision. The thought has been circling his mind since you both left the restaurant, but now, in this space that seems so deeply a part of you, he can’t hold back his curiosity.

“So…” he begins cautiously, his voice light but uncertain, “how did it happen?”

You pause, looking up at him with a flicker of confusion.

“I mean, your accident,” he clarifies quickly, his expression apologetic, as though he’s afraid he’s overstepped. “If it’s okay to ask.”

A faint smile touches your lips, and you straighten, leaning against the mirror. “Two years ago,” you say softly, the words feeling fragile yet certain, as if the memory lives just on the edge of your voice.

Hyunjin stays quiet, giving you space to continue.

“I was preparing for an audition—Swan Lake,” you say, your eyes shimmering with a mix of pride and pain. “I’d been working on my fouettés for weeks, trying to perfect all thirty-two of them. It was… everything to me.”

He can see it in your expression, the longing for something lost yet deeply cherished.

“The morning of the audition, I was rushing to catch the bus,” you continue, your hand gesturing lightly as though retracing steps from that day. “I was almost out the door when I realized I’d forgotten my shoes—the ones I believed would bring me luck. So, I ran back to get them.”

Your voice falters, and Hyunjin feels a pang of dread, already sensing what comes next.

“When I stepped out of my apartment building, a car came out of nowhere.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers brushing over the edge of the barre. “It wasn’t even going that fast, but the way I fell… My leg took the worst of it. Surgery, physical therapy… the usual.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, unsure what to say. “Do you… regret going back for the shoes?”

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. “Every day.”

The silence that follows feels heavy and fragile, a moment suspended between reflection and grief.

“Can you dance at all now?” Hyunjin asks gently, his voice barely above a whisper, unsure if he wants to hear your answer.

You surprise him by smiling. “Why don’t I show you?”

Standing in the center of the studio, a quiet determination settles over you. The space transforms as you raise your arms, your posture suddenly regal, every movement deliberate and graceful.

“This is the introduction to Black Swan, Act III,” you say, your voice steady. “It’s what I’d prepared for the audition.”

Hyunjin nods, unable to take his eyes off you as you begin to move. You are mesmerizing, every gesture steeped in a passion he can feel even in the silence of the room. But as you transition into the fouettés, he notices the strain in your expression. Your balance falters, your leg wobbles, and before he can call out, you tumble to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Instead of answering, you let out a loud, breathless laugh that echoes through the studio. You collapse back onto the polished floor, holding your stomach as the laughter spills out, unstoppable.

Hyunjin blinks, confused at first, but the sound of your laughter pulls him in. A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, lying down beside you.

The quiet returns, the two of you staring up at the ceiling.

After a moment, you speak, your voice softer now, almost wistful. “Sometimes, I like to think there’s another me out there, one who made it to the audition, who got to live that dream.”

Hyunjin turns his head to look at you. Your expression is calm, tinged with longing but also a quiet acceptance.

“And you know what?” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m happy for her and that’s enough for me.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say, so he simply stays beside you, sharing the silence. There’s something achingly beautiful about your acceptance, the way you’ve found peace in the life you have now.

In that moment, he realizes how much strength it takes to smile at what could have been and quietly say, That’s enough.

-

11:13 p.m.

The studio falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels like a warm embrace. After a while, you sit up, brushing your hands over the smooth wood of the floor, and glance at Hyunjin lying beside you. He looks peaceful, almost lost in thought, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as an idea forms.

“I showed you my dancing,” you say, breaking the quiet. “Now I want to see you swim.”

Hyunjin’s head turns toward you, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “You want to see me swim?” he asks, his voice soft yet curious.

You nod, leaning back on your palms. “It’s only fair. I want to see you doing what you do best.”

For a moment, he studies you, as if trying to gauge whether you’re serious. Then, a small chuckle escapes him, and he pushes himself up to sit beside you. “Alright,” he says, a playful smile spreading across his face. “If you really want to.”

He rises to his feet effortlessly and extends a hand to you, his fingers warm and steady as they wrap around yours. With a strong tug, he pulls you up, but the motion catches you off guard, and your body stumbles forward, colliding with his.

Your breath hitches as you find yourself pressed against him, your hands instinctively landing on his chest for balance. Hyunjin’s hands settle on your waist, steadying you, and for a moment, the world feels still again—but this time, it’s charged with something unspoken.

You glance up at him, and your heart skips a beat when you notice his gaze lingering on your lips. The air feels heavier, your pulse quickening under his touch. His expression is unreadable, his eyes soft yet intense, as if caught in a moment of indecision.

Flustered, you look away quickly, stepping back to put some distance between you. “I should, um, clean out my locker first,” you say, your voice slightly rushed. “Then we can go.”

Hyunjin blinks, the spell broken, and his lips curve into a small, understanding smile. “Alright,” he replies simply, his tone easy and light, as though nothing happened.

You turn toward the studio door, your cheeks warm as you try to steady your racing thoughts. Behind you, Hyunjin’s footsteps follow quietly, his presence a steady comfort in the stillness of the room.

-

11:49 p.m.

As the taxi pulls up in front of the aquatic center, Hyunjin is the first to step out. The cool night air brushes against his skin as he circles around to your side, offering his hand to help you out of the back seat. You take it with a quiet "thank you," and he smiles softly in response, his fingers lingering for a moment before he lets go.

Inside, the center is quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a pale glow over the sleek, tiled interior. Hyunjin leads the way, his footsteps echoing lightly in the stillness, but after a few steps, he notices you’re no longer beside him.

He turns around, his brows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You hold up your phone, its screen glowing in the dim light, and his eyes fall to the numbers displayed there. It’s past midnight. The date has turned, and the realization hits him like a weight in his chest—this is it. The day has come.

“It’s today,” you say quietly, your voice steady but tinged with sadness.

Hyunjin studies your face, searching for any sign of fear. “Are you scared?” he asks softly.

You don’t answer right away, your lips curving into a sad smile instead. Then, with a steadying breath, you meet his gaze and say, “Promise me something.”

His heart tightens at your tone. “What is it?”

“If my time comes first,” you begin, your voice cracking slightly, “I want you to move on. Keep going. Finish your day, okay?”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens, his head shaking before you can even finish the thought. “No,” he says firmly, stepping closer to you. “I can’t do that. Not unless you promise me the same thing.”

You hesitate, your eyes glistening under the soft glow of the lights. After a moment, you nod, your voice a whisper. “Okay. We’ll both keep going.”

He takes your hand in his, his grip firm but comforting. “We’ll do it together,” he says, his voice steady and resolute.

You smile at him then, soft and bittersweet, and he feels his heart ache at how brave you are in this moment.

Hyunjin squeezes your hand gently and tilts his head. “So,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips, “do you still want to see me swim, or is there something else you’d rather do?”

You shake your head, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I still want to see you swim,” you insist, your determination making his heart feel lighter.

He chuckles softly, releasing your hand and motioning toward the pool. “Alright then,” he says. “Let’s make this count.”

With that, he turns and walks with you into the aquatic center, the weight of the clock pressing on both of you, but your shared promise holding it at bay for just a little longer.

-

12:07 a.m.

The sharp, unmistakable scent of chlorine stings your nose as you step inside the aquatic center. The lights overhead cast shimmering reflections across the vast, still water, and you pause, taking it all in. The pool is immense, almost intimidating in its size, with the kind of quiet that feels both peaceful and eerie.

You walk to the edge, peering over cautiously. The water glimmers below, deceptively inviting, but as your gaze shifts downward, the sheer depth of the pool sends a chill through you.

“Can you swim?” Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the stillness, pulling your focus to him.

You shake your head, your lips pressing into a tight line. “No,” you admit softly. “I almost drowned once when I was ten. I’ve been afraid of swimming ever since.”

Hyunjin studies you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a small smile, he says, “It’s not too late to learn, you know.”

You hesitate, your arms wrapping around yourself. The idea alone sends your pulse racing, the memory of water filling your lungs still too vivid in your mind. “It’s… not that easy,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

Hyunjin steps closer, holding out his hand to you. His voice is gentle but insistent. “Come with me. I can teach you how to swim… without the water.”

You glance at his outstretched hand, uncertainty swirling inside you. But the way he looks at you, so patient and reassuring, nudges you forward. Slowly, you nod.

“Alright,” you say, placing your hand in his.

He leads you to a smaller pool, its drained interior revealing its tiled floor. Hyunjin climbs down the ladder first, but the rungs don’t reach all the way to the bottom, and you watch as he drops the last few feet with an easy, practiced grace.

“It’s not so bad,” he calls up to you, extending his arms. “Come on. I’ll guide you down.”

You grip the ladder, your knuckles whitening as you lower yourself carefully. Hyunjin watches you closely, his gaze steady and encouraging. But as you near the bottom, your foot slips on the slick metal.

Your heart lurches as you lose your grip, your body tilting backward into the empty pool.

“Hyunjin!” you cry out, the name leaving your lips instinctively as panic seizes you.

For a split second, the world tilts and blurs, your breath catching in your throat. The feeling of falling stretches out endlessly, your chest tightening with dread. Is this it? Is this the moment everything ends?

The silence in the pool amplifies the rush of your heartbeat, drowning out everything else.

-

12:15 a.m.

It all happens so fast that Hyunjin doesn’t fully register the moment until you’re lying at the bottom of the drained pool, unmoving. A jolt of fear grips him as he rushes to your side, kneeling beside you.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice trembling. His hand hovers over your shoulder, unsure whether to shake you or give you space. Your eyes remain closed, and there’s no reaction. For a second, his breath hitches.

Then, just as his chest tightens with panic, you let out a low whine, your hand reaching for the back of your head. Relief crashes over him so strongly that he nearly laughs out loud.

“You scared me!” he exclaims, leaning closer as he gently brushes his fingers against the back of your head to check for any injury. “Does it hurt here?”

You wince but then immediately chuckle, brushing him off. “That would’ve been such an anticlimactic death,” you joke, trying to sit up.

Hyunjin lets out a shaky laugh, torn between exasperation and amusement. “I don’t think I’d recover from that,” he mutters, helping you up. To make sure you’re okay, he holds up three fingers with a mock-serious expression. “Alright, genius. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his hand away, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’m fine, Hyunjin.”

“You sure?” He narrows his eyes, clearly still worried.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you reply, waving him off. “Now, are you going to teach me how to swim or not?”

He laughs and takes a step back, gesturing for you to follow him to the center of the empty pool. “Alright, since you’re so eager. Do you have a swimming style in mind?”

“Uh… backstroke?”

“Backstroke, huh? Fancy choice.” He teases, listing a few others—freestyle, breaststroke, butterfly—all with a playful grin. Shrugging off his hoodie and tossing it to the side, he positions himself in front of you, standing tall and confident.

“Okay,” he says, holding his arms out in front of him. “Rest your back on my arms. I’ll guide you.”

You hesitate, your brows knitting together. “I don’t know, I might be too heavy—”

“Seriously?” He rolls his eyes and interrupts you. “I’m an athlete. I’m strong enough to hold you. Just trust me.”

Still unsure, you eventually take a deep breath and lean back, letting your weight settle onto his arms. His grip is steady, firm, and reassuring.

“See? No problem,” he says, his voice soft now, coaxing you to relax. “Alright, keep your body straight, like you’re floating on water. Flap your arms back and kick your feet forward, just like this.”

You follow his guidance, mimicking the movements, and he begins to move backward, gently carrying you along. It feels so real that for a moment, you let yourself believe you’re actually swimming.

But then your focus drifts as you glance at him—his sharp features illuminated under the pool’s dim lights, the concentration in his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

He catches your gaze and quirks a brow. “What?”

Flustered, you quickly look away, and your hand smacks against the tiled wall at the end of the pool. Startled, you sit up.

“Whoa, swimmer!” Hyunjin teases, his laughter echoing in the empty pool. “If this was real, your head would’ve hit the wall instead of your hand.”

You can’t help but laugh with him, the moment so lighthearted and surreal that it temporarily pushes the looming reality of the day out of your mind.

Hyunjin chuckles as your laughter fades, his hand brushing back his damp hair. The glimmer in his eyes is playful, but there’s an undercurrent of something softer, almost protective, as he watches you sit up fully, still smiling from his teasing.

"Alright," he says, crossing his arms. "You’re not bad for someone who’s never been in the water."

You roll your eyes but can’t help grinning. “Thanks to my amazing teacher, right?”

He bows theatrically. “Obviously. Natural talent helps too, but I’ll let you take some credit.”

You shake your head, standing up as you stretch your arms. “Well,” you say with mock seriousness, “now that I’ve impressed you with my not-so-real swimming skills, it’s your turn to show me what you’ve got.”

Hyunjin straightens, his grin widening. “Oh, you want to see me swim for real?”

“Of course,” you reply, stepping aside and gesturing toward the other end of the pool. “How else am I supposed to judge if you’re actually any good?”

He smirks at your challenge, the competitive spark in his eyes lighting up. “Alright, I’ll show you,” he says confidently, already pulling his hoodie back on. “But don’t blink—you might miss how fast I am.”

You laugh, following him as he leads the way out of the drained pool, anticipation bubbling in the air between you.

-

12:55 a.m.

The aquatic center feels almost otherworldly in its stillness, the faint scent of chlorine hanging in the air. When Hyunjin finally reappears, dressed in nothing but his swimming trunks, towel, and goggles in hand, it takes you by surprise. His tall, lean frame seems even more striking now, the hoodie he'd worn earlier having hidden the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his physique.

You catch yourself staring, and before you can stop it, an awkward giggle slips out. Hyunjin tilts his head, confused but amused. "What?" he asks.

Shyly, you admit, "Nothing, I just— I was starting to get creeped out being here all alone when you went to change."

He chuckles softly, walking to the edge of the pool. He crouches to scoop water into his hand, splashing it onto the back of his neck before straightening up.

"I need to warm up first," he says casually. You nod, stepping back to give him space.

Hyunjin drops to the ground and starts doing push-ups, his muscles flexing with each movement. You’re mesmerized despite yourself, your gaze tracing the way his body moves with fluid strength. Feeling the heat creep up your face, you force yourself to look away just as he finishes, bouncing lightly on his feet to shake out his wrists and arms.

"Don’t blink," he says, smirking as he heads toward the pool. "I swim so fast, you might miss it."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you respond with a teasing, "I’ll try to keep up."

Hyunjin dives in, his body cutting through the water with ease. The rhythmic splashing fills the air, and you can’t help but admire him. Watching him move with such precision and grace, he looks almost otherworldly—like a god emerging from the sea as he surfaces and climbs out of the pool.

The sight of water beading on his skin makes you avert your gaze, your heart racing. Grabbing the towel he'd left behind, you hand it to him without meeting his eyes.

"What did you think?" he asks, running the towel over his hair.

"Eh, it was alright," you tease with a grin.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow at your playful jab but chuckles, grabbing a stopwatch from his things. "Alright, critic. Let’s make it official. Time me this time."

"I don’t know if I’ll get it right," you protest, but he waves your concerns off.

"It doesn’t have to be perfect," he reassures you, securing his swimming cap and goggles. Once he’s ready, he asks, "You ready?"

You move closer to the pool’s edge, holding up the stopwatch. "Ready when you are."

Hyunjin steps onto the starting block, his form taut and focused. You start the countdown, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "Three... two... one!"

At the sound of "one," he dives in, and the water comes alive with his movement. Squatting down, you watch intently as he powers through the length of the pool and then back again, his speed almost unbelievable. The closer he gets to the edge, the tighter your grip on the stopwatch becomes.

When his hand finally slaps the wall, you hit the button, exhaling in relief.

Hyunjin surfaces, wiping his face. "What’s the time?"

You glance at the stopwatch, still catching your breath. "Forty-six point six-five," you announce, your voice tinged with excitement.

For a moment, Hyunjin looks puzzled, then his expression lights up. Dropping his towel, he strides over and lifts you effortlessly by the waist, spinning you around.

"Wait—did you break your record?" you ask, half-laughing and half-stunned.

He nods, grinning, but the elation fades quickly. As he sets you back down, his smile dims, his joy giving way to something more subdued.

"Hyunjin, what’s wrong?" you ask, concerned.

He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. "It’s nothing," he murmurs. Without another word, he excuses himself to wash up, leaving you alone with the faint ripples in the pool and a lingering sense that something deeper is on his mind.

-

01:08 a.m.

The hot shower does little to clear Hyunjin’s mind, the cloud of thoughts stubbornly lingering as he dries off and dresses. He sighs, running a towel halfheartedly through his damp hair before giving up and heading out.

The sound of his footsteps echoes softly as he exits the changing room, and he sees you standing by the bulletin board, seemingly engrossed in its contents. At the sound of his approach, you turn, your face lighting up with a soft smile. Hyunjin feels something warm unfurl in his chest—a comfort he hadn’t expected.

“You didn’t dry your hair properly,” you tease gently, pointing to the still-dripping strands clinging to his neck.

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, and you tilt yours thoughtfully. “How about some hot drinks after this?”

Hyunjin arches a brow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Hot drinks, huh? I’ve got just the thing.”

The short walk to his apartment is quiet but companionable, and when Hyunjin opens the door, he apologizes for the small, bare setup. His apartment is modest and practical—one room with everything visible at a glance—but he doesn’t seem embarrassed, just matter-of-fact.

He heads straight for the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. “This is what I mean by hot drinks,” he says, smirking as he pours two glasses.

You both take a sip, and the burn of the alcohol draws simultaneous gasps. Laughing, Hyunjin suggests snacks to enjoy the drinks with and disappears back into the kitchen.

While he’s gone, your attention is drawn to a shelf lined with photos, medals, and trophies. You step closer, taking in the collection of memories. There’s Hyunjin on a podium, his face glowing with pride as he holds up a medal; Hyunjin mid-dive, captured in perfect form; Hyunjin smiling so brightly that the photo seems to radiate his joy.

When he returns, balancing a plate of snacks, he pauses beside you, his gaze falling on the same shelf. For a moment, there’s silence, just the two of you standing there, and then Hyunjin lets out a soft sigh.

Hyunjin sets everything down on the small table, but his eyes linger on the shelf filled with memorabilia. The once-vivid memories of his accomplishments now feel distant, like faded photographs of a life that no longer feels like his own.

He steps closer, his gaze tracing over the medals hanging neatly on hooks, the trophies gleaming faintly under the dim light, and the framed photos of him on various winner's podiums. He can almost hear the echo of applause, the feel of a medal being draped around his neck, the weight of victory sitting proud on his shoulders.

But the applause has long since faded, and what hangs over him now is a heavier truth: it will all become nothing.

Hyunjin swallows hard, the realization pressing against his chest like a stone. Every record he broke, every trophy he held high—soon, none of it will matter. No one will remember him or the things he did. The glory, the pride, the recognition—it will all vanish as if it never existed.

He lets out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of this... it’s meaningless now. Everything I’ve done—it’s nothing. Soon, it’ll all be forgotten.”

The weight of his words fills the room, thick and suffocating. His shoulders slump as he drops his gaze, unable to meet your eyes. For a moment, he feels like the water he’s so accustomed to—a surface rippling with movement, but underneath, a deep void pulling him down.

You stand beside him, quietly taking in his anguish. Finally, you turn to him, your voice steady, a soft but unyielding anchor against the tide of his despair. “I disagree with you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin looks at you, surprised by your tone.

“This is... your whole life and it shows that you achieved a lot of great, wonderful things. You can see how far you've become, your triumphs and failures, everything that makes you who you are now,” you say, your eyes locking with his. “And just because the whole world doesn't know how great you are this doesn't mean it's nothing. This is not nothing, this is everything.”

He watches you intently, your words weaving through the storm of his thoughts like threads of light. For a moment, he feels the weight on his chest lift, just enough for him to draw a deeper breath.

It's true that his dream is to make a mark in the world, he wants to be remembered by the world but as he looks at you, Hyunjin realizes that it only takes one person to know what he capable of. He doesn't need the whole world to know that he's great, he only needs one that fully acknowledges him as one.

-

01:22 a.m.

Hyunjin's words linger in the air, heavy with vulnerability, and for the first time since meeting him, you realize just how deeply he craves to make a mark on this world. It isn’t just about the trophies on his shelf or the accolades he’s earned—it’s about the story he wants to leave behind, the proof that he existed, that he mattered.

You see it in the way his fingers hover over the medals, in the wistful look in his eyes as they trace the photos on the shelf. For all his confidence and charisma, there’s a quiet fear beneath it all—a fear of being forgotten, of fading into obscurity when his time is up.

“Hyunjin…” you say softly, stepping closer to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, his gaze fixed on a photo of him on a podium, his smile bright but distant, like a memory that no longer feels real.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, the words spill out. “You are something and you're a fool for thinking otherwise.”

That catches his attention. He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable, and for a second, you worry you’ve said too much. But then his lips part, as if he’s about to say something, and he stops himself.

Instead, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. And in his eyes, you see something shift—a softening, a quiet acknowledgment of your words sinking in.

You feel your pulse quicken, the air between you charged with something unspoken. “And I know that we'll go into oblivion soon,” you continue, your voice steady but quiet, “but I'm still here and I know, I know how remarkable you are.”

Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t waver, and for the first time, you see him without the walls he’s so carefully built around himself. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to steady himself—or maybe you.

“I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “But… thank you.”

The way he’s looking at you now feels different—like he’s searching for something, something only you can give him. And as the silence stretches between you, you feel the weight of it shift into something warmer, something that pulls you closer to him without either of you realizing it.

When Hyunjin leans in, it isn’t sudden. It’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s giving you every chance to step back. But you don’t. You hold your ground, your breath catching as his face inches closer to yours.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking a question he’s too afraid to voice aloud. But as you kiss him back, the answer becomes clear. For this moment, at least, he isn’t alone.

Hyunjin pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you both stay there, caught in the stillness of the moment. His gaze searches yours, hesitant but vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something—validation, reassurance, or maybe just the courage to believe in himself.

Before he can say anything, you lean in again, capturing his lips with yours. This kiss is different, deeper, more intentional. You pour everything you want him to know into it—all the words he needs to hear, the things you can’t quite say aloud.

You are something. You are remarkable. You are a wonder, both in the water and outside of it.

Hyunjin responds immediately, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you like you’re the anchor he didn’t realize he needed. You can feel the way his lips tremble slightly against yours, the way his touch tightens just enough to keep you close but not trap you.

Through the kisses, you try to tell him everything you feel. That his achievements aren’t meaningless. That his existence isn’t something that will fade into nothingness. That even in the face of the inevitable, he has already left a mark—on you, on the world, on everyone lucky enough to know him.

His hands move to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if grounding himself in this moment, in you. His lips press harder against yours, the kiss turning fervent, desperate, as though he’s trying to absorb every ounce of comfort and affirmation you’re giving him.

You can feel the tension in his body begin to melt away, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in this small, quiet space.

When you finally pull back, it’s not far—just enough to catch your breath. Hyunjin’s eyes remain closed for a moment, his expression unreadable, but when they open, they’re shining with something you can’t quite name. Gratitude, maybe. Hope.

“You’re…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. But he doesn’t finish. Instead, he leans in again, his lips finding yours once more, and this time, it feels like a promise.

The two of you melt into each other, the kisses growing slower but no less intense. You lose track of time, caught in the warmth and closeness, as if the weight of the world has lifted, if only for a little while. For this moment, at least, you’re both enough—just as you are.

-

01:52 a.m.

Hyunjin's forehead still resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. His fingers trail softly down your arms, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. There’s no hesitation now, no doubt in the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every curve, every moment.

Without a word, he cups your face, his touch both gentle and steady, as if grounding himself in you. His thumbs trace slow circles over your cheeks, and you feel your breath hitch as his lips find yours again, softer this time, yet filled with a quiet yearning.

The world around you feels muted, distant, as he leads you toward the bed. The dim light casts soft shadows, and the room seems to shrink until it holds only the two of you.

“You're breathtaking,” Hyunjin murmurs with a low, sultry voice.

"Wait, wait. I'm..." you protest in breathless sighs, your hips arching, lifting off the bed.

He rushes a kiss on your open mouth, his lips graze yours as he says, "Let go. I've got you."

Your abdomen flexes under his arm as you clench around his fingers so hard it nearly pushes him out of you. His cock has never been so jealous than when you begin to come. Your eyes grow big, and your mouth drops open on a silent scream, and your wall clutches around his long, dainty fingers harder with each pulse.

Unreal. Hyunjin says in his head as he looks at you with a pair of big, lustful eyes.

"Look how gorgeous you are, coming on my fingers." He coos, his eyes traveling down your naked body that feels small in his arms. You moan louder in response and he knows he hits his mark.

Eventually, looking is not enough for him so he uses his free hand to touch you. "Look at your eyes, your mouth, your breasts. This soft, soft skin..."

Hyunjin softly smiles at your beauty as you fall apart around him. "So beautiful..."

You're still climaxing and you need this more than he realized. Which means you haven't had it in a while, at least not this good.

"Hyunjin!" You shriek, almost in a panic.

He presses his plush lips to your ear, his breath hot and tickling. "You look perfect like this."

Low moans are spilling out of you, still coming and struggling to breathe through it. Hyunjin curls his fingers and taps you right in the spot in a quick rhythm, and your eyes roll back a little.

"Good girl, keep coming for me. You're doing so well. That's it, be my greedy girl."

When you collapse onto the bed, he ushers you onto his lap, then cradles your spent body in his arms. As soon as he pulls his fingers out, your thighs press together.

"Don't close your legs." Hyunjin rests a hand on your inner thigh, wanting to see every spasm as he tastes your lips. "You're done hiding from me."

You lie side by side, and Hyunjin hesitates for a moment, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. His gaze searches yours, as if silently asking for permission, for reassurance. You respond with a small nod, your fingers reaching to trace the curve of his jaw.

When he leans in again, it’s slow, deliberate. His lips move with yours in a rhythm that feels like a conversation, one that needs no words. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as he presses you closer, as if trying to erase the space between you.

“At least, we don't have to worry about condoms,” Hyunjin makes a funny remark as he settles himself between you.

A chuckle escapes your mouth in response, your head falls back onto the pillow. “That’s one way to see it!”

Hyunjin lowers his mouth on you, his trail of kisses begin from your ribcage, he goes lower and sideways, placing kisses on your abdomen that tenses as his lips get closer to where you want him the most. He flashes you a sly smile before placing the gentlest of kiss on your clit. As if that isn't enough to make you wet, he lands a few licks between your folds and drags his tongue upward only to swirls it around your clit and finishes it with another kiss on your clit, briefly sucking at it before letting go.

“I'm going in, yeah?”

You nod in consent, opening your legs wider for him and trying not to stare too much as Hyunjin will only stare back at you, and you'll likely crumble under his intense gaze.

“Oh...” you bite back a gasp the second you feel him entering you, just the tip but you can already feel that his size is above average.

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you, deciding to hover above you as he pushes the rest of his length by motioning his hips. In this proximity, you can see the way his pupils gradually dilated and his eyelids fluttering the more of him being inside you. Overwhelmed, Hyunjin throws his head back and pushes the rest of his cock until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

“Argh...” his moan raw and broken as if something wounded him.

The world feels suspended, reduced to just the two of you and the quiet rhythm of your breaths. His bare skin glows in the dim of the light, the contours of his body sculpted with an almost otherworldly beauty.

As he thrusts into you at a slow, steady pace, you reach up, your fingers tracing the elegant lines of his collarbone, the smooth expanse of his chest. Every touch feels like discovering him for the first time, each detail making your heart ache with something too profound to name.

“You’re staring,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice soft, almost teasing, though a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Can you blame me?” you whisper, your voice filled with awe as your fingers trail over the curve of his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Hyunjin.”

His lips twitch into a small, shy smile, but his eyes stay locked on yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You make me feel like I’m more than I am,” he says quietly, the vulnerability in his voice wrapping around you.

You shake your head, your hand sliding to the slope of his waist, marveling at how perfectly he fits into the moment, into you. “No,” you whisper. “You’re exactly as you are. And that’s perfect.”

He lowers himself slightly, his long hair brushing against your skin as his lips hover near yours. Your hands continue their exploration, tracing the ridges of his ribs, the softness of his hips, and the strength of his arms as they're now propped in each side of your head.

“You’re not real,” you murmur, your fingertips brushing along his jaw, marveling at how soft yet strong he feels. “You can’t be.”

Hyunjin laughs softly, the sound vibrating through both of you. “I’m real,” he assures you, lowering his lips to brush against yours in a kiss that feels as light as air. “But if I’m not,” he whispers against your mouth, “then I’m glad I get to exist in this moment with you.”

Your hand finds his face, cupping his cheek as you pull him down into a deeper kiss, your body pressing against his as if to anchor him to the earth, to you. And in this moment, as you touch and hold and feel him, you believe in the magic of him, in the impossibility made real, and in the fleeting beauty of this shared, perfect moment.

The rest of the night unfolds in whispers and warmth, every touch and movement filled with quiet intimacy. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the two of you discovering and rediscovering each other, as if this fleeting moment is all that matters.

Eventually, the room falls into a soft silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing. Hyunjin’s arm wraps around you, pulling you into the curve of his body. His hand rests lightly against your waist, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on your skin.

In the stillness, he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re remarkable too,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with sincerity.

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you nestle closer to him, your fingers brushing against his. For the first time, the weight of the day seems to lift, leaving only this shared moment, this connection, that feels infinite despite the inevitable.

-

02:59 a.m.

The early dawn filters softly through the curtains, casting a bluish glow over the room as you lay next to Hyunjin, your head resting on his arm while his other hand lazily traces small patterns along your back. His warmth surrounds you, and for a moment, the world feels still and quiet.

With a curious smile, you tilt your head to look up at him. “Hyunjin?” you call softly, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Hyunjin turns his head to the side and softly gazes into your eyes. “Yeah?”

“What would your perfect day look like?”

Hyunjin grins, a playful gleam in his eyes. “This,” he says, gesturing to the two of you tangled together under the covers. “Right here, right now. Best way to be found dead.”

You laugh and gently swat at his chest, shaking your head. “Stop saying things like that,” you scold, though the smile on your face betrays your amusement. “I want a serious answer.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as he considers. “Okay,” he finally says. “I’d start the day early, maybe before sunrise. I’d drive to this lake I used to visit when I was younger. It’s peaceful, surrounded by trees, and the water’s always so calm in the morning.” His voice softens as he speaks, a hint of nostalgia coloring his words. “It must be beautiful this time of year.”

You shift slightly, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him. “Is it far?”

“Not too far,” Hyunjin replies, turning his head to meet your gaze. “About two hours by car.”

A spark of determination lights up in your eyes, and you sit up, pulling the blanket with you. “Then let’s go,” you declare, your voice filled with excitement. “Let’s create a perfect day. It’s the last chance we have, so why not make it count?”

Hyunjin looks up at you, his expression softening as his lips curve into a tender smile. For a moment, he says nothing, just gazes at you like you’ve just handed him the world.

“No, let’s just stay here. It's perfect like this,” Hyunjin says with a sly grin.

You gently slap his chest and whine, hoping to put some senses into him.

Slowly, he sits up, leaning closer until his lips brush against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like a promise. When he pulls back, his face lingers close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Okay. Let’s do it,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady. “Let’s go.”

-

03:25 a.m.

Hyunjin is scribbling something on a piece of paper when you return, holding two bags of snacks and drinks from the convenience store. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration catches your attention, and you pause for a moment, noticing he's using your red hairtie to tie his hair into a low ponytail and engrossed on writing something on a piece of paper.

You step closer and knock on the windshield, grinning as his head snaps up, startled. His wide eyes make you laugh, the sound light and teasing as you shake your head. He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance but leans over to push the car door open for you.

“Need help with those?” he asks, already reaching for the bags in your hands.

“Thanks,” you say, handing them over as he places them neatly in the backseat.

“Did you get everything?” he asks, glancing at the bags.

You nod. “Yep, all set.” Then, reaching into your pocket, you pull out something small and hold it up. “Oh, and this,” you add with a smile.

Hyunjin tilts his head, curious. “What’s that?”

“For you,” you say, showing him the little star-shaped pin in your hand. “Your reward for breaking your time record today.”

His expression shifts, his gaze softening as he looks at the pin. A smile spreads slowly across his face, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Without waiting, you lean in and carefully attach the pin to the lapel of his jacket. “There,” you say, stepping back slightly to admire your work. “Congratulations, Hyunjin.”

He looks down at the pin, his smile widening, and when his gaze lifts to meet yours, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “You're not going to kiss me?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm.

You let out a soft laugh and lean in, brushing a quick kiss against his lips. But before you can fully pull away, Hyunjin’s hand comes up to the back of your neck, and he pulls you in for another kiss—deeper, slower.

You giggle against his lips, your laughter muffled between you, and he smiles into the kiss before finally pulling back. The warmth in his gaze lingers, leaving you breathless and smiling.

“Alright,” he says, settling back into his seat and starting the car. “Shall we?”

You buckle your seatbelt, excitement bubbling up as you nod. “Ready when you are.”

Hyunjin glances at you, his own excitement mirrored in his expression. “Alright, here we go,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot, the perfect day waiting just ahead.

-

04:11 a.m.

The hum of the car fills the air as you and Hyunjin drive down the winding road, the sun rising higher with each passing mile. You’re both relaxed, trading stories and laughing as a small mountain of snack wrappers begins to pile up between you. Hyunjin occasionally glances your way, his smile soft but constant, as if the moment itself feels too perfect to break.

Reaching into the bag beside you, you pull out a can of soda and hand it to him. “Here,” you say, passing it over without thinking.

Hyunjin takes it with one hand, his other still loosely gripping the steering wheel. As he shifts his attention to crack the tab open, the can slips from his fingers. The drink spills across the front of his t-shirt in an instant, cold liquid spreading like a stain across the fabric.

“Ah, shit!” Hyunjin exclaims, pulling the car slightly to the side as you grab a handful of tissues.

“Hold still,” you say, leaning over to help dab at the spill.

Hyunjin laughs, the sound tinged with embarrassment as he attempts to help, both of your hands awkwardly brushing against each other. “You’re worse at this than me,” he teases.

“Hey, it’s your fault for spilling in the first place!” you counter, trying to keep your tone light as you both focus on cleaning up the mess.

But then it happens—Hyunjin’s attention strays too long from the road, and neither of you notice the dog suddenly darting into the street.

“Hyunjin!” you scream, your voice sharp with panic as your hand instinctively shoots out to grab his arm.

His eyes snap forward, and his body reacts instantly. The tires screech against the asphalt as he slams on the brakes, the force jerking both of you against your seatbelts. The world feels as though it’s spinning for a second, the weight of the abrupt stop pressing hard against your chest.

The car comes to a halt just inches away from the small, trembling dog, its wide eyes staring at you through the windshield.

Your heart is racing, your breaths shallow and shaky as you sit frozen, staring out at the still figure on the road. Hyunjin grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and thick with concern.

You nod numbly, your voice catching in your throat as you try to answer. “Y-yeah. Are you?”

He glances at you, his expression softening when he sees your trembling hands. “I’m fine,” he assures you, though his voice is quieter now, more careful.

The two of you sit in silence for a long moment, the sound of your racing hearts almost audible in the stillness. Then, Hyunjin glances at the dog, who scampers away unscathed, disappearing into the brush.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as he turns to face you fully.

You shake your head quickly, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” you say, though the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes your words waver.

Hyunjin’s hand hesitates for a moment before it finds yours, his fingers squeezing gently. “We’re okay,” he whispers, almost as if convincing himself.

You nod again, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, we are.”

As the car slowly starts moving again, the tension lingers, but there’s a quiet understanding between you—a shared moment that feels heavier than words, as if both of you silently acknowledge how fragile this perfect day could have been.

-

05:22 a.m.

The car ride is quiet now, the earlier tension still lingering in the air. Neither of you speak for a while, each lost in your thoughts as the road stretches ahead. The sun begins to crest over the horizon, its warm light spilling across the landscape, painting the morning in hues of gold and soft pink.

You reach for the window switch and roll it down, letting the cool morning breeze rush into the car. It sweeps through your hair, refreshing and light, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation calm your nerves.

When you glance over at Hyunjin, he’s already looking at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill of the breeze.

“Look at the sky,” you say softly, nodding toward the view. “It’s beautiful.”

Hyunjin tears his gaze from you, his eyes following your gesture. The sky is breathtaking, streaked with the first slivers of sunlight that break through the faint morning mist.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and reflective. “It is.”

His hand leaves the steering wheel, searching for yours. When he finds it, he laces his fingers with yours and rests them gently on his lap. His touch is warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that everything is okay now.

Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the horizon, the soft glow of the sun reflecting in his gaze. “It’s beautiful,” he repeats, but this time, his voice is heavier, almost wistful, as if he’s savoring the moment in a way he never has before.

You tighten your hold on his hand, the simple gesture conveying what words can’t. Together, you sit in the quiet, watching the morning unfold, the world outside feeling peaceful and endless as the car moves forward.

-

05:40 a.m.

The car comes to a halt, and you step out into the crisp morning air. Hyunjin joins you, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. You glance around, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs as you take in the scenery.

After a short walk, the lake comes into view, and you gasp, unable to contain your amazement. The water is perfectly still, a mirror reflecting the sky and the towering trees surrounding it. The faint golden light of the morning casts everything in a dreamy glow. The trees, just beginning to turn with the season, stand like silent sentinels guarding this little piece of paradise.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft rustling of leaves.

Hyunjin looks at you, his smile growing at your reaction. He reaches for your hand and takes it, his fingers warm and steady against yours. “Come on,” he says, leading you toward the water’s edge.

The two of you stop just where the land kisses the lake. You peer down at the water, its surface so calm it feels like stepping into a painting.

“It must be freezing,” you say, giving Hyunjin a wary glance.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “That’s what makes it perfect for a morning swim.”

You shake your head firmly, taking a step back. “No way.”

Hyunjin laughs, undeterred. “Trust me. Once you’re in, it’s not that bad.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head again. “Hyunjin, I still can’t swim, remember?”

His expression softens, and he takes both of your hands in his. “And I told you— No worries, I’ll hold you.” His tone is earnest, his dark eyes unwavering.

Despite your protests, he’s relentless, coaxing you closer to the edge until you’re standing there, shivering slightly in your underwear. You grip his hand tightly, trying one last time to dissuade him.

“Hyunjin, I’m serious—”

Before you can finish, he sweeps you off your feet, his arms locking around your waist. You let out a startled squeal, clinging to him instinctively.

“Hyunjin, don’t you dare—”

But it’s too late. He steps into the water, pulling you with him. The cold shocks your body the second you make contact, and you scream, the sound piercing through the stillness of the lake.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop until the two of you are submerged waist-deep. You’re clinging to him for dear life, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your legs curling up to avoid the icy water.

“See? It’s not as bad as you think,” he says, his voice light with amusement as he looks down at you.

Your teeth are chattering, and you tighten your hold on him. “You’re right,” you say through gritted teeth. “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”

Hyunjin throws his head back and laughs, his warm breath misting in the cool air. The sound is infectious, and soon you’re laughing too, your voices echoing across the serene lake.

He then adjusts your arms around his shoulders and gives you an encouraging look. “Hold on tight,” he says, his voice warm with reassurance. You do as he says, gripping him as he begins to move through the water with ease.

The cold from earlier feels less harsh now, your body gradually adapting to the temperature. As Hyunjin swims farther from the shore, you cling to him, feeling the strength in his movements as he effortlessly cuts through the water.

“Not so bad now, huh?” he teases, glancing over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes but can’t help a small smile. “I’m still debating.”

When he slows down, you notice just how far you’ve come from the shore. The lake stretches around you, a perfect circle of serenity framed by towering trees. Hyunjin turns to face you, still holding you securely as you float together.

“Relax,” he says, his voice softer now. His hands guide you gently, helping you stay afloat. You take a deep breath and allow yourself to loosen your grip, trusting him.

The stillness of the moment washes over you as you look around. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the calm water under the open sky. The reflection of the trees and clouds ripples gently with every movement.

“Still as bad as you think?” Hyunjin asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

You shrug, pretending to be unimpressed. “It’s... alright, I guess.”

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, his joy infectious as it echoes across the lake. He leans in slightly, his arms finding their way around your waist. Before you can react, he pulls you down with him, both of you plunging beneath the surface.

The cold water shocks you as it rushes over your head, and you instinctively hold your breath. A moment later, you break the surface, gasping for air.

“Hyunjin!” you sputter, wiping water from your face. “What was that for?”

He’s already laughing, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. “You should’ve seen your face!”

You glare at him, about to launch into a scolding, but he interrupts by cupping your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss.

Your protest dies on your lips, muffled by his. You try to hold on to your indignation, muttering complaints against his mouth, but his kiss is too warm, too insistent. Eventually, you give in, melting against him as his laughter hums through the connection.

When you finally pull away, Hyunjin grins at you, water dripping from his face. “Still want to complain?”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You’re lucky I can’t swim away from you right now.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s why I had to bring you out here.”

The water is cold, but in this moment, surrounded by the beauty of the lake and the warmth of Hyunjin’s arms, you’ve never felt more alive.

-

06:21 a.m.

The sun climbs higher into the sky, warming your skin as you sit on the smooth rocks by the shore, your clothes drying slowly in the gentle breeze. Hyunjin’s jacket is draped over your shoulders, a welcome layer against the cool air still lingering from your swim. You glance at him and murmur your thanks, to which he responds with a small, warm smile.

Opening a can of soda, you take a sip, the drink now lukewarm but refreshing nonetheless. You tilt your head toward Hyunjin. “So, what’s next on your perfect day itinerary?”

Hyunjin sets his can down and grins, his eyes lighting up with boyish excitement. “There’s this diner I used to go to. It’s not too far from here. They make the best waffles.”

“Waffles, huh?” you ask, raising a brow, though his enthusiasm already has you smiling.

“They’re amazing,” he insists, his hands gesturing animatedly. “Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, with this maple syrup that’s just—” He sighs in exaggerated bliss, making you laugh.

“Alright, alright,” you say, holding up your hands. “I’m sold. Waffles it is.”

Hyunjin chuckles and shifts closer, his hand reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment before he tucks the strand behind your ear. Without a word, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow, like the morning sun warming your skin.

When he pulls back, his smile is tender, and it makes your heart ache. “I'm glad I met you.”

“Me too,” you say back while placing your hand on his and hold it tightly.

The sunlight hits right on Hyunjin’s eyes, making them shine as he stares at you. You know you've only known him for barely a day but Hyunjin knows things most people doesn't know about you. He knows your prefers your flowers to be red than blue, he knows your dreams you never say out loud but you secretly wish to come true and that makes you feel significant to him as he is significant to you. You believe that is how Hyunjin going to make a mark on you.

“I’m going to take one more lap around the lake before we go,” he says, his voice quiet yet certain.

You nod, but before he can move, you catch his wrist, pulling him back toward you. This time, it’s you who closes the distance, pressing a kiss to his lips. It lingers, a silent plea that feels like it’s carrying the weight of everything you can’t say aloud. You wish for more time—just one more day, one more perfect morning.

Hyunjin seems to sense it, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he gazes at you, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. He leans in to press a featherlight kiss to your lips before pulling away completely.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink, his voice lighter now. “I won’t take too long.”

As you watch him dive back into the water, the sunlight catching on the ripples he leaves behind, you feel a fleeting, impossible sense of forever. For this moment, at least, Hyunjin makes you believe that forever is within grasp.

-

06:51 a.m.

The warmth of the morning sun wraps around you, its gentle rays brushing against your damp skin. The sky is alive with soft hues of gold and blue, a masterpiece unfolding before your eyes. Overhead, a flock of birds glides effortlessly, their formation cutting gracefully through the stillness. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to marvel at it all—the simplicity, the beauty, the life you’ve taken for granted.

But the moment fractures.

You glance toward the lake, expecting to find Hyunjin slicing through the water, to hear the rhythmic splashes that have become so familiar. Instead, there is only silence. The lake mirrors the sky, undisturbed, serene, and empty.

A flicker of unease takes root in your chest. You scan the shoreline, your gaze darting to every shadow, every ripple. The stillness feels wrong now.

“Hyunjin?” you call out, your voice tentative, breaking the quiet.

No answer.

You step closer to the edge, the cool rocks pressing into your bare feet, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage. “Hyunjin,” you try again, louder this time, but the name hangs in the air unanswered.

The warmth of the morning sun seems to mock you now, its gentle rays brushing against your damp skin as the sky stretches overhead, a canvas of soft gold and endless blue. The flock of birds that once felt like a sign of life now drifts aimlessly, their formation a cruel reminder of how fragile everything truly is.

You glance toward the lake, expecting to find him slicing through the water, his laughter echoing in the stillness. Instead, there is only silence. The lake reflects the sky perfectly, undisturbed, as if it had swallowed him whole and left no trace.

Your chest tightens. “Hyunjin?” you call out, your voice soft at first, hesitant to break the quiet.

No answer.

You step closer to the edge, the rocks digging into your bare feet as your pulse quickens. “Hyunjin,” you try again, louder this time, your voice trembling. But the name dissipates into the air, unanswered.

A flicker of unease blooms into full-blown panic. You scan the water frantically, your eyes darting across every ripple, every shadow. “This isn’t funny!” you yell, your voice rising with desperation. “If you’re hiding, just stop it and come out!”

Still nothing.

Fear grips you like a vice, and before you can stop yourself, you wade into the water. The cold seeps through your skin, biting and relentless, but you don’t care. You splash forward, the ripples spreading around you, as though trying to reach him through sheer force of will.

“Hyunjin!” you scream, your voice cracking under the weight of your fear. “Answer me!”

The water clings to you, dragging you down as if conspiring with your helplessness. You tread forward a little more, but you can’t go far. Your feet leave the ground, and you freeze, paralyzed by the sudden depth. You try to push forward, but your body resists—muscles locking up with the knowledge that you can’t swim.

Frustration and panic mix into a volatile cocktail in your chest. You slap the water with your hands, gasping for breath, tears streaming as you scream his name again.

“I can’t do this! Hyunjin!” you cry out, the words breaking apart into sobs. The lake offers no comfort, its silence an unbearable void. You flail for a moment, trying to search the surface, but every movement feels futile.

You cling to the thought of him, to his smile, his laughter, the warmth he carried with him like a shield against the world. But now, that warmth feels so far away, unreachable in the depths of the water.

“Hyunjin!” you cry again, weaker this time, the weight of your helplessness pressing down on you. You force yourself back toward the shore, stumbling onto the rocks as you collapse to your knees, breathless and shaking. “Please, don't— don't leave me...”

The water stills behind you, its surface reflecting the endless morning sky. You look out at it, broken and trembling, your heart refusing to accept what your mind is beginning to believe. It can’t be over. Not like this.

“Hyunjin...”

-

08:01 a.m.

The rocks beneath you feel sharp, unforgiving, but you barely notice. You sit there, knees pulled tight to your chest, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you watch the rescue team comb through the lake. Every moment stretches painfully, the weight of silence crushing you with each passing second.

Your fingers dig into your arms as if grounding yourself can keep you from unraveling completely. Then, a shout echoes from the water. You see them—a group of rescuers—working together to pull a body from the depths.

Your breath catches in your throat.

They move with careful precision, carrying the body to shore in a black bag. You feel your body trembling uncontrollably as they approach. One of them steps forward, their expression solemn, as they lower the bag in front of you.

"Is this him?" they ask, their voice heavy with the weight of what they know must be unbearable.

You freeze, staring at the zipper of the bag, your entire being screaming to look and yet refusing at the same time. You can’t do it. You can’t see him like that.

But then your eyes catch something—a flash of red against the black. It’s your hair tie, wrapped around his wrist. You had given it to him, smiling at how absurdly adorable he’d looked wearing it. And now, it’s the confirmation you never wanted.

Your breath hitches as tears flood your vision. "It’s him," you whisper, the words breaking apart as they leave your lips.

Slowly, you reach out, your trembling hand finding his through the body bag.

With shaking fingers, you reach at the lapel of his jacket you're wearing and take off the star-shaped pin, the one you had given him just hours ago. It glints faintly in the sunlight, a small reminder of the joy he carried with him. Carefully, you place it in his palm and fold his fingers around it.

"Keep it," you say softly, tears dripping onto the bag. "It’s yours."

It’s cold—his hand is so cold it sends a shiver through you. But you hold it tight, pressing his lifeless hand to your lips. "Wait for me," you murmur, your voice cracking as the tears spill over. "I’ll see you soon, Hyunjin."

You step back as they zip the bag closed, sealing him away from you forever. The sound cuts through the air like a blade, leaving you raw and hollow.

The ambulance arrives, and they load his body inside. You stand there, watching, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. As the vehicle pulls away, your fingers brush against something—a folded piece of paper.

Curious and aching, you pull it out and unfold it with trembling hands. It’s his handwriting, messy but unmistakably his. A list of things he wanted to do today.

Swim in the lake.

Watch the sunrise.

Have waffles for breakfast.

Visit the art gallery.

Hot cocoa at the park.

The last line reads, Buy roses for...

Your lips tremble as you remember the promise you’d made to each other—the promise to keep moving forward, no matter who went first. The memory feels like a cruel joke now, but as you stare at his words, something inside you hardens.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you say to the empty air, "I’m keeping my promise, Hyunjin."

The ambulance disappears down the road, and you stand there, the morning sun casting long shadows around you. Still, you refuse to believe that Hyunjin’s gone. He is not, he just goes to sleep to live a new dream.

-

09:14 a.m.

You sit in the corner booth of the diner, the same one Hyunjin had gushed about just hours ago. The waffles arrive, golden and drenched in syrup, the butter melting into small pools on the plate. You take a bite, the sweetness coating your tongue, but it tastes hollow. Your chest tightens as you remember how Hyunjin’s eyes had sparkled when he described them to you, as though they were a treasure worth crossing the world for.

Now, it feels like swallowing shards of glass.

The drive back to the city is quiet, the hum of the engine filling the void Hyunjin once occupied. His note sits folded on the passenger seat, a reminder of the day you’re piecing together without him. You glance at it at every stoplight, as if his handwriting might come alive and guide you forward.

Your next stop is the art gallery. You find his favorite painting almost instinctively, a swirling masterpiece of color and emotion. Sitting on the bench before it, you let your mind wander. You picture Hyunjin here, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his head tilted slightly as he studied the strokes.

"Do you see how the colors bleed into each other?" he would say. "It’s chaotic but still… perfect."

The memory slices through you, and you blink away the tears that threaten to spill.

From the gallery, you walk to a nearby café, the warmth of the cup of hot cocoa in your hands doing little to soothe the chill in your heart. You sit on a bench overlooking the river, the city split in two by its calm flow. The world moves on around you—people walking their dogs, children laughing in the distance—but you’re trapped in stillness.

You think of Hyunjin, of how he was alive and laughing mere hours ago. You think of his voice, his touch, the way he could make the ordinary feel extraordinary.

And now he’s gone.

For the first time, anger stirs beneath your grief. It rises like a storm, raw and uncontrollable. You clench the cup tightly, your knuckles whitening. How could death be so cruel? How could it take someone so vibrant and leave you tethered to feelings that have nowhere to go?

Death is so unfair. It takes the person, but not the love.

-

04:02 p.m.

The world has grown quiet around you, the buzz of the city dimmed to a distant hum as you sit alone on a park bench overlooking the river. The sun dips low in the sky, painting the water with hues of gold and amber. You clutch Hyunjin's jacket tighter around your shoulders, the scent of him still lingering faintly, a bittersweet reminder of everything you've lost—and everything you're about to gain.

The list he left behind is tucked into your pocket, crumpled and worn from your grip throughout the day. You pull it out, scanning the list. There’s only one thing left, unfinished: “Buys roses for…”

He hadn’t finished the sentence. You remember startling him as he jotted it down, and now the incomplete thought feels like a cruel echo. But you know what to do.

You find the nearest florist and step inside, the smell of flowers overwhelming you. "Roses," you tell the florist, your voice quiet but firm. "A bouquet of red roses."

They hand you the bouquet, the petals deep and vibrant, reminiscent of Hyunjin’s flushed cheeks and his soft lips. You trace a fingertip over the delicate blooms before asking for a card.

Sitting at a small table in the corner of the shop, you stare at the blank card. The weight of all you want to say crushes you, an endless stream of emotions that can’t possibly fit onto a single piece of paper.

Still, you write:

For what it’s worth, you showed me that there is such a thing as a perfect day. You made a mark on me, Hyunjin.

Your hand shakes as you finish the words. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, willing the tears to stay at bay. When you’re ready, you fold the card and slip it into the bouquet.

You stand at the corner of the street, clutching the bouquet of roses close to your chest as you wait for the light to turn. The city hums around you, alive and indifferent, the world moving on as it always does. But your mind drifts elsewhere, carried away by memories.

This was the place you met Hyunjin for the first time. You can almost see him standing there, smiling like the world belonged to him. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet so vivid it could have been yesterday. You replay the moment in your mind, the way he held himself with an effortless grace, the way his eyes met yours and lingered, as if he'd been waiting for you his entire life.

The light changes, and the crowd around you begins to move. Lost in your thoughts, you follow them, stepping onto the street.

A distant sound reaches your ears—a horn blaring, tires screeching—but it feels far away, as if it belongs to another world. By the time you register the rushing car, it’s too late. There’s no time to scream, no time to run.

This is it.

-

06:11 p.m.

The world comes back to you in fragments: the cool roughness of asphalt beneath your body, the distant murmur of voices, the sharp tang of blood in the air. Your vision swims, but when it clears, the twilight sky is the first thing you see.

It’s beautiful, painted in hues of lavender and gold, with the faintest blush of pink at the edges. The sight feels distant yet oddly comforting, like a gentle reminder of where you are—and where you’re going.

Your body is heavy, the pain a dull throb that seems to ebb and flow, fading as the seconds stretch on. You’re dimly aware of the rose petals scattered around you, spinning lazily in the air with every gust of wind. They look like they’re floating, as if gravity itself has softened its grip.

You close your eyes briefly and feel something shift inside you—a strange sense of clarity. This is it. You know it, feel it in your very bones. This is your ending.

But there’s no fear. Instead, a deep, resounding calm washes over you, carrying with it the promise of reunion. Hyunjin’s face fills your mind, vivid and bright, his laughter echoing in your ears, his touch still lingering on your skin.

You force your eyes open again, taking in the petals that now rest lightly against your arm, the faint scent of roses mingling with the cool evening air. A soft smile tugs at your lips, even as your breaths come slower, shallower.

Death is not an end, you think. It’s a reunion. It’s a promise kept. It’s my happy ending.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear sirens, but they feel like they belong to another world entirely. You’re beyond that now. Your heart slows, the pain dulls, and in its place is an overwhelming sense of peace.

The light in the sky begins to blur, stars flickering faintly above as if welcoming you home. You can almost feel him, his hand in yours, his voice calling your name like a melody you’ve always known.

Tears slip down your cheeks, but they’re not from sorrow. They’re from relief, from the quiet joy of knowing you’ll see him again, touch him again, love him again.

As the world fades, you exhale one last time, your voice barely a whisper in the wind. “I’m coming, Hyunjin.”

And then there’s nothing but light.

-

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[zyafics]

ANGRY GOD | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Summary — Rafe always struggled with being the only person in his head. When he meets you on the balcony of Tannyhill, everything changes. As sweet and kind as you appear to be, you turn out to be a reflection of Rafe and his dark thoughts. A burnt soul. A perfect companion. But as much as he wants you, as much as you deserve each other, something stands in the way: your relationship with JJ.

Content — angst, suggestive themes, cheating (not on each other), minor blood kink, rafe does coke, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic dynamic, obsessive and psychopathic behavior, and subtle dubcon.

Word Count — 3.9K

lıllılı Deja Vu and She's Mine Pt. 1 by J Cole

Dedication — to @cybersunnie who read it first and gave me lovely feedback, ily my southeast asian bestie <3

Rafe looks for you everywhere.

Ever since that fateful night, he had searched every room and crowd for a glimpse of your face. Most times, he doesn't find what he's looking for, and a lump of frustration curls up his throat. A wasted effort, he tells himself, to look for someone who isn't his, but he does it anyway.

He's never been good at letting go of things that belonged to him.

Tonight's bonfire is on the beach. The firepit is surrounded by keggers lined neatly along the edges, and the salty tang of driftwood smoke hangs in the air. Flickering embers roared to the sky, while the drunken crowd moved in scattered clusters, their laughter coalescing with the music as they stumble over their steps. Rafe can't help but scoff at the very sight.

He had snorted a couple of lines before his arrival. Nothing calms him down quicker than strips of white powder that substitute for dopamine, but it still isn't quite the replacement he's looking for. It may make him feel lighter, unable to feel the depth of his soul sinking like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean floor, but it's ineffective. Riffled with the knowledge that there's something better for him out in the world, something that mirrors the use of a drug, something that can save him.

You.

Rafe sips on the beer he's been nursing for the past half-hour—coke and liquor are a hangover's bitch—and his eyes survey the mass of people in futile efforts. Everyone has arrived, including those Pogue friends of yours, but there are still no traces of you. Once again, Rafe believes that you've decided to forgo the invite to forget him.

Until he finds you off in the distance.

In the corner of the world, sitting on the shore and counting waves, with your legs drawn to your chest and your arms draped across your knees. Parties have always been a troublesome endeavor for you, rekindling old memories you want nothing more than to forget, but you always find yourself succumbing to one. It's a nasty habit you're unable to break.

You had slipped away—from the masses, from your friends, from JJ—for some peace on the edge of the earth. No one seems to have noticed your missing presence. At least, that's what you believe.

Something settles at your side, darkening your solace with its thick presence, and you turn to discover Rafe. He sinks into the empty space beside you, cold brew in hand, and refuses to meet your gaze. Your heartbeat skips, alarm bells activating and cautioning you to leave, but you choose to stay.

Silence engulfs the air and despite the heavy bass reverberating through the air and the flurries of chatters from Kooks and Pogues alike, none of that seems to matter. As always, with Rafe, it feels like you two are the only people remaining on Earth, spinning on its axis, waiting.

It isn't like this with anyone else.

"You've been ignoring me," Rafe announces flatly. His stare set to the horizon of the coastline, watching waves flatten into the salt-soaked sand inches away from his feet.

"I haven't," you defend, a little too quickly, wincing at the projection of your voice. "We just haven't been going to the same places."

He scoffs dryly, "Because you've been ignoring me."

You shake your head softly, but Rafe doesn't acknowledge the gesture. You doubt he cares. It mirrors you in that aspect, knowing exactly how his mind behaves—believing his version of events to be the only correct reality. Nothing you do, or say, will change it.

It's hard to talk to someone who's stubborn.

It's worse when the person knows you too well.

Because in some ways, he's right. Several invitations to various functions have been sent, but you've opted out of attending any of them. Partly because you don't want to be in that environment. Mostly because you're afraid of facing Rafe. You had assumed it'd be an easy facade to maintain—just as the rest of your friends suspected you simply weren't into parties—but Rafe sees directly through you, like glass.

He resists the urge to look at you. Fearing if he does, he'll never stop. It isn't enough for him to be within your proximity, he wants to have you, and it's a debilitating feeling to know he can't. Blood coats his senses, and he realizes he bite his tongue too hard.

Yet, he feels the heat of your stare on his profile. Your eyes sweep over every feature, every twitch of muscle as if you're committing to memory the days you haven't seen him. Pride finds him in that regard—to know he consumes your thoughts as much as you consumed him.

He begs to be wanted.

He wants you to beg for him.

"Your bruises are healing nicely," you say softly, admiring the faded damning colors of his assault to the healing yellows that smother his skin. "That's good."

His resolve breaks and Rafe turns. The corner of his lips lifts. "You would care, wouldn't you?"

You blink in surprise, but Rafe takes it as some protest of resilience. You won't admit it, as much as you want him, as much as you need him, and the anguish seeps into his bones. unable to detangle itself from skin. "Of course I do," you stutter a reply, "I patched you up."

"But it isn't the only reason," he presses, "Is it?"

His eyes meet yours, and it rivals the first look he's ever given you. Full of scorn and disdain, Rafe had once wanted nothing more than you to be out of his sight. Now, he can't have enough of it.

It evokes honesty in you. "It isn't."

Rafe grins, taking any small victory as a celebration.

You can't take it, deciding to break contact to reach into the pockets of your shorts. You fish out the lighter and a small box of cigarettes before torching the end of the stick and inhaling a sharp breath. Nicotine slithers into your system, calming your raging nerves.

Rafe watches with amusement. He had always hated a woman who smokes. It was unorthodox, dirty, and not someone he sees himself with. But when he watches the way the puff of smoke exits your lips, the calamity smoothening your features, he's never wanted to kiss you more.

“You smoke?” Rafe asks as you lower the cigarette to your side. The butt of the blunt brushes against the grains of sand.

“Yeah.” You say timidly. “It’s a bad habit I can’t break.”

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Didn't take you as a smoker," Rafe confesses, but something in his statement reeks of judgment. As much as you hate the need to be validated by others, something about Rafe leaves you desiring acceptance.

You scramble to form an excuse. “I only do it when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

You don't respond, but you're sure the split-second expression on your face revealed it all. Pressing your lips together, you rip your gaze from Rafe to look back to the ocean currents, raging and coursing through the tides as if a storm is brewing. You hoped this respite would dissolve the tension in the air, but it doesn't.

Thick and hot, you can't decide if it's the heat of the firepit against your backside or the idea of Rafe's close—too close—proximity to you. Your truth. The persona you've carefully crafted on the verge of collapsing.

Rafe finally understands why you don't go to parties. Even if you don't explicitly state it; it's him. The way he can read you, understand you, and make you feel. A parallel of himself in you that feels like a reflection against a pond. It scares you. It terrifies him. Yet he can't get enough of it.

You clear your throat, taking another puff of your cigarette, before returning your gaze back to him. "You left your own party again."

Is this what you want to talk about? Rafe would rather push past the small talk, but he entertains it nonetheless. At least it's something to keep you close. "It's not my party."

"Right." You hum, inhaling a nicotine-saturated breath that hisses and chars the end of the blunt. "But you left it all the same. Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"I could ask the same about you."

"I asked you first."

"Is that how you want to play it?"

Rafe cocks his head in challenge, armed with the mockery and condescension of his dripping tone. But it's not aimed at you, but rather for you. A provocation that asks: one of us is lying here, who will it be?

"You're baiting me," you announce, digging the burnt end of the cigarette into the sand to extinguish it. "It's not going to work."

Rather than take offense from your blatant callout, he scoffs out a smirk. His perfect teeth glistened underneath the moonlight, which can almost be read as fangs.

"Smart girl too," he muses, more to himself than you, before taking a swing of his beer. Directing his line of vision towards the darkened horizon, you watch him swallow with a bob of his Adam's apple. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" You repeat. "Why would you be looking for me?"

"Don't act dumb, princess. It's not cute."

Silence stretches among you, and the only soothing sound of this moment is the cascades of water meeting sand. Your heart doubles its tempo, reconciling with Rafe's words before he pierces the quietude with another confession. "They don't care."

This time, you don't play dumb. You know exactly what he's referring to. Rafe made a bold accusation that his friends don't care about him, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he is right.

From what you heard from your own group, no one is friends with Rafe. Not really. All they want is to get out of his way, to avoid being the receiving end of his wrath. Rapport is the closest method towards that settlement. A falsehood for security. He had come to the bitter realization on his own; that no one is real with him except you.

You don't take the time to be frivolous and reassure him with meaningless consolation. You cut straight to the chase.

"Then why come?" You ask, not knowing if he'll respond. But what you don't know is Rafe would answer almost anything if it came from you. "Why attend something when none of these people care about you?"

The instantaneous reply is a howling wind from the ocean, breezing over your skin and raising goosebumps on your arms. But you remain still. Unsure if Rafe will answer, you wait until he admits, "It's better than being alone."

All the air leaves your lungs.

Your heart pumps like it's about to burst.

Because Rafe confirms what you’re thinking.

And you feel the same way.

You're certain you're in an exact predicament but you don't have the courage to voice it. The Pogues only tolerate you because you're in this relationship with JJ, but you have a sinking feeling that it's just the novelty. Something short and fleeting. Something false.

You entered it under the assumption that JJ understood you—a burnt soul recognizing a companion. But that's proven to be completely untrue. JJ may have faced hardships, but his entire network is built on camaraderie. You never had that. Neither did Rafe.

Maybe that's why you gravitate towards him.

Maybe that's why you're afraid.

"Why are you here?" Rafe prompts, turning the spotlight back onto you.

You lick your lips, suddenly dry. "The Pogues invited—"

"No, don't give me that bullshit," he snaps, but his tone lacks the bite. All it demands is truth. "I mean, why did you come this time? You've been avoiding me for a reason."

You scoff. "You know."

A cruel smirk carves the corner of his mouth, framed with an innocent dimple. "I want to hear you say it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're a liar, princess. Just like all of them."

Fire ignites in your chest by his accusation, reminding you closely of that night at Tannyhill, and your hands squeeze into tight fists. Sucking on the inside of your cheek, and licking the residual nicotine sticking to your gums, give you a minor boost of confidence. "I thought if I didn't, they'd stop inviting me."

You exhale a blow of air, similar to your cigarette, but a heavy weight lifts off your chest. You don't turn to meet Rafe's eyes, but you feel the heat of his stare.

Rafe grins, self-satisfaction ripples through his features in unparalleled triumph. "Just like me."

"Don't be a dick," you declare.

"I'm not trying to." He says. "It's just ironic."

"Ironic how?"

He takes a second to answer, lingering on the moment by sipping on the rim of his beer, letting a slow, singular drop fall from the corner of his mouth. "Because every party I've seen you at, you're always escaping it."

You shrink under this observation, nails buried into the sand to find grounding. "I needed a break."

"All the time?" He taunts.

You say absolutely nothing. And Rafe chuckles dryly. "The girl who always leaves the party. The boy who needs it. We'll make a good couple."

You lift your head. "Is that your criteria for a relationship?"

"No. But I'll take any excuse to have you."

Your breath stutters in your throat. From your previous interaction with Rafe, you concluded that he cuts through the drivel. But it's different this time around. Now, it riffled with the knowledge of knowing you, of wanting you.

Rafe always had a single-minded ambition, the type to chase after his goal until he captured it within the palm of his hand. That's you to him.

Morals be damned. As long as he has you.

To be wanted like that terrifies you. With your heart palpitating in your chest, you feel the urge to rebuild your walls. To add that familiar and safe space between you and him. "Rafe..." You trail off in warning.

Instantaneously, as if he can read you, he knows why.

Frowning, Rafe says, "Hm. Forget you're with Maybank."

You don't think that's entirely true.

"I should get back," to him, but that part remains unspoken.

Rising from your seat, you dust off the sheen coat of sand under your thighs before motioning to leave. But Rafe snatches your wrist. His grip is firm but loose enough for you to slip out, only begging you not to.

You look down, however Rafe refuses to meet your gaze. In fact, he avoids it, opting for the dark coastline that rivals the turbulent feeling in his chest. "Why are you with him?" He whispers against the wind, his tone seeping with vulnerability. "Why are you with him when you can be with me?"

You don't know how to answer that. "He was nice to me."

"I can be nice to you."

You shake your head. "It's not the same."

"Why not?" Rafe asks wretchedly, lifting his head to finally meet your gaze and you read how broken he truly is. Your chest tightens. His icy blue eyes warmed with desperation, and his grip around your wrist tightens, like a beggar seeking approval.

For a moment, you considered lying. It's the easiest way out. But there's no one here but the two of you. No one to perform to. No one but an audience who knows you soul-deep. How do you lie out of this one?

"I think you need me," you whisper. "I don't know how to be needed like that."

If you were anyone else, he'd feel insulted. To insulate he needs someone—anyone—to function implies he's weak. That he's dependent on another. But Rafe hasn't felt this sense of gratification in years. A kinship that emerges from a soul recognizing a burnt soul. He can't lose that.

"Neither do I," he answers, almost pleading. "Let's try it out."

"Try what?"

"Us." He urges. "You and me."

You shouldn't, but you can't help but consider the proposal. It's awful, especially knowing you're in a committed relationship—as committed as you can be—and you try to build excuses and logic on why this couldn't work. Why it shouldn't work. But all of them fell flat.

"You hate me."

"I didn't know you."

"You called me a bitch."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely.

"You called me a liar," you accuse, unmasking the sting from the label.

"You are," Rafe insists without missing a beat. "But I'll take it."

You chew on your bottom lip, gnawing on the raw, broken skin until you taste iron. "I don't know," you admit, voice low, chest heavy. "I don't know if I can save you, Rafe."

This time, he doesn't have a response. This time, he's rendered speechless. It's a confessional—what he truly desires from you is redemption. To possess a mirror that resolves him of his own sins.

His fingers loosen around your wrist.

"I have to go," you say softly, taking a step towards the exit.

But it isn't quick enough.

Rafe grabs you again and gives you one last tug, forcing you to land on his lap. Before you can move, he grabs the nape of your neck and pulls you close, forehead pressed against his, chest meeting the other.

You feel the rapid thumping of his own heartbeats.

"One taste," Rafe murmurs, his eyes on yours and they're pitch-black, all dissolved of his color. "Just one taste and I'll let you go."

"One?" You ask meekly, your heart threatening to spill.

"One." He confirms, reeking of the same desperation he's always been ashamed of revealing. But he doesn't care anymore. "And you can go back to Maybank and do whatever the fuck you want."

You search his face, trying to read him, but nothing but pure primal instinct coats his rugged features. He wants you—in a way that's so animalistic, he's actively holding himself back from taking more. A sick satisfaction curves up your throat at being desired by such capacity.

"Okay."

Rafe doesn't give you a moment to retract your consent before he drags your mouth down to his, silencing every pounding thought with a kiss.

Instinctively, you steel your spine from the assault before slowly unwinding. From all the venom and vile words spilled from Rafe's tongue, his mouth is surprisingly soft and tender. His kiss is rich with desire, gripped with desperation, and it pours all his silent confessions into one. Your heart has never raced so frantically but has never been this calm.

You want this.

Logic and reason chip away when you feel how warm Rafe is. How he laps over the broken piece of your bottom lip like worship, how he craves you with the depravity of a man receiving his last meal, licking you clean until you're nothing but bones.

It's intoxicating. Where has Rafe been all your life? Why haven't you done this sooner? Your mind can't find a proper answer until a slow, nauseating reminder strikes your drunken and lustful state. It's because you're taken. It answers. You're committed to someone who isn't him.

Pulling away, you breathe, "Rafe—"

"Not enough," he declares roughly, dragging your back and stealing another kiss. It's as if it's the only air he's willing to take. He demands it—it's his.

And yet, for all your stream of moral consciousness, there's little resistance.

You allow him to take you. Devour you. To suck on your bottom lip until a metallic tang is shared between you, and to feel the warm liquid ooze onto your tongue like sacred waters. He tastes so good, and Rafe's hands fall from your arm to your waist, tugging you along until you're centered on his lap. With an automatic roll of your hips, he groans, and you feel the growing erection form in his jeans demonstrating his obsession with you.

It's just one. But one kiss turns into two and three, and suddenly you can't stop. Nothing has ever felt as right as this moment with Rafe.

Pulling back a second time, your murmur against his swollen lips. "This is a bad idea."

"This is the best goddamn idea I've ever had," he breathes into your mouth, his hand straying to cup a handful of your ass under your shorts. "You taste better than I imagined."

"What do I taste like?"

"Mine," Rafe answers breathily, before cupping the back of your neck once again and aligning your mouth to his.

Addiction. Rafe is certain that's what this is. The way you rock against him, the way your body molds into his—like a perfect puzzle finding its match—he can't help but believe in fate. It infuriates him that it took him this long.

But even in a perfect moment, the illusion quickly shatters by a grating voice from the distance. Rafe wants nothing more than to ignore its bugging nuisance, but you can't seem to.

Because it's your boyfriend.

You rip away from Rafe to discover JJ's silhouette approaching the shore, searching for you. Panic zigzags through your chest and you swiftly leave Rafe's lap, brushing away any criminalizing evidence of your infidelity.

"That's one. We're done."

When JJ arrives, Rafe doesn't move. He doesn't even make a gesture to conceal the situation as JJ's eyes dart between the two of you, trying to piece together what you were doing with the Kook in the first place.

But no one reveals a thing. Not even you. You quickly apologize for leaving the party and fumble a flimsy excuse for Rafe's presence. And JJ's birdbrain accepts it, causing Rafe to scoff at the fool you're with.

When he takes your hand, leading you back to the party, you quickly accept—dragging yourself into the same space you beg to break from. And doing nothing but leaving Rafe behind.

He could leave now. After all, he came out to the shores searching for you. But there's a calamity that comes from being out here. Seeing the waters, watching the crashing of the waves. It allows him to truly think—away from the noises, away from the people, away from all the meaningless distractions.

Rafe swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the buzzing sensation left behind from your kiss, and collects a single droplet of blood. It must've spilled from you, or his bitten tongue, he doesn't know for sure. All he does is slip it right back into his mouth.

And for the first time throughout this entire night, Rafe grins. A real one. A devious one. Because he's coming to a familiar conclusion.

You parade among the people who don't give a damn about you, who don't know a single truth, and pretend you fit in their world. But you don't. You're a liar.

But as Rafe remembers the taste of your hot lips on his, the way your body fits in with his, the taste of your blood on his tongue—he realizes, so is he.

Because there's no way that is the last time he'll kiss you. That he has you. No. He had one taste and it wasn't enough.

Rafe is coming back for more.

Whether you like it or not.

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03 / End

[spiderb00]

ONLY MINE

Sophia Laforteza x reader 

“the only thing that made the party interesting for Sophia, was you” 

Genre – fluff    Warnings – none  (Request)

Now playing – Drinks or coffee, by ROSÉ 

The party was on fire, loud music could be heard from afar, and people were dancing and drinking like crazy. With all the responsibilities weighing on her shoulders, Sophia had never been to a party again, but when her friends stepped up and threw an insane birthday/new year's party for her, Sophia couldn't say no.  

Leaving the duties of leader for one night, all the Filipina wanted to do was have fun, she greeted everyone who was in her field of vision, hoping that each person she passed was a specific person. To tell you the truth, Sophia liked all people, but at that moment, she only wanted you.   

You and Sophia studied together, when you both finished high school, Filipina went after her dreams, and you went after yours. When you met in Los Angeles, Sophia couldn't believe she was seeing you in front of her again. Talking to you, she found out that you followed your dream in music, and now you were simply Olivia Rodrigo's newest guitarist.   

You came closer again, and it was as if nothing had changed. You were still the same clumsy nerd as always, while Sophia was still that focused and confident woman, as she always was. Sophia knew that you were not very fond of parties, preferring the company of musical instruments to anyone else. But she thought for her birthday it would be different, and you'd swallow the shame and social anxiety for her.   

Sophia's friends spoke to her, they said that you would possibly not show up, not wanting to let the Filipina create false expectations. For a second, Sophia even wanted to believe it, but she couldn't, something inside her created hope that you would appear in the crowd, just because of her.   

When you parked your car in front of the house where the party was taking place, you immediately saw several drunk people, having fun, some arguing and couples making out. When you entered the house, you could hear sighs and whispers, people were talking about you.   

Tonight, you were feeling more confident, your head screaming that Sophia's birthday was too special an occasion for you to wear only sweatshirts. With that in mind, you wore a different outfit, still thinking about comfort, you just changed your hoodie for a black tank top, putting on jeans, your favorite sneakers and some accessories. The tattoos on your arm drew attention, and it was the first time people noticed you and your body.   

Quickly walking past the people and trying to get rid of the stares everyone was giving you, you finally got close to Sophia. The Filipina also looked at you with a look that was hard to decipher, and for a moment you wondered if you should have really come to this party.   

"Happy birthday, Laforteza!" You said, reaching over and making the shorter woman pull you into a tight hug.   

"I thought you wouldn't come." The black-haired woman said, her face buried in your neck.   

"Hey." You walked away, holding both of Sophia's hands. "I wouldn't miss your birthday for anything." Leaning in, you gave Sophia a kiss on the forehead.   

Sophia enjoyed the moment with you before being interrupted by one of your friends, the man quickly approaching and stopping next to you.   

"Wow, YN..." He looked you up and down. "I've never seen you so hot! You're getting everyone's attention at the party."   

When he said that, something clicked in Sophia's head, looking around, she saw that it was true, you had caught the attention of the whole party, and now, half the girls there were looking at you in a way that Sophia didn't like at all.   

"Sophia, who is your kitty friend?" One of Sophia's friends asked, getting close to more of you, according to Sophia.   

"Oh, that's Yn. We went to high school together." Sophia says, coming closer to you and grabbing your biceps, to keep a distance between you and the girl.   

"Well, they always say that the pretty ones end up in Los Angeles." Sophia's friend said, winking at you and bringing the bottle of beer to her mouth. "So, Yn. Are you with anyone?"   

"Oh, I-"  

Before you could answer, Sophia stepped in front, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away, only telling the woman who was trying to flirt with you that she would be back soon. Entering one of the rooms of the house, Sophia finally let go of your wrist, practically throwing her way in as she closed and locked the door.   

"Sophia, are you okay?" You asked, genuinely concerned about the Filipino's strange attitude.   

"I should ask you that, I mean, she was flirting with you shamelessly!" Sophia said, running her hands through her hair. It was as if the Filipina was nervous about something you didn't know.  

 "Oh, I didn't know she was flirting with me..." You say, looking at Sophia afterwards. "Does she have a girlfriend?" Sophia's eyes seem to turn red when you ask this question.  

"Why do you want to know? Are you interested in her?" Sophia asks, by her tone of voice, if someone from the outside saw the two of you, they would be sure you were a couple of girlfriends fighting.    

"No. But the way you're talking, it sounds like she was doing something very wrong in flirting with me..." You said, waiting for a response from the Filipina.   

"She wasn't doing anything wrong." Sophia said, her voice getting lower and lower. "I just got jealous." Sophia said, raising her head and looking in your direction.   

A little surprised by the words of the woman in front of you, you pointed to yourself, wanting to confirm that you had heard it right.   

"You." Your finger pointed toward Sophia. "You're jealous" You continued. "Of me?!" Pointing to your chest you saw Sophia shake her head in confirmation.   

You swore you would faint, your crush has always been saying that he was jealous of a girl flirting with you.   

"I like you, Yn." Sophia said, coming closer to you and making your heart race. "Do you like me?"   

Sophia had pithy eyes, she moved the back of your neck, caressing your hair. When you nodded, Sophia tilted her head to the left.   

"Use words, baby..." Sophia said, her lower lip protruding forward, pouting.   

"I like you too, Sophia." You said, putting your hands on her waist awkwardly.   

"Good girl."  

It was the only thing Sophia said before connecting her lips with yours. The kiss made you feel like you were in free fall, electricity passing through the bodies of the two of you. Sophia's lips were soft and you wanted to kiss her for the rest of your life. 

Slowly moving away, Sophia left small kisses on your lips, until she moved away completely and admired your dirty mouth with her lipstick and lip gloss.   

"Only mine." 

Hello guys, I wanted to post something for Sophia's birthday, and since I was already writing this request, so here it is.

I haven't reviewed it yet, but I think I'll do it tomorrow. Sorry if I have typos, I'm sleepy and a little drunk.

HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS

xoxo, spider.

[theonottsbxtch]

NEW YEAR DREAMS | OP81

an: happy new year to my favourite people ever, i wish you guys all the best in the year to come and i can’t wait to share many more stories with all of you xx

wc: 3.6k

THE ROOM WAS A BLUR OF GLITTER AND CHAMPAGNE, laughter spiraling upwards like smoke in the warm, heady air. Oscar leaned against the far wall, his drink forgotten in his hand, his eyes flitting to her. She was there—of course she was there—wrapped in soft, shimmering fabric that caught the light every time she moved. She always caught the light, didn’t she? But tonight, she didn’t seem to notice.

He watched as she smiled—polite, practiced. A half-second too late to be real. They’d grown up together, her laughter once ringing brighter than any song she’d now sung for millions. Back then, she’d laugh with her whole chest, tipping her head back and sending echoes into the corners of their little cul-de-sac. But tonight, surrounded by people chanting her name as if it were their own, she looked... not quite herself.

He frowned, leaning forward to get a better look just as she slipped away. A ghost through the crowd, quiet and quick, the balcony door clicking shut behind her.

Oscar’s heart thudded. He knew he should stay where he was, where the room hummed with glittering distractions, but something—something unnameable—drew him forward. He set his drink down on a passing tray, weaving through the room until his hand brushed the cool brass handle of the balcony door.

Outside, the night was sharp and clean. The frost-bitten air nipped at his cheeks, and the stars sprawled above, distant and cold. She was there, her arms draped over the railing, her breath clouding in front of her. Her shoulders were tense, as though bracing against the weight of something no one else could see.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He didn’t trust his voice, not when she looked like that. Instead, he stepped forward quietly, leaning his forearms against the railing beside her.

“It’s loud in there,” he said softly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Figured you might need a minute.”

She didn’t startle, which told him she’d heard him coming. Instead, she sighed, long and slow, her breath curling into the night. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” she murmured, her voice low and melodic, carrying just a hint of weariness. “All these people… all these faces. But none of them really care, do they?”

Her words hung between them, a quiet confession to the cold December sky. He turned toward her slightly, his heart pulling taut.

“Some people care,” he said, and his voice was softer now, more certain. “Really care.”

She turned to look at him then, her eyes meeting his, searching for something in his face. He wasn’t sure if she found it, but the corners of her mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. Not the polished, camera-ready kind. The real one. The one he’d missed.

And for a moment, it was just them. Just Oscar and her, the way it had always been—until everything changed.

She looked away, back out over the city below. The skyline was dusted with faint mist, golden and silver lights blinking like scattered coins tossed across the earth. The hum of the party behind them felt like another world entirely, distant and inconsequential.

“It’s funny,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but steady. “This is everything I wanted. Everything I worked for. And now, standing here…” She hesitated, her fingers curling around the railing as if she were steadying herself. “It feels so far away. Like it’s not even mine anymore.”

Oscar’s chest ached at the sound of her voice, at the tremor she was trying to hide. He wanted to say something, anything, but words felt clumsy on his tongue. So instead, he waited, the silence between them filling with the faint sounds of the city and the muted thrum of music from inside.

“You ever feel like that?” she asked suddenly, turning to him. Her eyes searched his again, darker now under the night sky. “Like you’ve done everything you were supposed to do, but it’s still not enough?”

He swallowed, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know if I’ve ever done anything big enough to feel that way,” he admitted. “But I know what it’s like to not feel… enough.”

Her gaze softened, her lips parting as if she were about to speak, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him like she was seeing him for the first time.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said quietly.

Oscar felt a flicker of warmth in his chest, unexpected and disarming. He looked down at his hands, flexing them against the cold, trying to find his footing. “You know, you used to say stuff like that when we were kids,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’d go on about how everyone’s special in their own way. Even me, the awkward boy next door.”

“You weren’t awkward,” she said, a hint of amusement breaking through her melancholy. “You were sweet.”

“Sweet,” he repeated, laughing under his breath. “Not exactly what a boy wants to hear, but I’ll take it.”

She smiled again, a real smile this time, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in the summer of their childhood, chasing fireflies and dreams too big for their little town. But the moment passed, fleeting as the cold wind that swept across the balcony.

Her gaze drifted back to the sky. “It’s almost midnight,” she murmured. “Another year gone. Funny, isn’t it? How fast it all slips away?”

Oscar followed her gaze, his heartbeat quickening. Midnight. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had barely noticed the time passing, too lost in the sharp edges of her words, the softness of her presence.

He took a breath, feeling the weight of everything he’d never said pressing against his chest. If he didn’t say something now, if he didn’t do something—

“It doesn’t have to slip away,” he said, his voice firmer this time. “Not all of it.”

She looked at him sharply, her eyes wide and questioning, and he knew he couldn’t back down now. The countdown inside was beginning, muffled cheers rising as the final seconds of the year ticked away.

Ten

He stepped closer, his heart hammering so loudly he was certain she could hear it.

Nine

Her breath caught, her lips parting as he reached for her hand.

Eight

The world seemed to shrink, the city, the party, the stars above fading until there was nothing but her and the space between them.

Seven

He held her gaze, the words trembling on his lips, years of unspoken feelings threatening to spill over.

Six

“Can I—” he began, his voice raw and uncertain.

She didn’t pull away.

Five

“Say it, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant cheers.

Four

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking like a wave. “I always have.”

Three

She blinked, her eyes glistening, and for a moment, the world stood still.

Two

And then, before he could second-guess, before the fear could creep back in, he leaned in and kissed her.

One

The kiss was soft at first, tentative and searching, but then her hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and the world seemed to explode. Fireworks burst in the distance, the crackle of celebration echoing through the night, but he barely noticed. She was warm and real and impossibly close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything else faded away.

When they broke apart, the world seemed to catch its breath. The fireworks still raged on, bursts of colour spilling over the city, and faint cheers from the party behind them reached the balcony. But here, in this quiet corner of the universe, it was just them.

She stared at him, her eyes searching his face, her lips still parted as if she wasn’t sure what had just happened—or if it had really happened at all.

“Oscar…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, stepping back, his pulse pounding in his ears. “I shouldn’t have—I mean, I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, fumbling for words that wouldn’t come. “I couldn’t let another year go by without—without telling you.”

Her expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. “Don’t apologise,” she said gently. Her hand reached for his, her fingers brushing his wrist like she was grounding him. “Not for that.”

He froze, staring at her, hope blooming like fragile wildflowers in his chest. “You mean that?”

She nodded, a small, uncertain smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I think… I’ve been waiting for you to say it,” she admitted, her cheeks colouring faintly.

His breath hitched. “You have?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “And I think—I think I’ve been scared, too. Scared of losing you, scared of messing up what we have.” She paused, her thumb tracing absent circles on the back of his hand. “But tonight… standing in that room, surrounded by strangers pretending to care, I realised something.”

“What?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Her eyes lifted to his, shining like polished onyx under the glow of the city lights. “I realised you’re the only person who’s ever really known me. Not the me they see on magazine covers or onstage. Just… me. And I don’t want to lose that.”

Oscar felt like the ground had disappeared beneath him, like he was floating on the edge of something impossibly big and beautiful. “You’ll never lose me,” he said firmly, his voice steadier now. “Not ever.”

Her smile widened, a flicker of the girl he used to know shining through. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I think I might love you, too.”

His heart stuttered. “You think?”

She laughed then, a sound so familiar it felt like coming home. “I know,” she said, and before he could say anything else, she pulled him close again, her lips brushing his in a kiss that felt like a promise, unspoken but unbreakable.

The fireworks began to die down, the last bursts of colour fading into the sky, but neither of them noticed. The world could have ended in that moment, and Oscar wouldn’t have cared.

For the first time in years, everything felt exactly as it should.

“I don’t want to go back in there,” she murmured finally, glancing at the glowing windows of the party. The music had swelled again, and the faint silhouettes of people laughing and drinking were just visible through the glass.

Oscar followed her gaze, then looked back at her. “Then let’s not.”

She raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in her expression. “Just like that? Run off in the middle of my party?”

“Why not?” he said, a small grin pulling at his lips. “We’ve got the rest of the night, haven’t we? Let’s make it ours.”

Her lips curved into a smile, soft and real, and she nodded. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, he took her hand, their fingers weaving together like they’d always been meant to fit. He opened the balcony door quietly, leading her through the edge of the room. No one noticed them slipping out—the party too consumed by champagne and fireworks and half-forgotten resolutions.

The air outside was sharp and bracing as they stepped onto the street, their breath fogging in front of them. The world felt quieter now, the chaos of the party left behind, and the streets were nearly empty except for the occasional burst of laughter from distant doorways.

“Where to?” she asked, looking up at him, her cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe from the kiss.

He shrugged, grinning. “Anywhere but here.”

She laughed, a sound that made his chest tighten. “You’re terrible at plans, you know that?”

“Always have been,” he admitted, tugging her gently forward. “But maybe we don’t need one tonight.”

They wandered through the city, the streets lit by golden lamplight and the fading glow of fireworks. It felt like they’d stepped into a different world, one where it was just the two of them and nothing else mattered.

They passed a little café, its windows fogged up, the faint smell of coffee and warm pastries drifting out into the night. She stopped, tugging on his hand.

“Let’s go in,” she said, her eyes bright with the kind of excitement he hadn’t seen in years.

He hesitated, glancing at the closed sign on the door. But before he could protest, she was already pushing it open, the little bell above the door tinkling softly.

Inside, the café was empty except for a tired-looking barista cleaning up behind the counter. He looked up, startled, but before he could say anything, she smiled at him.

“I know you’re about to close,” she said, her voice warm and charming in a way Oscar had only ever seen her use when she really wanted something. “But could we trouble you for just a coffee? We’ll be quick, I promise.”

The barista hesitated, his eyes flicking between them, and then he sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright,” he said. “But just one.”

She turned to Oscar, her grin triumphant, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

They settled into a corner booth, their hands still brushing against each other under the table as they sipped their coffee. The warmth seeped into his chest, and he found himself watching her more than he should—watching the way her eyes softened, the way her guard seemed to drop.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet.

“For what?”

“For this,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the café, to the night, to everything. “For making me feel like me again. I didn’t realise how much I needed it.”

His heart swelled, and he reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said softly. “You’ve always been you. Maybe you just needed someone to remind you.”

She smiled at him, her fingers tightening around his, and for a while, they just sat there, the rest of the world falling away.

When the barista finally cleared his throat, gently reminding them of the time, they left the café, stepping back out into the crisp January air.

“Where to now?” she asked, looking at him with a spark of mischief in her eyes.

He grinned, pulling her closer as they walked down the empty street. “Anywhere you want. As long as I’m with you.”

The cold seemed to ease as they walked together, her hand snug in his, their shoulders brushing with every step. The city had grown quieter, the streets winding into familiar neighborhoods. When they finally reached the little flat he called home, Oscar hesitated for a moment at the door.

“You sure you don’t want me to call you a cab or something?” he asked, his breath fogging in the frosty air. “It’s late, and—”

She cut him off with a smile that lit up her face, soft and unguarded. “Oscar,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I want to be here. With you.”

He swallowed, nodding, his pulse quickening. “Alright, then. Come on.”

Inside, the flat was small but cozy, the kind of place where mismatched furniture told stories of student budgets and long-forgotten IKEA trips. She stepped inside, looking around with a faint smile. “This is so you,” she said, running a hand along the edge of a well-loved sofa.

“That’s either a compliment or an insult,” he said, his voice teasing as he shrugged off his coat.

“It’s a compliment,” she said, meeting his gaze. Her voice softened. “It’s real. Like you.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her honesty, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he moved to the small kitchen. “Tea? Or something stronger?”

“Tea sounds nice,” she said, sitting on the edge of the sofa and tucking her feet beneath her.

As he busied himself with the kettle, he stole glances at her. She looked so different here, away from the cameras and crowds, her posture relaxed, her guard down. It felt surreal, having her here in his little world, and he didn’t want the night to end.

When the tea was ready, he brought two mugs to the sofa and sat beside her. They talked quietly, about everything and nothing—old memories, silly jokes, the little moments that had defined their friendship. As the night deepened, the conversation slowed, the silence between them growing heavier.

She set her empty mug on the table, turning to him with a look he couldn’t quite place. “Oscar,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

She leaned in then, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, her hands finding their way to his chest. He responded instinctively, his hand coming to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing the soft curve of her jaw.

The kiss deepened, and before he knew it, her fingers were tugging at his shirt, her touch tentative but eager. His heart raced as he mirrored her movements, his hands sliding to the hem of her shirt, lifting it gently.

But then, she froze.

Her hands stilled against him, her breath hitching as she pulled back slightly, her eyes wide and uncertain.

He stopped immediately, his hands falling away as he met her gaze. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the rush of emotions coursing through him. “It’s okay.”

She looked away, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

He reached for her hands, holding them gently between his. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

She nodded, still avoiding his eyes, but he tilted her chin up with a finger, forcing her to look at him. “We have all the time in the world to do this,” he said, his smile soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Her lips parted slightly, her expression softening as the tension melted away. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and affection.

“Not always,” he admitted with a small laugh. “But I mean this. I just want you to feel safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she leaned forward to kiss him again, this time slow and tender, as if trying to say everything she couldn’t put into words.

When they pulled apart, he stood, offering her his hand. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get some sleep.”

She followed him to his bedroom, where the bed was small but inviting. They climbed in together, the covers warm and heavy as they settled side by side. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, and she rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“For what?”

“For being you,” she said, her voice already drowsy.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his own eyes drifting shut as the weight of the night finally gave way to quiet contentment.

And as they lay there, tangled together in the soft glow of the city lights spilling through the window, neither of them said anything more. They didn’t need to.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[corkinavoid]

For @ladydoptera, to 'Pomegranate Lips' by Derivakat,

DPxDC Get a Taste

"Password?"

Tim swallows. The eyes in the narrow window of the metal door are plenty familiar, dark violet with black makeup. But knowing who is on the other side doesn't help him in the slightest.

"Going ghost," he says, keeping his voice low. The window slides back shut with a snap - metal over metal, Tim's ears hurt - and then, there's a click, a snap, and the door opens.

A girl in a creatively ruined but still somehow stylish gothic lolita dress is standing in front of him. She looks taller than usual, and when Tim looks down, he knows why - those platforms must be at least four inches, how does she even walk in those?

"Welcome, McFly," Sam's dark red lips curve in a smirk that looks just a bit too smug on her. Also, to this day, Tim has no idea why she picked that nickname for him.

He steps inside, and the heavy door slams shut behind him, leaving them both in complete darkness. Or, Tim thought so until he looks a little closer and notices how Sam's violet eyes are faintly glowing - not enough to light the way, but enough to raise a few questions.

Questions that Tim is not going to ask.

Yet.

"Follow me," the girl says, her voice on the brink between annoyed and amused, and starts walking away through the narrow hall. Tim does his best to follow; his eyes are adjusting to the darkness, albeit slowly.

However, the walk doesn't last long - ten or so steps later Sam pushes another door, and-

The closest thing Tim can describe it as is a rave, of all things. Loud, rhythmic music that thrums through his whole body, strobes and bright green lights everywhere, and people, hundreds of them, dressed in all kinds of things. Tim freezes in the doorway, struggling to take in the sight.

A woman in a Victorian dress is dancing with what looks to be a werewolf in prison robes. A child just threw a one-eyed parrot at a man in a black tie suit. A knight of plated armor is waving a sword around, seemingly arguing with-

"Keep your mouth closed," Sam's finger taps his chin from below, and Tim shuts it back closed with a snap. Right, he's got no time to gawk, he is here on a mission. But, when he looks back to Sam, his mind comes to a screeching halt yet again.

"How'd you-" he starts, looking at how the girl's skin, usually pale and almost white, is glittering with small lines of blood red runes. They are not tattoos, or at least Tim doesn't think so because they move, like tiny snakes or vines over her skin.

"Nope, not answering," Sam clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, her perfectly sharp eyeliner getting a deep, dark red hint as well, "I don't owe you shit."

With that, she turns around and starts weaving through the crowd, leaving Tim no choice but to follow.

The music is nearly crushing his eardrums. The crowd should feel suffocating - Tim knows it usually does in places like these - but somehow it doesn't. What's more, it feels cold. So cold, in fact, that goosebumps run over Tim's skin.

However, just as he feels like they are completely lost in this freezing, neverending sea of faces and figures, Sam stops. Tim almost runs into her back, actually, but, just as he is about to ask her why, she steps to the side and gestures for Tim to go ahead.

And Tim... Tim can't move a muscle.

There's a corner booth in front of him, with red velvet seats and more than a few dozen drinks, empty and full, on the table in the middle. Some of the liquids are glowing toxic, unnatural colors, and in the back corner of his mind, Tim still remembers why he's here. He is investigating, right. Which includes meeting the owner of 'Afterlife' face to face, yeah. Something about a new drug on the streets of Gotham, probably.

Tim can't concentrate.

The guy lazily sitting at the table, with hair so white that it's nearly glowing and his pale skin shimmering with highlighter on his cheekbones, causes Tim's mind to completely bluescreen. Because the unbuttoned black suit with embroidered stars and an open white shirt underneath, the neon blue, faintly glowing cold eyes, and blood red lips stretched in a dangerous smile - that's thankfully is not directed at him - are all... Too much.

Not blood red, actually. It's a different color, but Tim can't remember the name.

He can barely remember his own name, to be honest.

"Oi, Danny," Sam snaps her fingers in the air, and the ethereal being blinks, tearing his unblinking gaze away from the man in a white suit sitting across from him to look at her. Then, his eyes slide to Tim, and, okay, he thought he was well past the gay panic stage of his life, but apparently not.

The guy - the god? because only divine fucking things have the right to look so otherworldly pretty, in Tim's opinion - tilts his head to the side slightly, a curious edge to him. And then he smiles, nice and a little sly, but Tim can't shake off the feeling of sharp danger that runs through his spine.

Pomegranate, that's the color.

Bite it once, and you will never leave the Underworld.

"Can I help you, little bird of crimson color?" The ethereal owner of the most mysterious place in Gotham asks without raising his voice, and yet Tim can hear him despite the loud music around.

...Maybe he doesn't mind never leaving, if he can get a taste.

~•~•~•~

When I put that song on for the first time, I was like, that's Sam. That's so Sam. But then I started writing, and things got weird, so it's both Sam and Danny now.

Tim is so gone, I'm sorry, RIP Tim. Funny thing is, he barely said a single word throughout the whole piece.

[sweetheartbitesb4ck]

part two here

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, who always kept such a stoic, emotionless facade, couldn't help but feel drawn in when he walked past your house.

Your windows were wide open, so the loud music crept out into the street as you danced around the kitchen, belting out lyrics along to the song. Simon paused as he noticed, a huff of laughter escaping from him as a smile crept over his masked face.

Stepping forward slightly, the Lieutenant craned his neck to peer through the window, his eyebrows furrowing with amusement as you jig around to the song, your singing muffled as you bend down to put a tray in the oven.

"Not too bad," Simon mutters to himself, referring to your singing. After a moment, he snaps out of his intrigued gaze, realising how creepy he probably looked, also realising, despite these unfamiliar feelings, how different he was to this person he'd never even spoken too, like a slab of concreate being best friends with a rainbow.

He carries on walking, shaking his head as if to shake the 'sense' back into himself, however he just couldn't get rid of that slightly fluttery feeling in the base of his belly. Ghost was used to being able to walk through life not feeling anything for anyone, partly because of his rough childhood and mostly because of the mannerisms gained from his line of work. Yeah, you hadn't had a great experience growing up either, but you were so open. Simon almost found it... refreshing?

Even at work he couldn't get rid of that lingering feeling. In the mess room, it was obvious. Simon was always... grumpy, to say the least, but today he wasn't even getting angry at MacTavish when he was being annoying, which was a clear indicator something was off.

Soap stops messing around, his grin shrinking to some degree. "Alright, LT?" he inquires, tilting his head slightly. Ghost grunts, scowling through his mask. Gaz looks over, nodding in agreement at Johnny. "Yeah, to be fair you seem off Simon."

Simon turns to Soap, then Kyle, his eyes dark. "Stop fucking pestering." He says bluntly, voice deep and gravelly.

Later, (in the pub, obviously) Simon was still quiet, sulking over his drink.

"I say we buy him some more booze and get him to spill," Soap whispers to Kyle, eyebrows raised smugly like some evil genius devising a master plan. "Yeah he's being weird." Garrick responds a little to loudly, and Ghost's neck pretty much snaps round. He looks the two up and down before returning to his drink. "Aye the blokes very crabbit." MacTavish mutters, rolling his eyes.

After Kyle and John had made poor Simon tipsy from countlessly thrusting more and more drinks before him, they started to question him. "Why so silent?" Garrick's eyes flick to Johnnies, as if to ask for approval for the question. Soap grins and nods, watching as Simon slams down down his fists on the table, leaning backwards in his chair.

"There's this girl," He mutters, shaking his head as both Gaz and Soap sit up, leaning in. "A lass, aye?" MacTavish squints, smirking at Simon. "Where'd you meet?"

"We haven't- I mean, I saw her through her window..." Simon grumbles, adjusting his skull mask. "Oh?" Kyle's mouth opens in a confused O shape. "Bit pervy. Maybe talk to her?"

"No... it'd be like a bag of skittles.. and I dunno, a boring old rock shagging." Ghost pouts through the mask, eyebrows contorted slightly.

"So... yer different from each other?" Johnny frowns, evidently bewildered. "I think he went and fell in love with this window lassie," He turns to Gaz, his expression contagious.

"That's the fucking problem!" Yells Simon, his eyes shining with unironic yet comical sadness. He slams his large, gloved hands into his face, tipping back on the chair.

"Show us window girl then," Garrick chuckles, obviously not convinced. The three man stand up, Soap shoving a few notes onto the table and thumping Simon's back gently as they walk out into the dark.

"She lives like..." The lieutenant trails off, pointing randomly around before stomping off down the road. After about 10 minutes of walking, he stops abruptly in front of your small house. The downstairs lights were all on, shining cosily from inside. The three stand there for a moment before Soap nudges Simon. "You gonnae talk to her or not?" Kyle steps back slightly as Ghost groans like some enamoured softy. "Maybe not..." Gaz murmurs.

"Oh you and your sensibleness can fuck right off." Johnny says as he starts to shoves Ghost up the pathway to your house, knocking on the door before darting away and leaving the bewildered man just standing there. Simon registers what's happening as the lock starts to click. It was too late for him to walk away. His breath hitches as you open the door and open your mouth, confused. "Hi?" You say, voice slightly unsure.

His eyes widen and he grins sheepishly, taking in your beauty close up and blinking as he starts to speak. "Hello Miss," You shift around slightly, grip tight on the door. Who the fuck is this guy? You think to yourself, looking the masked figure up and down.

You step backwards slightly as you notice another two men walking up the path, one grinning and the other rather reluctant. The one with strange looking mohawk places a firm hand on the masked mans shoulder and the other one just cowers behind mohawk man.

"My friend Simon here would like your number," Soap smiles, Scottish accent loud in the crisp night air. Simon nods enthusiastically. "You're pretty," He slurs, sticking up his thumb and grinning with his eyes. You nod, trying not to burst out laughing.

"Oh, well... thanks," You smile briefly, leaning backwards into the house to grab a pen. You weren't sure why you were doing this... giving some random man your number, but something had you hooked. Maybe it was the fact you could see how toned and muscly he was, even through his hoodie, or just because of how blatantly bizarre the encounter was. "Here," You tug up masked mans sleave, scribbling your number on the inside of his wrist. "Yay," He mumbles, turning around and tripping down the path, his two buddies in close pursuit.

You can't help but notice him drunkenly punch the air as he stumbles down the path, and as you click the door shut you can't ignore the smile plastered on your face and the flush creeping over your cheeks.

should I make a part 2 ?

sorry for any mistakes I'm tired af again heh... anyway, any reblogs / support is appreciated!! hope you enjoyed !

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

shower sounds

It was wrong. It was immoral.

But Simon 'Ghost' Riley couldn't help himself. He just couldn't.

You were his neighbor. His sweet, smiling, food-bringing goddess next-door. You had shared conversations with him, a few bottles of wine from time to time, too many cookies for him to count- you shared walls with him.

For the most part, the walls you shared with him weren't a problem. Sometimes you had your TV volume up too loud, sometimes you sang a bit too loudly to whatever music you were listening to, but that never bothered Simon.

Sometimes he could hear your cat jump up to her cat tower. He could always hear (and sometimes feel the vibration) when she would launch her chubby up to the tower, and the tower would always knock against the wall you shared with Simon. It made him scoff quietly every time. He had a fondness for that fat cat, whether he would admit it out loud or not.

Maybe her owner, too.

His excellent hearing was partially to blame, so he never made it to be a big deal. He never wanted you to know he heard you that much, didn't want to make you feel bad for some reason.

And those noises really weren't all that bad. In fact, he looked forward to hearing those mundane sounds. Sometimes a cupboard would close a bit too loudly; he never imagined you being the type to go randomly slamming cupboards shut, and he would wonder if you were alright. If he didn't hear anything else, he wouldn't worry as much.

It was a different kind of noise that Simon 'Ghost' Riley was bothered by that came from your unit. Noises, rather. And it was always one kind of noise that led to another…

The first time it happened, he felt almost ashamed of himself. Almost. Maybe he'd be more full of shame if he hadn't felt so damn good after.

Simon had been lounging on one end of his couch, TV remote in hand. He was switching between channels when he heard the familiar sound of your shower turning on. 

There was always this almost ringing-like sound that would come through the building's old pipes when the water was on, especially in the showers. The sound was always the same when the shower turned on, though if you adjusted the spray of the shower head, it would become higher or lower pitched depending on the intensity of the stream of water.

He heard you turn on some music before he could hear the shower curtain being drawn back and forth as you probably stepped into the shower, naked-

Simon shook his head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, picking something to watch on TV.

But there was nothing on.

He decided to give up on that. Right after his television went black, he heard the familiar high pitched noise of the building's old plumbing go up a few levels.

Simon wouldn't have thought anything of it if his apartment hadn't been dead quiet, and if he hadn't heard a small moan through the shared wall between you.

Simon's eyes widened as he listened, his ear turned towards the wall now so he could listen more closely. He could hear the harsh spray of your showerhead, his mind racing with what you could be using it for and where the stream was being directed on your body.

He felt a spark of something, and his body began to respond to the intimate sounds you were making that echoed into his apartment through the wall. His breathing began to slow and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. He could hear your soft whimpering and short gasps even clearer now.

A lump began to form in his throat as his body continued to react, his heart racing with excitement. His hand instinctively went to his groin, his fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal. He knew he shouldn't be standing there, his ear on the wall between you, his eyes closed, listening to you pleasure yourself in the shower-

But he just couldn't help himself. The sounds were drawing him in, making him feel like he was part of something intimate and-

Simon's eyes snapped open, and he moved away from the wall, trying to compose himself. He couldn't believe he was getting turned on by listening to his sweet, adorable, sweets-and-food gifting neighbor getting herself off in the shower. He needed to put some distance between you. He needed to get out of there, to clear his head and calm down.

He had taken the first step to move into another room when he heard a faint whisper through the wall.

"Oh, yeah..."

Back against the wall he was.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He was stuck, his ears glued to the wall, listening to the sounds coming from the other side.

The sounds were getting louder, and Simon could hear you more clearly now. You were whimpering and moaning, your breathing a little shallower now.

He continued to listen, unable to move away. His breathing was ragged and sharp, his body reacting to every single noise on the other side of the wall.

Simon's hand went back down to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers tracing the material. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he realized what he was about to do, but he didn't stop himself.

He unbuttoned his jeans, his hands moving urgently as he listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. He was getting more and more turned on as he heard your moans and whimpers growing louder, the sounds getting more frequent.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement, his other hand grasping his already rock-hard length.

He stroked himself slowly, his hand still pressed against the wall, his ear inches from the spot where your voice seemed to be coming from.

His eyes closed once more as he imagined what you might look like, pleasuring yourself in the shower, as he stroked his throbbing cock, already glistening at the tip with precum.

To keep his own pleasured sounds from getting too loud, in fear that you would hear him and maybe stop, he bit down on his own tongue, quickly tasting copper in his mouth as a muffled groan escaped his lips.

He imagined you in the shower, how wet you must be in so many ways, how slick your skin was as you touched yourself, and how much you wanted this, needed this release just as desperately as he did.

With a low growl, he began pumping his shaft faster, harder as he imagined your wet skin, your curves, your breasts, your ass... He could picture it all so vividly, thanks to the erotic symphony playing through the thin wall separating them.

He was stroking his thick, angry cock faster now, his hips rocking slightly, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with the distant echoes of your pleasure-filled cries.

"Fuck," he heard you whisper breathlessly before letting out a soft whine. You were getting close. He could tell.

So was he.

The sound of your moans grew louder, more urgent, and Simon found himself matching the rhythm of your strokes, pumping his own cock in time with your breathy pleas.

His grip tightened around his shaft, the veins bulging as he worked himself closer to the edge. The image of you touching yourself, lost in pleasure, fueled his desire, making him ache to be inside you.

He could almost taste you on his tongue, feel your slick heat enveloping him as he thrust deep. The fantasy was so real, so intoxicating, that he swore he could smell the sweet musk of your arousal carried through the thin partition.

A guttural groan tore from his throat as he quickened his pace, chasing his impending climax. Precum dripped steadily from the tip of his cock, leaving a sticky trail on his fist as he pumped faster, harder.

Then, he heard what he had been waiting for most of all, a sound he knew was coming but wasn't sure what exactly it would sound like. And it was more delicious than he could have ever imagined.

He heard you cry out through the wall, in the shower, as your orgasm washed over you. He really hoped that your sound of released pleasure distracted you enough to not notice his own.

Simon's entire world narrowed to the sound of your climax, a whine that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of his reality. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and it shattered his last semblance of control.

He knew he was about to be loud. He needed to do something, fast, that wouldn’t mean biting his tongue or lip off-

Simon bit down on his clothed arm as he came undone, his orgasm ripping through him like a hurricane while the pain from biting his own arm threatened to tip the scales of pain and pleasure towards the former, but maybe that made him like it even more. Hot spurts of cum spurted from his cock, painting the wall he leaned against in thick, viscous streaks. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the aftershocks, his vision flashing white behind clenched eyelids.

When Simon finally returned to Earth, he was left looking at the aftermath of his actions as he caught his breath, breathing in and out with his eyes closed, still listening intently through the wall just in case you had any more delicious sounds in you.

masterlist

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy (sneak peek!)

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || fluff, angst, crack

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hai everyone, the freaking turmoil & HOLD this fic has on me,,,has me writing til 8AM in the freaking morning because CLEARLY ─ i have unspoken issues . anyways here's a teaser of my recent hyperfixation that i'm sharing with the world. at the rate i'm writing this every night (& morning), it should be out soon (hopefully) :3 also this snippet i decided to include is my attempt at angst...i hope yall enjoy !

also send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“Y/N.” 

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago. You stop in your tracks, swallowing hard before turning around.  

Jake stands a few feet away, his usual easy confidence replaced by something raw, almost broken. He looks disheveled, his hands clenching at his sides as though they're the only thing anchoring him.  

“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice low but unsteady. 

You stomach twists, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation.  

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll shatter if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

You look at him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “Then why was...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens this mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you’re afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—the sound caught somewhere between a sigh of realization and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you've tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you suddenly, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment, about him. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said before—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see your tears finally spilling over.  

"You promised," you let out softly. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one I care about."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I wanted to, I really, really did. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. This was the first time seeing you in so long, and this sight of you—broken because of him—cuts deeper than he thought possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who's become your safe space —and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out a deep breath and take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay, to give him the chance he's begging for. But your head knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, turning away before the tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he sees you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

The hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps, a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

not my usual style of light-hearted crack...but sum of the other parts are still very rom-commy bc im sucker for dat shtuff :3

let me know if you'd like to be tagged !

<3, addie

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 3

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You're a little less addled as you enter the condo that day. You have a soft playlist going as you carry your kit through and roll in the vacuum. The sunlight beams large rectangles across the hardwood as the shadows of the frames skew between. The air is still and as placid as the melody in your ears. 

The list guides you. Even as you could recite it by rote. You can never be too careful. You turn the corner into the living room, the TV glaring blue across the space.  

You round the couch to grab the remote. Strange, the coffee table is pushed back. Your toe brushes something on the floor and you stop short. 

You look down at the body on the floor. 

Concern ripples up your spine and swells in your throat. Is Bucky okay? His shoulders curl forward as he hugs a pillow, legs bent under the thin throw blanket usually folded over the back of the couch. It's only his low snores that assure you he didn't collapse there. 

You sway above him. Even as he lays on the floor, you feel tiny. Should you wake him? You glance up at the television and decide better of it. You've been a part of a similar tableau. Sleepless nights are often a battle, especially alone. 

You shut off the TV and retreat. You'll wait to do the front room. You look up the spiral staircase. The metals too noisy. What can you do that won't disturb him? 

You turn off your earbud and put it away. You'll have to be careful of everything you do. The silence is dense. You don't often let it pervade your life. You always have something going; music, a show, an audio book... anything to keep you from drifting. 

You start small, wiping down the cupboards with a dust cloth. There isn't much to catch but one day can make the difference. 

There's still no step stool. You make sure he isn't around when you lift yourself up on the counter and work on your knees. You should ask but you also hate to be demanding. 

Despite the odd circumstance, it's calm. You stay alert as you work through the lost, out of order, but you do what you can. 

Will he wake up soon? You hear a groan followed by a murmur. You can't understand it. You turn the faucet on, keeping the stream slow, and wash up the few dishes left near the sink. The smell of the citrus dish soap wafts in the air. As do his snores. 

The snorting rhythm reassures you. They don't stop even as you chance your ascent upstairs. You use the small hand broom on the steps. You find that's easier. Slowly you make your way down until a metallic chink startles you. 

You turn on the steps as Bucky squints sleepily at you. He wears a pair of briefs, his shoulders draped in the throw blankets, as his thick hair hangs in puffy tangles. He rubs his chest, scratching there as you avoid looking below his groggy face. 

You push yourself against the narrow railing as he grips the bottom. You do your best to make room for him to pass. 

"Time?" He asks. 

You wince and fumble to free your phone from the holder on your belt. "Eleven." 

He sniffs and nods. 

"I know it's not on the list, but... coffee, please." 

He backs up and rubs his temple. You can tell by how he moves that he has a headache. You didn't expect a super soldier to fet those.  

"Yes, sir," you leave the hand broom on the step so you can remember where you left off and stand. 

You come down cautiously. You don't like how narrow and steep the climb is. Bucky goes to the couch and drops down heavily. You glance over as he grips his skull. 

You keep your phone out and google the instructions for his coffee machine. You don't have one yourself.  You find the bag of grinds and load it up. You add water to the tank then hit 'brew'. Simple enough. 

You wait for the machine to finish and pour a mug. You turn to face the front room. Bucky’s head rests against the cushion as he remains unmoving. You tiptoe over and peer around. The coffee table’s too far to put the cup down. You stare at him as his eyes are firmly shut. 

“Smells good,” he sits up and reaches for the mug. You hand it over. “You can help yourself.” 

You fold your hands and offer a tight smile, “no thanks. Very kind though.” 

He groans and nods, bringing the cup up to inhale the scent. He blows over it before he drinks. You wince. “Oh.” 

His blue eyes flick over to you, “what?” 

“Oh, I didn’t... didn’t ask if you put anything in it.” 

He shrugs, “black is fine.” He takes another deep swig and clears his throat. “You wouldn’t believe the dirt water they put in field rations.” 

You dip your chin and shrug, “uh, oh no.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbles as he cradles the mug in his large hands and leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “Just... talking.” 

You nod and put your hands behind you. He glances at you again. You can’t read his expression. Is he annoyed? 

“Goddamn,” he exhales deeply and raises the cup to press against his forehead. 

You watch him, teetering between fleeing back to the stairs and waiting for him to tell you to do so. “Do you need some advil?” 

His cheek dimples and he scoffs as he lowers the mug, “doesn’t work for me.” 

Your brows pop up curiously, “oh.” 

“Another cup should do the trick,” he drains the coffee and holds out the cup. “Appreciate it, doll.” 

“Yes, sir,” you take it as a dregs trickles down onto your fingers. 

“Don’t gotta call me sir. This isn’t a platoon,” he rubs his cheek. “Not the sergeant here. Just...” his voice trails off and he shakes his head. He stands and rolls his shoulders. “You can leave the cup on the counter for me.” 

He steps towards you and you flinch. He moves around you and you turn to watch him. His feet slap the floor heavily. He must be in rough shape as you usually don’t hear him stalking around the place. He disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut. 

You look down at the porcelain. More coffee. Simple. 

[raekensluver]

WICKED OBSESSION - EX!LUIGI MANGIONE x FEM!READER- PART TWO

PART ONE, PART TWO

DESCRIPTION: it seems you finally managed to get luigi out of your life, so you decide to move on and date someone new. but when you're in a club and you run into luigi...how is he going to react to your new relationship?

CONTAINS: dark themes!!!!!!!!!!, toxic!luigi, clubbing, drugging, cheating, daterape, manipulation, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), mentions of babytrapping (it doesn't happen).

w.c: 4.2k

a/n: lowkey tweaking out because i know my baby lu would never do this but this is a work of fiction so it's okay....right?

the neon lights of the club throbbed in time with the bass, casting an eerie glow across the dance floor. the air had the scent of sweat and perfume, the sound of laughter and music an intoxicating blend that made the world feel alive. you leaned against the bar, sipping your drink, feeling the vibrations of the music in your chest. your new boyfriend, matt, swayed beside you, his hand resting gently on the small of your back.

months had passed since you last saw luigi. the memory of that night was a distant echo, a faint taste of something sour on the back of your tongue. you had blocked his number, deleted his messages, and even moved apartments to escape the shadow he had cast over your life. every time you thought you had left the toxic relationship behind, the fear of his reappearance had clung to you like a sticky web. but with matt, you felt free. his gentle touch was a balm to your bruised soul.

your parents adored matt. he had a way of making everyone feel seen and heard, a stark contrast to luigi's demanding presence. when he picked you up for dinner, he'd bring flowers for your mom, ask about your dad's day, and listen to their stories with genuine interest. he was the kind of son they had always hoped for. when they saw the two of you together, their faces lit up with the warmth of a thousand suns. they had never seen you so happy, so at peace.

but the night at the club, the night you saw luigi, the shadows of your past began to stretch their long fingers into the present. his eyes found you through the crowd, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. his gaze was intense, filled with a mix of anger and desperation. you felt a chill run down your spine, a shiver of fear that you thought you had outgrown. matt, noticing your sudden tension, wrapped his arm around you protectively, whispering, "who's that?"

you tried to play it cool, taking a sip of your drink and hoping luigi would just pass by, but his steps were determined. as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours, you felt the old weight of his presence settle back on your shoulders. "luigi," you murmured to matt, your voice shakier than you'd liked. "it's okay, everything's fine." you told him, but everything wasn't fine. luigi had always had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, and even now, surrounded by the pulsing energy of the club, it was just the two of you.

"hey, it's been a minute," luigi said, his voice smooth as velvet, his smile forced and cold. matt offered a hand, a polite gesture that you appreciated, and luigi took it in a firm, almost painful grip. "luigi mangione," he said, introducing himself. "i know who you are," matt replied, his grip equally firm. "i've heard a lot about you." there was a beat, a moment where the tension grew thick enough to slice with a knife. luigi's eyes flicked to you, a question in them. "this is matt," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "my boyfriend."

his smile didn't waver, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "oh," luigi said, his eyes lingering on matt. "you're the one who's been keeping her out of trouble, huh?" he leaned in, his voice low and mocking. "good for you. she used to be such a handful." matt's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. "i think she's pretty perfect the way she is," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to fill the space around you.

luigi's gaze snapped back to you, his eyes dark. "right," he said, his tone clipped. "well, i didn't come over here to cause any trouble. just wanted to say hi." his hand reached out, and for a split second, you thought he might touch you. but matt's grip on your waist tightened, a silent warning, and luigi's hand fell away. "another time, then," he said, his voice dripping with a promise that sent a fresh wave of cold fear through you.

he turned and began to walk away, his movements fluid and graceful despite the crush of people on the dance floor. your eyes followed him as he disappeared into the crowd, a snake slithering back into the shadows from which he came. matt's arm tightened around you, and you felt his breath in your ear. "are you okay?" he asked. you nodded, but the nod felt too heavy, forced. "yeah," you said, "i'm fine." but you weren't fine. the sight of luigi had cracked open a door you thought was sealed shut, and the memories flooded in, unbidden and unwelcome.

an hour passed, or maybe it was two, the minutes stretching and warping to the beat of the music. matt was pulled away by friends and you remained by the bar, the empty glass in your hand a silent sentinel to the fear that had crept back in. you tried to ignore the way the lights played over the shifting crowd, turning every shadow into a potential threat. you tried to focus on the music, the laughter, the warmth of matt's hand when it found yours again, but luigi's presence lingered like a bad taste.

suddenly, he was there again. luigi slid onto the stool next to you, his eyes never leaving yours. the bartender set down a drink in front of you, and you stared at it, a slithering coil of dread tightening in your stomach. "i just wanted to talk," he said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to cut through the din of the club. "i've missed you."

you took a deep breath, the taste of your drink bitter on your tongue. "it's over, luigi," you said, your voice firm. "i'm done." the words felt like a declaration of war, and for a moment, you braced yourself for the storm of his anger. but he just nodded, his smile never wavering.

his eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "i know," he said, his voice a whisper over the music. "i just wanted to make sure you knew that i still care." you felt the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his words, and for a moment, doubt flickered. but then you remembered the pain, the tears, the endless cycle of his apologies and your forgiveness. "i don't need that kind of caring anymore," you replied, sliding off the stool. "i've got matt. he treats me right."

his expression didn't change, but the air around him grew colder. "you always did know how to pick 'em," he said, gesturing to the drink with a tilt of his head. "have one last toast with me?" the glass was filled with an amber liquid that glinted under the neon lights, and you knew it was your favorite whiskey. luigi had always had a way of knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to get under your skin.

you stared at the drink, the ice cubes clinking together with a sound like shattered promises. if you took a sip, if you engaged with him, you were afraid it might be like opening pandora's box. but maybe, just maybe, if you humored him this one time, he would leave you alone forever. you picked up the glass, the condensation wetting your fingers, and raised it to your lips.

the whiskey burned down your throat, a familiar warmth that brought with it a rush of bittersweet memories. you set the glass down firmly, the clink of it hitting the bar a declaration. "that's enough," you said, your voice clear and unwavering. "i have to go find matt." luigi's smile remained, but there was something in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. "sure," he said, "enjoy the night."

you pushed through the sea of bodies, the music a muffled roar in your ears. the lights spun and swirled, making it hard to focus. matt's tall frame should have been easy to spot, but the more you looked, the more you realized he wasn't anywhere near. a sinking feeling began to form in your stomach, a knot that grew tighter with every passing second. you scanned the dance floor, the couches, the bathroom line, but there was no sign of him.

you pulled out your phone, the glow of the screen a beacon in the dark. no messages, no calls. you tried to call him, but the club's reception was spotty at best, and all you got was a series of rings followed by silence. where was he? had luigi said something to him? the whiskey swirled in your stomach, mixing with the fear that had taken hold. you sent a quick text, trying to keep the panic out of your words. "where are you?"

the seconds ticked by, feeling like hours. no response. the music grew louder, the lights more oppressive. the crowd seemed to close in around you, and you felt like you couldn't breathe. your heart hammered in your chest, a drumbeat that echoed the bass of the music. you pushed through the throngs of dancers, searching every face, but matt's was nowhere to be found.

the club was a labyrinth of neon lights and pounding rhythms, each step taking you further from safety and closer to the panic that threatened to consume you. the floor was sticky under your shoes, the air thick with the scent of desperation. your eyes searched frantically, darting from person to person, but all you saw were strangers, their faces a blur of indifference to your distress.

suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around. you gasped, ready to lash out, but it was luigi. his eyes searched yours, a flicker of genuine concern breaking through the mask of his usual arrogance. "you okay?" he asked, his voice cutting through the cacophony. you nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "matt's missing," you managed to shout over the music. "i can't find him."

luigi sneered for a second before it was replaced with something softer. "let's go look together," he offered, and for a second, you almost believed he had changed. almost. but you were desperate, and he was right there. together, you wove through the dancers, his hand in yours. his grip was firm, grounding you in a way that was eerily familiar. "matt's a good guy," luigi said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "you deserve someone like him." the words stung, but you didn't have the energy to argue.

you began to feel loopy, the whiskey hitting you harder than it should have. the lights grew too bright, the sounds too loud. you stumbled, and luigi was there, his arm around your waist, supporting you. "are you okay?" he shouted, his face close to yours. you nodded, trying to shake off the fog that clouded your thoughts. "just need to find matt," you murmured, leaning into him.

his grip on you tightened, his thumb stroking the side of your hip in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. you realized with a start that the hand that had held yours was now resting on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with a possessiveness that was all too familiar. the whiskey's warmth had turned to ice, and you felt yourself sinking into the cold embrace of the club's floor. "matt," you tried to call out, but your voice was a whisper lost in the roar.

the lights above swirled into a nauseating kaleidoscope, each color stabbing into your retinas like a knife. the music grew distorted, the laughter around you turning into a cacophony of taunts. you felt luigi's arm around you, his grip tightening as you stumbled again. "let's go someplace quieter," he yelled in your ear, his breath hot and sour. the hand that had been on your back slid up to your shoulder, his fingers digging in, and you realized with horror that you couldn't move away. your limbs felt like lead, and the panic grew, a scream trapped in your chest.

the edges of the club blurred as he half-dragged you through a side door and into a hallway that was a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of the main room. the walls were cold and unforgiving, the floor sticky under your feet. the lights flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced around you like ghosts from your past. your thoughts swirled like the neon lights, a toxic mix of fear and confusion. "matt," you tried to call out, but your voice was lost in the thump of the bass that seemed to follow you even here.

"shh," luigi murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. his arms were around you, supporting you, but it felt more like a cage. "he's probably just stepped outside for some air." his voice was soothing, the way it used to be when you were together, when you were lost in his lies. "let's sit down, okay?" before you could protest, he had guided you to a bench against the wall, his grip firm and unyielding.

you leaned against him, your vision swimming. the whiskey had hit you harder than you had anticipated, and the room spun in a dizzying array of lights and sounds. you tried to focus on his face, but it kept shifting, changing into the monster you had left behind. "matt," you whispered, the name a prayer on your lips. "i need to find matt."

his arms tightened around you. "he'll find you," he assured you, his voice a seductive purr that sent a shiver down your spine. "right now, you just need to relax." his hand slid down to your waist, his fingers curling possessively. you tried to push him away, but your body didn't respond, heavy and sluggish. "no," you slurred, the word barely audible. "not again."

the room tilted and you felt yourself slipping, the floor rising up to meet you. luigi's arms tightened, his grip like iron bars keeping you upright. "don't worry, i've got you," he whispered, his breath hot on your neck. "just let me take care of you." the words echoed in your mind, a siren's call from a nightmare you thought you had left behind.

you felt his hand move again, this time sliding up to the base of your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. your heart hammered in your chest, a desperate rhythm that seemed to match the throb of the bass still pounding in your ears. you knew what was happening, knew the game he was playing, but you couldn't find the strength to fight it. "no," you murmured, the word barely escaping your lips. "please."

his eyes searched yours, the coldness in them sending a chill down your spine. "you always did like to play hard to get," he said, his voice a mockery of sweetness. your mouth felt dry, the whiskey a burning memory on your tongue. you tried to swallow, but your throat was a desert, parched and desolate. the room spun faster, the lights above becoming a blur of color that made your head ache.

his hand moved up to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him. "don't you remember how good we were together?" he asked, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "i can give you everything you want. everything you need." his breath was hot, the scent of alcohol and something darker, something that made your stomach churn. "matt can't give you what i can."

you tried to pull away, to stand, to scream, but your body was uncooperative. your legs felt like jelly, your arms heavy weights attached to your shoulders. "no," you whispered, the word barely escaping your numb lips. "i don't want that anymore." the room was spinning faster, the lights above swirling into a sickening pattern that made you want to retch.

luigi's grip remained unyielding, his thumb stroking your cheek with a gentle pressure that was anything but comforting. "you don't know what you want," he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a hunger that made your skin crawl. "but i do. i want you." his voice was a siren's call, a promise of comfort in the storm that raged within you. but it was a lie, and you knew it.

his other hand found yours, guiding it with a surprising force to the bulge in his pants. your stomach lurched, the whiskey churning in your stomach like a tempest. "feel that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the club. "that's how much i want you." the fabric of his trousers was rough under your trembling fingers, the heat from his body searing through the material. "luigi, no," you managed to gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

his hand didn't move, his grip unyielding as he pressed your palm against his erection. "just one more time," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "i'll make it worth your while." the memory of his touch, his kisses, his promises flooded your mind like a tsunami, threatening to drown you in a sea of despair. his thumb traced lazy circles on the inside of your wrist, sending a shiver of revulsion through you.

you felt his cock twitch under your touch, and you realized with a start that his hand had moved away, leaving yours to hover there, unsure of what to do. your mind screamed at you to push him away, to run, but your body remained frozen, trapped in a prison of fear and doubt. his eyes bore into yours, searching for a flicker of the desire that had once burned so brightly for him. but all you felt was the cold, hard reality of his manipulation.

his hand moved to the back of your head, gently but firmly guiding you closer to his crotch. you could feel the heat of him, smell the musk of his desire. your stomach churned with the whiskey and the horror of what was about to happen. "please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. but he didn't listen. he never did.

his zipper rasped open, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. your eyes watered with the effort of not crying, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you break. his cock sprang free, hard and demanding, and you knew what he wanted. his hand pushed your head down, the pressure unmistakable. you closed your eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and did as he bid.

his cock filled your mouth, the taste of him bitter and wrong. you felt his hands on your hair, guiding you, his breath coming in short, excited gasps. your cheeks hollowed as you moved up and down, his grip tightening with each stroke. the whiskey churned in your stomach, but you couldn't throw up. not now. not here. you had to get through this.

you kept your eyes on him, his face a mask of lust and power. his eyes were locked on yours, the dark pools of his pupils swallowing any hope of escape. the lights above threw shadows across his face, making him look like a demon from hell itself. his mouth moved, whispering words of encouragement, of ownership, but you couldn't hear them. the only sound was the sickening sounds of your swallowing and gagging and and the thud of your own heart, beating a desperate rhythm of survival.

then, without warning, luigi pulled himself out of your mouth, his grip on your hair painfully tight. he pushed you back down onto the bench, his eyes never leaving yours. his pants fell to his ankles with a soft thump, and he positioned himself between your legs. "you always did know how to take care of me," he murmured, his voice a knife slicing through the silence. your heart hammered in your chest, a wild, terrified animal trapped in a cage.

his hand reached up under your skirt, the fabric rough against your skin. you tried to close your legs, to fight him off, but your body was a traitor, too weak from the drugged whiskey and the fear. his fingers found your panties, ripping them aside with a savage jerk. the sound of the tearing fabric was like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. you felt a moment of pure, unbridled rage, but it was quickly swallowed by the cold, numbing acceptance that had become so familiar during your time with him.

his cock pushed into you, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. the pain was a white-hot knife, slicing through the fog in your mind. he was rough, his thrusts hard and fast, like he was trying to claim you all over again. your hands gripped the edge of the bench, your nails digging into the wood. you didn't look at him, focusing instead on the flickering lights above, trying to find a pattern in the chaos to hold onto.

but despite your efforts to remain detached, a moan slipped out, low and desperate. it was like a dam breaking, and suddenly you couldn't hold back the sounds of your body's betrayal. the pleasure built, unwanted, the whiskey making your senses too intense, too alive to ignore. your eyes squeezed shut, and your mouth opened in a silent scream as luigi fucked you, his hips slamming into yours with a brutal rhythm.

his hand left your neck and traveled down your front, his fingers tracing a fiery path down your spine. you shuddered at the contact, a mix of revulsion and unwanted arousal that made your skin crawl. his grip was firm, his fingers digging into your skin, reminding you of the power he had over you, even now. "see?" he murmured, his voice thick with victory. "you still want me."

his thrusts grew deeper, more deliberate, his eyes on yours. "you know i could get you pregnant," he whispered, his breath hot on your face. "wouldn't that be great? you, tied to me for the rest of your life, just like i always wanted." the words were a knife in your soul, twisting and turning until you weren't sure if the moans coming from your throat were from pleasure or pain. "i could do it right now," he continued, his voice a taunt. "make sure you never forget who you really belong to."

the sobs began then, deep and raw, the sound of your own breaking. luigi's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before the smugness returned. he liked your tears, liked that he could still make you cry. his grip on your hip tightened, his thumb digging into your flesh as he pumped into you harder. "that's it," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "just let go."

you didn't want to let go. you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble, but the whiskey and the fear and the memories were too much. the moans grew louder, mingling with your sobs, and you hated yourself for it. your body was responding to his touch, betraying you with every stroke, every thrust. his other hand found your clit, and you bit down on your lip, trying to keep the noises inside.

his eyes gleamed with triumph, his smile cold and cruel. "that's it," he murmured again, his voice a sibilant whisper in the dark. "just like old times." his thumb circled your clit, pressing down with a merciless precision that made your eyes roll back in your head. your hips bucked against his hand, a silent plea for release that was more about ending this nightmare than giving in to his touch.

the orgasm ripped through you, tearing apart what was left of your defenses. your body arched, your nails scraping the bench as you came around his cock, the sound of your cries lost in the music that thumped through the walls. luigi's smile grew wider, his hips moving faster. "see, baby?" he said, his voice a mockery of tenderness. "we're perfect together."

then, without warning, he pulled out, his cock slick with your arousal. you felt the warmth of his cum spurt onto your stomach, painting you with his claim. the act was a final declaration of his dominance, a physical manifesto of his ownership. your eyes snapped open, meeting his in a silent battle of wills. you hated him, hated the way your body responded to him even now, hated the way his cum marred your skin.

his smile never wavered as he tucked himself away and zipped up his pants. "see you around," he said, his voice casual as if you hadn't just been violated in the shadows of a club. and with that, he turned and left you there, trembling and alone. the sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading into the throb of the music until all that remained was the sticky emptiness of his absence.

[starsenha]

[12] FIRST IMPRESSIONS - just choreo

synopsis: riki was a big fan of your group Devilish, but when he met you for the first time, he made a very bad first impression and now you hated him. rumors started to spark saying how you hated each other and to calm the rumors, the company decided to make you two hosts a variety show together for two months. wc: 2k tw: lots of sexual tension

You arrived at the brightly lit practice room of Hybe Entertainment. You hurried a bit, the clock showing 10:03pm. You were three minutes late. Your bag slung over one shoulder, and your usual determined and focused expression on your face, even if you were exhausted. It was a hectic week with Devilish as you were preparing for your upcoming comeback. Yet, here you were, late at night rather than resting, obliged to rehearse this chore for the variety show. The production team thought it was a good idea to use both your and Riki's talent in dance and do a little choreo section in the next episode. Like you both already hadn't enough on your plates.

As you pushed open the door, the familiar beat of Under The Influence by Chris Brown resonated in the room as you saw Riki rehearsing the chores. You both received the demo just this morning and from what you saw, he almost had it down already, the same as you. He noticed you arriving in the mirror and stopped the music, offering you a cheeky grin.

"You're late,' he teased, walking over to grab his water bottle.

You dropped your bag near the corner, rolling your eyes, but a hint of a smile was playing on your lips. "3 minutes. I literally just got ut of practice with the girls."

"Oh please, I just finished practice too. Don't find excuses," his playful tone didn't irritate you as much as it used to, which honestly surprised you. But you guessed it was probably because of your actual conversation you had with him a few days ago.

You smirked slightly at his comment, pulling out your phone to glance at the choreo notes one last time. Your smile didn't go unnoticed by Riki, who felt his heart skip a beat for some reason.

"Did you have time to watch the demo?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could.

You nodded. "Yeah. I'm genuinely surprised they went with something so...suggestive."

He chuckled. "You and me both. But hey, it's a chance to show our chemistry, right?"

"What chemistry?"

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "Ouch. You wound me."

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. "Let's just get started."

The two of you moved to the center of the room. You had studied the routine on your way here, but performing it in person was completely different, especially with him. You first started by reviewing the chores without music, trying out the formations and steps to make sure you were in complete sync. It was a bit intricate and required you to actually have cohesion.

When you reached the first section that required physical contact, Riki hesitated for a split second before tilting your chin upward with his fingertips. The action was quite brief but charged. Your breath hitched a bit unexpectedly as you realized just how close you were to each other, your eyes locking onto his. When he stepped around you as the choreo demanded, you felt a little pang of disappointment. What was happening?

"Too much?" Riki asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he noticed your reaction.

You scoffed, masking your unease by being a bit defensive. "I'm fine. It's just choreo."

The suggestive sections were next, and you could feel the heat of the room intensifying. He executed a sharp hip thrust while you popped your hips in perfect sync.

"Wow," you heard him mutter under his breath, but loud enough for you to catch.

"What?" you asked.

"You're actually really good at this," he admitted, his voice genuine, even if you caught him checking you out a bit in the mirror.

You blinked for a moment, a bit taken aback. "Uh, thanks. You're pretty good too."

"Pretty good?" he raised an eyebrow, feigning insult. "I'm incredible. Best dancer of 4th gen, and you know that."

You chuckled, swatting his baseball cap to pull it down ever so slightly. "Yeah, yeah sure. let's not get carried away, okay?"

He chuckled, too, and put his cap up a bit. You went through the choreo several times, doing it with music too. After a few times, you plopped down on the wooden floor, leaning back on your hands and catching your breath. You could feel the thin sheen of sweat on your body. Across from you, Riki sat cross-legged, chugging water from his bottle, and you couldn't help but let your eyes wander to his Adam's apple going up and down as he gulped. He then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, exposing his defined abs. You quickly looked away, pretending not to notice.

"That wasn't so bad..." you muttered, reaching for your own water bottle.

"We aced that," he said with a boyish grin, and you couldn't help yourself but smile as well.

You both laughed and talked a bit, the conversation flowing quite naturally between you two. You found yourself actually having a good time, the way you bantered a bit too made it interesting.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Riki cleared his throat, a hint of nervousness creeping into his expression. "Hey, uh...can I ask you something?"

You raised an eyeborw, curious. "What?"

He figedted with the hem of his shirt, avoiding your gaze. "Do you...maybe...want to exchange numbers? You know, since we're gonna be working together for a bit, we might wanna talk about schedule or...stuff."

You tilted your head, surprised. He was alwyas so confident and playful but he seemed quite shy now. It was almost, cute? "Sure,' you simply said, pulling out your phone.

His face lit up as he handed over his own phone. Your fingers brushed briefly during the exchange, and you felt a spark you quickly ignored. As you entered your number, he watched you with a small smile, trying not to make it obvious how giddy he felt.

“Here,” you said, handing his phone back. “Don’t text me at three in the morning or something. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Noted,” he replied, grinning. “I’ll make sure to only annoy you during waking hours.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. For a brief moment, you caught his gaze, and the air between you shifted. 

“Ready to go again?” You asked, breaking the silence as you stood up.

“Always,” Riki replied, his voice steady, though his heart was pounding.

You moved back into position, the track starting up once more. The choreography demanded precision and a level of intimacy that made the room feel smaller, hotter.

At one point, you decided to shed your oversized button-up, leaving you in just your sweatpants and a cropped tank top. You were completely oblivious to the effect this had on Riki, who suddenly found it difficult to concentrate. The way your tank top clung to you, revealing toned arms and just a hint of your midriff, made his throat dry.

Riki tried to focus on the choreography, but his eyes kept drifting to you. She’s so fucking hot, he thought, mentally scolding himself for letting his mind wander. He had to stay professional, but it was getting harder by the second.

You, on the other hand, was too engrossed in the routine to notice Riki’s internal struggle. You were, however, hyper-aware of your movements, the way your bodies seemed to naturally sync. Your styles complemented each other perfectly. It was like you were made to dance together, and the realization only added to the crackling energy between you.

As you reached the section where Riki had to tilt your chin, he hesitated for just a fraction of a second before doing it. His fingers brushed against your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. You met his gaze, your lips parting slightly as you tried to steady your breathing.

You moved into the next section, the one with the suggestive grinding. You rolled your hips in sync with him as his hand rested on your shoulder, and you avoided his intense gaze in the mirror. The mirrors reflected your chemistry, the way your bodies moved as if drawn to each other. You tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Good,” You muttered breathlessly as you finished the sequence. “That was better.”

Riki nodded, though his focus wasn’t entirely on your words. He couldn’t stop staring at you, the way your hair clung to your neck, the flush on your cheeks. You looked incredible, and it was driving him crazy.

“Let’s run it one more time,” you said, your voice firm despite the growing tension.

“Yeah,” Riki replied, his tone slightly husky. “One more time.”

And you did. You ran it one last time, but as the music faded into silence, you and Riki stoof in the center of the practice room, your breaths heavy, your bodied inches apart. It was your best run through yet, every moment was perfectly synchronized.

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to catch your breath, your eyes locked on his. There was a look in his gaze you coudln't decipher, something that made your stomach twist in ways you didn't want to acknowledge. Your mind screamed at you to step back, but your feet refused to move somehow.

The tension was thick, alsmot suffocating and you both were hyper aware of hos close you were right now. He could feel the heat radiating off of you, and you could see the way his chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. You hated how your pulse quickened and how your body was reacting to him.

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering down your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. His hands twitched at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to touch you in any sort of way.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he would hear it. You wanted to remind him that this wasn't allowed, that you both had some sort of dating ban to respect, but the pull between you was way stronger than logic.

He took a step closer now, and your faces were so closed that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Your eyes flickered to his lips and you hated yourself for it, hated the way you leaned ever so slightly, as if your body had a mind of its own.

Riki's hand hovered your waist, hesitating, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away of you wanted to. But you didn't. Your eyes locked, and in that split second, the outside world disappeared.

He leaned in, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was afraid to scare you off. Your heart raced as you felt the barest brush of his nose against yours.

Your lips were a breath away from touching when a sudden noise shattered the silence—a loud thud from somewhere outside the practice room.

You jerked back as if you'd been burned, your eyes wide with panic. “I—” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to go.”

“Yn, wait—” Riki reached out, but You were already grabbing your stuff, your movements frantic.

“Good, uh... good practice today,” you said. Your voice was steadier now, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. “See you Friday.”

Riki stayed rooted in place, his hand falling to his side as he watched you flee. You pushed open the door and disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone in the empty studio.

Riki ran a hand through his damp hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. His chest felt tight, his mind replaying the moment over and over again. He wanted you so, so bad.

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioning, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. Riki sat down on the floor, his head in his hands, and whispered to himself, “What the fuck am I doing?”

previous / m.list / next

TAGLIST: @pkjay @d-dilemma @heartheejake @lunaritex @dreeki @inishij @rikirritated @whoiss4m @sleepyxxhead @aanniikkaa @right-person-wrong-time @aespaqq @starry-eyed-bimbo @nerdywitchcrown @yuniesluv @lovestruck-sky @ariluvssssss100 @rei4sunoo @wildtigerlili @jakef3ver @seungminsapuppy @kittsnewera @regalfox @rairaiblog @pairinnn

[ourzeui]

please don't be a snitch!

PAIRING caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

TYPE oneshot

NOTE this is in modern setting! reader has a twin, and they have opposite personalities (reader = a lil' shy; twin = brazen)

CW mature themes, alcohol use, suggestive content, strong language (cursing!!), anxiety/stress

11:59 PM — Friday night.

This was definitely a bad fucking idea.

You repeatedly glance at your wrist watch, legs fidgeting as you try so hard to not leave your twin sister alone. Heart ramming against your chest, you desperately hope your sister will soon get tired from dancing around the room and decide that both of you will just go home and rest. Because, anytime now, your strict parents would realize that both of you still aren’t home and would go berserk once they find out you’re out clubbing. In other words, you and your sister would be killed. Both metaphorically and literally.

This wasn’t your idea in the first place. The thought of random people just eating each other’s faces out, touching each other’s bodies where one thing leads to another… it, uh, just rubs you off in the wrong way. You just can't shake off the feeling that there's a big possibility that something bad might happen, with the alcohol driving people mad crazy. If your twin sister didn’t force you to go with her, you’d probably never step foot in a club. Ever.

You can’t help but cringe as you see your sister flirt with another guy for what seems like the twentieth time today. Both of them giggle on the corner of the room, shamelessly checking each other out. A minute later, the guy drags your flushed twin to one of the random rooms, no doubt going to do…whatever it is that they’re going to do.

Upon realizing what’s happening, your heart immediately drops to the floor. Despite having absolutely zero hook-up experience, you definitely know where that is going.

“That shithead,” you curse under your breath as you hurriedly try to follow your sister and her partner. Squeezing through the sweaty dance floor, you see your twin giggle as the guy playfully pushes her inside the room, followed by the door slamming with a loud thud despite the blasting disco music. You wonder how desperate could your sister be for deciding to follow a random man alone in a closed room knowing what could possibly happen.

Well, your sister did repeatedly say she was "dying to get laid" months prior. Maybe today was the day she was finally getting that.

But maybe today was also the day she’s going to die because she’s about to do something she might regret for the rest of her life (+ your parents will, again, definitely k-word both of you if she’s caught).

Before you could even approach the door, you spot a familiar blue-haired woman, sitting down cross-legged near the bar counter.

Caitlyn.

Upon seeing her, your heart drops the second time, beads of sweat forming on your temples. Both you and your sister should get out now, because if Caitlyn sees you and asks where your sister is, both of you should be prepared to never see the light of day again.

Here's the thing: Caitlyn's parents are close friends of your parents, so it's inevitable that you'd often meet each other. Both of you had never shared a proper conversation before though, just a few hello's and a "Can you please pass me the sauce?" over the table during family dinners.

One thing you know about Caitlyn though is that she always does what she thinks is right.

…She will be a snitch if she wants to.

The reason why her presence right now is so unnerving is because you can't forget the day how your mother made her promise that she should tell her immediately if "one of her daughters are caught doing crazy things", and Caitlyn always keeps her promises.

And just your luck, Caitlyn looks up at the perfect time, her piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

You freeze.

She tilts her head slightly, the corner of her mouth curling in what looks suspiciously like amusement. You can already feel the lecture forming, not from her but from your parents, the second she makes that phone call.

She picks up a glass, takes a sip, and then—oh no—stands up, walking through the crowd until she’s standing right in front of you, effortlessly poised despite the chaos around you both.

“Funny seeing you here,” she says, her voice smooth but carrying a note of dry humor.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammer, hating how defensive you sound.

She raises a brow. “Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like your sister just disappeared into a room with a guy who probably doesn’t know her name, and you’re about to have a heart attack trying to figure out what to do about it.”

You wince. “Okay, maybe it is what it looks like. But—”

"But you didn’t want to be here in the first place,” Caitlyn finishes for you, crossing her arms. “And now you’re stuck cleaning up the mess.”

You nod, a little surprised she understands so easily.

“Let me guess,” she says, her smirk growing. “You’re worried I’m going to tell your parents.”

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The rate of your heartbeat increases each second, and you fidget your fingers.

Caitlyn sighs, shaking her head. “Relax. I’m not going to snitch.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” she says simply. Then she leans in slightly, her voice quieter but firm. “But I am going to help you.”

“Help me?” You blink, confused.

“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes slightly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because if you go barging into that room on your own, you’ll probably make things worse. So, let’s handle this together before your sister does something she regrets.”

You hesitate, unsure if you can trust her, but something about her calm, confident attitude is reassuring.

“Why would you help me?” you ask.

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Because I’ve been in your shoes before. And honestly? It’s better than having your mom yell at me for not stepping in.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Caitlyn’s smile widens, just slightly, and for the first time, it feels genuine. “Follow my lead.”

Instead of heading toward the room, Caitlyn gestures toward the bar.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, looking between her and the door where your sister disappeared.

“Relax,” she says, grabbing two stools. “We’ll give it a minute. If we charge in too quickly, your sister’s just going to get defensive and make things worse. Trust me on this.”

You hesitantly sit beside her, tapping your fingers against the counter. Caitlyn orders herself a soda, which surprises you. “Not drinking?” you ask.

She shakes her head. “I like to keep a clear head in places like this. Too many people lose theirs.”

You nod slowly, watching her as she takes a sip. For someone who’s in a club, surrounded by chaos, she seems so calm, like none of this fazes her.

“So… do you come here often?” you ask awkwardly, desperate to fill the silence.

She laughs softly. “Not really. A friend dragged me out tonight, but she ditched me for some guy about an hour ago.”

You wince. “Sounds familiar.”

Caitlyn smiles, her eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, but at least I ended up with better company.”

You blink, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her voice softer. “You’re a good sibling, you know that?”

You scoff. “I’m just trying to keep her out of trouble.”

“Exactly.” She tilts her head, studying you. “Not everyone would go through this kind of mess for someone else. It says a lot about you.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you find yourself fidgeting under her gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” she insists, her tone warm but firm. “And I think it’s admirable.”

Before you can respond, Caitlyn glances toward the door where your sister disappeared. She sighs and stands. “Alright, I think we’ve waited long enough. Ready to be the hero?”

You nod, your heart racing as you follow her. But as you walk beside her, you notice the way her shoulder brushes against yours, the way her presence somehow makes you feel less panicked and more… safe.

Your heart flutters again, and you stare intently on Caitlyn's back. BUT, your heart drops for the third time today as your phone rings.

Mom <3 Missed call (34) Slide for more

Shit.

© ourzeui, 2025

[catharsis505]

Headcanon ℕ𝕠𝕒𝕙 𝕊𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕒𝕟 as a boyfriend

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Boyfriend!Noah carries an air of mystery that keeps you intrigued. He’s not overly expressive about his emotions, but he’s incredibly observant. He’ll notice the smallest things about you, like how you take your coffee or the way your mood shifts throughout the day, and adjust his behavior to make you feel comfortable.

Being a creative soul, Boyfriend!Noah expresses his love in unique ways. He might write you a song, craft a playlist that mirrors your relationship, or sketch something for you in a notebook. His gestures aren’t grand but deeply meaningful, designed to make you feel seen and loved.

Boyfriend!Noah isn’t one for big crowds or extravagant outings. He prefers cozy nights at home, where you can listen to vinyl records, watch obscure films, or talk for hours about music, philosophy, and everything in between. He thrives in intimate, low key settings where he can connect with you on a deeper level.

Boyfriend!Noah’s quiet demeanor masks a fiercely protective side. If you’re feeling down or someone treats you poorly, he’s the first to step up and ensure you’re okay. He’s always your biggest cheerleader, encouraging you to pursue your passions and helping you navigate tough times.

Though he may seem reserved, Boyfriend!Noah craves physical touch from the person he loves. Whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or pulling you into warm, lingering hugs, his affection is subtle but deeply intimate.

Boyfriend!Noah is the definition of ride or die. Once he’s committed to you, he’s all in. He values trust and communication in the relationship and works hard to ensure you feel secure with him.

He loves late night talks where you both open up about your dreams, fears, and everything in between. Boyfriend!Noah isn’t one for surface level conversations; he thrives on meaningful connections and loves exploring your mind and heart.

While he might come across as serious, he has a playful side that only comes out when he’s truly comfortable. He’ll crack dry, sarcastic jokes and make you laugh with his witty humor, showing a lighter side of himself that only you get to see.

You’re his muse in many ways. Whether he’s working on music or reflecting on life, your presence inspires him to dig deeper into his art and himself. He’ll often thank you for being his grounding force and the light in his life.

Boyfriend!Noah has a thing for surprising you with little things, your favorite snacks, tickets to a concert you’ve been dying to attend, or a handwritten note left on your pillow. These acts of thoughtfulness remind you just how much he pays attention to what makes you happy.

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[piastrisun]

rings and regrets.

pairings: oscar piastri + ex fem reader.

summary: on the night of your engagement party, as you glide through the celebration, the last person you expect to see is oscar—your ex who broke your heart.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 3.7k.⠀ warning: none.

request: could you do an oscar x ex!reader where reader is engaged to another person and oscar comes to the engagement party to talk with reader while they slow dance. just something super angsty with fluff. thanks so much!

notes: so so happy it’s a request!! i hope it’s what you imagined and that you enjoy it a lot. <3 thank u thank u

you never thought it would end like this—your life divided between a past you can’t quite forget and a future you’ve been building, piece by piece. your relationship with oscar had been everything once. there were days when it felt like the two of you were invincible, everything falling into place: shared memories, laughter, plans for the future. but when it came down to the most important thing, the thing that made you want to take that step forward, he faltered.

oscar hadn’t been ready for marriage. you’d known it for a while, but hearing him say it out loud was still a shock. the words cut deeper than you’d expected. “i love you, but i’m not sure i can do this yet,” he had told you, his voice shaking, as if admitting that to you was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

you had tried, you really had. you gave him space, waited for him to come around, but the longer you waited, the more the silence between you two stretched. eventually, you understood that no matter how much you loved him, he wasn’t going to change. the engagement ring you had imagined slipping onto your finger now felt like a distant dream.

you left. the apartment you once shared became a hollow reminder of what could’ve been, and you never looked back.

months passed, and you moved forward. it wasn’t easy—how could it be, when your heart still carried pieces of him? but you found someone who was ready. someone who didn’t hesitate when you spoke of futures or building a life together. your fiancé, thomas, was steady and warm, the kind of man who held you without hesitation, who showed you what it was like to trust again.

and now, here you are. engaged to him. a soft smile on your lips as you stand beside him at your engagement party, your hands intertwined as the music swirls around the room. it’s a celebration of a love that’s been growing, blooming in ways that feel solid and right. you’ve known thomas for a while now. he's kind, dependable, everything you ever thought you wanted. he’s a man who thinks ahead, plans for the future, and dreams of stability. he was everything oscar wasn’t—and for that, you’re grateful. he’s everything you wanted, and more.

still, there’s a knot in your stomach that you can’t quite shake. it’s as if the past is lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to resurface.

the night is supposed to be a celebration. the air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as guests gather to toast your engagement. it's a moment that should feel like a dream come true—your friends and family, your fiancé at your side, all gathered to mark this new chapter in your life. the venue is elegant, soft golden lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the carefully arranged tables. the sound of music drifts through the air, setting a light, joyful tone.

thomas holding your hand tightly as he grins at the guests, proudly showcasing the ring on your finger. you smile back at him, a genuine smile, even though your chest feels a little tight. everything is falling into place. or at least it should be.

the soft glow of string lights casts a warm, intimate atmosphere over the engagement party. couples move fluidly across the dance floor, and you’re among them, your fiancé’s hand resting lightly on your waist as the two of you sway to the rhythm of a slow song. your dress feels heavy—not from its weight but from the pressure of the moment. the words fall flat, lost in the noise of your own thoughts.

that’s when you see him—oscar. he’s standing at the edge of the room, his suit tailored to perfection but slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through his hair too many times. his gaze locks onto you, and you feel the air leave your lungs. it’s been years since you’ve seen him, but the storm in his eyes is achingly familiar.

you try to ignore it, thomas’ hand gently tightens around your waist as the music slows, pulling you closer into the embrace of the dance. “you okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing the side of your ear, but you can’t answer. your eyes are locked on oscar, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t even tried to blend in with the crowd. he’s watching you, and you feel the familiar ache inside you, the one that never quite went away.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, too quickly, but thomas doesn’t seem to notice. he murmurs something else about how beautiful you look tonight, and you smile, the motion automatic, but distant.

oscar’s gaze burns through you. it’s not a look of anger, not even regret—no, it’s more complicated than that. you’ve seen that look before, in the quiet moments between you both, when he used to be afraid to let his guard down. the same expression that haunted your dreams, even after everything.

oscar approaches, weaving through the crowd until he’s close enough that you can feel his presence, though he doesn’t say a word at first. when he finally does, his voice is quiet but weighted.

“may i have this dance?” oscar asks, his tone gentle, almost formal, but there’s an undercurrent of something raw beneath it.

your fiancé looks at him with polite curiosity, unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface. he glances at you, a soft smile on his face. “do you know him?”

you hesitate, your throat tightening. “an old friend,” you manage, the words tasting strange on your tongue.

thomas nods, his smile never faltering. “go ahead. i’ll grab us some champagne,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple before stepping aside, oblivious to the weight of what he’s just allowed.

you hesitate, your heart hammering as you meet oscar’s eyes. “this isn’t the time,” you murmur, but he’s already extending his hand, waiting. despite every alarm in your head screaming at you to walk away, you take it. the moment his hand touches yours, a jolt runs through you, the kind that feels like both a spark and a wound reopening.

the music swells around you as he leads you to the center of the dance floor. his hand finds your waist, his touch familiar but tentative, while the other clasps yours gently.

“can we talk?” oscar’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge of desperation you hadn’t expected. he looks at you, and for the first time in a long while, you see the vulnerability in him.

your steps falter, but you force yourself to keep moving, your hand trembling slightly in his. “not now,” you reply, your tone sharper than you mean.

oscar doesn’t back down. if anything, his grip on you steadies, his jaw tightening. “please, just five minutes,” he murmurs, quieter this time, but no less intense.

the air between you feels charged, and you glance toward thomas at the edge of the room, standing with a champagne flute in each hand, waiting for you with the ease of someone who trusts you completely.

your stomach twists. “we shouldn’t do this here, i can’t,” you say under your breath, though your voice trembles as much as your hands.

oscar nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “then let’s go somewhere else. just for a moment. please.”

the finality in his tone makes it impossible to refuse. you glance at thomas again, guilt pinching at your chest, but when you meet oscar’s eyes, there’s something in them that pulls you in, something you’ve never been able to resist.

you exhale shakily. “we’ll talk outside,” you whisper, breaking the spell for a moment.

the sharp night air bites at your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest. as you step further into the quiet, away from the glow of the party, your steps grow quicker, more urgent. your heels sinking slightly into the manicured grass with every hurried step. oscar follows, his footsteps steady but urgent behind you. the laughter and music from the engagement party grow faint, replaced by the erratic pounding of your heart.

you spin around once you’re far enough away, the soft glow of garden lanterns casting a pale light over his face. “what are you doing here, oscar?” your words come out harder than you feel, a defensive shield against the way your chest aches at seeing him again.

he stops a few feet away, his hands still buried in his pockets like he’s trying to keep himself together. “i needed to see you,” he says, his voice tight. he shoves his hands into his pockets, his movements restless. “i heard about the engagement, and i—” he stops, dragging in a shaky breath.

his words catch in your chest. “you’re too late,” you whisper, though you wish, just for a second, that he hadn’t come. “you made your choice, oscar.”

“i made a mistake.” his voice cracks, and he takes a hesitant step closer, as if he’s unsure whether or not he should cross the line. “i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want to make it right.”

"and? what exactly do you think this is going to accomplish?" you gesture around, your voice rising with a mix of anger and disbelief. "crashing my engagement party? making a scene in front of everyone i care about? do you think this is some kind of grand gesture that's going to fix everything?"

"i just—" his voice falters, but he holds your gaze, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. "i couldn’t just let this happen without saying something."

your heart hammers in your chest, but you cross your arms, the gesture more to steady yourself than to push him away. “you couldn’t let this happen? what, me moving on? finding someone who—” you swallow hard, the words catching. “someone who actually wanted me?”

his face contorts, pain flickering across it. “don’t say that. you know that’s not true.”

“isn't it?” your voice wavers, and you hate yourself for it. “you left, oscar. you said you weren’t ready, and i waited for you to change your mind, but you never did.”

“i know.” he steps closer, his hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. “i was scared. i thought i had time, but seeing you now… i can’t lose you. not like this.”

“what were you hoping for—that i’d just drop everything and run back to you?”

“is that so impossible?” his voice sharpens, his composure cracking. “after everything we’ve been through, is it really so crazy to think you might still care?”

“care?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet garden. “of course i care, oscar. i cared when i waited for you for years, hoping you’d finally be ready. i cared when you told me you weren’t, and i had to pick up the pieces of myself that you left behind. what about you, huh?” your throat tightens, and you shake your head, stepping back.

he flinches, his jaw tightening. “you think i didn’t care? that it didn’t kill me to walk away from you? i thought i was doing the right thing, giving you a chance to find someone who could give you everything i couldn’t.”

“don’t you dare act noble,” you snap, your voice breaking under the weight of your anger. “you didn’t leave for me, oscar. you left because you were a coward.”

the word hangs in the air between you, cutting deeper than either of you expected. he takes a step closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “maybe i was,” he says, his voice softer now but no less intense. “but i’m here now. doesn’t that count for something?”

“no, you don’t get to do this now. not when i’m finally…” the words falter because you don’t know if they’re true. are you happy? or are you simply surviving without him? you shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “you don’t get to show up now and act like you’re the hero of this story. i’ve spent so long trying to move on, trying to be happy without you, and now you want to rip it all apart?”

“i’m not trying to ruin your life,” he says, his voice rising again. “i’m trying to fix what happened. and you—” he stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “you’re still it for me. you always have been.”

your chest tightens at his words, the sincerity in them slicing through your anger like a knife. “you don’t get to say that,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“why not?” he challenges, his gaze locking onto yours. “because it’s the truth? because you know it’s still there between us, no matter how much you try to deny it?”

“i’m not denying anything.” you snap, your emotions boiling over. “but it’s not that simple, oscar. you left me. do you have any idea what that did to me? how hard it was to piece myself back together, only to have you show up and try to pull it all apart again?"”

he steps closer, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. “i know i hurt you. i know i don’t deserve anything from you, but i can’t stand the thought of losing you forever.”he sees the crack in your armor, and his voice softens, filled with desperation. “do you love him?”

the question hits you like a punch to the stomach. you look down, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “don’t ask me that,” you whisper.

“why not? because you don’t want to lie, or because you can’t tell me the truth?” he steps even closer now, and you can smell the faint cologne he always used to wear. it’s maddening, pulling you into a past you’ve tried so hard to bury.

you glance back at the dance floor where your fiancé waits, his eyes scanning the crowd. he’s everything you wanted—stable, kind, ready to commit. but oscar is everything you lost.

“i can’t do this,” you finally say, your voice cracking. “you shouldn’t have come.”

“please, just tell me—do you love him?” his question knocks the air out of your lungs.

you look away, your throat tight, your mind a mess of conflicting emotions. “why does it matter?”

“because it’s the only thing that matters to me,” he says, his voice breaking. “if you love him, i’ll walk away. i swear i will. but if there’s even a part of you that still loves me…”

“stop it,” you whisper, shaking your head. “you don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.”

“i’m asking you to be honest with yourself," he says, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you. “do you love him the way you loved me?”

the words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. you feel the tears spill over, hot against your cold cheeks. “why are you doing this to me?"”

“because i can’t let you go without fighting for you,” he says, his voice trembling. “not again."”

you let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you try to hold yourself together. “you should’ve fought for me when it mattered.”

his expression crumples, the weight of your words hitting him like a blow. “you’re right,” he whispers. “i should have. and i’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that i didn’t.”

his shoulders sag, but his gaze remains on you, raw and pleading. “if you can tell me you don’t love me anymore, i’ll walk away. right now. i swear.”

the sound of voices and laughter from the party drifts faintly through the garden, a cruel reminder of the life you’re supposed to be celebrating tonight. you glance back toward the lights, toward your fiancé waiting inside, then back at oscar, who looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

your breath hitches. the weight of the moment presses down on you, and the music in the background becomes a distant hum. you open your mouth to speak, but the words don’t come. instead, a single tear slips down your cheek, and that’s answer enough.

oscar watches you, his face softening as he steps closer again, his hand lifting but stopping just shy of touching you. “i never stopped loving you,” he says quietly, his voice almost breaking. “even when i tried to move on, it was always you.”

his words shatter something inside you. “oscar…”

you look back toward the golden glow of the party, the life you’re supposed to be celebrating tonight. thomas is waiting inside, kind and dependable, offering a love that is steady and certain. but when you turn back to oscar, all you see is the man who once made you feel like the world could catch fire and you wouldn’t care as long as he was holding you.

“i can’t do this,” you finally say, your voice breaking. “i can’t keep breaking my heart over you.”

oscar’s hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you but knows he shouldn’t. he exhales shakily, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment before he pulls back. “i’ll wait for you,” he says, his voice breaking. “even if it takes forever.”

your fingers close around his instinctively, a fleeting, fragile connection that neither of you is ready to let go of just yet. “you can’t just wait for me,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “that’s not fair to you.”

he smiles faintly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “life’s not fair. but you’re worth it.“

for a moment, the world seems to stop. the sound of laughter and music fades completely, and all that exists is the way he’s looking at you—raw, hopeful, and utterly unguarded.

you pull your hand back slowly, your heart breaking all over again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, your voice cracking.

oscar steps back, his gaze never leaving yours, as though he’s memorising every detail of this moment. “take the time you need,” he says softly. “but don’t think for a second that i’m going anywhere. i’m here, no matter how long it takes.”

and with that, he steps away, leaving you standing there under the stars, torn between a future that feels safe and a love that burns like a fire you’re not sure you can survive.

you glance back toward the glow of the party, then down at your hand, where his warmth still lingers. for the first time in a long time, you realise that love, even the messy kind, has never truly left you. and that scares you more than anything else.

the sound of oscar’s retreating footsteps stings, every step pulling him further away from you, further into the shadows of the garden. you should let him leave—should stay rooted where you are, let your choice carry you forward. but something inside you stirs, refuses to let this be the end.

“wait,” you call softly, barely audible over the hum of the music. but he hears you. he stops mid-step, his back stiffening as though he doesn’t dare turn around, afraid of the hope that might break him.

when he finally turns to face you, his expression is a mix of pain and something else—something fragile but enduring. love.

“i hate you for this,” you whisper, but your voice trembles with something softer than anger. “i hate that you still make me feel this way.”

oscar lets out a shaky breath, a flicker of something like relief crossing his face. “i don’t care if you hate me, as long as you don’t stop feeling something for me.”

you shake your head, your tears falling freely now. “you ruined me, oscar. and then you left.”

“i know,” he says, stepping closer, his hand lifting tentatively toward your face but stopping just shy of touching. “and i’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it, if you let me.”

the weight of his words presses against your chest, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, caught in the pull of him, of everything you once had and could never fully let go of.

“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmur, your voice almost breaking.

“why not?” he asks softly. “because it’s true? because i love you?”

his words make your breath hitch, and for a brief moment, the world around you blurs. you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but then you feel his hand—gentle, warm—slip over yours. it’s hesitant, like he’s asking permission with the simplest touch.

you don’t pull away.

“i can’t walk away from you again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “not without knowing if there’s still a part of your heart that has my name on it.”

your chest tightens, and when you look up at him, there’s a softness in his eyes that undoes you completely. you’ve seen that look before, years ago, in moments you thought you’d forgotten. it’s the look that made you fall in love with him the first time.

for a moment, you don’t think. you lean in, just enough to rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling in the cold night air. “you’re impossible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

“and you’re everything,” he whispers back, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

you stay there, suspended in a moment that feels too delicate to break. and when you finally pull back, your heart feels just a little lighter, even as the ache remains.

“go,” you say softly, your voice barely audible. “i need time.”

oscar nods, though you can see the pain in his eyes. “i’ll give you all the time you need,” he says, his voice steady despite the crack you hear beneath it. “but i’ll be waiting, always.”

he presses a fleeting kiss to your knuckles before stepping back, his warmth lingering even after he’s gone. you watch him disappear into the night, your heart torn but beating with something that feels dangerously close to hope.

as you turn back toward the lights of the party, you catch your reflection in the glass doors, your tear-streaked face and trembling smile staring back at you. you’re not sure where this path will take you, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like you’re finally letting yourself choose.

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.