#and i actually finished this one so there's something to look forward to!!!!!

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You’ve lived across from Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, an ER doctor, for a year. Your interactions have always been brief—polite smiles and small talk in the elevator. In your own relationship, you often feel invisible, reaching out for someone who never quite reciprocates. One evening, after your boyfriend flakes on you and leaves you feeling disappointed, Michael unexpectedly steps in, offering a kind gesture that turns the night around. What starts as an act of casual kindness begins to shift into something deeper, and you start to realize that Michael’s quiet presence might be exactly what you’ve been missing.

Word Count: 4912

Warnings: age gap (mid 20's /early 50's)

Author’s Note: i realized i should write a Robby fic so here we are. it’s prob not a good idea for me start writing a new fic when I got eyes on me going….well, the more the merrier. - ryn

Friday, 6:30am

The apartment building was still—quiet, not yet alive with the usual hum of waking bodies and the shuffle of morning routines. You were getting ready to leave for work, just before seven, as always. Being an elementary teacher meant early mornings and coffee-fueled commutes. These few quiet moments of the morning felt like the only part of the day that truly belonged to you.

In the kitchen, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you packed your lunch for the day. Your hands moved with practiced ease—turkey sandwich, fruit, a granola bar—a well-worn rhythm. The morning light spilled through the window, soft and golden, casting long shadows across the countertop where your phone sat, still and silent.

No messages.

Not unexpected.

With one hand, you reached for the spinach to finish your sandwich; with the other, you unlocked your phone and opened your messages. For a second, your reflection flickered on the dark screen—eyes a little tired, but hopeful. Always hopeful.

You typed slowly, carefully, like the words mattered more today.

Good morning Hope you slept okay. Just a reminder—we’ve got date night tonight. 7pm at that Italian place you like. I’m looking forward to it. Love you.

You hit send and watched as the message slid into the thread beneath a row of older ones, mostly from you. Then you set the phone down, turning back to the sandwich as you slid it into your lunch bag.

Your boyfriend, Aiden, is always busy. Always working late, always on his phone, always somewhere else—even when he’s right beside you. You sit across from him at dinner, trying to talk, trying to connect, but he only half-listens, nodding at his screen more than at your words.

You feel lonely. Not the kind of loneliness that comes from being alone, but the kind that fills the space between you. The kind that grows in unanswered questions, in the way he forgets things that matter to you. You don’t say it out loud. Instead, you try harder. You show love in the small ways you hope he’ll notice—in making his coffee just right, in folding his clothes the way he likes, in letting your own needs take a backseat to his.

You never beg for love—not with words. But your actions speak louder. You’re always giving, always waiting, always hoping that this time it’ll be enough. That this time, he’ll see you, hear you, choose you.

You take whatever scraps of attention he offers. A distracted “love you,” a tired hand on your back, a night where he actually looks at you instead of his phone. You convince yourself it’s something. That it means he cares. That if you just keep being patient, things will change.

And still—despite it all—you love him. Your heart hasn’t hardened. It’s still open, still warm. You still believe in love, in connection, in the possibility that he might one day meet you halfway. Because even when your needs go unmet, you somehow still have more to give.

So, you keep softening. Keep adjusting. Keep waiting.

You grab your things and head out the door. You stepped into the hallway at the same time as your neighbor.

Michael Robinavitch. He also went by Robby, a casual nickname for a last name with too many syllables for everyday use. You, however, always called him Michael.

You’d lived next door to him for about a year now. The two of you were acquainted—small talk in passing, a nod here and there, the occasional conversation while waiting for the elevator—but never more than that. Not quite strangers, not quite friends.

You knew he was one of the attending physicians in the ER at the local hospital. He mostly worked day shifts, though every now and then, you’d catch him coming home late at night, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. He had kind eyes—the kind that made people feel safe—even when the rest of him stayed closed off. Always polite. Always distant.

He was at least a decade older than you—maybe more—but carried himself with a quiet confidence that made age feel irrelevant. There was something steady about him, something grounded in the way he moved, in the calm cadence of his voice when he did speak. You’d noticed, even if you never said so.

“Morning,” he said with a quick smile as he locked his door.

He was dressed as he usually was on workdays: a fitted white shirt under a black scrub top, blue hoodie zipped halfway up, medical cargo pants. A backpack slung over one shoulder, a coffee tumbler balanced in one hand. Sunglasses perched on his head. AirPods tucked into his ears—though he always popped one out to say hello.

“Hi, good morning!” you replied, cheerful as ever, juggling your bag, your water bottle, and a lunchbox covered in cartoon stickers from your students.

The two of you walked toward the elevator in silence, a quiet routine that had somehow become familiar. You’d grown used to these brief encounters—fleeting, but oddly comforting.

He smelled faintly of soap and coffee, a clean, grounded scent that stood in contrast to the overwhelming cologne your boyfriend always wore. You glanced at Michael from the corner of your eye. He looked tired, like he usually did this early—but present. Alert. He was always present.

You, by contrast, were all warmth and energy, a splash of color next to his quiet gray. Still hopeful. Still full of brightness. You were in your fourth year of teaching, and though the days were long, your spark hadn’t dimmed. Not yet.

He’d noticed, even if he never said so. Just like you’d noticed the way he moved through the world—weathered, maybe, but not hardened. Tired, but kind.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open with their familiar hum. He let you step inside first—like he always did when you caught each other leaving at the same time. He even holds the lobby door for you. One thing you liked about him: he was a gentleman.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. It had settled into something easy. Comfortable.

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed loosely. You glanced at him—just briefly. His face was unreadable, but not unkind. There was something steady about him, even in stillness. Like the eye of a storm.

“I’m glad it’s Friday,” you said, breaking the quiet. “This week’s been exhausting.” You let out a breathy chuckle—more air than sound. It floated in the space between you like a fragile thread.

Robby didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifted—barely there, but real. That was usually all you got from him, and somehow, it always felt like enough. Like you’d earned it.

He shifted his weight, glanced at you sideways, like he was debating saying something. Then: “Yeah. Long week.”

You nodded, eyes forward now, watching the elevator numbers light up one by one. The silence returned, but it felt warmer this time. Companionable.

“Big weekend plans?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and a little rough, like it hadn’t quite shaken off sleep.

You smiled, surprised he’d initiated the conversation. “Just sleeping. Maybe grading. Depends on how ambitious I feel.” You tilted your head toward him. “You?”

He shook his head. “Same. Resting if I can.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well… here’s to restful weekends.” 

Michael gaze lingered on you a second longer than it needed to. Then he gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Here’s hoping.”

Then, on a whim, you added, “Actually, I do have one thing planned tonight—dinner with my boyfriend. We’re going to that Italian place down the street.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Just saying it out loud made your heart flutter a bit. “It’s this cozy spot—Bella Notte. You’ve probably walked past it a hundred times without noticing. Candlelight tables, soft music, the whole thing smells like basil and fresh-baked bread the second you walk in—”

You paused, eyes lighting up. “Their pasta is insane. Like, handmade that morning. I’ve honestly been dreaming about it all week.”

Your laugh was light, genuine. “And the dessert—don’t even get me started! They do this tiramisu, too—like, real tiramisu. Not the soggy kind. Light, fluffy, just enough espresso—“

You laughed a little, almost embarrassed at how carried away you got. “Anyway. Yeah. I’m excited… “It’s silly, I know.”

But it wasn’t silly. Not to Michael. He just nodded, tucking the image of your smile into the back of his mind.

His eyebrows lifted slightly in interest. “Sounds nice. Hope you guys enjoy it.”

Michael had seen your boyfriend around from time to time, but something was off. Michael noticed how your boyfriend seemed physically there but mentally elsewhere. He didn’t act like a boyfriend should—no warmth, no attentiveness. It was almost like he ignored you, as if you were an afterthought. That disconnect didn’t sit right with Michael, but he didn’t feel the need to comment on it. It wasn’t his place. 

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling hopeful tonight will be a good date night. You glanced at the elevator doors, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. “It’s been a while since we had a real night out. I’m looking forward to it.”

Michael’s gaze lingered on you a second longer than it needed to, then he gave a slow nod. “Yeah, sometimes you need those moments to… recalibrate, right?”

The elevator reached the ground floor, and He let you out first, heading toward the lobby doors. He held it open for you, like always. You thanked him.

“I’ll see you around,” Robby called over his shoulder pulling his sunglasses down onto his face as your paths began to part.

“Bye, have a nice day- you know, saving lives and all,” you replied, watching him walk down the street, his footsteps fading behind him.

He slowed, glanced back with a faint smirk. “You too—educating the youth. Lives of tomorrow and all that.”

You laughed under your breath. “Touché.”

His footsteps faded into the quiet, and you stepped out into the morning air. Something in your chest eased. The weight of the week had already begun to lift—just a little.

—

You got home from a long day at work, the noise and energy of your fifth graders still echoing faintly in your mind. During your lunch break, Aiden had finally texted you back—

Dinner’s on tonight. Can’t wait to see you. 

Just like that, your tiredness had been replaced with anticipation.

After a short rest, you got up and started getting ready. You took your time, letting yourself feel excited. You curled your hair, did your makeup just the way you liked it, and slipped into the dress you’d been saving for a night that felt special. And tonight felt like it could be—maybe even like the start of something real.

You headed outside and waited on the front steps of your apartment building, heart light, a small smile playing on your lips. He said he was on his way.

Minutes passed. Then more. You checked your phone once. Twice. The sky darkened slowly, and with it, your hope dimmed too.

You finally sat down, the concrete steps cool beneath you, heels tapping against the pavement as your nerves turned to unease.

Then your phone buzzed.

Sorry babe, something really important came up with the case. I can’t make it tonight. Rain check!

Your face dropped. The message was short, casual. Like it hadn’t just taken the air out of your lungs.

You stared at the screen, the words sinking in slowly. The butterflies in your stomach turned heavy, bitter. The excitement that had carried you through the day drained out of you all at once, replaced by a familiar, hollow ache. You blinked, willing the sting in your eyes to go away before anyone could see.

You took a steady breath and typed back:

It’s okay. Good luck with the case!

You hit send, then sit there a moment longer—makeup flawless, dress perfect, and heart suddenly a little more guarded than it had been an hour ago.

You looked down at yourself—at the dress you’d picked out, the soft curl in your hair, the subtle shimmer on your cheeks—and felt foolish. Not because you’d dressed up, but because you’d let yourself.

“Hey”

You looked up. Michael was walking toward the steps, his backpack slung over one shoulder, scrubs wrinkled from a long shift in the ER.

“Oh—hi,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He stopped a few steps down and took you in, his expression softening. “Wow,” he said. “You look… great.”

He smiled, taking in the way your dress caught the last of the light, the soft curl in your hair, the effort you’d put in. He always thought you looked beautiful—but tonight, there was something else in your eyes too. Something quieter. Sadder.

Because he could see it. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your hands fidgeted with the fabric of your dress. You were trying to hide it—whatever had just happened—but Michael had spent enough time in triage to know what a broken heart looked like, even when it was wrapped in lip gloss and heels.

You smiled, a little tighter this time. “Thank you.”

Michael lingered there for a second, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or keep walking, then shifted his backpack on his shoulder.

“Your boyfriend is coming?” He was wondering how long you’d been out here waiting for him. 

“No actually” you say standing up, dusting the back of your dress. “Change of plans—it’s looking like a night in instead” 

He flaked, Michael thought. You didn’t have to say it. He just knew, reading the situation. The way you’d said “change of plans”, the tightness around your eyes, the way you tried to brush it off with a smile—it was all the confirmation he needed.

Michael had seen this before. He’d seen the letdown in the way people hold themselves after plans fall apart, the quiet resignation that creeps in when you’ve been let down by someone who should have shown up.

But Michael didn’t say any of that. Instead, he just nodded, letting the silence stretch between you both for a moment.

He felt bad. You’d been genuinely excited about that Italian place—you’d rambled about it in the elevator that morning. The way you lit up as you described ambiance and food.

“You know,” Michael said after a moment, “when you were talking about that Italian restaurant earlier, I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. I just got off my shift. Long day. I’m kind of too lazy to cook tonight, and I was thinking of picking some up and taking it home..”

…He trailed off, like he was giving you room to fill in the blank if you wanted to.

You looked at him—really looked. The quiet steadiness in his eyes, the way he didn’t push or pity, just stood there, offering a way out of the evening that didn’t involve you sitting alone in a dress you’d worn for someone who didn’t bother to show.

“…Do you wanna come? I’m not sure what to get—you seem to be a Bella Notte connoisseur,” he said, a playful lilt in his voice, but something gentler behind his eyes.

You blinked, caught off guard—not by the offer itself, but by the way he said it. Not like he was saving you. Not like you were someone to be pitied. Just… included.

For a moment, the words stuck in your throat. You’d been bracing for an evening of quietly peeling off your makeup, throwing the dress into a pile, eating something frozen while pretending it didn’t matter. But Michael had given you a different choice. And somehow, he’d made it feel easy.

You smiled. This one, real. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, relief barely hidden in the curve of his grin. 

Then, as if sensing the fragility of the moment, he didn’t try to fill it with anything clever or overthought. He just gestured toward the sidewalk. “Shall we?”

You nodded, falling into step beside him, 

“Lead the way”

The click of your heels a steady rhythm against the pavement. The late spring air was still warm, but there was a breeze now, tugging gently at the hem of your dress, softening everything. You walked on the edge of the sidewalk closest to the road, but Michael moved you to the inside, switching places with you.

He didn’t say anything when he guided you to the safer side of the sidewalk—just a light hand at the small of your back, casual and instinctive. You noticed, of course. Not because it was dramatic, romantic, or loud, but because it was something else entirely: considerate. A gesture that spoke volumes without needing a single word.

You didn’t comment on it, but your steps slowed just enough to match his stride more closely. There was a comfort in the pace, in the sound of his shoes beside yours, in the quiet understanding between two people who weren’t trying to be anything other than present.

For a while, neither of you said much. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt like a pause between beats, like both of you had agreed to let the noise of the day settle. And maybe that was what you needed most right now. Not fixing. Not a distraction. Just company.

“So,” Michael said eventually, glancing sideways at you, “if I hate this place, do I get to blame you forever?”

You snorted. “Absolutely not. But if you love it, I expect full credit.”

“Seems fair,” he said, smiling. “What’s the order then, oh wise one?”

You pretended to consider it seriously. “Cacio e pepe, bruschetta, mozzarella and prosciutto, and you’re not allowed to skip the tiramisu. It’s... important.”

He nodded solemnly. “Tiramisu. Got it. A matter of national security.”

“Exactly,” you said, and for a moment, you weren’t thinking about Aiden, or your phone, or the sting you’d felt sitting alone on the steps. You were thinking about pasta. And the way Michael had made this feel like a beginning, not an ending.

“Here it is.”

Up ahead, the golden glow of Bella Notte spilled onto the sidewalk, soft and inviting. The warm light glowed through the windows, the soft clink of dishes, and the low hum of conversation drifting out. You caught yourself smiling again.

—

You and Michael had ordered everything you'd talked about while walking, the anticipation of good food and even better company making the trip feel effortless. Like a true gentleman, Michael insisted on paying for the meal, despite your protests. You tried to argue, but he only smiled and said something about it being his treat—"next time, you'll get it," he promised.

Afterward, he carried the bags back to the apartment, each step filled with an easy, quiet rhythm between the two of you. You walked beside him, your footsteps falling in sync, the warm bags of food tucked securely in his hands. The elevator ride up to the 6th floor was brief, but it felt like just enough time to enjoy the moment before the evening had to end.

You reached your doors, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you both. You stopped just in front of your apartment, heart a little heavier at the thought of this being the last part of the evening. "Do you wanna come over and eat? Or not—I know you must be tired." The offer slipped out before you could second-guess it, an instinct you couldn’t ignore.

You liked Michael’s company more than you’d expected. There was something easy, almost natural, about being with him. You weren’t ready to say goodbye just yet, and you hoped he wasn’t either.

“Uh…Yeah, sure,” he said with a grin, his voice light. “I’m just gonna shower. I need to get the ER off of me.” He laughed, the sound easy and familiar. “I’ll be over in ten minutes. Is that okay?”

You nodded, taking the bags of food he handed you as you both stepped into your apartment. The air felt a little warmer now, like it had shifted into something more comfortable, more settled.

As promised, Michael showed up soon after. He’d clearly made an effort to unwind—out of his scrubs, into a simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants, sneakers completing the casual look. The reading glasses perched on his nose added an unexpected, almost studious touch, softening his usual confident energy. It was a different side of him, and somehow, it made him even more appealing.

The two of you sat down at your island table, the food spread out between you, the soft light from the lamp casting a warm glow over the room. There was a quiet ease in the way you both settled in, as if you’d done this a hundred times before. You unpacked the bags, the smell of the food filling the space, mixing with the faint scent of Michael’s cologne.

“Alright, let’s see if this was worth the walk,” he said, grinning as you grabbed a few napkins and handed one to him. Michael smirked, but you could see the familiar spark of excitement in his eyes, like he was just as eager to dive into the meal as you were.

He took a bite of the Cacio e pepe , pausing for a moment to savor the flavors. Then, his expression shifted, the glint in his eyes turning to one of mock seriousness. 

“So? What’s the verdict? Worth the walk?” you ask him

"Absolutely," he said, taking another bite, his voice slightly muffled by the food. "Bella Notte? 10 out of 10. You took my Bella Notte virginity. You’ve officially converted me." Michael paused again, wiping his mouth with the napkin you’d handed him, clearly impressed.

You laughed, unable to hold it in. “Well, I’m glad I could make such an impact.” went back to your own meal, secretly pleased that he was enjoying it as much as you were.

“Bella Notte has ruined any other Italian restaurant for me,” he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

You grinned, feeling a sense of triumph. “That’s the power of Bella Notte,” you teased, cutting into your own dish. “Once it gets you, there’s no going back. Other Italian places will just feel... meh in comparison.”

Michael shook his head again, still not quite believing it. “I’m serious. I don’t know how I’ll go back to the regular stuff after this. This place has ruined me for every other pasta joint in the city."

You raised your eyebrows, a sly grin forming on your lips. “Okay, now you gotta try the tiramisu!”

__

The two of you finished eating, and Michael immediately jumped in to help clean up. He tossed the to-go containers in the trash, wiping down the countertop with a few swift motions. It was the kind of effortless help that made the whole process feel casual, like it was nothing, but it still meant a lot.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, your voice a little softer than usual. You meant more than just the meal. Michael had truly saved the night. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d have been alone, cooped up in your apartment, feeling sorry for yourself after your boyfriend flaked out on dinner. But instead, here you were��laughing, enjoying a good meal, and feeling a lot more like yourself.

Michael looked up, his eyes meeting yours with that easy warmth he always carried. “Anytime,” he said with a small but genuine smile.

You smiled back, a little grateful for his presence, for the way he turned an unexpectedly rough evening into something enjoyable. Maybe even more than enjoyable—his company was better than you could have imagined. You'd gone from feeling alone to... well, you didn’t quite know how to describe it. But it was good. Comfortable.

You cleared your throat, breaking the quiet. “Seriously, Michael. You didn’t have to. But I’m really glad you did.” You were grateful, but the words still felt somehow insufficient for what he’d done. He’d shown up when no one else had, and that meant more than you could say.

He shrugged with that signature nonchalance, still wearing that easy grin. "I don’t mind. Not a big deal." But even as he downplayed it, there was something in his eyes that told you he knew it was. He wasn’t just being polite. He was being real.

“I just… wasn’t expecting tonight to turn out like this,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I thought I’d be sitting here by myself, feeling stupid for getting my hopes up. But you made it better. So... thanks for not making me feel like an idiot.”

Michael didn’t say anything at first. He just paused, his hands stilling mid-wipe as your words settled in the quiet space between you. You didn’t have to explain—he already knew you were talking about your boyfriend. About how he flaked on the plans you’d made. How he left you sitting there, dressed up and waiting for something that never came.

There was a flicker in Michael’s eyes—something unreadable, but undeniably present. The easy rhythm of the evening shifted, like a breath held just a second too long.

He finished wiping down the counter, slower this time, more thoughtful. Then he turned to face you, expression softened, the usual smirk gone. His voice, when it came, was quiet—low and steady, carrying something that made you feel like the only person in the room.

“You don’t ever have to feel like an idiot,” he said. “Wanting something—hoping it’ll turn out the way you imagined—that’s not weakness. That’s you putting your heart out there. And yeah, sometimes people let us down. But that doesn’t make you foolish.”

The words hit you harder than you expected—not because they were dramatic, but because they weren’t. They were simple. Honest. Kind. And in that moment, you felt something inside you shift. The weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying seemed a little lighter now.

He cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the stillness in the room. “I uh…I think I should get going,” he said, his voice gentle, but with a finality that made you realize the evening was drawing to a close. He placed the rag on the ledge of the kitchen sink, his fingers lingering just a bit too long against the cool surface, like he didn’t quite want to leave yet.

“Right,” you said, your voice quieter than usual, almost an exhale. The single word felt heavier than it should’ve, and for a split second, it felt like you were both on the edge of something you weren’t quite ready to cross.

“I’ll see you around,” he added with a shrug, the smile on his face casual, but his eyes… his eyes said more. They held something unspoken, something that made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Right,” you repeated, a little breathless this time. You turned to walk him to the door, the distance between the kitchen and the hallway seeming like it stretched just a little longer than usual.

When you reached the door, he paused, and so did you. There was a silence that wasn’t awkward, but quiet in a way that made the space between you feel a little more fragile.

“Goodnight,” he said, turning to face you, his voice quieter now, sincere, like the weight of everything you’d just shared was still lingering in the air. He reached for the door handle, his hand brushing against it slowly, as though trying to delay the inevitable.

“Goodnight, Michael,” you replied, your voice a little softer than usual. You stood just a little too close to the door, your fingers wrapped around the edge, holding it open for him. Your heart was beating faster than you’d like to admit, the night’s unspoken moments still hanging between you like an unfinished sentence.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. There was something in the air, something unsaid, and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you weren’t ready for it to end. You didn’t want to shut the door on everything that had passed between you, not just yet.

He nodded once, a small but deliberate gesture that carried more weight than it probably should have. It felt like a silent goodbye, but also like something more. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped into the hallway, his footsteps soft but steady, each one echoing a little too loudly in the sudden silence.

You stood there, watching him go, your hand still on the door. The quiet stretched between you, neither of you in a hurry to break it. You kept the door open for just a breath longer than necessary, as though holding on to the space, holding on to something that had started tonight and hadn’t quite finished yet.

Finally, you closed the door behind you with a soft click, the sound breaking the stillness of your apartment. The air felt different now—not empty, but full of something you couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t loneliness, nor was it peace, but something in between. Something that made you realize, for the first time in a while, that the night had meant more than you could put into words.

more parts soon!!!

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

Notes — Do I hear wedding bells......? I am aware, btw, that their wedding song was not actually released yet in 2022. I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

June 2022 

It was nearly 1am in Monaco, and the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the TV, which had finished playing the movie they’d put on and was now cycling through the Netflix screensaver. Lando was lying upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, a blanket over his face. Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of envelopes, glossy samples, test prints, and a very snuggly cat curled around the printer.

They were cat sitting for Max for a few days. Jimmy was hiding somewhere, probably. But Sassy had imprinted on Amelia and wouldn’t leave her side. 

The dining table was lost beneath swatches of card stock, wax seal stamps, and an alarming number of silver and papaya gel pens.

Lando peeked out from under the blanket. “Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Is this hell?”

“Shh,” Amelia said, clutching a save-the-date draft in both hands. “This one’s almost perfect.”

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

“I am literally having to be upside down to stay engaged in this conversation.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she muttered, flipping the card-stock over and running her fingers along the raised print. “Do you think it’s too formal?”

Lando rolled off the couch dramatically and landed on his knees beside her with a quiet oof. “Let me see.” He took the card and read aloud, in an overly posh British accent: “‘Save the date for the wedding of Amelia Brown and Lando Norris. July 5th, 2022. Surrey, England.’” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that there’ll be a bouncy castle?”

“There is not going to be a bouncy castle.” She told him. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him. 

Lando grinned, pleased to have poked the right nerve. “Fine. But I want there to be a chocolate fountain at the reception.”

“You’re twelve years old.” She muttered. 

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back. 

She snorted, and Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before glancing back down at the card in his hand. “I like this one,” he said sincerely this time. “It’s very you.”

“I designed it to be us.” She sighed. 

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” He looked up, tilting his head. “When do you want to get them sent out?”

“Soon.” She paused. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

Lando’s smile softened. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. “Baby, I’m so sure. Never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle, hidden against his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s send them.”

Lando pulled out his phone and held it up. “I’m going to start a group chat with every driver on the grid. Call it ‘Wedding of the Year.’”

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

The video call connected with a soft ping, and Amelia barely waited for her mother’s face to load before launching into her current crisis.

“—and I just don’t think the eucalyptus runners will work with the shade of green we’ve picked for the table linens, even if we go with silver flatware, which I’m still not convinced about because it feels cold, and I want something warmer, but gold doesn’t work with the papaya theme, and—”

“Hi, darling,” her mother said, voice gentle and amused. “It’s nice to see your face.”

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Are you a bit stressed?” Her mum offered, smiling.

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Amelia’s mum sat at her kitchen table in England, tea in hand. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows behind her. On Amelia’s end, the walls were covered in colour swatches, seating charts, spreadsheets open on her laptop. A candle burned on the windowsill — scentless, for her sake.

“I made a new schedule,” Amelia said. “I reordered the to-do list based on dependency flow and deadlines. I think we can shave off six days from what the planner estimated.”

Her mum nodded patiently. “That sounds very efficient.”

“And I found a new calligrapher for the place cards, because the first one had spacing inconsistencies and I couldn’t— I just couldn’t look at it.”

“Of course.”

Amelia didn’t notice the concern in her mother’s eyes until she looked up from her notebook. “What?”

Her mum’s smile didn’t fade. “Nothing. Just… making sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“I am,” Amelia said quickly, automatically. Then, after a beat, “This is just… how I take care of things. Planning helps. Lists help.”

“I know.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I remember the schedule you made for your fifth birthday.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Amelia said quietly, more to the air than anything.

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to make it perfect. Because you love him. And because this is important to you.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled a little. “It is. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“And even if something does,” her mum said softly, “you’ll be married to a man who adores you. That’s the part that matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t mean to be… hard work.”

“You’re not hard work,” her mum said. “You’re you. You’re focused, and you’re thoughtful, and sometimes you hyper-fixate and forget to eat breakfast.”

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

Her mum laughed. “That doesn’t count, honey.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, a little calmer. “I know.”

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

“I know.” Her mum’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s talk about flatware, shall we?”

—

The boutique in Monaco was a study in elegance. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and white tea, filtered through softly humming vents above. Soft jazz played through the walls. Everything gleamed — mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers, gold accents on ivory hangers.

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

Their matching oversized sweatpants and hoodies, Amelia’s in a washed lavender, Pietra’s in charcoal grey, were rumpled and cozy. Amelia was also wearing a pair of trainers, whereas Pietra had opted for a pair of flip-flops. No makeup, no handbags.

The woman behind the counter clocked them in an instant. Her name tag said Dominique. She was perfectly coiffed, with a tight bun and blood-red lipstick that hadn’t smudged in hours. Her eyes flicked down and back up. Smile professional, but frosty — which only Pietra noticed.

“Bonjour,” she said crisply. “How may I assist you today?”

Amelia stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hi. I called ahead. I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’ve been looking at your website all week, but my magazines say that sizing can be tricky with wedding dresses, so I thought I’d come in and try a few on in person.”

Dominique blinked. “Yes, of course,” she replied.. “We do recommend a fitting with one of our stylists to ensure your silhouette is… appropriately showcased.” Her voice, just barely, trailed off into doubt.

Pietra’s gaze sharpened instantly. She crossed her arms and took a step closer to Amelia, her protective instincts flaring like a sixth sense. “She likes princess cuts. Sleeveless. Soft fabrics only—anything itchy is a no. Think comfort and sparkle, not scratchy couture.”

Dominique offered a tight-lipped smile and gestured vaguely toward a collection toward the left. “We just received the latest gowns from Milan. I’ll begin pulling some pieces.”

But Amelia was already halfway into the racks. The world of high-end bridal fashion had completely absorbed her. The rich fabrics, the layers, the delicate embroidery—it was a sensory feast. 

Until it wasn’t.

Her fingers brushed over a pale blue chiffon and her entire body jolted. She let out a high-pitched, unhappy squeak and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. “Awful,” she muttered, stepping well away from the offending texture. “Like sandpaper.”

Pietra snorted and shot Dominique a glance that said, ‘Do not laugh, bitch. Don’t even try it.’

Dominique’s lips parted, perhaps to comment, but then closed again. Wisely.

Amelia drifted across the boutique, her gaze landing on a soft ivory gown with delicate pearl beading along the neckline. “Oh. I like this one.”

She pulled it from the rack, fingers brushing the satin bodice, examining the full skirt with genuine curiosity and care.

Pietra followed her across the floor, glancing at the gown. “It’s beautiful. I—” She reached out and felt the hem between two fingers. Her brows drew together slightly. “Maybe not this one, ‘Melia. Feel here.”

Amelia frowned and mirrored her, pressing the lining between her fingertips. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... sticky.”

Dominique hovered nearby, clearly itching to say something. Eventually, she broke. “That gown is more of a display piece. Very few clients choose to actually wear it for their ceremony.” Her emphasis was subtle but pointed.

Pietra opened her mouth, but Amelia beat her to it. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said cheerfully, still carefully inspecting the neckline. “It’s really beautiful to look at, though. I like how the beadwork isn’t symmetrical. Feels a little bit like a constellation. Not literal, just... deliberate chaos.”

Dominique blinked. She stared. And something shifted. Her fingers twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to take notes. “Would you be interested in our ‘Altair’ line?” she asked, voice softer, less clipped. “We have a few dresses from that collection still in stock. More tactile-friendly, very unique silhouettes.”

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

Pietra raised a brow but said nothing. She was still watching Dominique carefully. Measuring. 

Within minutes, Dominique returned with a handful of dresses draped over her arms, the fabrics a softer mix of silk and organza, more fluid, less rigid. She handed the first gown over with a tentative sort of reverence.

In the dressing room, Amelia giggled, her voice floating through the velvet curtain. “This one feels like clouds. Actual clouds.”

Dominique even smiled. “That one was worn by a princess in Monaco—though we never reveal which.”

Pietra rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course.”

The next hour passed in a blur of dresses and giggles. Amelia asked a million questions about seam placements, lining, and how much modification they allowed for — she was short, and she’d want to have some kind of double-lining gin certain areas. 

Dominique became quieter and more attentive with each passing minute, her posture loosening, her voice softening.

Amelia, for all her blunt honesty, was unfailingly kind. She wasn’t fussy or entitled. She didn’t throw her wealth around, didn’t boast about her fiancé, didn’t flinch when told something didn’t quite work on her figure. But she was also specific. Clear. Confident in her own language.

Eventually, Dominique excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she offered them champagne and almond biscuits—“here, we will need some energy.”

Pietra side-eyed her, amused. “Changed your mind about us, have you?”

Dominique gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a very discerning bride. We don’t get many who actually know what they want, much less why. It’s… refreshing.”

Amelia stepped out of the dressing room in the sixth dress, barefoot, the satin scarf trailing behind her like a whisper. It had a delicate, modern silhouette with embroidered thread-work along the spine. Strapless. Soft, pleasant fabric that she could brush her hands back and forth over without any kind of unpleasantness. 

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “It feels like me,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.” 

— 

It was nearly midnight, but the windows were still open to the balmy night air and the pleasant smell of the sea. Their living room was a comforting mess—seating charts spread out on the coffee table, empty mugs of tea on coasters, a crumpled note with “NO GRAVEL TRAPS ON THE AISLE” scribbled in Amelia’s handwriting.

Lando sat cross-legged on the rug, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that might’ve once been Fewtrell’s. Amelia was curled up on the sofa in an old oversized Red Bull factory t-shirt with a hole at the collar, laptop on her knees.

“So,” she said, tapping the screen, “we’ve got your family on the left side, mine on the right, McLaren crew grouped here so they can escape to the bar easily, and I put the drivers who don’t get on in opposite corners. Mostly for fun.”

Lando leaned forward to peer at the digital seating chart. “You put Fernando next to Toto.”

“Yeah.” She giggled. 

He reached for the paper menu mock-up next to him. “So… food. Thoughts?”

Amelia stretched her legs out and yawned. “I still think barbecue. Like a proper British summer day. Chicken skewers, burgers, hotdogs, ribs, corn, chips, beers in ice buckets. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Simple. Good.”

Lando tapped the page thoughtfully. “No little towers of food with sauce painted like abstract art?”

“No. We are not having foamed asparagus or edible air. I’m going to be stressed enough, I need safe foods.”

He laughed. “Alright, baby. Barbecue it is.”

“Good. And it makes sense since it’s an outdoor reception. And I’ve sorted out the fairy lights, where I want the paper lanterns. I want long wooden tables with runners and candles and the candles are all going to be lemon scented to help the people who drink or eat too much.” She bit her lip. “I’ll carry some nose plugs in-case all of the smells get overwhelming.” 

“My future wife. So specific.”

“Your future wife. Incredibly autistic,” she returned flatly, flipping a tab on her browser. 

Lando crawled off the rug and onto the sofa beside her. She adjusted her laptop without looking and let him tuck himself under her arm. His curls smelled faintly like his shampoo. It was a mild scent. She liked it. 

“So,” he murmured against her shoulder. “It’s all going to be a bit crazy, isn’t it? Getting married two days after Silverstone?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. But it gives you one full day to recover, which I’m sure you’re going to need since you tend to drive like your life depends on it there.”

He gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay with that timing?”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fine. It’ll feel like a season high, no matter what your finishing position says. So, you’ll make it through without crashing, and then two days later, we get married.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns over the blanket. “You make everything sound so easy.”

“That’s because I overthink everything to the point of perfection.”

He laughed into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you’re sure about the marquee?”

“Yes. Big white tent, strung with lights. It’s British summer. It’ll rain at some point, and I want everyone dry and happy. Also I want it to smell like cut grass and sunscreen and citronella candles.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone certain, her thumb stroking the corner of his hand. 

He leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she reached to close her laptop. “Now go and brush your teeth. And remember to floss. You’ve got a dentist appointment tomorrow morning.”

—

July 2022

The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, a constant undercurrent of shouting, laughter, and hydraulic whines. Engineers wove around each other like ants, methodical and focused. The air smelled like hot metal, tire rubber, and gentle anticipation — it was only Thursday. 

Amelia’s clipboard rested loosely against her hip, dog-eared pages bristling with colour-coded sticky tabs and annotated margins. She was reading something intently when Max appeared beside her, a water bottle dangling from his hand.

“You look tan,” he said without preamble, eyes fixed on the front wing being slotted into place across the garage.

Amelia blinked, not looking up. “I had a spray tan. Hated it. Washed it off after an hour, so the colour didn’t develop as much as it should have.”

Max gave a small nod, considering. “It’s subtle, but noticeable. Looks nice.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

He shrugged. They both watched as a mechanic began fitting a sensor onto the nose cone. Behind them, someone called for torque settings.

“You nervous?” Max asked.

“For the race?” She scrunched her nose slightly. “No, Max.”

He cracked a grin. “I meant the wedding.”

Amelia blinked, then her expression softened immediately. Her entire face changed—lighter, brighter. “We’re finalising the reception seating chart tonight. It’s so much fun. It makes me feel so powerful.”

Max chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve never heard someone say that about a seating chart.”

“It’s like a puzzle.” She told him. “It’s strategic warfare. There’s certain people who can’t share a table, and then other people who’d be upset if they weren’t sharing. It’s like herding Jimmy and Sassy around when they just want to sleep.”

“Awful, then,” Max said dryly. “Celeste bought a new dress,” he offered after a beat, half-distracted as he watched an engineer lift one of the rear suspension arms.

“Oh. Cool. Me too,” Amelia said brightly.

Max turned his head to look at her, deadpan. “…You’re the bride.”

Amelia blinked. “So?”

“So of course you bought a dress. You’re not going to show up in a hoodie and pretend it’s avant-garde.” His tone was flat, but he couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did try on a satin jumpsuit with a cape,” she said, unfazed.

Max stared at her like she was deranged. “Of course you did.”

“It was incredibly itchy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “I couldn’t move my arms properly either. I looked like a Bram Stocker vampire.”

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased. 

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to look like a vampire at my wedding, Max. That’s why I got a spray tan. Lando offered to take me to St. Tropez for a few days to get some natural colour, but we’ve just been too busy to find the time.” She sighed sadly. 

Max made a soft noise of amusement, shaking his head. “Celeste’s worried about the weather. She said if it rains, her hair’s going to be ruined and it’ll be flat in every photo.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Amelia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “There’s going to be a marquee. One with fairy lights and wood panel flooring. It’s weatherproofed and temperature controlled.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” Max said with a little smile. “I think she’s more very excited.” 

Someone across the bay swore in Dutch. A helmet clinked onto a workbench behind them. Amelia glanced at her clipboard again and made a quick note, then looked back up at Max.

“What did you think of the save-the-dates?”

“Very classy,” he said without hesitation. “Celeste put it up on the fridge.”

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

Max nodded. “Yep. Right next to a magnet shaped like a cat. She made me RSVP twice just to be sure.”

Amelia laughed, soft and full-bodied. “That’s good. I was a bit worried that she might not be impressed by the food options. She’s much fancier than me.”

“Nah,” Max waved it off. “She gets it. Barbecue food is safe. Comforting. No truffle foam bullshit.”

Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I hired Lando a bouncy castle. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “He’s going to cry.”

“Happy tears only,” she agreed. 

Max finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin. Then he looked at her with something a little softer in his eyes. “You’re going to be a very cool wife.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Max shrugged. “You hired him a bouncy castle, meisje.”

She made a face. “He wanted one. I said no, and he got this sad look on his face.”

“Like I said — good wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Max.”

He gave her a casual bump with his shoulder. “Anytime, smarty pants.”

—

Amelia stood just outside the engineers' station, back to the wall, tapping notes onto her tablet with her thumb while sipping from a bottle of water that had long since lost its chill — she wished Lando was around. He would’ve already switched it out for fresh, iced. 

Her headset was slung around her neck. She was overstimulated but functioning — hyper-focused in that Amelia-way, where adrenaline and structure outweighed the noise.

Zak found her during a set-up lull, and approached with something oddly hesitant in his step. He wasn’t in CEO mode — not in the crisp way he carried himself during sponsor walks or team debriefs. He just looked like her dad.

“Got a minute?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked up, adjusted her grip on the tablet, and nodded. “Sure. I’m just waiting on the new diff adjustment numbers.”

Zak nodded once and leaned against the wall beside her. For a second, they just watched. Engines turned over. Radios crackled.

Then, “So, your mom tells me you’re about done with all the planning?”

“More or less,” she replied, flipping the tablet shut. “The reception layout’s finalised, catering’s booked. Lando hired a live band — it’s that one he likes from TikTok.”

“Right,” Zak said. He knew the one. “And… it’s still two days after Silverstone?”

“Yes. Lando is driving us up the morning after the race.” She paused. “We hired private transportation for the guests flying into Heathrow.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She glanced at him sideways. He was fidgeting with the rim of his paper coffee cup, lips pressed together in a line of restrained emotion. Finally, he said, “I was wondering… if you wanted me to walk you down the aisle.”

She blinked. Her brain flicked through five reactions before her mouth caught up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “Or at all. I know that might feel… too performative for you. And if that’s not what you want—”

“I do want it,” she interrupted, then paused. “But I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot to think about.”

She looked down, scuffed the toe of her trainer against the concrete. “I haven’t even decided if I want music for the aisle walk yet. It might be too much. Too loud.”

Zak’s voice dropped low. “Have you made other provisions?”

“What type?”

 “Quiet room? Down time? Emergency hoodie and sweatpants?”

She gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m working on that, yeah. Pietra helped me put together a little survival kit. And I’ve already warned the florist; no strong smells. I gave them a list.”

He smiled, but there was still something cautious in his eyes. “Amelia… I want you to really love your wedding day.”

She tilted her head at him curiously.

“You’re brilliant at putting your head down and getting through hard things,” he said. “But this isn’t something to get through. You’re supposed to enjoy it. So just…. Remember that you’re allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to need silence, or space. It’s your day, nobody else’s. The only person you should be thinking about is yourself, yeah?”

A long pause. Then her voice, quieter, “I want everyone to have a good time.”

Zak exhaled, moved so he was fully facing her. “Bug,” he said — an old nickname, rarely ever used beyond her pre-teen years. “You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter. And you’re marrying someone who knows exactly what you need and loves you for it. This wedding doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. It just has to feel like you.”

She nodded, once. Then twice more, just to be sure.

“I’d really like it,” she said at last, “if you walked me down the aisle.”

Zak’s smile turned warm and wide. “Then that’s settled.”

There was a call for radio checks across the paddock. Amelia checked her watch.

“I have to get back to Max,” she said, already reaching for her headset. “We’re trialling a new steering calibration.”

Zak stepped back, letting her pass. “Save me a dance,” he called after her.

She turned just long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Only if they play ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”

He laughed because he knew that she wasn’t joking. “Okay, sweetheart.”

—

Two Weeks Earlier

The floor of the living room was a minefield of tote bags and half-open Amazon parcels.

Amelia sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by boxes of earplugs, tinted glasses, noise-cancelling headphones, a fan shaped like a rabbit, and what appeared to be five different brands of lavender-scented balm. She was in a hoodie four sizes too big, sleeves tucked over her hands, brow furrowed with precise concentration.

Pietra lay sprawled on the sofa above her, holding up a checklist written in Amelia’s neatly printed block capitals.

“Okay,” Pietra said, tapping her pen against her lips. “We’ve got the fidget ring, compression vest, emergency gum, chewing straws, and a travel-size tinted moisturiser because we don’t want you to have stress rashes in the photos because you’re overwhelmed.”

Amelia nodded without looking up, stuffing the vest and a weighted scarf into a small ivory backpack. It had her initials embroidered discreetly on the strap, next to the cursive letting of the word bride. Her mom had given it to her as an early wedding-present. 

“We still need your sunglasses,” Pietra said. “And your mint-spray. Where is the mint-spray?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” Amelia replied. “Behind the cough syrup.”

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

The evening light poured in warm and golden through the windows. The sea sparkled in the distance. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, Pietra’s glass mostly empty. Amelia’s glass was full — untouched. 

From the bathroom, “Do you want to add tissues to the bag or keep those in your purse?”

“Both,” Amelia called. “In case I cry and then get a nosebleed. You know, logically.”

“Obviously.” Pietra reappeared with the mint-spray and handed it over. She sat back down on the couch, legs curled beneath her, watching as Amelia began methodically tucking things into place — familiar, practiced movements. Like muscle memory. “You doing okay?” Pietra asked, not pushing, not heavy.

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She zipped the backpack closed, patted it once for certainty, and then leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. “I just want to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said quietly.

“You are.”

“But what if it’s too much? All those people. The photos. The weather. What if I need to leave and I can’t, because it’s my wedding?” Her eyes were comically wide.

Pietra slid off the couch to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “And I’ll try my best to notice before anyone else does. And I’ll say I need help with my lipstick or something and we’ll sneak away to the quiet room for five minutes and whenever you’re ready we can reappear like nothing even happened.”

Amelia swallowed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I love you,” Pietra replied simply. “And I know you quite well. That helps.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Lando tried to convince me to let him DJ our own wedding.”

Pietra rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” Then she nudged her. “Although, you have hired him a surprise bouncy castle.”

Amelia made a face. “You weren’t supposed to know about the bouncy castle.”

“I didn’t,” Pietra said cheerfully. “Until now.”

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them. 

“So,” Pietra said. “You want to rehearse putting the kit together again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Amelia said instantly. “At the time we’d expect to do it on the day. Just in case.”

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

— 

Back To Present

Amelia stood just beside the Red Bull hospitality unit, half in the shade, a bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. She had a new colour system for this weekend — blue for weather conditions, red for setup adjustments, green for wedding reminders.

She was scanning a new data report on her iPad when someone stepped into her periphery.

“Amelia,” came a familiar voice, bright but deliberate.

She looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun. “Hi, Susie.”

Susie Wolff was dressed as sharply as always, white blouse tucked into navy trousers, sunglasses perched on her head. “I’ve been meaning to find you this weekend,” She said. “You’ve been impossible to pin down.”

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... everywhere.”

Susie laughed. “That’s the word around here.” There was a brief pause before Susie tucked her hands into her pockets. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something — unofficially, for now.”

Amelia adjusted her grip on the iPad, curious. “Go on.”

“You’ve heard about the new series I’m launching next year? The F1 Academy?” Susie asked. “All-women, junior feeder series. The aim is to give young female drivers the platform.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “I read about it. Five teams, three drivers each.”

Susie smiled. “That’s right. We’re doing it properly. Structured development, real brand support. Not just a PR stunt.”

“Is there a technical side you’re looking to build out?” Amelia asked, already moving into that headspace. “Because if it’s a full series, they’ll need engineering support, performance strategists, aero consultants…”

“Exactly,” Susie replied. “And I want the best people. People who actually understand development from the ground up — and people who want to make the system better, not just replicate it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but focus. “Will the cars be spec-built or adjustable? Because if there’s room for development, I’d want to know the homologation structure. And the tyre compounds—”

Susie held up a hand, laughing lightly. “This is why I wanted to talk to you.”

Amelia flushed slightly. “Sorry. I just… like the details.”

“I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do,” Susie said. “You’re not just talented. You care about doing things the right way.” A quiet pause followed. “I’d like you to consider being part of the technical advisory group. Or even coming onboard in a more embedded role later down the line,” Susie said. “It doesn’t have to happen right away. But when the wedding’s over, and things settle a bit — I’d love to sit down and have a proper conversation with you.”

Amelia blinked. “Okay. Yes. I’d be interested in learning more. A lot more. I’ll want to know about track selection, vehicle specs, budget caps if there are any, team operations, logistics—”

“Send me a list,” Susie grinned. “I’ll send you mine.”

Amelia looked almost shy for a second, then nodded. “It’s nice. Being asked.”

Susie softened. “You’re more than worthy of the ask.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching a flock of engineers move a tyre rack across the tarmac.

“You’re getting married… next week, right?” Susie added, glancing over.

Amelia perked up instantly. “Yes. Two days after the race. Marquee. Barbecue. Fairy lights.” She sighed. “Bouncy castle.” 

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be,” Amelia said simply, and Susie believed her.

—

The energy in the air was unmistakable — British flags, cheers echoing through the grandstands, the buzz of engines winding up to full roar. Amelia stood at the back of the Red Bull pit wall, headphones snug over her ears, clipboard clutched loosely to her chest.

The engines screamed through the first straight. Amelia's fingers clenched tight around her golf ball as the pack charged through the opening corners.

And then it happened.

A thundering impact. A wall of smoke. Screeching. Carbon shattering. Zhou’s Alfa flipped violently, spinning out of control and vanishing between the barriers.

From the pit wall, Amelia couldn’t see the full crash — just flashes of sparks and a puff of sand and tyre smoke. But she heard it. Felt it in her chest. The noise had weight to it. Finality. Silence followed, sharp and sudden, broken only by panicked radio static.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

No immediate updates. Nothing from Zhou’s radio. They couldn’t replay the footage yet: the roll, the fence, the skid on the halo. No camera showed the car afterward. 

It was silent. Then it was loud.

Amelia stood frozen. Then she turned. Walked quickly through the back of Max’s garage, slipping past confused engineers, down the narrow hallway of the Red Bull motorhome. The lights were bright and wrong. Someone tried to talk to her — she didn’t process what they said.

She found a utility room, small and quiet, and closed the door.

She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallow. Her fingers twitched. Her chest buzzed. She could still hear the sound of the car skidding, see the halo dragging against the ground. It was all replaying on a loop behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop picturing it — the impossible physics of a car upside down, skidding toward a fence at that speed.

Minutes passed.

And passed.

Nobody came for her. No updates on Zhou’s condition came through her headset.

Nothing.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to focus on the floor. On the cold concrete through her trousers. On anything that was now. But her body wouldn’t settle. Her brain was flying, looping through “what if?” in sharp, screaming bursts.

She didn’t hear the first knock. Or the second.

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

He stepped inside quietly, closed the door behind him, and crouched. His hands stayed visible. His voice was calm.

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“No news yet,” he said. “But they’ve got people with him.”

Still nothing.

Max sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away. He didn't touch her. He knew better. He just waited.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

He looked rumpled and pale, still in his race suit, balaclava pushed down around his neck. His eyes locked onto her immediately. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She flinched when he touched her arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Can I…?” he asked, and when she gave the barest nod, he wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest.

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

“He hasn’t said anything on the radio,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

Max leaned forward slightly, phone in his hand. “He’s conscious.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

Lando glanced at Max’s phone, reading. “Still in the car, but awake. They’re trying to work out how to get him out safely.”

Her eyes flooded. Relief hit her like a brick. “I thought—”

“I know,” Lando said again, holding her tighter. “Me too.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t—everything was too much.”

“You found a safe space,” Max said. “That’s all that matters.”

The tension finally broke, like a string pulled too tight. She rested her head against Lando’s shoulder and let her breathing slow, her body uncoiling one inch at a time.

“We’re okay,” he said. “He’s okay. And you’re okay.”

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

They stayed there until her hands stopped shaking. Until the paddock noise calmed. Until the update came through confirming Zhou was being extracted carefully and would be taken to the medical centre — alert, responsive, talking.

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can go back now.”

Lando helped her up gently. Max didn’t say anything — just stood and offered her her clipboard, which he must’ve carried with him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

The light had shifted by the time Amelia saw him again — Zhou, stepping carefully down the short steps outside the medical centre, surrounded by Alfa staff. His suit had been peeled off hours ago, replaced with team-issue soft-wear, and his gait was still cautious. The bruises were already starting to visibly bloom on his skin.

She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t want to overwhelm him — but she stood nearby, waiting until his eyes found hers. When they did, she offered a small, respectful wave.

He blinked in brief surprise, then shifted course to meet her.

“Hey,” he said first, voice hoarse but clear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to,” she said, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. “I just—I was worried.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m okay. Bit sore. Bit rattled.”

“I’m really glad. That was…” She paused, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “That was a bad one.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It felt worse from inside.”

She let out a breath. “I couldn’t find a video feed that showed you after,” she said. “Just the flip, and the gravel. Then nothing. It was…” She trailed off. “Too quiet. Too long. Sorry. I needed to see you for myself, you know?”

Zhou’s expression softened. 

“I hid in a storage room,” she added. 

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Then corrected, “Better. Now that I have seen you.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to say anything,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re still here.”

His smile this time reached his eyes. “Me too.”

Amelia gave a small nod, then looked away. “I won’t keep you. You should go and rest.”

Zhou turned to go, then hesitated. “Hey—Amelia?”

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

She didn’t answer — just nodded once, firmly, and walked back toward the Red Bull garage.

—

The windows were down, letting in the warm July air that smelled faintly of dry grass and dust. Amelia had kicked off her shoes hours ago, legs tucked up on the passenger seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh — not possessive, not even really conscious, just there. Like it always was. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.

Their wedding playlist played softly through the speakers — a curated collection of songs they’d agonised over for weeks, now serving as the soundtrack to this quiet little interlude between race day chaos and wedding week magic.

“Skip,” Amelia murmured as a twangy country ballad came on. “Too sad.”

Lando tapped the skip button without looking. “Agreed. Save that for the divorce.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

He hummed, switching lanes smoothly. A new song started — bright, summery, with the kind of beat you could slow dance to barefoot on the lawn.

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

She nodded. “Fairy lights. Warm night. People a little drunk.”

“And us,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently, “a little married.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already smiling.

“I love you,” she said. No preamble, no big swell of emotion. Just a quiet, concrete fact.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin, eyes back on the road but voice soft. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

They drove in silence for a while, letting the song fill the space between them. Outside, the British countryside passed in soft blurs of green and gold.

Amelia reached forward and added a little star emoji to the song title in the playlist. “For the record,” she said. “I think this one’s my favourite.”

“Better than the one we picked for our first dance?” Lando asked, mock scandalised.

“Oh, no. That one’s sacred,” she said quickly. “But this one’s… sunshine.”

He nodded once, firm. “Good. We always need more sunshine.”

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

The gravel crunched under the tires as Lando pulled the car onto the driveway. Amelia reached for the car door, her fingers slow from the comfortable stillness of the journey, and then turned back to look at him.

“This is real,” she said softly.

Lando just smiled, the tired kind that came after a long weekend. “Yeah. We’re here.”

The cottage wasn’t grand. That was the point. It was warm and tucked into the countryside like it had always been there — white roses climbing the gate, ivy twisting up the stone walls, windows that looked out across soft hills.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. Amelia wandered through slowly, running her fingers along the edges of the kitchen table, the old fireplace, the soft cushions stacked high on the window seat. Lando dropped their bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and followed after her.

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his chin gently to the top of her head. She leaned back into him, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet.

“We’re getting married,” she said, softly.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” he replied. “I’m going to be your husband.”

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

“I don’t cry,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Not very often. But I might. When you say ‘I do’.” 

He laughed, forehead against hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

The kettle clicked on in the background. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. 

They sat out on the back porch with mugs of tea, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, watching the last bit of sun disappear behind the trees.

Tomorrow, family would start arriving. The cottage would be full of voices and laughter and questions. But for tonight, it was just them. 

“I don’t want to forget this part,” Amelia said, her voice quiet. “The before.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, turning toward her. “This is the part we’ll tell people about one day.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Yeah. I hope so.”

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

Amelia lay in bed with the window open. The countryside smelled of warm grass and honeysuckle, the faint sound of birdsong filtering in. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle clicked on, and she could hear someone, probably her mom, padding softly across the kitchen tiles.

They hadn’t unpacked much. They hadn’t needed to. Just slipped off their clothes, curled up under the covers, and slept dreamlessly until sunlight nudged them awake.

Now, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, warm and freckled under her palm.“You awake?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Well, we’re getting married in tomorrow.”

That earned her a low groan and an arm wrapped lazily around her waist. “Good. Don’t wanna to live another day without being your husband.”

Downstairs, their parents were getting acquainted over mugs of Earl Grey and slices of toast. Lando’s mum had brought fresh jam. Amelia’s dad was already halfway through a crossword. It was quiet and easy—no wedding talk yet, no to-do lists. Just two families sharing a calm summer morning in a little stone cottage tucked into a sleepy field.

By mid-morning, everyone had wandered outside. The sun was gentle, filtered through clouds, and the garden was filled with the scent of wildflowers and just-cut grass. Folding chairs were scattered across the lawn, and lemonade clinked in glasses. Pietra and Max hadn’t arrived yet, but they soon would.

Best man. 

Maid of honour. 

Amelia and Lando sat together under an old pear tree, her bare feet in his lap, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along her ankle. They were listening to Lando’s dad’s playlist. The music washed over them gently, familiar and warm. 

“Still happy with our first dance song?” Lando asked, eyes closed, tipping his head back to the breeze.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Listened to it almost fifty times to make sure.”

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

She nodded, then paused. “Actually… maybe we bump that Arctic Monkeys song to earlier in the night. People will be drunker later, and I don’t want anyone butchering the lyrics.”

Lando laughed, light and free. “Good thinking, baby.”

They spent the early afternoon touring the venue with their parents, pointing out where the fairy lights would go, where the marquee would sit. Amelia’s dad was already asking where the power cables were going to run, and Lando’s mum wanted to know if it might be chilly enough in the evening to need shawls.

“There’ll be blankets,” Amelia promised, thoughtful. “Soft ones. I’ve already washed them with lavender laundry detergent.”

Later, they sprawled in the shade, Amelia with her head in Lando’s lap, her fingers skimming the grass. The light filtered through the trees like dappled gold, and everything smelled like home. Her mum brought out a plate of biscuits. Her dad had made a weak attempt at swatting a bee away from his lemonade and muttered something about never having a day off.

“Do you think it’ll stay like this?” Amelia asked quietly.

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

He stroked her hair gently, smiling with something steady and private. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it might.”

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up. 

So was Amelia.

She stirred slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of linen and warmth, blinking into the blur of morning. Lando’s hand was already curled over her hip, grounding. She turned her head. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned across his cheek, breath even and deep.

“Lando,” she whispered, not wanting to say it too loud. “It’s today.”

He didn’t open his eyes, just smiled, the kind that made her stomach flip like it was 2018 all over again. “Mmm,” he hummed. “I know. I dreamt it.”

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

“Yeah baby,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Except when Max interrupted the ceremony to ask you about his DRS strategy.”

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

Lando tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone.

Amelia considered the question carefully. She could feel the usual thrum of her thoughts beneath the surface — a thousand logistical notes, backup plans, sensory considerations. But none of it felt too heavy. Not today.

“I feel ready,” she said. “Really ready.”

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

They lay there a little longer, curled into each other as the light grew warmer. Eventually, someone knocked gently at the bedroom door.

“Amelia?” Pietra’s voice, soft but excited. “Time to start glam time, babe.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Oh no. I’m losing you.”

Amelia smiled and kissed him once, brief and sure, before slipping out from under the duvet. “You’ll get me back in a few hours,” she promised, already halfway to the ensuite.

“I should hope so,” he called after her. “Don’t ghost me at the altar, wifey.”

—

Two hours later, Pietra was kneeling on the floor beside Amelia, gently fastening a thin silver anklet around her left ankle. Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her robe tied in a precise knot, the lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hair was half done—soft waves pinned back with little pearlescent clips—and the morning light painted everything a warm yellow.

“You’re very quiet,” Pietra said gently, adjusting the clasp.

“I’m concentrating,” Amelia murmured. “And I’m… regulating. A lot of people are going to be looking at me soon.”

“You’re doing really well,” Pietra said, sitting back on her heels to look up at her best friend. “And you look… holy shit, Amelia.”

Amelia blinked. “Do I look okay? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You look like the exact midpoint between goddess and fairy queen,” Pietra said, voice thick. “Honestly.”

That made Amelia smile; a little bashfully, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “I think I thought I’d be scared today,” she admitted softly. “Or overwhelmed. But it’s just… calm.”

Pietra nodded. “Because it’s meant to be.”

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes, sunlight warming their skin, the soft sound of distant birds and shuffling feet below. Then Pietra stood and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get the dress on. We need to leave in twenty minutes — Max texted me, said everything at the venue is perfect.”

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

“I’m getting married,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud again.

“You really are,” Pietra grinned. 

—

Zak was pacing in front of the reception marquee, holding the tie he hadn’t yet figured out how to knot. When he saw Amelia approaching, dress flowing, expression soft, he stopped mid-step.

“Hi, Dad.”

Zak stared at her for a second too long. “You look beautiful,” he said thickly.

She smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Thank you. Do you need help with that?”

He handed her the tie wordlessly. She stepped close and began looping the fabric around his collar. Her fingers were steady. He swallowed once.

“You sure about all this?” he asked, gently. “Really sure?”

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

“I mean everything,” Zak clarified. “You’re so good at looking after other people. I just want to be sure someone’s making sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she said simply. “I’m in love. And I’m safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know,” she said.

He blinked hard. “You want me to walk you down there now?”

She made a face at him. “I want to walk beside you. I’ll hold onto your arm.” She lifted her dress to show him her shoes. Flat, no heels, comfortable. “I’m not a trip hazard.”

Zak pursed his lips to hide a smile at her deadpan words before he offered his arm. “Then let’s go do this, honey.”

—

Mitski’s ‘My Love Mine All Mine’ was the song that was playing, echoing and ethereal. 

The guests were sat beneath the fairy lights and butter yellow bunting. Matching yellow satin drapes sat on every chair, lined the aisle, and decorated Lando’s pocket and neck. 

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief. 

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

Her dress shimmered faintly with movement, the delicate beading catching the light. The neck train draped behind her. Pietra was waiting at the right of the alter with Max Fewtrell standing opposite her, both beaming.

And at the far end, in front of the white wooden arch draped in green and yellow florals, Lando was already crying.

Not loud, not messy—just tears slipping down his cheeks in silent, reverent awe. Like she was something holy. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Amelia didn’t look away from him. Her fingers tightened gently on her dads arm, and then loosened again. 

When she reached him, Lando let out a laugh that broke into a breathless, teary smile. “You came,” he whispered, almost stunned.

“Of course I came,” Amelia whispered back, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You cried.” She smiled. 

“I love you,” he leaned in, forehead against hers.

She got up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a teasing brush. “I know. Prove it by marrying me.”

—

Their guests, family and a few friends, most of the drivers who’s been available, were hushed, reverent. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed near a flower. Lando’s hands were shaking.

Pietra handed Amelia her bouquet. Her fingers brushed Amelia’s for a moment, grounding her. Max gave Lando a nod from his place at his side, full of quiet reassurance.

The celebrant, a family friend with a calm, steady voice, began to speak, but Amelia barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Lando, his on her. Everything else dulled to a blur.

When the moment for vows came, the officiant stepped back slightly.

“Lando?” She prompted.

He took a breath, folded the note he’d brought, and looked at Amelia instead.

“I wrote something down,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t cover it. So I’m just going to say it.”

Amelia’s hands were steady, clasped around her bouquet. Her eyes never left his.

“You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Lando said. “You make me laugh even when I’m miserable. You know every single version of me, even the ones I don’t like, and you stay. You stay and you care and you see me.” He smiled, a little watery. “I thought that love had to be complicated. Dramatic. Loud. But loving you isn’t like that. It’s quiet and constant and safe. And it makes sense all the time.” 

A few sniffles rippled from the front row. 

“I promise to make space for you,” Lando continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “I promise to honour what you need, even when it’s different from what I need. I promise to soundproof every room if I have to—”

Amelia laughed through her tears.

“—and I promise to never stop choosing you. Not for a day. Not for a second.”

The officiant turned to Amelia. “And you, Amelia?”

She nodded, cleared her throat once, and began. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I love you, Lando Norris. You see me in a way that nobody else ever has,” she said. “You never try to fix me, and you always know when to listen. You let me be exactly who I am, even when it’s hard.”

Lando was crying again.

“You love me in a way I didn’t know was possible,” Amelia said. “Not despite the parts of me that are different—but because of them. You’ve never made me feel like I had to be smaller, or easier, or quieter.” She smiled, her hands tight around the bouquet. “I promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I promise to make spreadsheets for our holidays and set reminders for the laundry. I promise to protect your peace as fiercely as you protect mine. And I promise to be your home. Always.”

Lando made a small, helpless noise. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat.

The rings were passed forward by Max and Pietra, both watery eyed and sniffly. The metal was matte gold—simple, unflashy, chosen after hours of quiet discussion and Amelia’s very specific pros and cons list.

They slid the bands onto each other’s fingers with shaking hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said warmly. “You may kiss—”

But Lando didn’t wait.

He leaned in and kissed Amelia like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. She kissed him back, anchoring him, grounding him. Their hands remained linked between them.

Applause rose up around them, soft and full of joy.

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him. 

Her Lando. 

Her husband. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[bueckersworld]

LIKE I WOULD

SYNOPSIS: you confide in your best friend paige about your boyfriend leaving you unsatisfied, not expecting her to react so seriously. she offers to show you what it’s supposed to feel like—and she means it. one kiss turns into something deeper, something undeniable, and you fall apart under her touch like never before. in the quiet after, she confesses she’s loved you all along. and this time, you finally choose her.

WARNING(S): smut — mdni, cheating, territoriality, possessiveness, pussy eating (r!receiving), jealous!bsf!paige

WORD COUNT: 2.7k RECOMMENDED SONG: like i would — zayn. info. masterlist. taglist.

────୨ৎ────

you don’t notice the look paige gives you when you start talking about your boyfriend. not really. you never do.

you’re sitting on her couch, legs tucked under you, nursing a barely-cold drink while you go on about the night before. you’re not trying to brag or anything — it’s not even worth bragging about. still, you’re rambling. maybe because you’re trying to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad.

“he just, like… stopped halfway through,” you say with a soft laugh, more bitter than amused. “said he was tired. i don’t know. i think he thought i finished already.”

you don’t look up, but if you did, you’d see her jaw tighten. her hand flexes against her thigh. she doesn’t say anything at first, and when she does, it’s low. dangerous.

“that’s it?” her voice is calm, but clipped. “he didn’t even ask?”

you finally glance up. she’s staring at the floor like it personally offended her. you shrug. “it’s whatever. i don’t want to make it a big deal.”

but it is a big deal. you wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t.

paige shifts, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “you’re seriously okay with that?”

“i mean… it’s not like it’s always like that,” you lie. “he’s just… not that experienced, maybe.”

paige lets out a breathy laugh that’s anything but amused. “that’s not an excuse.”

you furrow your brows. “why are you so worked up about this?”

and that’s when she lifts her eyes to yours, and suddenly, the air changes.

her gaze is heavy. intent. you feel it all at once — her attention, her anger, her restraint, like she’s trying not to say something she’s been holding in too long.

“he doesn’t get it,” she says. “he doesn’t get you. he doesn’t know what to do with you.”

you blink. “paige—”

“i do.” her voice drops lower. steadier. “i know what you like. i’ve seen it. you try so hard to act like you’re fine with bare minimum, like it’s enough for you, but it’s not. you need someone who actually listens. who actually sees you.”

you stare at her, heart beginning to thump unevenly.

and then she says it, voice barely above a whisper:

“let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

your breath catches.

she’s not joking.

she’s not smiling. she’s not teasing. her tone is so serious it makes your stomach twist in knots. “he won’t love you like i would.” she mutters quietly.

“i—” you start, but the words die in your throat.

she leans in, slower now, cautious, but her eyes stay locked on yours. “i wouldn’t leave you guessing. i’d take my time. you’d never have to ask twice.”

the room is quiet, except for the buzz of your nerves and the thunder of your pulse.

and suddenly, so much makes sense.

the way she always sits next to you, even when your boyfriend’s around.

the way she gets snippy when you text him too long.

the way she looks at you like she’s memorizing every inch.

you’ve been blind. or maybe just too scared to see it.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s her.

but one second, you’re frozen, and the next, her mouth is on yours.

it’s slow at first — searching, warm, desperate in a way that doesn’t ask permission but still waits for your answer. and when you kiss her back, when your hand tangles in her hoodie and her fingers splay across your waist, it feels like breathing for the first time in weeks.

you shouldn’t be doing this.

but god, it feels so right.

she kisses you like she’s trying to erase every time you settled for less. her hands learn your body like it’s sacred, not a task. she doesn’t rush. doesn’t assume. she listens — every sigh, every hitch of your breath guiding her like a language only she speaks.

the couch cushions shift under you as she presses you back, not demanding, just wanting. and for once, you don’t want to pretend.

you want this.

you want her.

you’re completely lost in her — in the heat of her mouth, the way her tongue swirls against yours, slow and deep, like she’s trying to memorize your taste. her hands slide under your shirt with practiced ease, fingers splaying across your skin, mapping you like a place she’s always known.

she breaks the kiss only long enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. her lips find yours again before you can even catch your breath, hands roaming freely now — tracing every curve, every soft dip of your body, like she’s been dying to touch you this way.

when her mouth leaves yours, it only travels down — across your jaw, the edge of your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat down your neck. she makes quick work of your shorts, tugging them down with a soft grunt as her fingers skim along your thighs.

your breath hitches when she unclasps your bra with one hand, pulling the straps down your arms like it’s second nature, her mouth already chasing the new skin revealed. she kisses down your chest, slow and intentional, lips brushing your ribs and lower.

you shiver under her, and she feels it — smirks against your skin.

“just relax, baby,” she murmurs, voice like velvet, littering kisses across your stomach.

then she’s between your legs, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, her warm breath ghosting over the soaked fabric of your underwear. she looks up at you through her lashes, eyes dark and full of hunger, before slowly pulling them down your legs. they hit the floor with a soft flutter as she pushes your thighs apart, keeping you spread and open just for her.

your gasp breaks the silence when her tongue drags a slow, deliberate line up your center. her groan rumbles against you, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core.

“fuckin’ hell…” she mutters, diving back in like a woman starved, her tongue flicking over your clit with a moan that vibrates through your entire body.

your back arches instinctively, hips rolling toward her mouth, soft gasps and broken moans spilling from your lips.

“oh fuck… paige—”

your hand tangles in her hair, tugging her impossibly closer, and she lets you. she wants to be closer — wants to disappear inside the way you sound when it’s her making you feel this way.

“mm, i know, baby… i know,” she mumbles against your heat, voice thick with desire.

then her fingers — two, slow and sure — slip inside you, curling upward immediately, brushing that perfect spot that makes your eyes roll back. her mouth never stops, tongue stroking and circling your clit with dizzying precision.

“fuuuuck…” you cry out, head falling back, heels digging into the cushions as your hips buck into her hand.

she switches effortlessly between sucking and flicking her tongue, her fingers pumping steadily in and out of you, scissoring you open like she was made to do this.

“just like that… oh my god, paige, just like that—” you whimper, breathless praise tumbling out between moans.

she groans in response, her eyes dark and blown as she looks up at you, her lips slick and swollen as she pulls her mouth away just long enough to speak. her fingers never stop.

“only i can make you feel like this. not him.” her voice is low, rough. “say it.”

you’re too far gone, too strung out on the edge to answer. your mouth parts, but nothing coherent comes out.

she growls, her fingers curling just right. “say it, baby — tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“y-yeah… all yours,” you moan, back arched, eyes squeezed shut. “only f—only for you…”

“yeah?” she breathes, leaning up to kiss your neck, soft and reverent. “then come for me. prove it.”

and you do.

you fall apart for her — back arching, thighs trembling, her name breaking from your lips like a prayer.

you’ve never felt anything like it.

not with him.

not with anyone.

and she knows it.

because now you do too.

—

the aftermath is quiet.

you’re still tangled in her sheets, wrapped in the scent of her hoodie, her breath warm against your shoulder.

your mind spins.

you just cheated. you cheated on your boyfriend.

but the worst part?

you don’t regret it. not even a little.

you turn slightly, looking at her in the dim light. paige is watching you already. like she hasn’t looked away once.

“i didn’t mean for that to happen,” you whisper, but it’s a lie.

she knows it. you both do.

“yeah, you did,” she says softly. “you just didn’t think you were allowed to want it.”

you feel a lump form in your throat.

“he doesn’t touch you like i do,” she adds, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. “doesn’t look at you like this.”

you close your eyes. her words remind you of the song she played in the car the other night — he won’t love you like i would. you didn’t think anything of it at the time. now it feels like a confession you missed.

“you love me,” you say, not as a question.

paige doesn’t flinch. “yeah,” she says. “i do.”

the silence sits heavy.

and still, she doesn’t pull away.

“i’ve been trying to show you for months,” she adds. “but you kept running back to someone who doesn’t even know how lucky he is.”

you turn toward her fully, voice small. “why didn’t you ever say anything?”

her eyes flicker. “because i wanted it to be your choice. i didn’t want to be your rebound.”

you nod slowly. “he’s not my choice anymore.”

she watches you carefully. “are you sure?”

you reach for her hand, fingers lacing between hers.

“i’m sure.”

—

you break up with him two days later. it doesn’t even hurt.

what hurts is how long it took you.

what hurts is the look on paige’s face when you show up at her apartment that night, eyes tired, hands trembling.

she opens the door in another hoodie, this one a little oversized, sleeves pushed to her elbows. she stares at you, unreadable.

“you okay?”

you nod. “i ended it.”

she exhales, shoulders falling slightly. “you sure?”

you step inside without answering and close the door behind you.

“he never made me feel anything,” you say, voice quiet. “not like you.”

she doesn’t move.

“and that night… with you…” you pause. swallow. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

paige’s eyes darken, but she stays still. waiting.

you take a step forward. “i didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.”

another step. she still doesn’t move.

“until you.”

her hand finds your waist again — same spot, like muscle memory. she pulls you in slow, letting the air burn between you.

“say it again,” she whispers.

you don’t hesitate.

“you make me feel everything.”

and this time, when her mouth meets yours, it’s not confusion or rebellion or recklessness.

it’s clarity.

it’s finally.

—

he wouldn’t love you like she would.

he never did.

but paige always has.

and now — you finally see it.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ smut smut smut, i was clenching my thighs writing this btw.. 😊

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold

[thewriter]

Knives flashing, constantly turning and moving. The boss and two of her remaining minions had driven me into a corner, almost succeeding in killing me as they attack me simultaneously. The right minion managed to stab me into my leg but didn’t expect me to immediately drop into him, knife first. He doesn’t die immediately, but it won’t take long. It creates a gap, giving me the opportunity to get back to free ground.

As I jump forward the boss brings an axe down on my back, it’s not fatal, but I won’t be able to fight much longer with the blood loss. I force myself to turn back and slash my knives towards her, the boss was too close to defend herself with her axe and goes down. I’m not sure where I hit her or if it was fatal, but at least she won’t interfere with this last fight.

The left minion, or more accurately, the last one, lunges and manages to drive me back. She’s got a sword, I’m at a disadvantage with my much shorter knives. She catches my shoulder as I make a cut on her stomach, but then she pulls a knife from her belt and puts it to my throat, effectively stopping the fight. I see in her eyes that she won’t spare me, honestly can’t blame her, I did just kill 7 people she knew.

Even though I couldn’t blame her, I wasn’t planning on dying today and simply let myself fall backwards. I landed heavily, the wound on my back seemed to be lit on fire and my vision turned black for a few seconds. If the minion hadn’t been distracted I certainly wouldn’t have survived. She was standing over me, both her sword and knife pointed at me, but het gaze was turned to the doorway on the other side of the room.

‘Dude, she still hasn’t managed to kill them all! Can you believe this? I thought she was the best you could find!?’ A mocking voice, Mark’s voice, pierced the air, he was part of the team of adventurers who hired me to kill these people.

My first thought was; for fuck’s sake, that asshole? Closely followed by; never mind that they’re assholes, at least now they can help me finish off this last one and get me a healer before I bleed to death.

The minion made a mistake by not using that moment to kill me. ‘Let me go and I’ll let her live!’ She seemed to think they’d fight like normal people, she was wrong.

I saw Curtis looking up and smiling. He has a nasty smile, too wide and with a cruel twist. ‘That sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it boys? But I actually feel like barbecuing today instead.’ The rest laughed as he stuck out his arm in the girl’s direction and punched the air. A ball of fire and smoke launched itself at her and went straight through the sword she’d brought up to protect herself, hitting her square in the chest. She died instantly.

Once again I wondered why they’d hired me to kill these people when they were so obviously more powerful and had a large group. I decided I didn’t care, all I wanted was a healer to fix the wounds on my leg and back, my money and my bed. I scrambled up to my feet with a pained groan and waved at the adventurers. ‘Hello, yes, you people. I’d love to chat, but right now I think I need your healer to help me out, they did quite a number on me. And after that I’d like to get paid.’

They were with 5 people, one of them was certainly a healer, he wore the signature pink pouch. ‘Of course, Lily, was it?’ Mark and the others walked closer to me. Warily I nodded, something wasn’t right with his tone. Focusing on Mark I didn’t notice someone sneaking up behind me until she almost touched me. I whirled, knife out and almost cutting her. ‘Woah, easy, little flower.’

Curtis guffawed from behind me, and only now did I realise they’d surrounded me completely. ‘What are you doing? We made a deal! I killed them and you’re paying me.’ I turned to Curtis and Mark, the leaders. ‘You didn’t though. I killed that girl, so you didn’t hold up your end of the deal. Which means we won’t have to either.’ Curtis struck out his arm, making me flinch to the side sharply, into the girl I evaded seconds before. She brought her hand to my face and then…

I was blind. Only loud whoops and laughter came through. Suddenly images flashed across my mind. A place filled with people. A person, seemingly in a world of his own. A house, hidden behind a wall of trees. Speeding up. More places, faces, thoughts. What’s happening? Sudden stop. I can see again. Disoriented. Pain in my leg. My back.

I’m propped up against a wall, the girl isn’t touching me anymore. Better. She is staring intently into my eyes, that’s uncomfortable. I try to avert them but I’m unable. I don’t panic yet, but when I try to move, hit her, get up and nothing happens, the feeling takes flight.

Don’t worry. Stay here and don’t move.

I can tell it’s her voice, even though she isn’t talking. She must be one of those mind people. She rooted through my head and can order me to do things! That was stupid of her. She’ll regret this.

I get the childish urge to have fun with it, although threatening had to come first. Just so you know, this was a mistake. I’ll get my money and you’ll be sorry for crossing me. Aside from that: I think you deserve to know what happens in my head. Then I poured all of my experiences and fantasy into the most horrifying images I could think of and sent them straight to her.

Her previous expressionless face was gone, and her astonished and thoroughly shocked face was a delight. She quickly severed the connection and went over to the others.

They were looting the treasures from the room. I hadn’t noticed it while fighting, but behind the round table there were several chests filled with gold coins, gems and other valuable items.

Still under the influence of the mind magic, everything sounded like it was tempered, almost as if I were underwater. Despite that it was clear that the adventurers were taunting me. They paraded the most egregious items around, waving them at me before stuffing them carelessly into their bags.

The only one who seemed even a little regretful was the healer. He kept looking at me, or more accurately, my wounds. A few times he tried to talk to the others, gesturing vaguely at me while speaking so softly I didn’t even hear a murmur, clearly he wasn’t too influential as he eventually stopped trying and avoided looking back at me.

The chests were almost empty now, and Mark came over as the rest gathered near the door. He was speaking loudly enough to get through the mist in my head, but I tuned him out anyway. Nothing he could say would interest me. He went on for quite a long time, seemingly unaware of my disinterest, I wondered whether there was a restaurant near here serving scrambled eggs. I had the weirdest cravings.

A few minutes later I saw he’d finally stopped talking, he was standing up. Relief swept in, when they left I would be able to move again.

Then Mark swung his fist at my head and after an explosion of light, darkness took me down.

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[ekybrini]

you're the right one | Will Smith

Request: Hi! I have a request if you are up to writing it. Can I please request a Will Smith fic where he and reader are out on a date, and people keep coming up to ask for pictures and autographs, and she happily takes pictures if asked, but for the most part the fans ignore her or make snide remarks. And she starts feeling bad because she feels that she can’t keep up with his world and doesn’t belong with him. And so Will invites her over and he makes her dinner and gets her flowers, does everything. And he basically praises her and thanks her for staying with him and supporting him through his rookie year.

— ⟡ summary | After a rough night out leaves y/n feeling out of place, Will comforts her with flowers, dinner, and gentle reminders that she means everything to him.

— ⟡ warnings | None (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 2.3k

— ⟡ gabs note | hiiii !!!! I finally finished this after like almost a month of it being in my drafts lol. Who knew the last two months of school were actually going to be a living hell. THANKFULLY I graduate in exactly a month so I'll be able to start being more active on here which means more post!! if anyone would like to request something don't hesitate !! I won't get to them right away but I will end up writing it sometimes when I have time.

You tell yourself it didn't bother you at first.

The stares. The whispers. Or how your name gets left out of every “Can I get a picture with you, will?” request.

That is just part of dating him. 

You try to focus on the warmth in his eyes. The way his knee brushes against yours under the table. The way he said “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” when he picked you up tonight after the two long roadies.

And he meant that.

The first fan comes by after your appetizers hit the table. Young guy, maybe in high school, nervous, polite, asking to sign a sharks jersey. Will grins, he takes a picture and signs the jersey. He is sweet about it, he always is. You simile and even offer to take the picture. You’ve gotten used to this by now. You’ve known what it meant to be with him since the beginning of your relationship. 

You just didn’t expect the stream of fans to keep coming. 

Another one stops mid conversation. Then another. And another. You take a couple more pictures. Will never says no. He apologies each time with a sheepish smile and squeezes your hand each time, but you can feel the distance building up with every polite interruption. 

Your food arrives. You push it around your plate, your appetite fading like the candle in front of you guys. 

And of course it happens again.

You're mid laugh at something Will said, something genuinely funny, something that made you forget about how you two can’t seem to have a private moment when a group of girls passes by your table. They slow down pretending to glance at their menu, but their eyes are on Will.

“He’s even cuter in person,” one whispers.

Another snorts softly. “No kidding. And he’s with her?”

“He could definitely do better if he tried.” The girl replied back. 

Will stiffens next to you like he heard it too.

But you don’t wait to see if he’ll say something. You excuse yourself with a bright smile and make your way to the bathroom before your voice cracks.

You stare at yourself in the mirror feeling your chest get tight, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles ache.

You knew it could be like this. You’ve seen the comments online, the subtle glances, the disbelief in people’s faces when they realize you're together. You always thought you could handle it. You thought if you loved him enough, if he loved you enough it wouldn’t matter.

But tonight, it feels like you’re trying to breathe underwater.

You fix your makeup, though it doesn’t fix anything. You smooth down your dress, though it still doesn’t feel like it fits right. You stare at yourself until the flush in your cheeks fades enough to pass as normal, then go back out there and pretend you weren’t just unraveling in a public restroom.

Will’s sitting up straighter when you return. There’s a shared dessert waiting at your seat, your favorite, a small cookie pie with vanilla ice cream on top. 

His smile is small, searching. “Thought we could end the night on a sweet note.”

You sit down feeling your heart twisting.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He watches you for a moment longer than usual. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie. You’ve had a long day, but it's not the reason for you shutting down. 

He doesn’t push. He never does when you shut down like this. Instead, he forks a bite of cookie and offers it to you across the table.

You take it.

You make it through dessert. You make it through the ride home. He tells you he’ll text you when he makes it home. kisses your temple like he always does, lingering just long enough for you to feel guilty for pulling away.

You go inside and lean against the door, blinking against the burn behind your eyes.

Will hasn’t done anything wrong. That’s the hardest part.

He’s just being himself, kind, open, unaware of every careless comment, every ignored glance, every fan who acts like you’re invisible. He doesn’t know how small you felt tonight. How you keep wondering if people see you and think he settled.

You crawl into bed fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind looping that one cruel comment over and over again.

And he’s with her? 

You close your eyes and try not to cry.

The next morning you wake to the soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand. It will.  It’s still dark out, the sky a dull gray that matches the fog in your chest.

“Good morning, pretty girl. Hope you slept okay.”

Your chest tightens. You stare at the message for a while then type back slowly.

“Morning. Slept alright. Hope practice isn’t too rough today.”

You press send before you can second guess yourself. It’s casual. Normal. Exactly the kind of message he’s used to from you. But it feels like a lie, even if the words are technically true.

You’re not ignoring him. You just can’t bring yourself to say what’s really on your mind.

The way the girl at the restaurant looked you up and down like you were some sort of joke. The way you felt more like a shadow than someone’s date. The way Will didn’t seem to notice.

You know it’s not fair to hold that against him. He wasn’t the one who made you feel small, but he also didn’t notice that you were shrinking.

Later, you respond to another one of his texts, something simple about what you’re watching on TV, what you’re having for lunch. You even throw in a little joke. You’re trying. You really are.

And Will is sweet like always.

“Can’t believe you’re watching that without me. Rude.” Will send the message after telling him you’re watching glee.

“You were the one who fell asleep halfway through the last episode. I’m taking initiative.”

He replies with a string of laughing emojis and a gif that makes you smile, just a little.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. At least that's what you’re telling yourself.

Because every time your phone lights up with his name you feel that familiar twist in your stomach. Like there’s something caught in your throat, something heavy sitting on your chest. Like you’re pretending everything is normal when inside you’re spinning.

You want to tell him. But you don’t want him to think it’s stupid about you being upset over a comment. You know it shouldn’t have hurt you the way it did. 

So you keep replying. Keep smiling through texts. Keep laughing at the right moments. Because silence would make him worry and you don’t want him to worry.

“Come over tonight?”

Your thumb hovers over the screen. You hesitate not because you don’t want to see him, but because you’re scared he’ll see right through you. 

Still, you reply.

“Sure. What time?”

His response is nearly instant.

“Whenever you want. I’ll cook. Something fancy and probably half burnt, but made with love”

That makes your lips twitch, just a little.

By the time you knock on his door, your stomach is in knots. You try to smooth out your expression when he answers, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp, the smell of garlic and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

Will leans in and presses a kiss to your temple before pulling you inside. “Hey, you,” he says. “I missed you.”

You nod, setting your bag down. You don’t trust your voice to work yet.

“I went all out,” he says as he leads you to the kitchen. “Like, full Pinterest boyfriend levels. There are candles. I obviously couldn't get wine but if you wanted the full experience i got grape juice if not i got sodas. And I even tried to fold the napkins into those little triangle things. Don’t look too closely.”

Sure enough there’s a small dinner spread waiting on the table. It’s simple pasta, salad, garlic bread slightly burnt around the edges but it’s warm, thoughtful, and made by him. 

And sitting right in the middle of the table is a small bouquet of flowers. Tulips with a mix of wildflowers, your favorite.

You blink. “Will”

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “I know you’ve had a weird couple of days. Thought maybe this would help.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat tightens too fast.

He misreads the silence, smile dimming a little. “I didn’t mean to overdo it. I just I guess I wanted you to know I don’t take you for granted. Not ever.”

Your breath stutters. The lump in your throat threatens to spill over.

You reach for a flower stem with trembling fingers. “They’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He nods, watching you carefully. “So are you.”

Will pulls out your chair and sits beside you instead of across, his thigh pressed lightly to yours.

“I don’t know what’s been bothering you,” he says, voice softer now. “But whatever it is, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

You want to tell him everything. The whispers. The way you felt like you didn’t belong. The way his world sometimes feels too loud, too polished, too far from yours.

But for now, you lean your head on his shoulder and he lets you stay quiet.

After a while of silence you pick at your pasta more than you eat it, but the warmth of the food and the soft music Will put on in the background helps ease the ache that’s been sitting in your chest. Will doesn’t push. He just chats about his last practice, about how one of the guys slipped during warmups, how the locker room smelled like actual death because Macklin left a protein shake in his bag over the weekend. You smile weakly at the stories, letting them wrap around you like a blanket.

But eventually, the words stop. He glances over at you, eyes searching and says gently, “You’ve been quiet lately. I mean, more than usual.”

You stare down at your plate. Your fork scrapes against ceramic, and your voice is barely audible when you say, “Yeah. Im sorry”

Will doesn't rush you. He just waits.

Eventually, you set your fork down and take a breath, fingers curling into your lap.

"It was at the restaurant," you say, voice barely more than a whisper.

Will looks up, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just waits.

"Our date," you add, still not looking at him. “When those fans kept coming over.”

His expression softens, and you can tell he thinks you’re about to say you were overwhelmed by the attention, maybe annoyed. But that’s not it.

“Some of their remarks are incredibly hurtful sometimes. I overheard someone ask if I was your assistance when I was walking to the bathroom. And then there were ones whose whispers were just too loud.”

You pause, swallowing hard.

“They said you could do better and I know,” you add quickly, “I know people say stupid things all the time. I know it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you still felt like shit,” he finishes for you, voice low.

You nod. “I smiled through it. I laughed. Took the photos. And then I went home and felt like maybe they were right.”

“I wish you had told me,” he murmurs. “I wish I’d noticed.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night. You looked happy.”

“I was happy. Because I was with you.”

His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles. “Listen to me. I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I thought about what they were saying. I don’t care what some strangers at a restaurant think. You think I could survive this year, this pressure, this schedule, this whole new world without you?”

“You’re the best part of all of it,” he says. “You’re the one who keeps me grounded. Who reminds me who I am. That night, I was proud to have you next to me. I just hate that anyone made you feel like you weren’t enough. Because you are. You’re more than enough.”

Your throat tightens as you finally look at him.

“And I made you your favorite dessert,” he adds, almost sheepish. “It’s in the kitchen. I was gonna wait, but”

You laugh wetly, tears spilling as you cover your face with your hands. “You’re such a sap.”

“I know.” He grins, brushing your hands away gently. “But only for you.”

And when he kisses your lips, soft and unhurried, you let yourself believe it that maybe you do belong here with him after all. 

Later that night, you’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, the soft hum of a movie playing in the background. You’re not really watching it, not with Will sitting beside you, one arm around your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your arm in slow, calming strokes.

Will shifts slightly, glancing down at you. “You okay?”

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I will be.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. And if anyone ever makes you feel like that again, I’ll personally throw their soup across the restaurant.”

You laugh softly, the sound catching in your throat. “Please don’t start a food fight because of me.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

The warmth in his voice melts something in your chest, and for the first time in a few days, the ache feels like it’s fading.

You trace gentle shapes on the inside of his hoodie sleeve. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t ask what for. He just pulls you closer, holds you tighter. And as your eyes begin to drift shut the rhythm of his heartbeat steady in your ear all you can feel is safe and loved.

The world may never stop whispering, but tonight wrapped in Will’s arms you makes you feel as if you don't have anything to worry about.

[screechingdefendorpuppy-blog]

The player that got played.

Rugby!player abby x Art!student reader. College Au. Love struck Abby gets herself in a pickle.

She first notices you while running drills during practice. A particularly windy but sunny, refreshing day. She had just executed a perfect pass to her teammate when something no someone catches her eye.

Looking over she spots you cutting across the field in the direction of the fine arts building. Art bag which is comically big for you hanging off your shoulder. She chuckles as she watches you struggle to keep your bag secured when a particular wind burst hits.

She watches as you huff a cute pout on your face as you get a good grip on your bag again as you continue completely oblivious to your audience.

“ANDERSON! Back in formation!” Yells the head coach. She jumps a lil, noticing the teasing looks from her teammates. She exhales and takes one more look towards the direction you disappeared into. Shaking her head she turns and focused at the task at hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abby scrolls mindlessly through her phone when someone bumps into her. She turns at the sound of a soft “oof” behind her.

“Im so sorry I wasn’t watching where I was going”

Abby opens her mouth to say it was ok when her eyes land on you and freeze. It’s you, the girl she noticed a few days ago. The girl she has found herself thinking about over and over again.

You smile as the silence lingers watching her as she does in your opinion the best impression of a goldfish you have seen. The giggle that leaves your lips breaks her from the stooper and she clears her throat.

“Sorry, and it’s ok.” Then she puts up a bit of her charm.

“But I will say that now we are obligated to introduce ourselves. As is the social norm.”

‘The social norm!? What the actual fuck Anderson!!!??' She thinks as she mentally face palms herself.

To her surprise you just laugh and extend your hand out to her.

“Well then Hello my name is Y/N.” You answer her.

Aaaand she freezes once more. She will admit she never knows how to talk other people in general without making it awkward. But she at least does enough to seem normal. Now though? Her brain is the definition of a blue screen.

You leans slightly forward and stage whisper to her. “The social norm dictates that now you introduce yourself.”

She chuckles nervously shaking her head as if to clear it. Slowly she takes your hand in hers with a firm but gentle grip. “I’m abby, uh Abigail Anderson” she stutters out a greeting.

Smiling you answer “Well Abby Abigail Anderson. It is lovely to meet you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abby has a dilemma. Ever since meeting you she has been hooked. Getting to know you with every brief meet up be it in the library, dining hall or on the way to your respective classes has been the highlight of each day that passes.

One problem tho, she is yet to ask you out hell she hasn’t even gotten your number. She groans as she places her head onto her arms on top of the table.

“The hells a matter with you?”

Asks Manny who sits across from her on the dining table mid chew of his breakfast burrito.

“She’s desperately in love and doesn’t have the cojones to ask her out.” Answers Nora without looking up from her laptop where she is currently typing up her thesis next to Abby.

Manny gasps dramatically “You mean to tell me that our girl here tiene un amorcito and said nothing!?” He argues, a few bits of his food flying out of his mouth.

Abby rears back “Dude! Finish eating first! Cochino!”

He wipes at his mouth as he finishes his bite. Then he leans over the table towards Nora.

"Sooo, Quien es? La conocemos?" he asks.

"I can still understand you pendejo." Abby interjects, then groans and slams head head on her forearms as Nora starts to answer Manny.

" She's a cute little thing, and from the looks of it an art student. She also is very witty and funny. She makes this one fumble her words as if English isn't her first language." Nora takes a sip of her orange Juice looking over at Abby.

Abby for her part refuses to look up at her friends. They are rather enjoying her situation a little too much for her liking. Both Nora and Manny continue to chat about her when suddenly Nora says.

"Oh, That's her right now. The one with the jean jacket." Simultaneously, Manny turns to look out the dining hall window and Abby's head shoots up from the table.\

"Welcome Back" Snickers Nora as Abby stretches to get a glimpse of you out the window. The moment she spots you she is on the move completely abandoning both her friends, breakfast untouched.

Both Manny and Nora look at each other. "She's whipped already." She says going back to her laptop.

"La perdimos." chuckles Manny going back to his breakfast.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hearing your name being called you look over your shoulder to find Abby jogging over to you. With a smile you slow your pace letting her catch up.

"Good Morning" you greet as she closes the distance completely out of breath. Taking a deep breath she greets you and starts walking along side you.

"How you been?" she asks, shoving her hands into her pockets. You smirk, Abby and you have known each other for almost a month now and she still tries to act cool around you. Even when you are fully aware that she is far from it, but for her you let it slide. She is very lucky you find her absolutely adorable.

"Been Good, even if my classes are kicking my butt."

Abby hums in acknowledgement. "Off to the studio for a class or just to work on your assignment piece?"

"Anatomy class actually. I've been having trouble with it so I signed up for an extra tutoring class the professors assistant gives." you answer her and continue walking.

Abby clears her throat "Could I.. Well if its ok with you I mean..umm..Could I walk you to the class ?" She stutters out a pink tint growing on the tips of her ears.

Looking up at her eyes you give her a shy smile "I would like that actually."

"Cool" She lightly chuckles. "Here."

Slowly she reaches over to you and grabs the big art bag off your shoulder. Smiling you let her grab it and carry it for you. To be honest you could use the break, hauling that big bag all around campus was not fun.

You both chat about anything and everything as you make your way towards the fine arts building. Once you make it inside you look over at her fully expecting her to give you, you bag back and head off on her way. To you surprise though she looks around the building she has never entered before and looks over to you. She asks which way you are headed and the second you answer she starts to head that way.

Much too soon to both your likings you make it to the studio room. Already there are some students setting up before class starts. Solemnly Abby releases your bag from her arm and returns it to you.

You hold the bag against your body not wanting to part ways to soon, and it seems that Abby feels the same way. Before heading inside and before loosing your nerves you say.

"Can I give you my number? I- well I like talking to you if I'm Completely honest and well I would like to. I don't know text? if that ok with you I mean. If you don't want that, that's totally fine. But you know we've had really good talks whenever we cross paths and well I would like to continue and oh god I'm rambling. I just-" A hand to your shoulder shuts you up. Making eye contact you see a huge smile on her face.

"I would love to get your number." You both smile and blush as Abby pulls out her phone and hands it over to you so you can input your contact. Once that is done you return her phone over to her.

"Talk to you later then."

"Yeah, talk later." responds Abby as she waves at you as you enter the studio.

Once inside you head over to a corner of the room finding your friend Ellie.

"Soooo, you gonna tell me what and who that was?" she asks a smirk playing on her lips.

"That was Abby and as to what that was... well I'm still figuring that part out." you answer the color pink permanently on your cheeks.

" Oh Dina is gonna love this." Ellie says as she continues doing her warm up before class. You groan at the mention of your best friend and roommate.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abby for her part stays in place watching as you pick a spot near a girl with short brown hair. She is so entranced by watching you set up that she doesn't notice the woman urgently approaching her.

"Are you the substitute?" She ask in lieu of a greeting.

"huh?" Abby looks over at her confused.

" The substitute? For Anna? The Figure Model?" the lady asks again.

"umm" Abby takes one more look at your and makes a split decision she will come to regret. " yeah, yes I'm the substitute."

______________________________________________________________

"Alright class settle down. So I know we had planned to continue our previous work for our last meeting but unfortunately Anna had an emergency she had to take care of and is not able to join us for today's session."

Some groans are heard across the room one of them being Ellie herself.

" I know I know but luckily she was gracious enough to send in a sub. So please welcome you model and muse for today, Abby."

The moment you hear her name your eyes snap up. Your eyes widen as a red Colored Abby walk out and on to the makeshift stage sporting only a robe. Both Abby and you make eye contact once she turns and ends up facing your way.

"No, Fucking, Way." Whispers Ellie beside you.

You don't know what's more horrifying the fact that your current crush is in front of you or the fact that any minute now she will be in front of you AND your fellow classmates Fully NAKED.

"Alright, whenever you are ready Abby."

The moment she hears her name she looks over at the teacher. Who has her left hand out ready to take the robe from her. The very robe that is the only barrier between complete humiliation and dignity. The class is silent waiting on her.

Once more she looks over to you and turns her back towards you. She just wanted to have more time with you, when you had mentioned anatomy class she had thought it was just like modeling with clothes like in Leah's classes not in the nude.

Now she has placed herself into a situation she really wishes she hadn't. Sadly she cant bow out now, no she Wont back down now. She is Abby Fucking Anderson damn it captain of the women's rugby team. She can Do this! even if it is in front of the girl she is currently crushing on. With resolve she takes one more deep breath and undoes the knot on her robe belt. On the exhale she drops the robe and literally exposes her body.

A gasp is heard from various students as she does this. You breath hitches and Ellie whispers.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit." She faces you. "She's Fucking Jacked!"

You are unable to tear your eyes off her. She looks like she was sculpted by the Greek gods themselves. Her muscles tense and move under her skin beautifully. The flow of her movements are hypnotizing. The freckles that scatter across her body are like constellations waiting to be explored.

A sharp clap from the teacher breaks your musings.

"Alright, you have two hours. make good use of it." She says as she hits play on a smooth soothing jazz song.

Looking back at Abby she is laid out, chest bare and a cloth covering her most intimate part. She once more faces you and her greenish blue eyes are locked in on you.

'This is going to be a long class'

(To Be continued?)

[xylatox]

New girl next door || ‘02 Line

Rei is back guys and is feeding us with a lovely enha fic (^^ゞ

But then there's this, a blank slate, this house that smells of dust and potential, waiting for you to make it yours. It's a mix of excitement and fear of starting something that feels big and important but full of unknowns. — So glad to be able to read a rei fic again, i missed her words.

I love how the boys are introduced but as the mc rightfully says at the end there really is a strange feeling. Like i feel that you actually captured the vibe well rei :)

Kai and Tyun cameo :(( my babies, they are so cute — "I told you to marry rich," Kai adds, popping a gummy bear into his mouth. — you just have to love Kai

Taehyun smirks. "So which one's the tsundere? There's always one." — i giggled, i just love that he knows

"I see we're operating on shared delusion," you mutter, but you're already stepping aside and holding the door open. "Fine. Come in. But if one of you eats all the Oreos from my pantry, I'm changing the Wi-Fi password you don't even have yet." — i love her

I also love how well you managed to capture the 02z dynamic/vibe

Jake's now halfway through the cookies. "You should join us for dinner sometime. Jay usually cooks. Sunghoon critiques it. I set the mood." — every time jake says something i cant help but laugh

I love the moment with Hoon at night, its actually really sweet despite his distant behaviour.

You learned quickly that mornings with them had their own rhythm: Jay always ordered something complicated with substitutions, Sunghoon barely ate but stole bites from other people's plates, and Jake talked enough for all three of them combined. — i love yapper Jake. I just love how this is written. It makes me so happy.

"Hey. So, um—" He glanced back over his shoulder like he was checking to ensure no one was watching. "Jay's making dinner tonight. Actual dinner, not just ramen and regret." — i love him so bad actually.

Kai let out a low whistle. "It's happening. She's starting a harem." — i laughed out loud, havent heard that word in a while.

"Oh, did you know," he said, resting his chin in his palm like he was about to share state secrets, "that Jay once tried to make gnocchi from scratch and cried when it turned out grey?" — another laugh came out of me, i didnt expect that.

HELLO??? JAKE STARING AT HER??

REI I GASPED. HEESEUNG? MY BABY 😭😭No but my question is, did Hee really just go to the first house he saw and knocked to ask about her?

Jay didn't let him finish. He stepped forward briefly, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. "I'm her boyfriend," he said, his voice carrying a subtle yet undeniable firmness. "Can't I just hang out with my girl and my bros simultaneously without some sleazy ex disturbing us?" — i feel bad for Hee but i laughed. The treatment from all boys is insane

I love how Kai and Tyun are literally the best friends oh my god i love them. I also love how supportive they are of everything.

The kiss was sudden but not rushed. It was warm and searching, the kind that felt like a question and a relief simultaneously. Jake kissed like someone who'd thought about it a lot. Like someone who wasn't sure he'd ever get to. — HELLO????

Somewhere between lips and soft gasps, you led him inside. — oh holy shit???

I love how obvious Jake kinda is because it seems so him to not be able to hide anything.

"Come on." He tilted his head, amused. "I may be dense sometimes, but I'm not blind. Or deaf. You both looked like you'd seen a ghost earlier. That, or you stuck your tongues down each other's throats and forgot to talk about it." — i will always love the way Jay just knows what to say.

"You need to be quiet," he whispered, voice low against your ear. "Unless you want them to know that you're mine for tonight." — oh good lord

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Y/N…” His voice cracked a little, and you could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't need to do that. You don't need to fix anything. You don't have to give me anything." His thumb gently brushed against your wrist, calming you in a way that no words could. "You don't need to make up for anything." — I was shocked from her statement and I got so worried but Sunghoon is such a darling

Oh my god the end hello??? I absolutely love that it remained ambiguous, i love how complicated it was but how the boys literally lessened the complication and didnt make her feel  bad. Another great piece from rei :) im so glad youre back

New Girl Next Door I '02 Line

⟢ Pairings: neighbors!02 liners x fem!reader ⟢ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (mdni!!) ⟢ Warnings: mature content, explicit language and sexual content, emotional breakdown, multiple smut scenes, oral! (f! rec), p in v, unprotected!sex, protected!sex, creampie! (reader is on birth control but wasn't mentioned), Imk if i missed anything!

Summary: When you move into a quiet neighborhood for a fresh start, the last thing you expect is to live next door to three ridiculously attractive guys. What starts as neighborly banter turns into late-night confessions, stolen kisses, and a complicated tangle of feelings you can't outrun. In the end, which neighbor opens the heart of the new girl next door?

⟢ Word Count: 22.7k

The sun beats down on you as you stand on the sidewalk, the weight of the cardboard box in your arms growing more unbearable by the second. "Kitchen Stuff," it says in bold letters across the side, but right now, it feels more like an anchor than something useful. You try to hold it more comfortably by adjusting your grip, but it's impossible. You can't manage the size of the box by yourself, and the heat is making matters worse. The humid air pressing against your skin makes moving ten times more difficult.

You can't help but think back to why you're here in the first place. This is supposed to be a fresh start. Your first place. The beginning of something new, away from everything you used to know. But standing here, on the edge of this unfamiliar neighborhood, struggling with a box that you swear weighs more than it should, you can't help but feel a pang of uncertainty. A small part of you feels like you're leaving behind something you'll never be able to get back—familiar faces, the comfort of the past, the rhythm of your old life.

But then there's this, a blank slate, this house that smells of dust and potential, waiting for you to make it yours. It's a mix of excitement and fear of starting something that feels big and important but full of unknowns.

You take a deep breath, finally giving up on the box and shifting it to a new angle, but it doesn't get any easier. Just as you're about to make another attempt, a voice cuts through the air, catching your attention.

"Hey! Do you need a hand, or are you trying to fight gravity on your own?"

You blink, startled, and glance up, trying to make sense of the voice that seems to belong to a stranger standing across the street. You can barely make him out through the giant box in your arms, but you see enough: a guy with dark hair, an easy smile, and a casual stance.

You glance back at the door to your new place. You're so close, but this box is just too much. You can feel the sweat dripping down your neck, the heat threatening to overtake you, and something about the guy's voice makes you pause. Maybe it's just relief or a willingness to accept help, but you take a moment before answering.

"I've got it," you say, more out of habit than confidence. You try to shift the box again, but it only seems to get heavier.

He doesn't buy it, of course. "You sure about that? Looks like you're losing the battle to me."

You bite your lip, already feeling the awkwardness of the situation settling in. The guy's not wrong. And you're not sure why, but something in his tone makes you let go of the box just enough for him to swoop in and take it from you, lifting it without a second thought.

"You don't have to do that," you say quickly, but it's too late. Jake's already walking toward your front door.

"Don't worry about it," he calls back, glancing over his shoulder. "What's the point of neighbors if they can't help you carry heavy stuff?"

You can't help but stare after him momentarily, surprised by how easily he just took charge. And maybe, just maybe, the fact that he didn't hesitate to help makes you feel a little less alone in this sea of change.

As he heads toward your door, you hear the soft sound of footsteps from behind, and another voice cuts in, smoother and quieter than the first.

"Doesn't look like you're in control of that situation," says a taller guy with a more deliberate, calculated presence. His voice is calm and measured, and you can't help but feel the difference between him and the first guy. He seems… more reserved. You catch a quick glimpse of him this time—blond hair catching the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the other's dark hair—and it hits you how striking he looks in a quiet, unbothered way.

You look up, meeting his eyes briefly as he walks past, his hand reaching out to grab another box from you. It's a silent gesture, but there's something in the way he moves, so efficient and careful that you almost don't notice until it's too late.

"Thanks," you murmur, more to fill the space than anything else, and it almost feels normal for a moment. Like this could be the kind of neighborhood where people help each other out, where you're not alone in the chaos of moving.

You're about to say something more when you hear a soft chuckle behind you. You turn to see a third guy standing on the porch, leaning casually against the railing, earbuds in and one eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

"Who moves in during a heatwave?" he mutters under his breath, though it's loud enough for you to hear. He's smirking, clearly entertained by the whole scene.

You glance back at him, an eyebrow quirked. "It wasn't exactly my plan."

His lips curl slightly, but he doesn't say anything more, the corners of his eyes crinkling with quiet amusement as he watches the two guys carry your boxes inside.

The dark-haired one—the first to approach you—places the box down gently on your porch and wipes his hands on his shorts before flashing you another wide grin.

"I'm Jake, by the way," he says, sticking out his hand, casual and easygoing. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

You shake his hand, feeling the heat from both the sun and the moment.

The blond guy sets your second box down next to the first and straightens up, nodding slightly. "Jay," he says, his voice as clipped and efficient as his movements.

You nod, repeating their names under your breath to yourself—Jake and Jay. Easy enough.

Jake gestures toward the guy still lounging on the porch. "That grumpy one over there? That’s Sunghoon. Don’t mind the attitude—he's nicer than he looks."

Sunghoon, still smirking, pushes off the railing and gives a lazy little wave, clearly unbothered by the introduction.

"Nice to meet you," you offer, feeling a little out of breath—not just from the heat or the moving, but from the way all three of them seem so effortlessly alive, so rooted in this neighborhood you're only just stepping into.

Jake glances at your door as they finish up, then back at you. "Well, that's all of them. Not bad for a first day, right?"

You're still a little dazed from the whole experience, but you manage a small, tired smile. "Yeah, thanks. I wasn't exactly planning on getting a welcoming committee."

Jake grins, his easygoing nature infectious. "Hey, you don't get to choose your neighbors, but you can definitely make the most of it."

Jay, brushing his pale blond hair out of his eyes, quietly adds, "We've all been there. Moving's never easy."

And then there's Sunghoon, who, without a word, gives you a lazy smile from the porch as he slips his earbuds out. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns to head back inside, leaving you standing in the doorway, feeling more exposed than you'd like.

Sure, They've helped you, but something in the air about their presence makes you feel like you're already tangled in their lives. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not.

The quiet hum of your new house surrounds you as you close the door behind you, the weight of the box long gone. But the weight of everything else—the newness, the uncertainty, the fact that you're not entirely sure what's next—settles into your chest.

It's a strange feeling. And you wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

Later at night, the house smells like cardboard and lemon-scented floor cleaner. Somewhere in the chaos, a candle burns on the kitchen counter—your half-hearted attempt at pretending this is home already. The living room is still a jungle of boxes, some half-unpacked, others just… there.

You're sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the same sweaty shirt from earlier, your hair tied up in a messy knot. A takeout container sits abandoned at your side, half-eaten. Your phone leans against a ceramic mug, propped up just enough for the screen to catch your face as it rings.

It connects after the third ring. Two familiar faces appear side by side—Taehyun and Hueningkai squished into the frame like some kind of chaotic commentary duo.

"Hey!" Kai chirps immediately, waving like it's been years. "You survived!"

Taehyun just stares at you. "You look like a raccoon that got hit by a moving truck."

You groan and flop backward against a pile of throw blankets. "Because I was hit. By heat. And gravity. And my own bad decisions."

"I told you to hire movers," Taehyun says, smug.

"I told you to marry rich," Kai adds, popping a gummy bear into his mouth.

"I hate both of you," you mutter, smiling despite yourself. "You'll never believe what happened though."

Kai leans closer to the camera. "Don't say you fell in love with your delivery guy. I've already written three fanfics about that scenario in my head."

"Worse," you deadpan. "There's a house across the street. With three guys. All stupidly attractive. All mysteriously helpful, well, two of them were."

That gets their attention. Taehyun raises a brow. "Define 'stupidly attractive.'"

"Like… if someone Photoshopped the members of a boy group into a lifestyle commercial about clean living and emotional repression."

Kai gasps. "You moved into a K-drama."

Taehyun smirks. "So which one's the tsundere? There's always one."

You glance at the ceiling. "His name's Sunghoon. He didn't even help me. Just made fun of me from the porch like some aloof anime rival."

Kai practically squeals. "I knew it. And the charming golden retriever type?"

"That's Jake. He carried the heaviest box like it was made of feathers. Told me gravity was optional."

"And the serious one with good hair?" Taehyun asks knowingly.

"Jay. Quiet. Blonde. Looks like he'd be the type that reads classic literature for fun and judges people for using too much seasoning. Wait, how the fuck are you describing them so accurately?"

Kai clutches his chest. "This has sitcom energy written all over it."

You laugh, rubbing at your face. "It was surreal. They introduced themselves like some unofficial welcome committee. Jake even carried boxes. Jay took one without asking. Sunghoon just… watched like he was grading the situation."

Taehyun tilts his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. "How are you feeling about all this?"

You fall silent for a second, picking at the edge of a moving label on the nearest box. "Weird. Everything's so new. The house doesn't feel like mine yet. I don't have anything figured out. But… when they helped me earlier? For a second, I didn't feel so alone."

Kai softens. "You're not. You've got us. And apparently, three hot neighbors who lift heavy things and emotionally confuse you."

"Don't trip and fall into one of them," Taehyun says, deadpan.

Kai wiggles his eyebrows. "Or do. It'd be iconic."

You smile, warm and tired. "Thanks for the chaos. Seriously."

"Anytime," they echo in unison.

You end the call eventually, but your heart feels a little lighter, your chest a little less heavy. Outside the window, the porch light across the street is still on. Someone walks by it, probably heading inside for the night. You don't know which one of them it was, but something about it feels oddly comforting.

You look around the mess of boxes, tape, and takeout containers. The place still doesn't feel like home. But maybe, just maybe, it's starting to. 

It's only been two days, but you've developed an instinct: anytime there's a knock on the door, brace for chaos.

You wipe your hands on your shorts—mid-unpacking again because somehow there are always more boxes—and shuffle over to the front door. The knock comes again. Three sharp raps. Light, but too coordinated to be a delivery guy.

You open the door. And there they are. Again.

Jake stands in the middle, wearing that same easy grin, holding a tin of cookies like a peace offering. Jay is beside him, arms crossed, his face unreadable but not unfriendly. Sunghoon is lingering slightly behind the other two, earbuds slung around his neck this time instead of buried in his ears. His hands are in his pockets, head tilted as if this whole situation mildly amuses him.

"Hi," Jake says brightly, as if this is normal. "We come bearing gifts."

You stare at the tin. Then at them. "Did you bake those yourselves or rob a bakery on the way here?"

Jake gasps—faux offense. "We slaved over a hot oven for... okay, no. We bought them."

You raise an eyebrow and reach out, flipping the tin. The price sticker is still on the bottom. "Huh. Team effort, huh?"

Jake shrugs with zero shame. "Jay drove, Sunghoon carried the bag, and I chose the cookies."

"I see we're operating on shared delusion," you mutter, but you're already stepping aside and holding the door open. "Fine. Come in. But if one of you eats all the Oreos from my pantry, I'm changing the Wi-Fi password you don't even have yet."

Jake's eyes light up. "You do have Oreos?"

Jay gives him a look. "Focus."

They file inside like they've done this before, scattering across your barely-arranged living room. You mentally brace yourself for judgment, but to your surprise, none comes.

Jake plops onto the floor and opens the cookie tin like it's sacred. "So, how's it going? Still finding mystery boxes labeled 'can be kitchen or bedroom'?"

You gesture vaguely to a corner filled with mismatched mugs, cleaning supplies, and a random lava lamp. "I've made peace with being a functional disaster."

"Same," Jake says around a cookie. "That's why I bought a cactus. Low expectations."

You glance at Sunghoon. He's wandered over to your bookshelves, running a finger along the spines like he's trying to decode your personality through fiction.

He glances at you, then at a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. "Oscar Wilde and ramen. You're eclectic."

You cross your arms. "You say that like it's a warning."

Sunghoon smiles faintly. "Just an observation."

Jay, meanwhile, is looking at the thermostat. He points. "That dial's finicky. You'll need to jiggle it clockwise before it actually responds."

You blink. "Are you... giving me house maintenance advice?"

He shrugs. "Better than waiting for it to freeze you out. The water pressure in the upstairs bathroom sucks, too. You'll want to test the downstairs one first."

You study him. Jay doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's like he's already thought the whole thing through twice. There's a quiet kind of attentiveness to him you missed the first time.

"Noted," you murmur, and he nods once, then goes back to inspecting a sticky note on your fridge that says "Buy toilet paper" with the seriousness of someone solving a crime.

Jake's now halfway through the cookies. "You should join us for dinner sometime. Jay usually cooks. Sunghoon critiques it. I set the mood."

You squint. "Define 'set the mood.'"

"Playlist," Jake replies confidently. "Mostly 2000s boy bands. A little Mariah Carey."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "You put Pitbull on the last playlist."

"I stand by that."

You shake your head, already regretting asking. But your smile won't go away. It's strange—how easily they occupy a space. You haven't figured out how they feel less like strangers and more like a sitcom cast yet.

Eventually, the cookies are reduced to crumbs, and the boys stand to leave.

Jay's the first to step out, nodding at you like a quiet promise. "Text me if you can't get the thermostat to work. I can walk you through it."

Jake points finger guns on the way out. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

Sunghoon's the last to leave, pausing in your doorway. "If you ever need silence, our rooftop is quiet around 11 p.m."

You blink. "That... was surprisingly thoughtful."

He shrugs one shoulder. "Don't read into it."

Then they're gone. The door clicks shut behind them, and your living room feels a little too quiet.

You stare down at the half-empty tin and snort softly. Store-bought cookies and three very different kinds of neighborly chaos. This whole street might be a fever dream.

Still... you're not complaining.

The street is unusually tranquil tonight.

You hadn't planned on doing anything, really. Maybe finishing the ramen you half-cooked or finally tackling the hellscape that is your bedroom closet. But the trash bag sitting by the front door demanded attention, and now here you are—barefoot, in pajama pants and an old hoodie, holding a slightly torn bag of garbage while the summer night air presses against your skin like a damp towel.

You mutter to yourself as you struggle with the bin lid, fumbling in the dark. "Cool. Glamorous. Totally thriving."

Then, a voice floats from the left—low and amused.

"Hoodie and pajama pants combo. Brave."

You nearly jump out of your skin.

You turn your head sharply and spot him—Sunghoon—leaning against the short wooden fence that divides your yard from the sidewalk. He's in joggers and a fitted t-shirt, sweat darkening the neckline and clinging slightly to his collarbone. His hair's damp, sticking up in the wrong places. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin that catches the moonlight.

You narrow your eyes. "You always sneak up on women taking out the trash?"

He lifts a shoulder in a slow shrug. "Just finished a run. Didn't think I'd interrupt a dramatic garbage disposal."

You roll your eyes, but your mouth twitches. "Are you mocking me or flirting with me? I need to know what I'm working with."

He lets out a quiet laugh. It's short but real.

"I don't flirt in pajama pants hour," he says, adding, "But if I were, I'd at least bring coffee."

You cross your arms, stepping closer to the fence. "Is that your way of saying I should step up my late-night attire game?"

"I mean," he muses, "you did match the hoodie and pants. That's effort." You smile despite yourself. It's the kind of smile that sneaks up on you—gentle, unforced.

There's a long pause. Not uncomfortable, just… quiet. You both linger there, separated only by a few wooden boards and the rare stillness in this city. The kind that hums beneath your skin.

He glances up at the sky. "You can't see much here. Too much light pollution. No real stars."

You follow his gaze. "They're still there. Just hiding."

Another silence. A softer one.

"I like this time of night," he says eventually. "It feels like the world stops pretending."

You blink, surprised at its rawness. "What do you mean?"

He chews on the inside of his cheek. "People don't perform as much at night. It's too quiet to pretend you're fine all the time."

You watch him for a beat, the way his profile softens in the streetlight's glow. Something about it—him—feels real in a way you didn't expect. Not right away.

You toe at the grass under your foot. "Do you always get philosophical after cardio?"

He grins. "Only when the moon's judgmental."

Another pause. You glance toward your house. The light from your living room spills into the yard, casting a warm haze over the porch. Your half-unpacked boxes are still stacked by the entryway. Inside, it feels like chaos. But here? Out here with him? It feels like the eye of the storm.

You lean on the fence a little. "I think I like this time too."

He nods, slow and deliberate. "You can come out here sometimes. If you need quiet."

You tilt your head. "Is this an invitation?"

His eyes flick to yours, something unreadable in them. "It's not a rejection."

That leaves you quiet.

He pushes off the fence after a beat, stretching his arms behind his back. "Anyway. Try not to get eaten by raccoons out here."

"Noted."

"Night, pajama girl."

"Night, cardio boy."

He disappears into his side of the house, and you're left in the quiet again—but it feels different this time.

Fuller. Warmer.

It started small.

One Saturday, Jake stood on your porch wearing sunglasses and an alarming amount of enthusiasm, shaking a to-go coffee at you like a bribe.

"You have to experience the only good brunch spot in this hellhole," he declared as if it was a moral obligation. "It's part of your initiation."

You had still been in your pajama pants, hair half-tied up with a pen, clutching a list of chores you didn't actually want to do. And somehow, despite every intention of saying no, you ended up shoved into the backseat of Jake's car between a box of reusable shopping bags and a stray soccer ball.

Jay was already there when you arrived—leaning against the café's outdoor railing, stirring a coffee with slow, deliberate movements. He barely glanced up as you approached, just giving a slight chin tilt that said both hey and you're late at the same time.

Sunghoon arrived five minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you with his hoodie pulled over his head. His sunglasses covered half his face as if he were recovering from a hangover.

"Is he okay?" you asked, a little concerned.

Jake just laughed. "This is his okay."

Sunghoon flicked a piece of toast at Jake without a word.

You learned quickly that mornings with them had their own rhythm: Jay always ordered something complicated with substitutions, Sunghoon barely ate but stole bites from other people's plates, and Jake talked enough for all three of them combined.

You just tried to survive it.

From there, the Saturdays started piling up.

Somehow, without asking permission, they became part of your calendar.

Not an obligation. Not even a real plan. Just... expected.

You ended up at the local flea market one morning, supposedly "just browsing."

Jake, predictably, lost focus immediately.

You found him twenty minutes later trying to convince a vendor to sell him a neon lava lamp for half price.

"It's vintage," Jake argued, clutching it like a trophy.

The vendor, a stone-faced woman in her seventies, was unmoved. "It's tacky."

Jay, appearing behind you with a basket of vinyl records tucked under his arm, deadpanned, "So is he. Let him have it."

Jake beamed at the accidental endorsement.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon had vanished somewhere near the food stands. You spotted him across the way, balancing two cups of iced coffee precariously in one hand while texting with the other. He noticed you looking and offered the tiniest shrug that somehow said, What? I'm a multitasker.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath.

When he finally made it back, he set a cup in front of you without comment—exactly how you liked it. No sugar, extra ice. You blinked, surprised he remembered.

He didn't say anything. He just nudged it toward you casually, like it was no big deal.

Your heart did a weird little somersault.

You told yourself it was just the caffeine kicking in.

Later that afternoon, it was the plant shop.

You wandered between the rows of succulents and spider plants while Jake trailed dramatically behind you, narrating like a nature documentary.

"Observe the wild Y/N in her natural habitat," he whispered loudly. "Drawn instinctively to small, low-commitment life forms."

You smacked him with a fern.

Jay stood by the pots section, analyzing the designs as if they were ancient artifacts. You watched him turn a terracotta pot over in his hands, checking the drainage holes with an almost surgical focus.

"You're taking this very seriously," you said, amused.

Jay glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Bad drainage kills the roots. You can't half-ass the foundation."

You stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. Something about how he said it was sticking to your ribs. It's not just about plants, maybe. About everything.

Sunghoon, for his part, picked the most miniature succulent he could find—a tiny thing barely bigger than his thumb—and declared it was "enough commitment for now."

You arched an eyebrow. "Afraid of responsibility?"

He smirked, spinning the pot once between his fingers. "Afraid of overwatering."

You didn't know what to say to that, exactly. It felt like it meant something more.

Maybe everything did with him.

Maybe with all of them.

You ended the afternoon with a pile of plants, an overpriced lava lamp, and a half-melted ice cream cone because Jake insisted that no weekend adventure was complete without dessert.

Back at your house, you all lounged on your front porch, the sun drifting below the rooftops, painting everything in soft gold.

Jay sat cross-legged on the steps, scrolling idly on his phone.

Sunghoon leaned back against the railing, eyes half-closed, humming quietly under his breath.

Jake sprawled across two chairs like he owned the place, tossing pebbles at an invisible target.

You watched them—these three chaotic, complicated, impossible boys—and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

That tentative thing in your chest.

Like maybe...

Maybe you were allowed to belong somewhere again.

Maybe you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder, wondering when you’d have to leave.

The thought scared you a little.

But it also made you smile.

You were halfway through a very glamorous evening of folding laundry and pretending to organize your books when you heard it — three quick raps against the wood, familiar now in a way that made your heart stutter for reasons you refused to unpack.

When you opened the door, Jake stood there, a sheepish grin on his face and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Hey. So, um—" He glanced back over his shoulder like he was checking to ensure no one was watching. "Jay's making dinner tonight. Actual dinner, not just ramen and regret."

You smiled. "Sounds fancy."

He laughed. "Yeah, well. He got a new recipe from some cooking show, and Sunghoon dared him to try it. This means it's either going to be amazing or we're all going to die dramatically. Wanna come?"

There it was again—that warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"Sure," you said, sounding casual like your brain wasn't already spiraling into what-the-hell-do-I-wear mode.

Jake's whole face lit up. "Awesome. Come hungry. And maybe bring a fire extinguisher. Just in case."

You laughed as he backed down the porch steps, throwing you a wink before jogging across the street.

The moment the door shut, you practically sprinted for your phone.

You flopped onto your bed, FaceTiming Taehyun and Kai, who answered almost immediately.

"What's up, new girl?" Taehyun said, lounging sideways across his couch like a cat.

Kai leaned over his shoulder, grinning. "You look stressed. Bad date? Broken appliance? Existential dread?"

You huffed. "Worse. Dinner invite."

They stared at you.

"You're gonna have to be much more specific, with which one?" Taehyun said.

"With all three of them," you clarified, feeling your face heat. "Tonight. Like—an actual dinner. Jay's cooking."

Taehyun immediately sat up. "Oh my god."

Kai let out a low whistle. "It's happening. She's starting a harem."

You scowled. "Nothing is happening. It's just dinner."

They exchanged the most irritatingly synchronized look you'd ever seen.

"Right," Taehyun said, dragging the word out. "Just dinner with three hot boys who you happen to banter with every day and who happen to look at you like you're the only person on Earth sometimes."

Kai nodded solemnly. "Totally normal. No notes."

You threw a pillow at the screen. "Help me pick an outfit or I'm ending the call."

That got them moving.

Taehyun instructed you to hold up options one by one while he gave devastating critiques, and Kai kept interjecting with commentary like "That top says 'I could fall in love with you by accident,' but the jeans say 'don't talk to me before coffee.'"

Ultimately, you settled on something simple: a soft sweater that made your eyes pop, your favorite jeans, and a necklace you always wore when you needed extra courage.

Not too much. Not too little.

Just... safe.

"You're gonna kill them," Kai said, popping a gummy bear into his mouth.

Taehyun pointed at you through the screen. "Remember, confidence. And if Jay burns the food, pretend to faint from hunger. Drama earns points."

You laughed, feeling the nervous energy settle just a little. "Thanks, guys."

"Anytime," they chorused.

You hung up, checked yourself once in the mirror, and tried to pretend it was no big deal.

You were just going to dinner with your neighbors.

Just dinner.

With 3 absolutely hot neighbors...

The sun had just started dipping by the time you crossed the street.

When you walked in, the dining table was already set—not just a "grab a fork and sit down" set. It had actual placements, folded napkins, and a tiny glass vase in the center with a few delicate white flowers. The soft glow from the warm ceiling light made everything look golden—inviting, even.

"You guys... went full Pinterest," you said, a little stunned.

"Jake," Jay replied dryly from the kitchen without turning around, "raided the neighbor's garden."

"Borrowed," Jake corrected, popping up beside you with a grin. "With an intense respect for nature. And a pair of scissors."

Sunghoon, already sitting with one leg tucked under the other, lifted his water glass. "He asked for help holding the flowers and then nearly cut my thumb off."

You smiled, your nervousness softening under their easy banter. "I feel like I've walked into a dinner party for a queen."

"You're not wrong," Sunghoon said, lips twitching.

Jay emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pan of steaming, delicious-smelling food and placed it in the middle of the table like it was sacred.

"Okay," he said, wiping his hands on a towel, "tonight's main course: soy-garlic glazed chicken thighs with roasted sesame vegetables and rice. Do not insult it. I've already questioned my life choices enough to make it."

You blinked.

Jake leaned in, whispering, "He's been watching that Michelin chef series. Every time they yell at someone, he takes it personally."

Jay rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Sunghoon was already spooning rice onto his plate with the same seriousness people reserved for surgery.

You sat carefully, letting the moment wash over you—the warm clatter of dishes, the murmur of overlapping voices, the smell of garlic and soy and something subtly sweet.

The food was really good.

"You weren't kidding," you said around a bite of perfectly cooked chicken. "This tastes like you robbed a restaurant."

"That's the only kind of crime I condone," Jake said, pouring you a drink. "Well, that and the emotional kind."

Jay gave him a warning glance. "Don't start."

But Jake already had.

"Oh, did you know," he said, resting his chin in his palm like he was about to share state secrets, "that Jay once tried to make gnocchi from scratch and cried when it turned out grey?"

"It was supposed to be beetroot pink," Jay muttered, scowling at his plate.

"Color doesn't change flavor," Sunghoon added, deadpan. "But his soul was crushed."

"Can't believe you're doing this in front of our guest," Jay muttered, but he didn't really seem mad. His voice was warmer than before. Less guarded. They kept roasting each other, telling half-stories that trailed off in laughter. You listened more than you talked at first, taking in how different they were yet somehow perfectly chaotic. 

Jake was the loudest. He always leaned forward, gesturing with a fork and tossing his head back when he laughed.

Sunghoon didn't talk as much, but every time he did, it was to deliver a dry, perfectly timed punchline that had everyone howling.

And Jay... Jay was precise. Quiet, but not cold. The kind of person who only spoke when he had something worth saying—or when he wanted to cut through the noise with something disarmingly honest.

"So," Jake turned to you, mid-meal, "what's your go-to comfort meal?"

You blinked. "Like... childhood favorite? Or post-breakup survival?"

"Both," he grinned.

"Mac and cheese for childhood. And pancakes for heartbreak," you answered.

Sunghoon nodded like that made complete sense. "Sweet over salty. Coping through carbs. Acceptable."

"What about you guys?" you asked, curious now.

Jay answered first, quietly. "My mom's doenjang-jjigae. It's the only thing I ever ask for when I visit."

Jake said, "Spam and rice with ketchup. It sounds cursed, but it hits."

Sunghoon shrugged. "Toast."

You looked at him. "Just... toast?"

He met your gaze evenly. "Emotional damage lowers the bar."

That made you laugh so hard that Jake nearly spit out his drink. Even Jay cracked a genuine smile.

You didn't remember the last time you laughed this much over dinner. The kind of laughter that makes your face ache in the best way.

Somewhere between second helpings and a debate about which anime protagonist would win in a street fight, you caught Jake watching you—not just glancing, watching. And when you looked back, he didn't flinch away.

Neither did you.

Jay noticed, too. You could feel it in the shift of the air.

You looked away.

You weren't ready to face whatever that was. Not yet.

Later, when dinner was over, and everyone was sinking into the couch with soft drinks and sleepy smiles, Jay quietly brought you a mug of hot tea without a word and handed you the blanket Sunghoon had kicked off.

You curled up under it, more aware than ever of how easily your life had started to rearrange itself.

You weren't sure what to do with that knowledge.

The laughter from the living room was light, the kind of easy noise that made you forget all about the stress of unpacking and moving in. You, Jake, and Sunghoon were sprawled out on the couch, half-watching a movie as you chatted about random things, their voices filling the room with comfortable noise. You hadn't even noticed how much time had passed since dinner. It felt like you were finally getting into a groove here, like maybe this whole moving thing wasn't so bad after all.

And then, there was a knock on the door.

It wasn't an urgent knock, just a soft tap, like whoever was on the other side wasn't entirely sure if they should be there. You thought nothing of it for a moment, too wrapped up in the conversation to even register it.

But then Jay, who had been lounging nearby, got up, his blonde hair messy but effortlessly styled as always, and strolled over to the door. You barely had time to process that someone was at the door before Jay opened it.

A man stood on the other side, his back mostly to you, his posture confident and sure, like he was someone who had every right to be here. He spoke first, his voice calm and polite. "Hey, uh... I'm looking for someone."

Jay raised an eyebrow, sizing him up for a moment. "Who are you looking for?"

The man didn't seem fazed by the question. Instead, he offered a small, polite smile before responding, "I heard someone named Y/N moved into the neighborhood recently. Do you know her?"

Jay hesitated momentarily, then gave the man a nod, still blocking the door slightly. "Yeah, she's inside. I'll let her know you're here."

Jay glanced over his shoulder, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of something more. "Y/N, someone's here to see you."

You froze mid-laugh, the words taking a moment to register. Your heart gave an unexpected lurch, the sound of your name hanging in the air like a strange omen. You weren't expecting anyone tonight. The weight of Jay's words and the way the room fell silent for just a moment caught you off guard. You stood up, your movements slower than usual, and instinctively turned to Jake and Sunghoon, who had gone quiet, too.

Jake shot you a quick look. "Who is it?"

You shrugged, unsure of how to respond. You weren't expecting visitors. At least, not like this.

Jay stepped aside when you reached the door, allowing you to face the visitor. The guy standing there still had his head looking down, but his posture, his clothes, and his neatness seemed so oddly familiar, like something that didn't belong here in this neighborhood. It made your chest tighten with some unexplainable feeling.

When he finally looked up to face you, everything seemed to freeze.

You immediately recognized him. The man standing there wasn't just any stranger. He was someone you'd known far too well. Your breath hitched, and your heart beat a little faster. It was a feeling you hadn't expected, not here, not now.

It was him.

"Hee?" you whispered, almost too softly for anyone else to hear, your voice catching in the air like it had been waiting for this moment to break free. It was the only thing you could think to say, but the realization hit you like a flood. Your heart stumbled in your chest, suddenly unsure how to process the situation.

He stood there for a split second longer, unsure how to answer you. And then, the same calm smile you remembered so well tugged at the corner of his mouth. His eyes softened, but there was an air of something complicated behind them.

"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly, almost sheepishly.

Jay glanced between the two of you, his eyes flickering with a flicker of something — maybe recognition, maybe just curiosity — before his voice cut through the air once again, sharp but almost forced in its neutrality.

"Do you two know each other?" Jay asked, his tone casual but with a layer of something underneath that you didn't quite catch.

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. "Yeah. We… we know each other," you said, the words coming out quieter than you intended. Your gaze flickered between Jay and the man in the doorway, and you felt the weight of the situation settle heavily on your shoulders.

"Right," Jay said, his gaze shifting back to you. The brief interaction between you and Heeseung hung in the air like something unspoken. You could feel the weight of his gaze, but you barely had time to register it before the man in front of you spoke again, his voice slightly more casual this time.

"I'm here for a work trip. I heard you moved into the area and thought I'd drop by," he said, his tone almost too calm, like he wasn't standing on the threshold of a past you'd both tried to move on from.

The air around you seemed to grow heavier like the past was reaching out to you. Heeseung's presence felt like something you hadn't prepared for, but there he was, looking like he hadn't aged a day since the last time you'd seen him.

Jay, ever the neutral one, gave a quick glance over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the silence. "Well, we're just hanging out. If you need something, I'm sure you can find it elsewhere in the neighborhood."

He wasn't being rude intentionally, but something in his tone made you think Jay was ready for this interaction to be over. He wasn't wrong. You weren't sure how to handle this, how to fit the person from your past into this new life that felt so different from everything that had come before.

For a moment, Heeseung hesitated, as if unsure of what to do next. He stood there for a second, his hands still tucked into his jacket pockets. He didn't push further, but the awkwardness was palpable. He didn't ask to come inside, and you didn't invite him in. He just lingered, standing on the threshold, his gaze never leaving you.

"Are you just visiting?" you asked, your voice too soft and unsure.

Heeseung nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just for a couple of days. It's for work, but I'll be here for a while."

You nodded back, unsure of what else to say. It didn't feel like he was here for some grand reunion, but it didn't feel like a simple neighborly visit either. The lingering question of why he'd chosen tonight—of all nights—to show up hit you like a quiet punch to the gut.

Jay, who had been watching quietly, seemed to sense your discomfort and stepped forward. He crossed his arms, blocking Heeseung from fully entering. His tone was calm but firm.

"Is that it?" Jay said, his voice low but pointed. "You can go now."

Heeseung didn't flinch. Instead, he glanced at Jay, confused but not deterred. "I'm not here to fight," Heeseung said, his eyes softening as he looked back at you. "I just... I wanted to talk. To explain things. We never really got closure, Y/N."

The request hung in the air, too heavy for you to ignore, but you didn't know what to say. Your mind was racing, trying to sort through the mess of emotions that had resurfaced. Before you could respond, Jake and Sunghoon, who had been lounging in the living room, finally noticed the shift and walked over, their expressions unreadable but attentive.

Jake was the first to speak, his tone casual, but the undercurrent of seriousness was unmistakable. "Not the right time, man," he said. "You should go."

Heeseung's eyes darted between the three of you, sensing the subtle but firm boundary you were all setting. He didn't back down immediately, though, his jaw tightening.

"Y/N, please," Heeseung pressed, his voice pleading now, the calmness starting to crack. "I've been thinking about everything. I know I messed up, but I... I want to try again. I just need you to listen—"

Seeing you back up unconsciously, Jay stepped forward without hesitation and raised his voice just enough to cut through the tension. "No. She doesn't need to listen to you. You've had your chance."

Sunghoon leaned in slightly, his voice dry but light. "Did you seriously think she'd be interested in a visit from you right now?" His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Not exactly the warmest welcome, huh?"

Heeseung looked at him, caught off guard by the casual comment, but before he could respond, Jake spoke up. "Who are you, even?" His tone was laced with a mix of curiosity and protectiveness.

Heeseung's eyes flickered between the three of them—Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay—his confusion mounting. "Who are these guys?" he asked, trying to make sense of the situation. "Why are they...?"

Jay didn't let him finish. He stepped forward briefly, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. "I'm her boyfriend," he said, his voice carrying a subtle yet undeniable firmness. "Can't I just hang out with my girl and my bros simultaneously without some sleazy ex disturbing us?"

The words hit Heeseung harder than expected. His face fell, a mix of hurt and frustration crossing his features, but Jay didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jay kept his gaze locked on Heeseung, not even blinking. "You need to leave," he said again, his tone now dangerously calm.

Heeseung's lips parted as if he was going to argue, but instead, he just sighed, his shoulders sagging. Without another word, he turned away, his footsteps retreating into the quiet night.

The door clicked shut with a finality that made you feel like you could finally breathe again.

There was silence for a few moments. You didn't know what to say, your mind still reeling from the confrontation. Jay moved away from the door, stepping back to stand beside you. He gave you a quiet glance but didn't press you for anything.

You exhaled, your body relaxing slightly as the tension began to dissolve. "I didn't... expect him to show up like that," you murmured, still shaken.

Sunghoon sighs lightly, crossing his arms with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, you don't have to tell us anything, don't worry, and hey, who would've guessed Jay's got that boyfriend vibe down already?" He chuckled, clearly amused. 

Jake leaned back against the couch, arms crossed with an amused glint in his eyes. "Nah, Jay's too smooth for that. He just knew exactly how to handle it."

Jay shrugged, his usual calm composure in place. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all. Wouldn't be a good 'boyfriend' if I didn't defend my girl, you know?" he said softly, his gaze meeting yours for a moment longer than necessary.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "You guys are ridiculous, you know that?" you muttered, though your voice held no real bite.

Sunghoon winked at you from the side. "We'll keep being ridiculous. You seem to like it, anyway."

You shook your head, the warmth of their teasing finally washing over you. "Yeah, I suppose," you said with a soft sigh. 

Jake nudged you with his elbow. "Just don't forget who's got your back, yeah?"

You glanced over at him, then at Sunghoon, who had a sly smile on his face. "I won't forget. Thanks, guys."

Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "If I were you, I'd make sure Heeseung doesn't return. I'm not giving up this 'boyfriend' role anytime soon."

"Fake boyfriend, don't get too ahead of yourself there," Jake interjects, his tone hinting at something you can't really pinpoint.

You let out a small laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. "You're all nuts," you said, but the fondness was evident in your voice.

Sunghoon leaned back, stretching his legs out. "I'm pretty sure we're not the only crazy ones in this room."

The rest of the night was easy and light, with the boys joking and talking. For the first time in a while, you felt like maybe things were starting to feel a little more normal.

The soft rays of the early morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the living room floor. You woke up slowly, the warmth of a blanket draped over you, the smell of something delicious filling the air.

You blinked, adjusting to the light. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and you realized with a start that you had somehow ended up curled up on it. Your body was stiff from the position, but you didn't mind. The night had been an unexpected mix of awkwardness and something more, and you weren't sure if it was the exhaustion or the intimacy of the situation that made you feel so strangely content.

But what caught your attention first wasn't the gentle stirrings of the morning. It was the sound of someone humming softly in the kitchen, the soft clinking of pots and pans. You turned your head and spotted Jay in the kitchen, his back to you as he flipped something in a pan. The light from the windows caught in his hair, and you had to admit—he looked good in the morning light, effortlessly natural, like this was just another day.

You blinked again, still trying to shake off the sleep. The two others—Jake and Sunghoon—were still fast asleep on the couch beside you. 

You chuckled softly to yourself. "Well, that's one way to start the day."

Jay turned at the sound of your voice, giving you a smile that was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. "Morning, sleepyhead. You slept well?"

You nodded, pulling yourself up into a sitting position. "Yeah, surprisingly. But I need to head back to my house and shower. I've got some chores to do and… I don't know, just need a fresh start to the day."

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, before you go, you've gotta eat something. I'm making breakfast. Don't leave on an empty stomach."

You hesitated, feeling a slight pang of guilt. "I should really head home, Jay. I can't stay."

"Come on, just a quick bite," he insisted, moving to plate a couple of eggs and toast. "You've been through a lot. Let me take care of you for today."

You gave in, your stomach grumbling at the smell of food. "Okay, fine. But just a little."

Jay smiled as if he'd won a small victory, placing the plate before you. As you sat down at the kitchen island, you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he moved around the kitchen, the way he worked with a confidence that seemed so natural.

"You sure you don't need help with that?" you asked, eyeing the rest of the cooking.

"Nah, this is easy," he said, shrugging it off. "Besides, you just sit there and enjoy the food."

With that, you dug in. It felt nice to eat something that wasn't takeout or microwaved food, especially after everything that had happened. The simple comfort of a home-cooked meal made you feel grounded, even for a moment.

Jay watched you quietly for a second before his voice broke the silence again. "So, how are you holding up after last night?" he asked casually, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

You paused, swallowing your food before answering. "Honestly, I'm a little shaken. It was… unexpected. Heeseung showing up and everything. I wasn't ready for that."

Jay nodded, taking the seat beside you and setting his coffee down. "I get it. It wasn't easy for you. But you handled it well. I'm glad you didn't let him push you around."

You offered him a small smile, grateful for his support. "I don't think I could've if it weren't for you."

Jay waved it off, his usual confident demeanor slipping back in place. "It's no big deal. You know I've got your back, no matter what."

You finished your breakfast quietly, and the tension from the previous day slowly started to lift. As you got up to leave, you couldn't help but notice how Jake and Sunghoon were still fast asleep on the couch, tangled up in a rather ridiculous position. Ironically, Jake's arm was draped over Sunghoon, who had somehow ended up with his head on Jake's chest. They looked utterly oblivious to the world around them, peaceful in their shared slumber.

You chuckled softly to yourself. "They look ridiculous," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head at their unexpected closeness.

Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You mean to tell me those two aren't a couple? They act like it."

"Definitely not," you said with a laugh, standing up from your seat. "But they seem pretty comfortable."

Jay shrugged, seemingly unbothered by their unusual position. "Whatever works for them. Alright, go on. I'll wake them up later."

You nodded, giving him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Jay. I appreciate it."

With a last glance at the boys, you made your way back to your house, the silence between you and Jay hanging in the air as he saw you out.

The morning light filtered through the trees as you walked back to your front door, and for the first time in days, you felt like things might be okay again.

The boys had done their best to distract you last night—keeping the mood light with inside jokes, teasing, and comfort in a way that only friends who felt like family could. But now, in the quiet of your own home, the buzzing noise in your head returned.

You needed to talk to someone who knew you. The one who had cried to the same two people through breakups, hangovers, panic attacks, and post-midterm breakdowns.

Taehyun and Kai were only a FaceTime away.

You hesitated at first, the weight of the call lingering in your thumb. What were you even going to say? "Hey, so my ex showed up, got wrecked by the new boys next door, and now I'm accidentally sort-of-fake-dating one of them?" It sounded absurd even in your head.

Still, you tapped the call button.

Within seconds, Taehyun's face popped onto the screen, his hair messily styled, the lighting behind him unmistakably warm and homey. He grinned like he'd been waiting for this call all day.

"Y/N!" he sang, dragging out your name with theatrical flair. "There she is. My emotionally unstable yet stunning bestie. What's going on? You look... tired. Did a raccoon break into your house? Or was it another boy this time?"

You rolled your eyes, a tired smile tugging at your lips. "You could say that," you murmured, settling back against the pillows. "Heeseung showed up."

Taehyun blinked. Then blinked again. "Heeseung as in your 'it's not you, it's my emotional immaturity' ex-boyfriend Heeseung?"

"That's the one."

Before he could respond, Kai appeared on screen too, plopping down dramatically beside Taehyun and stealing half the frame. "Wait. What? Heeseung? Like, showed up where? Your house? Your dreams? Or did he slither up through a sewer grate like the snake he is?"

You snorted, your fingers brushing your forehead. "At the boys' house. He came to their door asking for me. I don't even know how he found out I moved here."

Kai gave the camera an exaggerated squint. "Wait, wait. What boys? The hot ones you told us about?"

"Yes, those boys," you said, already regretting how many details you'd given them in past updates.

Taehyun leaned forward like he was watching a drama unfold in real-time. "Okay, okay, but what happened? You can't just drop a bomb and walk away. What did he say? What did you say?"

You hesitated, then let out a breath. "He wanted to talk. Said he missed me. Said he wanted to try again." You winced at the sound of it aloud. "I couldn't even get a word out before Jay stepped in."

Kai gasped with his whole chest. "Jay stepped in?"

You nodded, and your lips twitched at the memory. "Jay stepped in. He opened the door, didn't know who Heeseung was, but as soon as he realized he was asking for me, it was game over."

Taehyun narrowed his eyes. "Details. Don't skip. I want exactly what he said, including tone and any sassy eyebrow raises."

You burst into a laugh but relented. "He said, and I quote: 'I'm her boyfriend. Can't I just hang out with my girl and my bros simultaneously without some sleazy ex disturbing us?'"

Both boys screamed at the same time.

"OH MY GOD."

"HE DID NOT."

"That's so hot. I'm actually mad at you for living this rom-com instead of me," Kai was practically bouncing. "So wait. Heeseung just... believed him? And left?"

You nodded slowly. "Well, there was a lot of glaring, and Heeseung tried to argue. Like, 'Who even are you?' and Jay didn't back down. Jake and Sunghoon came out too. It was kind of intimidating."

"And you?" Kai asked, eyes softening a little. "What did you do?"

You shrugged, voice quieter. "Nothing. I just stood there. I couldn't speak. It all happened so fast. Jay... handled it."

There was a beat of silence. Then Taehyun's voice dropped, gentle. "How did it feel? Seeing Heeseung again?"

You bit your lip, unsure of the answer. "Like my past showed up uninvited. And suddenly, all the work I did to move on didn't feel real anymore."

Kai's teasing melted away as he leaned closer to the camera. "But you didn't let him back in. That's real. That's strength. Don't downplay that."

You swallowed, trying not to get choked up. "I just... I didn't expect Jay to do what he did. It was so fast. Like, suddenly, he was this—protective thing standing in front of me, and I didn't even ask for it."

"And you liked it," Taehyun said gently, not asking—knowing.

You looked away, then back. "Yeah. I did."

There was a silence. Then—

Kai smirked again. "So what you're telling us is... your hot neighbor fake-boyfriended your ex into running off into the night, and now you're feeling things."

Taehyun gasped. "Wait, you are! You're catching feelings! I knew it. You're soft for Blond Hero Boy."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "I am not! I'm just confused. Okay? He was being nice. People can just be nice sometimes!"

Taehyun snorted. "Jay doesn't seem like the 'just being nice' kind of guy. He seems like the 'I'm gonna mean what I say and say what I mean' kind."

Kai nodded sagely. "That's boyfriend behavior, Your Honor."

You sighed again, pushing the pillow aside. "Okay, so maybe there's something. But I'm not doing this again. I don't want to jump into anything. Not now."

"Then don't," Taehyun said simply. "But don't run from it either. If he's good to you—and I mean really good—then maybe let yourself feel it. Even a little."

Kai added, his voice softer than usual, "No pressure, Y/N. Just take your time. But we've seen you after Heeseung. You were a shell. And now... even when you're tired and shaken, you're glowing a little again."

That hit somewhere deep. You looked at your screen, at your two best friends staring back with nothing but love and belief in their eyes, and something loosened in your chest.

"Thanks, guys," you whispered. "I don't know what I'm doing, but... I'm glad I have you."

Taehyun grinned. "Always. You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Just don't shut us—or them—out."

"And tell Jay he's officially on our radar," Kai added. "He's earned one gold star. We'll be watching."

You laughed through the lump in your throat. "You're the worst."

"We're the best," they said in unison.

You sat there for a moment, hugging your knees to your chest, the emotions swirling but no longer drowning you. Maybe you were still lost. But you weren't alone.

And that counted for something.

As the call wound down, you were just about to press "end" when Taehyun's voice stopped you.

"Wait," he said suddenly, his tone a little different this time—softer, sharper. "Before you go."

You blinked. "...Yeah?"

He leaned in, elbows on what looked like the arm of his couch. His expression had changed—less playful now. More knowing. The kind of look you hated because it meant he was about to say something that would hit you right in the gut.

"You keep talking about Jay," Taehyun said slowly. "But you've also been talking about Jake. And Sunghoon. Like... a lot."

Kai sat up straighter beside him, his brows furrowed in the same curious way.

Taehyun tilted his head. "And it's the way you say their names. Like you don't even realize it. You're not just grateful they're nice, Y/N."

You hesitated. Your breath caught in your throat. You tried to scoff, to deflect like you always did—but nothing came out.

Kai blinked. "Wait—hold on. Oh my god." He leaned toward the screen. "You've got feelings. For all three of them?"

"Wh—No!" you said quickly, too quickly. "I mean—" You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning. "Maybe. I don't know. I didn't mean to get attached. It just… happened."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the call. Not awkward. Just real. Like they were letting your confession settle.

Taehyun's voice was quiet when he finally spoke again. "You got attached because they treat you like you matter. That's not a crime, Y/N."

You stared at him, blinking against the sting in your eyes.

Kai, ever the mood-breaker, piped up. "Unless you pick the wrong one. Then it's a whole Netflix documentary. 'Small Town Girl, Big Emotions, and the Love Pentagon- wait no- Square Nobody Asked For.'"

You burst into a laugh-sob, tossing a pillow at your phone screen. "Kai, please."

"No, no, seriously!" he grinned. "The true crime vibes. The scandal. The heartbreak. I'm already imagining the moody cover art."

"Let her breathe," Taehyun said, though he was smiling too. Then he looked at you again, his tone gentler. "It's okay to be confused, Y/N. You just got out of something heavy. You moved. Your whole life shifted. Of course, things are messy."

"And they're really good to you," Kai added softly. "That's gotta be confusing too. When you're used to... less."

Your throat tightened. You looked down at your hands. "I just... I don't want to hurt anyone. Or ruin something good before it even starts."

"You won't," Taehyun said. "Not if you're honest. And not if you keep listening to what you want instead of what you're scared of."

You exhaled slowly, like something you'd been holding in for days had finally cracked open.

"Thanks," you said after a beat. "For not laughing. Or making me feel worse."

"Are you kidding?" Kai said. "This is prime drama. I'm invested now. You better give us updates, or I'll report you for emotional withholding."

You couldn't help but smile. "Okay, okay. I will. Just… let me figure things out first."

Taehyun gave you a slight nod. "Take your time. But remember—you're allowed to want good things. Even if they scare you."

You groaned into your hands as they burst out laughing.

"Can I just live in denial for like... two more days?" you muttered.

"Absolutely not," Taehyun grinned. "But you can take your time. Just don't run from it."

Your chest tightened, but you managed a small smile. "Okay. Thanks. For real this time."

Taehyun winked. "Anytime, dummy."

You didn't see the boys that morning after you returned from your house—just a quick wave across the street, through the window when you noticed Jake cleaning their living room. The space was nice. You'd needed a moment to breathe, to let your conversation with Taehyun and Kai sink in without your thoughts getting swallowed by someone else's presence.

But by mid-afternoon, you found yourself hovering at your front door with no real excuse, sipping on an iced coffee that had already melted too much to taste good. The ache in your chest hadn't left, but it had shifted—less grief, more confusion. More… longing.

Your phone buzzed.

Jay: You alive over there? Jake says if you’re ghosting us he's throwing your feel better cupcakes in the trash.

You smiled a little, thumbs already moving.

You: Was planning to. But now I'll come over just to save the cupcakes.

A few seconds later, another text popped up.

Jay: Backyard. It's nice out. Jake's trying to work the grill, says he has to keep the Aussie in him by having shrimps on a barbie.

You chuckle, setting your phone down, and slipped on your sandals before heading next door.

You found Sunghoon first, sitting under the patio umbrella with headphones half-on, scrolling on his phone. He looked up as you approached, and for a second, his usual aloofness cracked into something soft.

"You came back," he said, setting his phone aside.

You shrugged, settling in the chair beside him. "Cupcakes were on the line. I couldn't let that kind of injustice happen."

He smiled faintly, eyes lingering on you a second longer than they needed to.

"They're actually kind of awful," he said. "Don't tell Jake."

You leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm telling him the second I see him."

There was a pause, comfortable but weighted in a way that made your heart flutter just slightly.

"You okay?" Sunghoon asked, voice lower now.

You nodded. "Getting there."

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he gave the slightest nod. "You don't have to pretend with us. You know that, right?"

You didn't respond, just gave him a tiny smile. But your chest squeezed a little tighter when he looked away—like he was trying not to say more.

When you went to the backyard, you could smell a faint… burnt smell.

Jake was by the grill, battling it like it owed him money. His tongue poked out slightly as he focused, a crease between his brows.

"Planning to burn the house down?" you called out.

Jake was startled, clutching his chest dramatically. "You can't just sneak up on a man like that, Y/N! I almost died."

You laughed and leaned on the counter beside him. He grinned, cheeks slightly pink.

"Seriously though, glad you're back," Jake said, more sincere now. "We missed you."

You smiled. "You saw me this morning."

"Yeah, but it's not the same. You didn't wake us up and say bye, plus it's boring without you." His words were light, teasing—but his eyes were sincere.

You tilted your head, touched by how easily Jake could make everything feel lighter. "Thanks, Jake. Really."

He offered you a crooked smile, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Anytime. I'm basically your emotional support golden retriever now."

You laughed, the sound easing some of the lingering tightness in your chest.

“Y/N!” You hear Jay call you as he lounges on his chair, sunglasses on.

Jake returns to batting the grill, "Go hang with Jay for a bit, don't leave your fake boyfriend hanging."

You leave him to battle it out with the grill and walk up to Jay. When he noticed you, he removed his sunglasses and patted the free chair beside him.

"Back from your dramatic self-imposed exile," he teased, his voice warm.

"I'm not that dramatic," you said, settling beside him.

Jay tilted his head thoughtfully. "You ghosted us for five hours and almost rejected my cooking. Kinda dramatic."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You practically forced me to eat."

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "I figured you might not eat otherwise. It wasn't great, but the thought counts," Jay leaned back on his palms, watching you carefully. "Last night… I didn't mean to overstep. With the whole boyfriend thing."

You shook your head quickly. "No. You didn't. Actually… it helped."

Jay's gaze sharpened, almost unreadable. "Good. 'Cause I wasn't bluffing."

You blinked, heart catching.

"Protecting you?" he added easily, though his voice had a rougher edge to it now. "I meant that."

The space between you crackled, something fragile and electric.

You licked your lips, your voice smaller than you meant for it to be. "Thanks. For being there."

Jay looked away like it was too much to say more right now. "Always, Y/N."

The air hung heavier after that. Jake called from the grill, and Sunghoon pulled out a speaker to play music. The atmosphere returned to easy banter, but you could still feel the shift, as if an invisible string had tied itself between you and each of them.

You hadn't meant for this to happen.

You hadn't meant to start caring about all of them.

But you had.

And you didn't know what to do about it.

The night had wound down slowly after the backyard hangout, laughter trailing like a warm aftertaste. Jay had gone inside first, muttering about finishing laundry. Sunghoon had followed not long after, faking a dramatic yawn and saying something about beauty sleep.

Jake stayed.

You hadn't planned on walking home with him. You hadn't really planned on anything. But when he nudged your shoulder and said, "Let me walk you to your door," it felt too natural to say no.

The air was cooler now and quiet in the neighborhood. Your sandals clicked softly on the pavement, and the stars were clear—many more than you were used to seeing.

Jake glanced at you a few times, each followed by a quick glance forward again, like he was trying not to stare.

When you reached the little gate to your yard, you stopped. So did he. You turned to him. "Thanks for—"

"You make me feel like I'm in a constant rom-com," he interrupted, voice light but shaky around the edges. "The bad kind. The pining one."

You blinked. "Jake—"

"I mean it," he added, eyes locked on yours now. "You say something, laugh, or even just show up, and it messes with my whole day. In a good way. But also in a really confusing way because I don't know if I'm allowed to want this."

He exhaled, hands half-tucked into his hoodie. "But I do."

It was soft. Honest.

You stepped forward, heart thudding. "You're not the only one confused." Jake's hand brushed against yours like he wasn't sure if he should touch you. You took it.

The kiss was sudden but not rushed. It was warm and searching, the kind that felt like a question and a relief simultaneously. Jake kissed like someone who'd thought about it a lot. Like someone who wasn't sure he'd ever get to.

It deepened quickly—hesitant hands turning bolder, breaths coming quicker, your back bumping lightly against your front door as he murmured your name like a prayer.

Somewhere between lips and soft gasps, you led him inside.

You didn't talk much as you moved through your house. The silence was heavier than awkward—anticipation, nerves, and want all tangled together. His fingers trembled slightly when they brushed your arm. In your room, he paused.

Jake cupped your face, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "Tell me if I need to slow down," he whispered. "Or stop. I don't want this to be a mistake."

You looked up at him—Jake, who wore his heart so easily, who made you laugh when you didn't want to, who had just confessed in the softest way.

You kissed him shyly, lips pressed against his as he settled onto your bed, leaning back against the headboard. His hands found your hips and moved you to sit on top of him, soft lips hungry for more of your touch, and his mind went blank. Soon, soft kisses grew more eager as your touch consumed his thoughts. Your hands framed his face, and his wandering hands snuck under your sweater and felt along your spine before swiftly removing it.

Time seemed to blur as you continued kissing passionately, hands exploring but staying within comfortable boundaries. He didn't rush you, even as your effect on him was evident. Instead, he maintained a shared rhythm, making you feel cherished.

Eventually, the intensity of your kisses led you to pull back, your lips tender. His breathing was heavy, and his hair was disheveled. Your hands then moved down his front, taking off his jacket. Though you felt you were undressing him quickly, it wasn't fast enough for him. He turned you onto your back and swiftly pulled off his shirt. You then removed your bottoms, watching as he revealed his entire body.

You leaned back, supporting yourself with your hands, to meet his kiss. As your mouths met and tongues intertwined, his hands moved down your back, deftly unclipping your bra. A soft gasp escaped you, immediately captured by his kiss as he slid the straps off your shoulders, letting your bra fall away. You slowly sank back into the pillows as he trailed kisses down your neck, gently guiding you to lie entirely on your back.

He continued with wet kisses from your neck to your chest, his hands lightly tracing your ribs as you arched towards him, your breath coming in short gasps. A sigh escaped you at his tender touch, and he then cupped your breast, softly squeezing it before his lips found your hardening nipple.

"Is this good?" Jake murmured a hint of shyness in his voice, his tongue briefly touching your nipple as his thumb gently brushed over it, feeling it firm. You were almost speechless as he repeated the gesture a couple of times. You could barely form words to respond when he repeated the actions a few times. 

You let out a soft whine, shifting restlessly for more of his touch. He glanced up at you, his hair falling across his eyes, and playfully flicked his tongue against your nipple while his other hand caressed your other breast. Jake then continued his kisses down your stomach. With a slight, frustrated sound, he sat back, his gaze sweeping over your nearly bare body. He then lifted your legs onto his shoulders, sliding the last piece of clothing off you and tossing it onto the floor with the rest.

"Have you been hiding this gorgeous body from me?" Jake murmured, finally pulling down his pants and quickly taking off his briefs at the same time. He barely gave you a moment to take in his body, your eyes briefly drawn to his erection before he leaned in for another kiss. "If I had known your body was as beautiful as your face, I wouldn't have hesitated to tell you how I felt about you."

Clearly captivated by your chest, he returned to your breasts, hungrily latching onto a nipple, abandoning any further words as he immersed himself in your warmth. After you softly whined, he pulled back slightly and lifted your right leg, bending it towards your stomach, which further exposed your aroused state to his eager gaze. The glistening wetness of your folds caught his attention, making him run his tongue along his lower lip.

Jake's attention was entirely on your pussy, his finger tracing the center where your arousal had pooled. The slick fluid coated his finger and your clit. A moan escaped you at the touch, your jaw relaxing as he gripped your hips with his other hand, pressing you firmly against the bed. Ensuring you stayed put, he lowered himself, his face settling between your legs as he sought a taste.

His lips were gentle against you, his eyes fixed on your swollen folds as his tongue traced the pool of your arousal. He practically sucked for a taste, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses on your center. You gripped the sheets tightly, your legs instinctively wanting to close, but his mouth followed your every movement.

Jake's breath hitched, though it seemed unimportant as he nipped and sucked at you, your clit rubbing against the tip of his nose. His focus was singular: your pleasure. He wanted to make you feel incredible, to erase thoughts of anyone else and fill your mind solely with him. Suddenly, his mouth closed over your stiffened clit, and he began to lick and suck, the wetness of your opening slicking his chin as he devoted himself to you.

You tasted incredibly sweet to him, driving him to the edge of his control as his erect cock moved restlessly against the bed. Your head was thrown back, lost in the sensations between your legs, your eyes glazed over as you moaned at the ceiling. Jake watched you surrender to his touch, his hand sliding along your body, feeling the deep breaths that hollowed your stomach as he cupped your breasts. His fingers were slick with your arousal, and he used them to coat your nipples, rubbing them as his mouth continued to pleasure you intimately.

You were consumed by the ecstasy of his mouth on you. You couldn't recall the last time someone had touched you like this, bringing you such pleasure. It certainly hadn't been with your ex, whom you'd stopped being intimate with long before the breakup, and even then, he never made you feel this way.

"Oh—" you moaned softly, your hands in his dark hair, gently holding him close. He remained silent, simply guiding you towards orgasm, feeling the tremors in your legs and the catch in your breath. Your clit pulsed in his mouth, and he soothed the intense sensation with tender lips and gentle lapping of his tongue as you descended from the peak of your pleasure.

"Condom?" you asked, playfully nipping his lower lip. He nodded, and you reached blindly for one in your nightstand drawer.

"Looks like you were prepared," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"You never know what could happen when you have hot men as your neighbors."

He watched as you slid the condom onto his fully erect member, which bounced slightly. He placed a hand at the base as you moved to straddle him. The expression on your face as you lowered yourself onto him was beautiful, and you exuded a confident eagerness that he hadn't seen before.

He resisted the urge to move, wanting this to be pleasurable for you as well and let you adjust. "Jake," you murmured, your hands flat on his chest, which accentuated your breasts. He carefully shifted his hips, pressing just a little deeper.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, watching your hair fall forward as you focused on his thrusts. You ground your hips against him, and he watched your body tremble with pleasure. The way you moved captivated him, and he couldn't help but lean up to kiss one of your breasts as you rode him for the first time.

He then groped your ass, spreading your cheeks and thrusting deeply as you threw your head back with a whimper. "Feels good," you sighed. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing him tightly against your chest as he bounced you, moaning against your nipples and leaving trails of saliva. His nails dug into your skin as he lifted your hips up and down on his cock.

He felt restricted, unable to move his hips as much as he desired. With a low grunt, he rolled you onto your back, your knees digging into the mattress as your legs wrapped around his waist. "Fuck, I can't," he muttered, perhaps meaning he couldn't hold back much longer.

You barely registered his words as Jake began to thrust deeply inside you, grinding his pelvis against yours with each powerful movement. A familiar wave of sensation tightened around his member as your body gripped him. He knew he wouldn't last much longer either.

"Gonna cum for me, baby?" he asked softly, kissing your jaw and holding your waist as he thrust deeply, feeling your nails dig into his back.

"Please," you begged, snuggling into his neck, and his chest tightened with desire. He put more force into his thrusts, bringing you and himself to the brink of climax. Your pleas were too enticing to ignore.

A wave of intense pleasure washed over you, your skin prickling with goosebumps as a shiver ran through you. He held you tightly as you moaned in euphoria, reaching another climax. Jake couldn't hold back any longer, and your legs wrapped around him gave him no choice but to drive the rest of his length into you until he came into the condom.

You lay together for a moment, his fingers gently combed through your hair, and you straightened your sore legs as he pulled out.

You remembered little else besides the growing drowsiness as he cleaned you up thoroughly. He then laid back in bed, pulling the covers over your naked body, and fell asleep with you in his arms.

The sunlight was creeping in through the edges of the curtains, soft and golden, warming the skin on your back. But inside, you were anything but warm.

Jake's arm was still resting loosely over your waist, but his breathing had shifted—less even, more aware. Still, you stayed still, pretending not to notice. Pretending the tangle of thoughts in your head wasn't growing louder with every passing second.

Last night shouldn't have happened. Or maybe it should have. Perhaps that was the problem—you didn't know anymore.

You bit down on your lip, trying not to overthink it, but of course, you were. How could you not? Because, yes, Jake had looked at you like you were the only person in the world. He'd kissed you like he meant it, held you like he wanted to stay. He was sweet, nervous, and kind in a way that made your heart ache.

But that ache wasn't just for him.

It throbbed a little when Jay hovered near you in the quiet when his voice dipped low and protective. It flickered when Sunghoon offered you tea without asking and sat beside you in a silence that felt like understanding.

You weren't supposed to fall. You definitely weren't supposed to fall in three directions at once.

You sighed and slowly pulled the blanket back, slipping out of bed as gently as you could manage. Jake shifted behind you, a soft rustle of sheets and a sleepy exhale.

You padded to the doorway of the bedroom, pausing there as your fingers brushed the frame.

"You're thinking way too hard for this early in the morning," Jake said, voice low and hoarse with sleep.

You turned, startled to see him already sitting up. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-lidded and squinting against the light, but his smile was genuine. Sleepy. Soft.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then met your eyes.

"Pancakes or silence?"

You blinked at him, then let out a breath of a laugh. "I should be the one asking if you want breakfast."

Jake shrugged, swinging his legs over the bed and standing up. "Just figured one of us should say it."

He walked toward you, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you. Instead, he just brushed a hand against your waist as he passed, making his way to the kitchen like it was nothing. Like this could be normal.

And maybe it could be. But that was the part that scared you.

You stood there a moment longer, your heart knotted and heavy in your chest. Last night had been real. Jake had been real.

But so were the butterflies when Jay looked at you like you were a mystery he wanted to solve. And so was the warmth in your chest when Sunghoon noticed the things you never said.

You weren't just in trouble—you were in it.

And you had no idea what to do next.

You were back on their couch again. Same spot. Different atmosphere.

Sunghoon was flipping through a game catalog on the TV, Jay was curled up in the corner scrolling on his phone, and Jake was… somewhere to your right. Close, but not close enough to pretend nothing had changed.

Because something had changed.

You hadn't talked about it. Neither of you had brought it up since this morning. Not the kiss. Not the night. Not the way you'd fallen asleep tangled in each other's arms like something out of a dream.

You were hyper-aware of his presence now—the way his shoulder occasionally brushed yours when he shifted, how his fingers twitched a bit like he wanted to say something and couldn't.

You wanted to say something too. But what? That you didn't regret it? That you did?

You hugged your knees tighter against your chest.

Sunghoon looked over from the floor and blinked. "Did one of you guys fight or something?"

Jay glanced up from his phone. "No. Why?"

Sunghoon made a little gesture between you and Jake. "You're acting weird."

Jake coughed. "What? I'm not weird. You're weird."

"Excellent comeback," Jay muttered under his breath.

"I'm just tired," you added quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Didn't sleep much."

Sunghoon raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but didn't push. "Right."

Jay, meanwhile, didn't say anything—but you could feel his gaze flicker toward you for a second too long. Observing. Thinking. Like he was putting a piece of something together.

Jake shifted beside you, tapping his fingers against his thigh. You knew he wanted to reach for you. Say something. Break the awkward tension before it cracked open the floor.

But he didn't.

And neither did you.

The controller passed hands. The banter continued. But the tension between you and Jake hung thick in the air—a quiet, unspoken question waiting for someone to be brave enough to answer it.

You thought you'd successfully slipped away.

The others had gotten caught up in some co-op game, and you'd taken the opportunity to retreat to the kitchen for water and, if you were being honest, space.

Your fingers curled around the glass a little tighter than necessary.

You didn't regret what happened with Jake. Not really. But now that the weight of it had settled and the quiet had crept in, the real thoughts were crawling up the back of your spine like vines—tangling everything you'd carefully compartmentalized.

Footsteps padded in behind you, and you didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Jay leaned casually against the fridge, arms crossed, blonde hair slightly messy from lying down.

"So," he said, his voice low and mild. "You and Jake, huh?"

You froze mid-sip. "What?"

"Come on." He tilted his head, amused. "I may be dense sometimes, but I'm not blind. Or deaf. You both looked like you'd seen a ghost earlier. That, or you stuck your tongues down each other's throats and forgot to talk about it."

You winced. "That's… weirdly specific."

He smirked. "Because it's accurate?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Jay's expression softened just a little. "Look, I'm not trying to pry. I just… noticed. Jake's been looking at you like you hung the stars lately. And now you won't even make eye contact."

You finally met his gaze, lips parted like you might try to defend yourself. But then you stopped. Because what was the point?

"We didn't fight," you said eventually. "It's just… complicated."

Jay nodded slowly, as if he understood more than he was letting on. "He's a good guy. He won't push you. But he's also not gonna pretend it didn't happen."

You blinked. "Are you—are you okay with it?"

He shrugged, glancing away for a moment. "Do I get a say?"

You stared at him, trying to read between the lines. His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something rawer under the surface.

"I don't know," you said quietly. "Maybe."

Jay exhaled, then gave you a crooked smile. "Well. For what it's worth, you could've done worse."

That made you laugh—a soft, startled sound that briefly broke the tension.

"I just…" you started, but the words tangled. You looked down. "I didn't mean to get attached."

Jay didn't say anything.

"It just… happened."

When you finally glanced back up, Jay was watching you—really watching—with a kind of quiet understanding that made your chest ache.

"I know," he said, following it with a whisper, "just wished it happened to me instead."

And somehow, that was worse than if he'd said nothing at all.

"Yo, are you guys gonna make out in the kitchen or come pick your Mario Kart characters?"

Sunghoon's voice floated in from the living room, teasing and light. He was completely unaware of the emotional bomb that had just gone off between you and Jay, or he did but refused to acknowledge it.

You blinked, startled by the call, then glanced at Jay. He didn't say anything—just pushed off the fridge and gestured toward the door with a subtle tilt of his head.

"Let's go," he said.

You followed, heart suddenly heavy.

The game resumed. Laughter picked up again. Jake nudged your shoulder once when you sat beside him but didn't push when you didn't respond with your usual sass.

You smiled weakly. Tried to play like nothing had changed. But the echo of Jay's voice wouldn't leave your head.

The shift was subtle at first. A lingering glance here. A missed joke there. The group dynamics still flowed, but you could feel it—like something had been shaken and hadn't settled back into place.

Jake didn't press. He still smiled at you, still offered you the last slice of pizza, still handed you the extra controller. But the softness in his eyes was quieter now. Like he was waiting to see what came next.

Jay avoided being alone with you.

Sunghoon seemed to be the only one who hadn't picked up on the tension—or if he had, he had expertly ignored it, choosing to be the glue that kept everything together—the buffer.

You were grateful for him.

But your head was a mess.

And no matter how often you told yourself to figure it out, to pick a lane, your heart kept tugging in three different directions.

It was late. You couldn't sleep. The quiet of your own house felt stifling, and your thoughts were too loud.

So you stepped outside.

The breeze was cool, the streetlights casting soft shadows against the pavement. You wrapped your arms around yourself, intending to sit for a few minutes on your porch step.

But someone was already there.

Jay. He was sitting cross-legged on your porch, hoodie pulled over his head, eyes distant and fixed on the sky.

You stopped mid-step.

He looked over as if he'd known you were coming. "You always sneak out like this?"

A beat passed before you answered. "Only when I'm being chased by my own thoughts."

Your voice came out a little sharper than intended. You walked toward him, stopped in front, but didn't sit yet.

"Finally stopped avoiding me?" you asked, your tone light—too light and a little bitter.

Jay's jaw twitched.

You sighed, dropping your gaze. "Sorry. That was… I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's fair," he said quietly. "I was avoiding you."

You sat beside him, silence wrapping around the both of you like a blanket stretched too thin.

Then, softly, you broke it. "I like all three of you."

His head turned toward you.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," you added quickly. "I didn't come here expecting to feel anything for anyone. But now I'm just—stuck. Because I care about you. And Jake. And even Sunghoon. I'm not trying to mess with anyone, I swear, I just…"

You exhaled hard.

"I'm overwhelmed," you whispered.

Jay didn't respond right away. Just stared ahead, hands curled into loose fists on his lap.

Finally, he said, "You know what the worst part is?"

You looked at him.

"I still want you," he murmured. "Even if you're not just mine."

The words punched through your ribs, and suddenly, you couldn't stay still.

You reached for him.

And he met you halfway.

The kiss was slow initially, tasting of hesitation and too many unsaid things. But it deepened quickly—days of tension and confusion, unraveling into something heavier. His hand gripped your waist like he couldn't let go.

"Come with me," he said against your lips.

Up the stairs to his room, where he closed the door behind you. Where the only light came from the hallway, casting long shadows across the floor.

He stepped close again. His eyes were darker now, not just with desire, but something more.

"You need to be quiet," he whispered, voice low against your ear. "Unless you want them to know that you're mine for tonight."

The thrill of the night shot through you. You nodded in silent agreement, tightening the coil of anticipation in your stomach. His hand, still warm from your waist, trailed up your arm, sending shivers across your skin despite the cool night air. He cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft curve, and you leaned into his touch, wanting more.

His other hand found the hem of your shirt, and you lifted your arms without a word, allowing him to slide it over your head. The dim light painted your bare skin, and you watched his eyes darken further as they roamed over you. A possessive glint sparked in their depths, a silent claim that sent a shiver of excitement mixed with nervousness down your spine.

He reached for the clasp of your bra, his fingers surprisingly deft, and the delicate lace fell away, freeing your breasts. You held your breath, the air suddenly thick with unspoken desires. His gaze lingered, heavy and intent, before he finally lowered his head, his lips brushing against your collarbone.

"Mine," he murmured against your skin, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. He trailed kisses along your neck, each touch sending a jolt of heat through your veins. You tilted your head back, offering him more, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your hips, pulling you closer until you were flush against him. You could feel the hard bulge pressing against your pajama bottoms, a blatant reminder of his desire. A soft gasp escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his voice rough with wanting.

You didn't need words. Your hands found the edge of his hoodie, pulling it over his head. His bare chest was revealed, the faint moonlight highlighting the lean muscles. You ran your palms over his warm skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

He groaned softly, his hands tightening on your hips. He leaned down, his lips finding yours again, the kiss now urgent and demanding. His tongue plunged into your mouth, tasting of longing and a desperate need to possess.

With a shared urgency, you both began to shed the remaining layers of clothing. His pants were quickly discarded, revealing the thick length straining against his briefs. You fumbled with the drawstring of your pajama bottoms, and they slid down your legs, pooling at your ankles.

He stepped back, his eyes devouring your naked form in the dim light. You felt a flush creep up your neck, a mixture of shyness and arousal. But the possessive look in his eyes fueled a boldness within you. You met his gaze, letting him see the desire that mirrored his own.

He reached for you again, his hands sliding around your waist, lifting you until your legs wrapped around his hips. The sudden friction against his hard length through his briefs made you gasp. He carried you a few steps, until the back of your legs bumped against the edge of his bed.

He didn't break eye contact as he lowered you, your bare skin sliding against his clothed lower half. The contact was electric, a spark that ignited a fire in your core. He leaned down, his lips nuzzling your neck again.

"Tonight," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "you're all mine."

And as he finally shed his briefs, revealing the full, throbbing length of his desire, you knew he meant it. 

His hands tightened on your thighs, guiding you closer until the slick head of his cock pressed against your wet folds. A gasp hitched in your throat, the intimacy of the contact stealing your breath in the dimly lit room. He paused, his dark eyes searching yours, a silent question swirling between you. You answered with a slow, deliberate nod, your hips instinctively arching, a silent plea urging him closer.

"God, you feel so good already," he breathed, his voice a low, husky tremor against your ear, laced with a raw desire that mirrored your own.

With a low groan that resonated deep in his chest, he finally pressed forward. You squeezed your eyes shut, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips as his thick length stretched you, filling you completely. A wave of sensation, a potent mix of pleasure and a fleeting moment of intensity, washed over you. He remained still for a heart-stopping moment, allowing your body to adjust to his size, the only sound the soft rustle of the sheets beneath your entangled limbs.

"So tight," he murmured, a possessive edge to his tone, a hint of a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as if claiming a long-desired prize.

Then, he began to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked your hips against his. Each measured slide sent a ripple of heat expanding from your core, an ache that intensified with every inch he pushed deeper inside you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your fingernails digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were your only anchor.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice a breathy plea, raw with the burgeoning sensations he was igniting within you.

His kisses grew more urgent, his mouth claiming yours in a hungry exploration, devouring your soft lips as his pace quickened. The rhythm he established was primal, demanding, a relentless tide pulling you under, and you met him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in an ancient, desperate dance of yearning. The air grew thick with your mingled breaths, soft moans escaping your lips like whispered secrets.

He trailed hot, wet kisses down the sensitive curve of your neck, his teeth gently nipping at your skin, sending shivers of pure delight cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely, possessively cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your aching nipples until they were hard, throbbing peaks begging for more of his touch.

"Does that feel good, baby?" he asked, his voice thick with lust, the question more of a statement as he felt your involuntary response.

"Mmm-hmm," you moaned, your head lolling back, arching your back in a silent offering, your hips bucking against his with an increasing, desperate urgency. The friction was exquisite, building a searing pressure deep within you, a coiled spring threatening to shatter your carefully constructed control. A soft cry escaped your lips as the first undeniable wave of pleasure washed over you, your inner muscles clenching around him in a tight embrace.

He felt your release, the intense, shuddering grip around his cock, and his own carefully leashed control began to fray. His thrusts deepened, became faster, driven by a primal need to reach the precipice with you. He groaned against your neck, his body trembling with the force of his impending climax.

"You're driving me fucking crazy," he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, the words a testament to the intensity of your connection.

With a final, guttural cry that tore from his throat, he plunged deep, burying himself fully within you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt, as his body convulsed with the force of his release. The hot, thick spurts flooded you, a final, intimate claiming that sealed your connection for the night, a silent promise echoing in the darkness. You clung to him, your own body still quivering from the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm, feeling utterly spent, completely sated, and undeniably his at that moment.

He collapsed against you, his breathing ragged and uneven, his heart pounding a wild rhythm against your chest. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of your shared intimacy, broken only by the soft, contented sighs that escaped your lips. He nuzzled his face into the soft strands of your hair, his arms wrapped around you in a fiercely possessive embrace.

The room was still. Only the faint hum of the streetlights outside and the slow rhythm of Jay's breathing filled the silence now.

You lay tangled in his sheets, your head against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin grounding you even as your mind began to spiral. Everything had been so fast and intense— now it was just quiet.

And in the quiet, the guilt started to set in.

Jay's fingers traced slow, absentminded lines along your spine. But even that gentle comfort couldn't stop the ache from blooming in your chest.

"I should go," you whispered.

His hand stilled. You didn't lift your head, but you felt the shift in his body. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice husky with sleep and something softer.

"Yeah," you said quickly, then shook your head. "No. I mean—I don't know. I just… I can't stay here. I can't face them in the morning. Not like this."

Jay didn't say anything for a moment. Then he exhaled. "Okay."

You looked up at him. "You're not mad?"

He met your eyes, something unreadable flickering in his. "No. I get it. It's a lot. You don't owe me anything more than what you gave tonight."

The knot in your chest tightened. "But I do. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't do that," he cut in gently. "Don't regret it."

You pressed your lips together, your throat tight. "I'm sorry," you said quietly.

He brushed your hair back from your face, fingers careful. "Don't be. I knew what this was."

You weren't sure if that made you feel better or worse.

He sat up slowly, pulling on a hoodie and offering you your clothes with a soft glance. "You want me to walk you back?"

You shook your head. "I'll be okay."

You dressed in silence, both of you moving like you didn't want to disturb whatever fragile peace had been carved out of the night.

At the door, you turned back. Jay leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He didn't look hurt. Just tired.

"Thank you," you said, voice barely audible.

He nodded. "Anytime."

And then you slipped out, into the cool night, back to your house next door.

Alone again.

And full of too many feelings for three boys who had no idea how much space they were taking up in your heart.

You hadn't slept much.

Your own bed, despite being familiar, felt too cold and too quiet. Your body still remembered Jay's touch, the warmth of his skin, and the way his voice had dropped when he told you to be quiet.

You pulled the blanket over your face.

What the hell were you doing?

You'd crossed a line. One you couldn't uncross. Not with Jake. Not with Jay. And the worst part was, Sunghoon's name still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind too.

You stayed in bed for as long as possible, pretending time would fold in on itself and save you from facing any of it.

But eventually, your stomach growled, and the sound of faint laughter and pots clanging across the street reminded you that life didn't stop just because you were emotionally fried.

When you finally made your way back over to the boys' house—barely knocking before letting yourself in like usual—you were met with the smell of eggs and toast, and the sight of Jake and Sunghoon crowded around the stove.

Jake looked up first. "Hey," he greeted, and his smile faltered for just a second—almost imperceptibly—before he forced it back on.

"Morning," you said softly, offering a small wave. You didn't miss the way your eyes slid away from his a beat too fast.

Sunghoon handed you a plate wordlessly, but his gaze lingered a little longer than usual, eyes quietly calculating. Like he was picking up on something you hadn't said yet.

"Where's Jay?" you asked, filling the silence and desperate to sound casual.

"Out back. He's fixing the stupid broken light again," Sunghoon answered, setting his own plate down on the table.

Jake nudged a chair out with his foot, gesturing for you to sit. You took it. The awkwardness swirled like steam from your food.

No one said anything, not for a while. Not until Jake cleared his throat and stood up, grabbing his glass of water even though it was still full.

"I'm gonna help Jay," he muttered.

Neither you nor Sunghoon stopped him.

Once the door shut behind him, you looked down at your untouched plate, then up again—only to find Sunghoon still watching you, fork halfway to his mouth.

"You good?" he asked.

You hesitated. "Yeah. Just tired."

He didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway.

You both ate in silence for a bit longer, though the air wasn't quite as heavy. But you could feel something shifting. You just didn't know what it meant yet.

You finished about half your plate before pushing it away, appetite lost to the fog settling over your chest. Sunghoon was still eating, but slower now. Like he was waiting for something. Or maybe just giving you time to speak.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said, voice gentle.

“I’m always quiet,” you deflected, eyes darting to the window, where you could just barely see Jake and Jay moving around the back porch.

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “You’re a different kind of quiet today.” That made you pause.

You didn’t know what to say because he wasn’t wrong. You were being careful. Hesitant. Trying not to touch the edges of what happened last night or what it meant for the three boys sitting on the other side of it. But Sunghoon wasn’t pushing. He just kept looking at you like he saw through the layers you were trying to keep up.

“I saw you leave last night,” he said finally, setting down his fork. “You didn’t come back.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

His voice was still calm. “Was it Jay?”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

And for the first time in days, you saw it—the softness around his mouth that had hardened. The slight crease in his brow. He already knew.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Sunghoon exhaled, not in anger, but in some resigned version of understanding. His fingers tapped once on the table. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know,” you said, your voice small. “But I still feel like I’m screwing everything up.”

He gave you a look filled with more empathy than you deserved. “You’re not screwing it up. It just… hurts a little. That’s all.” You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing.

Jay and Jake returned shortly after, and the rest of the morning blurred into a hazy half-day of almost normal. You all sat together in the living room, watching a movie none of you paid attention to. Jake kept fidgeting with the throw pillow. Jay barely spoke. Sunghoon… he sat the farthest from you.

You hated it. All of it.

The tension in the room felt unbearable, the silence so thick you could practically taste it. Sunghoon and Jake hadn't spoken much, still lost in their thoughts. You couldn't quite bring yourself to face them—especially after last night, after everything that had happened. You were caught in this strange, suffocating space between them, not knowing how to move forward.

The quiet stretched on for what felt like hours, but it was only minutes. You kept stealing glances at them, noticing the awkward glances they'd throw your way when they thought you weren't looking. You could feel the weight of their confusion, the heaviness of the unspoken things between you.

You opened your mouth several times, but the words always felt hard to say.

Finally, unable to stay cooped up inside anymore, you spoke up.

"Hey, Sunghoon," you began, voice small, hesitant. He looked at you, clearly surprised that you were addressing him. "You mentioned the rooftop… a while back. Can I… can I go up there for some air?"

You could hear the reluctance in your own voice, but there was also a desperate need to escape the oppressive tension in the house. You didn't want to be in the same room as any of them right now. Not with everything swirling in your head. Not when your heart was so tangled up in all of them.

Sunghoon hesitated, catching the tone of your voice. He nodded after a beat. "Yeah, of course. I'll show you." He stood from the table, motioning toward the door.

You followed him silently, grateful for the excuse to leave the suffocating atmosphere behind. He led you up the stairs and through the door to the rooftop. The cool evening air hit you immediately, the breeze brushing over your skin as you stepped outside.

It was quiet up here. The city stretched out before you, peaceful and calm in the twilight. But you didn't feel calm. You felt the opposite—a storm swirling inside your chest, the weight of your confusion pressing down on you.

Sunghoon didn't push you to speak. He just stood beside you, leaning against the railing, gazing out over the skyline. But after a while, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I—" You stopped yourself, realizing how vulnerable you were. You didn't want to break down here in front of Sunghoon. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"I don't think I can do this right now," you muttered, eyes fixed on the horizon. You didn't know what you were even talking about. Your words felt like they didn't belong in the same sentence. "I can't face them."

Sunghoon turned his head slightly toward you, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean? You can talk to them."

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. "I don't think I can. I don't even know what to say to them. Or to you." You let out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. "I think… I think I need to be alone. I can't deal with all of this."

You felt his presence linger momentarily, but he didn't press. He simply nodded. "Okay. I'll leave you to it, then. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

And then he left. The door behind you clicked softly, leaving you with your thoughts.

The moment you were truly alone, the walls came crashing down.

You sat there on the cold rooftop, your back against the railing, knees pulled up tightly to your chest. The city spread out before you, but you couldn't see any of it clearly through the fog of your emotions. The tears wouldn't stop.

Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

You hadn't meant for any of this to happen. You hadn't meant to let things get this messy. But here you were, caught in a web of emotions that felt too heavy to bear. You felt suffocated by your own thoughts, trapped by everything you couldn't control.

"I'm such a mess," you whispered hoarsely, your voice barely audible above the soft hum of the wind. You hated the way your words sounded. Pathetic. Weak.

But it was true. You were a mess. You'd let things get too tangled with the guys, let your feelings run wild without thinking of the consequences. And now, everything was breaking apart around you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the tears that kept coming, but it was no use. They were unstoppable.

You weren't just crying for the mess between you and the boys. You were crying for yourself. For the way you had let everything slip out of control. You were disgusted with yourself—disgusted that you couldn't make a decision, disgusted that you couldn't keep your emotions in check.

How had you let things get this far? How had you ended up here, drowning in a sea of guilt and regret?

You didn't deserve any of them.

You didn't deserve to be loved by any of them. Not when you couldn't even figure out what you wanted. Not when you had let your emotions run wild and hurt the very people you cared about.

You covered your face with your hands, your chest tightening with each breath. "Why can't I just get it right?" you choked out, your voice breaking. "Why can't I just… know what I want?"

The tears came harder then, and you let them, unable to hold back any longer. You hated the feeling of weakness, hated that you were so torn up inside. You wanted to be strong, to have everything figured out. But you didn't. You were a mess, and you couldn't escape it.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, the words more for yourself than anyone else. "I'm sorry for being this way."

It was so much. You could feel the weight of it crushing you, suffocating you with each breath. The silence of the rooftop only made it worse, amplifying the noise in your own head. You weren't sure how much more you could take.

And just as you were about to let the tears consume you completely, you heard footsteps behind you.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, trying to gather yourself, but it was too late. Sunghoon had already seen you.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice soft, almost too soft for the weight of the moment. You didn't even turn to face him. You didn't want him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable. But you could hear him moving closer, his footsteps steady and sure.

"I'm fine," you whispered, but it was a lie. You weren't fine. You were far from it.

He didn't say anything at first. Instead, you felt him sit down beside you, the warmth of his body a quiet presence against your cold, shaking form. His silence wasn't uncomfortable, though. It was… soothing. A small comfort in the chaos of your thoughts.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Y/N," he said softly, his tone steady but filled with understanding. "You don't have to hold it all in."

The words hit you like a wave, and before you could stop yourself, a sob broke free from your chest. You hadn't realized how much you needed to hear that. How much you needed to hear that it was okay to fall apart, that it was okay to be weak.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered through your tears. "I'm sorry for everything. For making it so complicated. For hurting everyone. I didn't mean to. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Sunghoon didn't move. He stayed close, letting you cry, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"You're not hurting anyone," he said gently. "But you have to let yourself breathe, Y/N. You can't keep holding all of this in. It's okay to feel what you're feeling."

You shook your head, the tears still coming. "I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to do."

"I know," he said, his voice calm. "But you'll figure it out. You don't have to do it alone."

You laughed bitterly, looking at him then, even though your tears blurred your vision. "Look at me right now. I'm the one who's hurting you. I'm the one causing all of this, and yet here you are, comforting me." You swallowed hard, more tears slipping down your face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

Sunghoon's hand moved to your shoulder, and you could feel the warmth of his touch, grounding you. "You're not dragging me into anything," he said softly. "I'm here because I care. I'm not going anywhere."

You shook your head, feeling a pit in your stomach. "I don't deserve this," you whispered, feeling utterly broken. "I don't deserve to have people like you care about me."

Sunghoon didn't respond immediately. Instead, he sat beside you, silent and steady, as if he were letting you say everything you needed to say, as if he knew that sometimes, there were no words to fix everything.

The tears slowed, but the weight in your chest didn't go away. You felt raw and vulnerable, like you had laid everything out in front of him. But something in the way he sat beside you—his quiet strength, his unwavering support—made it feel a little less like you were drowning.

Finally, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice soft, but full of warmth. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. We'll figure it out. Together."

You nodded, your chest tightening again, but not from sadness this time. It was something else, something soft and almost like relief. The tension in your body didn't disappear, but somehow, it wasn't as heavy.

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of relief and something else you couldn't quite place. But before you could pull away, Sunghoon's voice stopped you.

"I know what happened with the other two."

Your heart stopped. You looked at him, trying to gauge if he was joking. But there was no teasing in his expression, no sign of anger. Just calm understanding. Your chest tightened, and you felt a lump in your throat.

"I… I didn't mean for things to get so complicated," you whispered, your voice small, ashamed.

Sunghoon nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not mad, Y/N. I'm not angry. I understand."

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You felt your mind spinning, all the thoughts crashing into each other. This—this thing you were doing, the mess you were making—it was all too much. You couldn't handle the guilt, couldn't deal with the weight of it anymore.

You turned your head, your hands shaking as you reached up to tie your hair up. You felt frantic, out of control, and the only thing that came to your mind was to offer something—anything—to make it right. To stop feeling so wrong.

"You—" you started, but your voice was shaky, desperate. "You want me to—want me to give you head? I could—" Your hands were still moving frantically, trying to tie your hair up, anything to stop the overwhelming pressure building in your chest. "I'll make it right, I'll do whatever you want, just… please, tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

You felt the panic rise in your throat, your breathing shallow, as the words tumbled out before you could stop them. The sense of needing to fix everything by any means possible—it was overwhelming.

But Sunghoon's reaction wasn't what you expected. His hand gently caught yours, stopping your movements, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with something softer than you had expected. There was no anger, no judgment. But there was something else—something that made your chest tighten even more.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Y/N…” His voice cracked a little, and you could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't need to do that. You don't need to fix anything. You don't have to give me anything." His thumb gently brushed against your wrist, calming you in a way that no words could. "You don't need to make up for anything."

Your body froze, the reality of what he said hitting you harder than anything else. "But… I… I hurt you, Sunghoon. I hurt you all. I just… I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how to fix this."

He shook his head softly, his voice quiet but full of emotion. "You don't need to fix anything, Y/N. You're not the problem. You're… you're human. You're allowed to make mistakes. You're allowed to be confused. Just… let yourself be okay with that."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren't full of guilt or panic. They were filled with something else. Vulnerability. Acceptance. The weight you'd been carrying felt lighter somehow, but the release of it only made the rawness of your feelings crash in on you harder.

"You don't have to apologize for everything," Sunghoon whispered, his voice soft. "You don't have to be perfect. You just need to let yourself feel. Let yourself breathe."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that were threatening to break free, but they came anyway—hot and fast, rolling down your cheeks. You hadn't realized how much you needed someone to say that. To say you didn't have to fix everything, that it was okay to be lost for a while.

You let yourself lean into him then, letting the weight of everything go as he held you close.

Sunghoon didn't let go. He just held you—comforting, steady, as you cried, letting the tears wash away all the guilt and uncertainty you'd been carrying.

When the tears finally slowed, you pulled away, your face flushed from crying. You looked up at him, sniffing and wiping at your eyes, still feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, your voice hoarse. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Sunghoon's smile was small but soft, his eyes kind. "You don't have to know. Just… be you. That's enough."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace that you hadn't expected to find so suddenly. But it was there, soft and comforting in his presence. It was enough.

Sunghoon's grip on your hands tightened just a little, like he was grounding you in this moment, as you slowly calmed down. He looked at you with that same calm and understanding expression, as if he wasn't about to rush you into anything—something that made the overwhelming pressure in your chest ease just a bit more.

"You don't have to make any decisions right now, Y/N," he said softly, his voice steady. "You don't have to choose between us right away." He took a deep breath, his eyes soft and earnest as he spoke, like he was giving you permission to take your time. "I'll talk to the guys. We'll figure this out together, okay? But you need to take some time to think, to breathe. We'll give you space to sort out your feelings. You don't have to make any decisions while you're still… figuring it out."

You swallowed, nodding slowly as his words sunk in. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You didn't have to rush into anything. You didn't have to make some grand gesture to fix everything. You could just be—take things one step at a time.

His hand brushed against your cheek gently, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen during your moment of vulnerability. The gesture felt so tender, so comforting, like he was there, not to pressure you, but to support you as you figured out what to do next.

"I know it's a mess," Sunghoon said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "But we'll make it work, Y/N. I'm not going anywhere. None of us are." He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "And neither are you."

You nodded again, this time feeling a bit more at ease. There was a deep part of you that appreciated the way he was handling everything—giving you space, but still offering his support, not expecting you to have it all figured out immediately.

"I'm sorry for making everything so complicated," you murmured, your voice small.

"Hey," Sunghoon said, his tone firm yet gentle, "You don't have to apologize for feeling things. You didn't ask for this mess, and you don't have to fix it all at once. Just… breathe. It's going to be okay."

You felt the last of the tension in your chest slowly start to unwind. His words, his presence, his understanding—they were a comfort, a balm to the rawness you'd been carrying.

"It'll be okay," Sunghoon added quietly, as if to reassure you further. "We'll figure this out. We're all in this together. And you don't have to do it alone."

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a tear slip down your cheek despite the calmness washing over you. But this time, it wasn't sadness—it was relief.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words coming out more heartfelt than you'd expected.

Sunghoon gave you a soft smile, nodding in reassurance. "Anytime, Y/N. Anytime."

For a while, the two of you sat there in silence, just sharing the moment. It wasn't easy, but it was a step toward something. Something that felt like understanding, something that felt like hope. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean into that, to let the quiet moment settle in your heart.

Days after that moment with Sunghoon were filled with a haze of sleepless nights and quiet mornings. You'd distanced yourself—not because the boys pushed you away, but because they didn't. They gave you the space Sunghoon had promised. No probing questions. No passive-aggressive comments. Just… distance. And somehow, that hurt even more.

It was strange being in your own house again. The quiet felt unfamiliar. Cold. You had no one laughing in the next room. No shared meals or dumb banter or movies left half-watched on the couch. Just you. Alone with your thoughts.

Which was why, three days later, you found yourself curled up on the bed with your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for the FaceTime to connect.

"Holy finally!" Taehyun's face popped onto the screen, a dramatic groan escaping him as Hueningkai leaned over his shoulder, grinning.

"We thought you died," Kai added, waving. "Or worse—got a boyfriend and forgot about us."

You let out a laugh that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Not exactly."

Taehyun narrowed his eyes immediately. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"I—" You hesitated, fingers curling in the blanket bunched around your knees. "It's been… a lot."

Hueningkai sat up straighter. "This have something to do with the last time you called? The whole Jay-being-your-fake-boyfriend thing?"

You nodded slowly. "It's not fake anymore."

Taehyun's eyebrows shot up, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed. "Something happened. With Jake. Then… something else happened. With Jay. And then, I… I had a breakdown in front of Sunghoon. And that turned into a whole thing too."

It took a moment, but both of them visibly deflated. The teasing drained from their faces, replaced by concern and understanding.

You explained everything. Every confusing, tangled detail. The kiss at the gate with Jake. That night in your room. The aftermath. Jay on the porch. That night in his room. Sunghoon on the rooftop. The crying. The panic. The shame. All of it spilled out like floodgates had burst open.

By the time you finished, your eyes were glassy, and your throat ached from trying not to cry again.

"They've been nothing but good to me," you whispered. "And I just… keep messing it all up."

Taehyun was quiet for a beat, and then he said, "Y/N, you're not messing anything up. You're just human. This—what you're feeling—it's complicated, sure. But you're allowed to be confused. You're allowed to feel everything you're feeling."

Kai nodded slowly. "Honestly? It doesn't even sound like a love triangle. It's a love circle at this point."

That startled a laugh out of you, wet and breathless. "That's not helping."

"Okay, but listen," Taehyun cut in gently. "You've been through a lot. You moved, you got hit with Heeseung out of nowhere, and suddenly these guys show up who make you feel things you're not ready for. That's a lot."

"And none of them seem angry at you," Kai pointed out. "Which means they're probably feeling the same things you are. Scared. Confused. Maybe a little hopeful."

You looked down. "I feel gross."

"You're not," Taehyun said firmly. "You didn't lead anyone on. You're trying to be honest. It's just… messy. Love is messy. You know that better than anyone."

You let the silence sit for a moment, heart beating unevenly.

"I didn't mean to get attached," you said finally, your voice small, fragile. "I really tried not to. But it's like… it just happened when I wasn't paying attention. One second I was just grateful to have people being nice to me, and then…"

You trailed off, trying to catch your breath as the weight of your own confession settled around you.

Taehyun's expression softened. "And then it felt like home, didn't it?"

Your eyes stung. "Yeah."

Hueningkai leaned forward, his teasing long gone. "You let your guard down. That's not weakness, Y/N. That's trust."

"But that's the problem," you whispered, hands gripping the edge of your blanket. "I trusted too easily. I crossed too many lines. I hurt them. And I hate myself for it."

Taehyun shook his head slowly. "You didn't hurt them by feeling something. You didn't do anything wrong by catching feelings."

You blinked hard, looking away. "But I didn't just catch feelings for one of them. That's the part that makes me feel disgusting."

There was a beat of silence. Then Kai asked gently, "Do you regret any of it?"

Your stomach twisted. You thought about Jake's nervous laughter, Jay's quiet intensity, Sunghoon's unwavering calm.

"No," you admitted, voice cracking. "That's what scares me."

Taehyun's voice was firm but kind. "You got attached because they treated you like you mattered. Because they made you feel seen. That's not something you should punish yourself for."

Kai raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, unless you ghost them all and move to the states. Then maybe we'll judge you a little."

You snorted, wiping your face with your sleeve. "I thought about it."

"Don't," Taehyun said. "You're not broken. You're just… figuring it out. And they clearly care about you enough to give you time to do that. That says a lot."

You looked at both of them, your chest tight. "I don't deserve any of you."

Kai huffed. "Stop that. You do. You just forgot for a little while."

You nodded slowly, a breath catching in your throat. "I guess… I just don't know who I am without all the noise right now."

"Then this is the part where you find out," Taehyun said, his voice low but steady. "Take the time. Ask yourself the real questions. What do you want? Not who wants you. Not who needs you. You."

That settled deep in your bones—something real, something that hurt in a good way.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I will."

"Good," Kai said, relaxing back into the couch on his end of the call. "Because if we don't get a dramatic update soon, I swear to god, I will file a missing person's report. Emotionally."

You laughed wetly. "I love you guys."

"We love you more," Taehyun said, smiling. "Now go figure your shit out. We've got your back."

You hung up with a little more strength in your chest, but the decision still loomed over you like a shadow.

You'd opened your heart.

Now you had to decide what to do with it.

The following days blurred into one another like watercolor bleeding into paper. You existed in the quiet in-between, drifting from your room to the kitchen, out to the porch and back again. No more playful teasing from across couches. No more secondhand warmth in a home that wasn't yours but somehow had become one.

You didn't go over. Not even when you heard their laughter on the other side of the wall. Not even when silence settled in, and it felt like they were waiting.

Instead, you sat with it. All of it.

Your guilt. Your want. Your indecision.

You journaled. You overthought. You laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling for hours, cycling through memories like some self-inflicted highlight reel—Jake's laugh against your skin, Jay's voice in the dark, Sunghoon's arms around you when you were breaking.

How could something that had made you feel so whole also tear you apart like this?

Sometimes you hated them for making you feel seen. Other times, you hated yourself for needing it so badly.

There was no clean answer. No neat conclusion. Only the dull ache in your chest and the knowledge that no matter what choice you made, someone was going to get hurt.

And you would lose something—someone—no matter what.

But you couldn't stay in limbo forever.

One night, just after the sun dipped low enough to tint the sky gold, you stood on your porch and stared at their door. Your feet carried you forward before your brain could protest.

The door opened too fast. Jake.

His eyes widened for a split second, but he stepped aside without a word, jaw tight.

Jay was sitting at the table. Sunghoon leaned against the back wall, arms crossed.

All of them looked like they hadn't slept right in days.

You didn't sit. You stood in the middle of the room and met all three of their gazes one by one. No more hiding.

"I'm sorry," you said first. "For all of it. For not knowing what I wanted. For dragging you through it."

Silence.

Then Jay's voice, low: "You don't have to apologize for feeling something."

"But I do," you insisted, voice cracking. "Because I didn't just feel something. I felt… everything. For all of you. And I didn't know how to stop it. I still don't."

Jake looked down. Sunghoon's jaw tensed. Jay didn't move.

Your throat burned. "I've spent days trying to figure it out. To pick a side. But the truth is… I loved the way Jake made me feel like joy was still possible. I loved how Jay made me feel safe. And I loved the way Sunghoon never asked me to be anything more than exactly what I was."

Jake swallowed hard. "Don't do this just to make us feel better."

"I'm not," you whispered. "I needed to say it. Because I don't know if I get to keep saying anything after tonight."

Still, none of them moved. The tension stretched like a held breath.

You stepped back, chest tight. "I've made my decision."

Their eyes snapped to yours.

"I know now," you said, voice low. Steady. "I know what I want."

The silence was sharper this time, a breath held between all of you.

Jake blinked, eyes searching. Sunghoon's lips parted, like he might speak but thought better of it. Jay looked down, then back up at you.

And then—you said it.

Just a name. Just once. And everything shifted.

Jake looked away first, nodding slowly, jaw tightening. No anger. Just acceptance.

Jay's eyes closed for a second—relief or heartbreak, you couldn't tell.

Sunghoon took the longest to react. He didn't move at all until finally, he exhaled. A soft breath, then a quiet, unreadable smile.

No one cried. No one yelled. No one left.

But you knew it was the beginning of something. And the end of something else.

You just didn't know yet what came after.

The camera was angled awkwardly, bouncing slightly as your phone leaned against the mirror. You were mid–toothbrush, foam clinging to the corners of your mouth, hair a mess from sleep and cheeks still warm from last night.

On-screen, Taehyun and Hueningkai were already in full chaotic mode.

"I'm telling you," Kai was saying, waving a spoon of cereal like it was a weapon, "this guy came up to me at the convenience store and asked if I wanted to buy his mixtape. I said no, and he still shoved it in my hand! Who carries CDs anymore?!"

Taehyun snorted. "You? Apparently."

You laughed through the foam in your mouth, spitting into the sink. "You have 'CD buyer energy,' Kai. Just admit it."

"Wow," he said flatly. "Betrayed by the one person I thought had taste."

As you reached for your towel, something behind you caught Taehyun's eye. He leaned closer to his screen.

"Wait…" he squinted. "Is that… is that an extra toothbrush?"

You froze for half a second. Just a beat. Then casually kept patting your face dry.

"What extra toothbrush?" you asked, too innocently.

Hueningkai leaned in now too. "Oh my god. It is! That's not yours. Yours is the purple one—who's the blue one?!"

"Must be a reflection," you said quickly.

"In the mirror?"

"Wouldn't you two like to know," you smirked, tossing the towel over the edge of the sink.

Taehyun's mouth dropped open. “Y/N—”

"Who is it?" Kai gasped dramatically. "Don't tell me you actually made a choice."

Before you could answer—or deflect again—a voice called faintly from offscreen:

"Babe! Did you see where I left my hoodie?"

You froze for just a second… and then smiled slowly.

"Bye!!" you said sweetly, grabbing your phone.

"WAIT—" Taehyun shouted.

"WHO'S WAITING FOR YOU?!" Kai screamed, full panic in his tone.

But you were already hitting end, cheek sore from grinning.

Somewhere behind you, footsteps padded closer. A soft laugh. And then a warm arm wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into the person you chose.

"Come on, the other two are already waiting for us."

And this time, you didn't feel unsure at all.

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: Uhm... hi? I'm back alive yippie!! I think a 22k fic is enough as an apology for how long I've been gone. To be honest I don't think I'm back at my peak motivation and skill to write yet but I owe you guys a story after a while. I still hope you enjoy it, especially since thees smut again teehee. Trying a new way to approach graphics too!! Decided to write a long one since I’m not sure how long til my next one. As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

⟢ Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @pagelets @isjsnsjsn @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @highway-143 @dearestdreamies @strxwbloody @deobitifull @enhaformysanity @httpenhoon @kissesfrombella @m1kkso @saejinniestar @mariegalea If you want to be tagged in all of my fics, go here to be added to my permanent taglist.

[everrinsly]

a/n; for those who ever doubted you, knock 'em dead, soldier. think i wrote this during finals week when i was in uni.

this one is very special to me because it reminds me of myself; i remember i wrote it to the song "sooner or later" by mat kearney ahh

college year vibes.

burn the whole league with suna. fluff. slight angst. sakusa and tsukishima mentioned.

more reads!

~~~~~

[Then]

He wasn't the star, not even a star. And maybe... he never will be. As sad as that sounded, it felt like the truth.

Suna had just finished a rough match. One of those games where nothing clicked, where his blocks were off, where his timing felt late by milliseconds that cost everything. His coach felt it, his teammates felt it, he felt it. And you. YOU felt it.

And it's not like his university's volleyball team was bad—no, they were real fucking good actually. Made it to Collegiate Nationals every year, which was why everything was riding on him harder. Because this loss was on him.

Now, Suna sat on the edge of the press stage, towel hanging over his shoulders, face blank, void of any and all emotions. Cameras on him and his teammates.

Until the reporter spoke.

“This question is for Suna—do you still plan to go pro? Division I?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” Simple. One word. Because that was all he could push out right now.

Another reporter leered forward, voice light but sharp. “Even with performances like tonight’s? I mean—no offense, Suna, but you’re kind of a slow-starter. Even since high school. Not exactly the kind of guy a pro team’s lining up for.”

There was an awkward pause. Even the coach shifted uncomfortably.

Then, the audacity of this man to continue—

"I mean—look. When you compare the current MVP of the Collegiate League, Sakusa, to you... it's a no-brainer who the V.League is going to choose, right? Especially for Division I."

No one spoke. He smirked and continued.

"And... even when you look at Tsukishima, who has already received an offer from the Division II Sendai Frogs—there's not a doubt in my mind that he would be a great fit Division I. Maybe replace you—"

Suna coughed. Something fierce lingered in the shadows of his green eyes, but it was gone after a blink.

Then, in precise Suna fashion, he just muttered, “Maybe they’ll change their minds.” Sharp. Firm. Steady.

But you knew Suna. You knew Suna well. And no matter how composed and nonchalant he appeared on TV, he was not fine.

When you found him later that night, he didn’t speak.

He was at the back of the athletic building, sitting on a step in the dark, one knee up, chin on his arm. Still in his uniform.

“You were good today, Rinnie,” you said softly, offering him a blueberry-flavored chuppet. One that you hurriedly grabbed from your minifridge before rushing out of the dorm building to find him.

He gave a low laugh, accepting the chuppet and immediately munching. “I was shit.”

“No. You were trying.” You sat next to him. “They don’t know how hard you work.”

He didn’t look at you, but his voice came quieter this time. Soft. Uncertain. Not Suna-like. “What if they’re right? What if I’m not fast enough?”

You hesitated, then leaned your shoulder against his and dropped your head, resting perfectly on his shoulder blades.

"You're analytical, Rin. You take time to visualize the court and the players... before striking them down one-by-one. I think that's special."

He hummed quietly. He didn't believe you. So you continued—

"But who cares, you know? They can wait. You’re a slow burn."

You lifted a finger up to boop his nose—

"You’ll still light the whole damn league up eventually.”

That got a tiny huff of laughter from him.

“You believe that?”

You nodded, cheeks hot. “Yeah. Because it's you. And I believe in you.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just leaned his head on yours and let the silence hold him.

And then his phone pinged with two tagged notifications on Instagram.

From Sakusa. A clipped video of the reporter grilling Suna. The caption—Suna's one of the very few who can analyze my movements and block my spikes. All in just a few minutes.

From Tsukishima. A black screen (very Tsukki-like). The caption—I actually put in a process for Division II personally. I've got other hobbies I want to pursue, and I'm not a volleyball freak. So keep my name out your mouths... and Suna's good.

You laugh at Tsukki's.

And Suna...

He looks lighter for the first time tonight.

[Now]

The crowd was deafening.

Cameras flashed. Confetti rained. Teammates tackled. And Suna stood at center court, jersey clinging to his skin, bright as a star. THE star.

Because the V.League Championship trophy was sitting right by his feet.

EJP Raijin — Champions.

The reporters swarmed him. Microphones angled toward his lips. Cameras aimed right at his face.

“Suna Rintarou—you just helped take EJP to a championship title. What does this moment mean to you?”

Suna’s eyes scanned the crowd. Calm. Confident. Older now. Sharper. Fiercer. The same to you, but more to the world.

Still your Rinnie.

“It means everything.” Simple because that was the truth.

“You’ve grown a lot,” another added. “What do you think changed? Back in college, there were questions about your speed, your drive—”

He smiled then. Slow. Dangerous. Lethal. Like he was waiting for this comment.

“Yeah,” he said into the mic. “I remember.”

The press paused.

“There was a reporter,” Suna continued, voice steady. “Said no pro team would want me because I was a slow-starter.”

Silence.

You stood up from the VIP seating area decked in EJP gold, just watching him—same way you always had. Unwavering. (With a tote bag filled with multi-flavored chuppets and some salmon onigiri, of course).

Suna turned his head toward you in the stands, gaze locking with yours for half a second.

“But I had someone who waited.”

The reporters blinked. “Waited?”

He tilted his head. “Believed in me. Even when I didn’t. That’s the difference.”

Flashbulbs exploded.

“So,” one stunned reporter asked, “do you have anything you’d say now to that college-era criticism?”

Suna raised a brow. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Another beat of silence.

“…Thanks?”

He smirked straight at the camera. The jumbotrons captured his face (fangirls squealed).

“For being wrong. Because his bald-ass proved me right.”

After all the interviews, when he finally got a moment for himself, he found you in the back hallway, out of the spotlight. You were already teary-eyed, hands stuffed in your EJP hoodie pockets.

You knew. He knew. Nothing had to be said.

But still, he leaned against the wall next to you and nudged your shoulder.

“You were right,” he murmured, a soft voice reserved just for you. “I lit it up, huh? Burned the League?"

You smiled. “Told you.”

And then—

He pulled you into a hug, arms tight around you, breath warm by your ear.

After a beat of drowning in each other, still embraced in a tight hug—

"Did you bring my chuppets?"

You giggled, reaching up to card a hand through his damp hair.

"Of course I did."

[sunshades]

I’ve never read the stranger and I’m so curious about the Marie thing because I honestly don’t hear much about the two’s relationship outside of Meursault liking boobs.

RIGHT i was kind of curious because what i knew from friends going into the book was really kind of. the boobs? while it feels like limbus fans have always been REALLY excited about her in the way we were about other "love interest" characters (queequeg who was obviously going to be one of the most important characters in c5, being so defining of ishmael and of the homosexual subtext in moby-dick, and catherine whom we knew since release was at the crux of heathcliff's story as she is in wh) to the point i see her added to so many ship charts as an otp for meursault, so i was wondering if she really had such a cool and interesting dynamic that everyone was looking forward to it so much despite there having been no hint at her even existing. granted i'm excited at the thought of penelope since odypen is an incredibly important part to the odyssey (despite being. very aware there's no way we're getting a canon lesbian marriage 😭) even if nothing has hinted at her either...

so now i finished it and YEAH basically. to spoil an 80 year old novel- yeah the extent to their relationship is that they go to the movies, they go swimming together and they have sex. there is some stray moments where meursault shows a slight interest in her as a person (like wanting to know where she's going when she says she's busy, but then not thinking about asking her, i thought that bit was kind of endearing) and by the end when he's in prison he associates the thought of her to that of freedom, but beside that... 🤷‍♂️? there is no actual "dynamic" the way i expected from seeing people talking about limbus meursault's potential relationship with her.

THE metaphorical level of their relationship is INTERESTING- while i haven't done readings about it yet, i do think basically every character in the book is readable as representing a type of institution and the absurdity and corruption of it, so marie represents a very bleak (but realistic!) look on the institution of marriage and of romantic love at all. meursault has moments where he thinks/learns about a couple other relationships, that of his neighbour salamano with his late wife, and of his mom with her "boyfriend" at the hospice. in both cases the concept that is observed is that humans like to have a companion, especially as they grow older and weaker. salamano didn't care much for his wife, but when she died he felt lonely, so he got a dog instead. similarly, meursault never knew his father, but put his mom in the hospice when he realized they didn't have anything to tell each other- she resented him, but there she made friends and became close with a man. it's a thing all about convenience, in a sense. the relationship with marie too is framed in this context: meursault enjoys spending time with her and enjoys the sex, but anything else isn't relevant to him. his life is defined by the physical experience, the rest is... well, not serious!

as for marie herself, i think she's... and you'll forgive me for being dismissive of a female character-- vapid? i feel like that's the most accurate word sdtgyhufjdkg. it's not her fault, we see her through meursault's eyes, which means her interiority is kind of limited, but i think that is the idea. she is nice, she likes swimming, she smiles a lot, she is vaguely bothered by meursault's behavior and the fact he doesn't really love her or consider her special, but not enough to leave him. i think that too is supposed to be commentary on how love and marriage is something sought after out of a need and convenience more than anything sentimental, because it is considered the way one (especially a woman!) must lead a normal life.

so at the end: i'm genuinely not sure where this idea of marie as one of the "love interest" characters is coming from... but! i'm incredibly curious to see how canto 10 adapts the concepts she's tied to. considering the city doesn't really have like... well i guess the entire patriarchal structure of Marriage And Kids -and in fact we know canonically for some people (like fixers) it's widely considered a bad idea- i am really thinking they might not make her a character at all, unless there's some stuff specific to n corp. that meursault is going to explore. even if they adapted her, her role, like in the book, should be to reflect on meursault's indifference to life, his struggle to connect with the world, because that world IS weird and disconnected, much like he is. a good marie should reflect that as well i think.

on a sillier note. well. very obvious what my ultimate dealbreaker was:

[diedraechin]

It's been a while since there's been a sneak peek...

I actually thought I had posted this months ago and felt bad about not putting the chapter out, but no, I never did, so...

Remember back during the Skate America chapters how Viktor got all bent out of shape about Yuuri's fashion sense?

Well.........

“Yuuri! Come here!” 

Halfway down the hall that led to the banquet hall—sorry, the ‘Big Top,’ because the organizers had decided to do something a little less traditional and opted for a circus-themed banquet—Matthew Smith, ice dancer and Scythecapades drama instigator, was frantically waving his arms. His partner, Carolyn Jones, covered her mouth with one impeccably manicured hand while gripping a drink. The pair seemed in high spirits even though they'd only taken silver instead of the hoped-for gold, having lost out to their Canadian rivals.

With a sigh, Yuuri shoved his hands into his pockets and headed toward the ice dancers. He didn’t know them well by any means, but supposed they were familiar enough at this point for more than just an exchange of pleasantries. After all, they did start the game with the suit—the one he was currently wearing—at the Four Continents banquet. Viktor had complained about the lack of decent pictures from the event for almost a week after the fact, which had honestly thrilled Yuuri a little bit. If he was going to be in love with his best friend who did not love him back, he deserved to find enjoyment in “teasing” and “torturing” and “being mean” to Viktor, and his myriad of mixed and confusing signals.

Matt’s eyes settled on Yuuri’s neck. The American skater’s lips instantly turned up into a knowing smile, the kind that looked ready to explode into a laugh at any moment. “Nice tie. What happened to the one you were wearing at Four Continents with this suit?” 

“It’s a funny story, actually–” 

Matt put a finger up to cut him off.  “If it really is, we should put a pin in you telling it until your friend who just arrived finishes glad-handing with the ISU brass and makes his way over here.” He nodded meaningfully toward the other end of the hallway. Yuuri didn’t even bother turning around because it was obvious that Matt meant Viktor. After all, who else but Viktor would care about Yuuri’s neckwear? 

Caro leaned forward into Yuuri’s space, giving the cheap tie an inspection of her own. The ice dancer had left her box braids down today, except for a handful that had been twisted up into a crown. The overall effect, paired with her pale pink dress against her rich brown skin, was incredibly beautiful. “Please tell me you did this on purpose,” she snickered as she ran her fingers over the material. “I need you to have done this on purpose.”

“Not exactly,” Yuuri replied, pulling away from Caro’s grasp. “I just seized an opportunity, I guess.”

“Yuuri! Have Matt and Caro cornered you?” Viktor chimed in from behind, his voice getting closer and closer. “They aren’t trying to proposition you, are they?” 

What? Why was Viktor being weird? No one was going to proposition him. Only Viktor (and of course Steph, even though she knew the answer was no) had ever shown an interest in taking him to bed. “No, not at all.” Yuuri turned around to look at Viktor. “I don’t even know why you’d ask that.”

Viktor instantly stopped dead and was just staring at him now. His brow was creased, his mouth slightly opened, and his eyes wide, whatever weird teasing mood he’d been in a moment prior well gone now. Next to him, Chris grinned broadly, looking as close to breaking out in laughter as Matt had been. “Is this the tie you were wearing at the Four Continents banquet?”

[my-alter-ego777]

Leg Day

Eminem fanfic, language

"Come on, sweetheart, get up." he gently shakes your shoulder.

This is his third attempt now.

You whine and scoot away from him with a grumpy "no."

You hear a deep sigh and his feet move across the floor, then...

nothing.

Hm, maybe he gave up?

You wait a second longer to hear something, but nothing comes.

Good. You hum a smile and nuzzle into the sheets.

More time for sleep.

How deeply mistaken you were.

In an instant, the comforter is off, and strong arms rip you from your cozy bed.

"Nooo!" your voice sounds like a cry for help.

A whiny.

Grumpy.

Adorable.

Cry for help.

"What are you, 5?" Marshall laughs.

Well, he's basically cradling you like you are.

You look up at him with the biggest puppy eyes you can muster, "Please?" voice soft but desperate.

"You're cute," he smiles at you with admiration. "but that look ain't foolin' me."

Your head falls back with a groan, in defeat. You don't see it, but Marshall is rolling his eyes, wondering, How the hell did I get here?

You stay like that for a minute. Dangling in his arms.

"Ya done?" you can hear the smirk on his face.

"Nope. I'm thinking I could go like this for another hour."

"Y/n."

"Fine." You shift in his arms as he puts you down, making sure your feet safely touch the floor before fully letting you go.

"Now," he taps your butt, steering you towards the restroom, "go get ready; we leave in 30 minutes."

"30 minutes?!" you ask in shock, "I need at least an hour!"

"Well you shoulda thought about that before sleeping in so late. Now getta move on, babygirl, it's leg day today." he says before leaving the room.

"Oh great," you huff, "when I thought my morning couldn't get any worse."

When you decided to start working out with Marshall, you didn't expect him to be such a drill sergeant.

"Keep it up, babe, you got it." Marsh says from behind you as he spots your barbell squats.

His bossy voice that started off as hot, has now become annoying, but it gives you the encouragement you need to complete your final rep.

"Nice work, baby!" He praises, helping you place the bar back safely. "Okay, take a sec, and we'll finish the last set."

"What?!" you whine breathlessly. "You said that was the last one."

"No I didn't," he chuckles, leaning against the machine, arms crossed. "That's just what you wanted to hear. Don't mean I said it."

"That's messed up." you grumble.

"The only thing messed up is the amount of wrinkles you're gonna get if you keep pouting like that." He teases

"I'm not pouting."

He leans forward and pecks your lips in an attempt to wipe the frown off them. "Yes you are."

One more rep later and you're lying starfish on the floor, totally exhausted.

"You know, if you wanted me to not feel my legs for the next week, I could've just rode you all day."

Marshall chokes on his sip of water, not expecting you to say such words in a public setting. You're usually more tame than that.

Once he stops coughing, he looks down at you. "I'll keep that in mind for next time, aight?"

"Good. 'Cause that's a workout I'll actually enjoy doing."

[xoxodropletsneedsmorefanfics]

Imagine Jeremy Braiding Your Hair…

I really wanted to write a long Jeremy fic and have it posted today, but I had a final to take and then I spent most of the day studying for tomorrow’s final. College sucks 😔. DONT THEY KNOW ITS ONE OF MY HUSBANDS BIRTHDAY?!

Enjoy this short thing instead

Sigh.

What was he doing?

How did he let you convince him to do this?

Jeremy’s hands are slow and unsure as he gently parts through your hair. It was still moist from the shower you just took just a few minutes ago. “Jerebear, what are you so scared of? If you do something wrong, it’ll hurt me, not you.” You chuckle, “Um, that’s what I’m worried about. Believe or not I’d actually prefer not to cause you any pain.” Jeremy sighs. “Aw, you do care~” You coo, he lifts his hands away from your hair when you tilt your head back to look at him.

“Still, you’re stressing yourself out for nothing. I’ve seen you braid your own hair and as doofy as you look doing it, the finished product is always amazing.” You tell him, Jeremy starts to feel sticky under your honey sweet gaze. He adjust your head to face forward again, his pale cheeks becoming a soft pink. Jeremy sighs and gets back to work, despite your support, Jeremy’s movement remain awkward and stiff.

You hum slightly, immediately growing bored of the short silence, “Have you ever braided anyone else’s hair?” You asks “No.” Jeremy answers the second the question left your lips. It was like he knew you were going to ask at some point. Then again, you also already knew what his response would be. Jeremy continues, “No one else has ever asked me to braid their hair. And even if they did, I would’ve said no. Do you know how many germs are in a person’s scalp? Do you know how common lice is? How much flaking a scalp can do?” Jeremy asks, shuddering with each reminder of how truly disgusting a person’s scalp can be.

“What about Pran’s hair? It’s long and majestic. You’ve never wanted to braid your best friend’s hair?” You ask, Jeremy scoffs, “Yeah, he’s my best friend, so I know better than anyone how poorly kept his hair is.” He states, “Wait, seriously? Lynn told me that all the way back in high school. I can get angsty teen Pran not wanting to take care of his hair, but not adult Pran. How is his hair so long and pretty if he doesn’t even take care of it?” You chuckle with a bewildered smile.

Jeremy shrugs, “He has good genes. That’s the one thing his parents ever did for him.” He says, he finally guides his hands through your hair. And after 30 minutes of prep, it was completely painless. “Well, I’m glad this is another first of yours that I get the honor of claiming.” You snicker, Jeremy lets out a groan, but a smile worms its way into his face.

The two of you…talk.

About your day, about plans the two of you made for tomorrow…

All while Jeremy is braiding your—admittedly soft, clean hair.

Jeremy mind trails away from whatever nonsense you’re rambling about. This is…nice.

Soon, 20 minutes turned into an hour, and your words were starting to make less and less sense before coming to a stop.

“There. Done.” Jeremy announces quietly. You eagerly stand up, heading to a mirror to see the finish product, he takes a moment to look at your braid. It was in two simple braids, but he felt…happy. When he was younger, he never thought it’d be possible, but he is happy. Jeremy lets out a sigh, “Never asked me to do this again.” He says, leaning against the door frame. You let out a loud scoff, “No promises! I might just ask you to do this every time I wash my hair! Man, I always look amazing—but I look even better than before!” You laugh happily.

Jeremy’s smile is small and affectionate, silently accepting that braiding your hair was just going to be a part of his life now.

Not that he really had a problem with it.

[adamnsey]

new chapter of When The Fog Clears up now and she's a doozy..... cryptic adam parrish fans come get ur dinner......

[cent-scratchnsniff]

here together

[lieutenantselnia]

I just realised the concert I've got tickets for and Vienna Comic Con are all on 3 consecutive days ... that's gonna be one hell of a weekend for sure😅

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing of Amanda Young from the Saw franchise. She's wearing her outfit from the third film, but has her hair from the first. She's wearing the reverse bear trap, which leaves only the top half of her face visible. Her eyes are open wide and staring directly at the viewer. Eyeliner runs down her cheeks. In one hand she holds overflowing needles which are falling from her loose grasp. In the other she has a tape recorder. Her arms are stiff, as if she's a posed mannequin. Bandages are wrapped around both of her wrists. These bandages, the tape recorder, the needles and the reverse bear trap are all coloured a bold light blue. Amanda is coloured bright white with grey shading, while the background is a darker grey. It also has a subtle spiral pattern to it.]