#and so it's not like a passion but he has great hours it's a rare skill so he has that security etc

[schalotte]

being 5 semesters into a literature language and culture degree makes you think things like fuck maybe i should've gone into dentistry

[satorena]

❛ I'LL HYPNOTIZE YOU WITH THIS P*SSY ! ❜

ᥫ᭡ featuring. g. satoru, f. toji, g. suguru, n. kento, k. choso

content warning. explicit content (mdni). pūssydrunk!men. oral (f). face sitting. overstimulation. virgin!choso. cowgirl/lotus. backshots. breath play. brēēding kink. unprotected sex. daddy kink. dom/sub undertones. mirror sex. virgin!reader with suguru (do not lose your virginity like this). corruption kink. afab!reader + feminine descriptions.

ᥫ᭡ rena's note. reupload cuz it got flagged weeks ago and i never noticed :P

gojo ☆ satoru

“could be here for hours—shit baby, y’taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

his praises fall deaf to your ears as your mind blanks, brain melting to mush at the overwhelming sensation of his tongue lapping at your folds. your hands claw at his snowy white tresses, fingers carding through his hair and tugging onto his scalp.

when satoru ate pussy, he put his entire being in it— and it only got worse on the rare occasions you’d do him the favour of sitting on his face. he’d never half ass such an opportunity, long fingers gripping onto your ass tightly and spreading the cheeks apart to flick his tongue between the private spaces.

“talk to me princess, tell me how good it feels.” he pops your clit out of his mouth, warm breath fanning over the bundle of nerves. you jolt from the strange yet pleasurable feeling, muscles tensing and contracting over his face, resulting in your slick to drip down onto his chin, staining his face even more in your arousal. “c’mon, flatter me, pretty baby.”

“f-fuck, toru, don’t stop!” you moan wantonly, fat tears building at your lash line. your thighs press at the side of his head when he hums against your clit, diving deeper into your weeping cunt. he drags an index finger from the crevice of your ass all the way up front to your swollen clit, collecting slick along the way. “‘s great— so fuckin’ good, ngh, please—keep going!”

your stomach tightens when you feel his digit slip into your clenching pussy, plunging knuckle deep.  you can’t help the moan that rips at your throat, toes curling as he immediately aims for the spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

you look down at him and you’ve got the prettiest look on your face— eyes misty with tears, your flushed cheeks stained with fallen tears you couldn’t contain, pouty lips glossy and trembling. draping over your frame is his button up top, unbuttoned all the way down, perky buds from your breast rising up in arousal.

gojo feels his balls tighten at your lewdness alone. he’s so hard it hurts, thighs rubbing one against the other for relief. if you keep digging your nails into his scalp in that painful way you do, rocking your hips into his face and swallowing him whole inside your cunt to use him in order to chase your own pleasure, he’s bound to cum untouched.

only you could pull something like this out of him.

his eyes darken in the way it does whenever he’s particularly on a high about something passionate, and he knows from that pleading look in your blown out pupils that he’s got to make you blackout. not entirely for your own pleasure, but for his own too. there was no better feeling in this world than being sprayed by your essence all in his face, folds gaping and clenching down on his fingers as your clit weeped and released your juices pathetically.

you’re not even sure when it happens but one minute you’re facing the headboard of your bed and the next your head dangles off the edge of the bed, back laid on the mattress with your legs hanging off his broad shoulders.

gojo gives you no time to process the switch in positions as he lays flat on his stomach and latches his kiss bitten lips onto your cunt. he swipes his tongue and eats you out like a mad man— spreading your folds with his hands and fucking into your tight hole with his tongue. your back arches and your hands fly to grip at his head, torn between pushing head head deeper or further away. it’s all too much at once, both pleasurable and overwhelming, your thighs trembling from the sting.

“heh, look at this creamy pussy go,” you hear him whistle in between your thighs, though it comes out muffled. he’s gripping so tightly onto your thighs that you’re sure it’s going to leave bruises, hair cascading his face despite his dark orbs peaking through the bangs. “shit, ‘m gonna keep you with me forever, never letting this pussy go.”

when he flicks his tongue at your swollen clit, your hips rise off from the mattress and you push his head away, the numbing sensation overtaking your limbs and gut tightening in a familiar way. you hear him tut disapprovingly, forcing your hips down and you’re left powerless but to lay there and let this blinding orgasm wash over you.

“‘s too much— oh god, toru, fuck— ‘m cumming, don’t—baby, don’t stop!” you babble, saliva dribbling past your lips. you begin to feel lightheaded from the blood rushing to your brain, and the airy feeling leaves you feeling like you’re floating, one hand leaving his matted hair to grip at your neglected tits, firmly groping the mound.

all it takes is an additional slip of his fingers into your gushing cunt to release its dam, his end goal accomplished as your folds greedily suck him in. your pussy wails and cries onto his face, squirting all over him from his forehead to nose and chin. through it all, your body rakes and shudders, trembles taking over as you cry out his name.

he holds your free hand through it all, pupils dilated as he himself trembles in amusement, thumb brushing the soft skin of your knuckles.

“give it all t’me princess, be the good fuckin’ girl you are and soak me in your essence— needa taste ya, sweetest fuckin’ thing ever, i swear.”

fushiguro ☆ toji

“oh yeahhh, that’s it mama—keep throwin’ it back, shit, gonna breed this greedy pussy full’a cum.”

you respond with an overly eager moan, hips pushing back to slam your ass down to his pelvis. you’re beyond your element—mind both dazed and consumed with alcohol and lust, glossy lips parted as you fog the mirror before you with your warm breath.

you plant the surface of your palms at the mirror, skin moist as you hold onto the glass for stability. standing on the tip of your toes, your calves are put into overtime as you sink down on toji’s dick, your pussy well spent and spread to accommodate to his inhumanely girth. he stretches your folds painfully, but the feeling is one you welcome dearly as his tip kisses areas inside of you that has you thanking him endlessly and going as far to wanting him to fuck you full of his cum.

bent over in a ninety degree, toji grips onto your hair in one tight hold, pulling your head back up. he forces you to stare at the mess he makes out of you, and you watch as your tears leak black from mascara, staining your cheeks dark and saliva dribbles from your lips to your chin. your skin is matted from sweat and other liquids, eyes dazed and unfocused as his balls repeatedly slap at your puffy clit.

“fuckin’ whore— awe, just look at ya,” toji mocks, the hand holding your hips letting go of the flesh and flattens his palm instead to slap at your ass. you moan at the sting, your skin tingling in pain as the skin reddens from the harsh impact.

“think i ain’t notice, doll?” your eyes roll up to watch him, his smirk as prominent as ever through the reflection of the mirror. his own locks are matted to his forehead, and he bares his fangs at you in a smile that sends shivers down your spine. “y’think i don’t feel yer cunt squeezin’ me in? you fuckin’ love it when ‘m mean with you, ‘fess it up mama.”

you chew on your bottom lip, slightly embarrassed by the truth being revealed. you could call him the worst man on the planet, mean and relentless, but at least he knew how to fuck you inside out. you shake your head in denial, but when the hand in your hair snakes to your throat, fingers pressing down on the column of your neck tightly—you moan at the lack of oxygen coursing in your body.

“answer me when i ask you somethin’, basic fuckin’ manners sweetheart.” toji kisses his teeth, pulling your body up by the neck. your sweaty back meets his sweaty chest, and you feel him panting against your temple just as you can see him nuzzle his nose against your hair.

he’s grinding into your cunt in motions that has his cock rubbing at your sensitive spots, his pelvis pressed right up against your ass. you reach your hand behind to grip onto his thigh, squeezing the firm muscle and the other wraps itself around toji’s hold on your neck, as you’re overtaken by the familiar beating of your cunt clenching down on his throbbing dick.

“fuckkk, love it daddy! love it when y’re mean t’me—love it when you fuck me s’good—ngh!” you cry out, tears soaking your cheeks and breast jiggling in rotations built by a rhythm made from the man pounding into you.

“there’s my slutty girl,” you feel his hand pat at your cheek, the sting making you loll your tongue out of the cave of your mouth. he plunges his teeth into the supple flesh of your neck, sucking eagerly as he marks down his territory.

you drive him mad— something about the way you comply to his every desire no matter how you feel about it, just to please him, had his cock twitching in ways it’d never had. your sweet and innocent demeanour completely consumed and taken over by his sinister and malicious ways, moulding your pussy into the shape of his cock so it would only obey to him and him alone.

his green eyes zero into your facial expressions and he can both tell and feel that you’re close, your cunt clamping down on his dick whenever he grinds up against that sweet spot that has your legs quaking and barely able to hold yourself up. naturally he wants to bring you that finish— selfishly, that way you’re stuck on him and obsessed with his dick alone.

he’ll remind you endlessly nobody else could ever make you feel this good, just as nobody else could ever have him deliriously possessive the way you do.

“‘m gonna fuck this slutty pussy so good, nobody will ever come close to fuckin’ you dumb— shit, might fuck around and fill my pretty pussy full of my cum.”

geto ☆ suguru

“shit baby—‘m gonna need you to relax f’me—fuck, loosen up—we gotta make it fit, right?”

you’re barely half way sunken down on his dick, the stretch painful enough as your arms are thrown around his broad shoulders for stability. it hurts in a way that makes you either want to get it over with and fully slam yourself down on the rest of the inches or completely take off, but the gentle thudding of geto’s finger tips at the base of your back has you rethink your decisions.

geto’s aware that the size of his dick isn’t the most accommodating for beginners, much less virgins. but you’d been so eager to take care of him and willing to give yourself to him, to want him to deflower you, take your innocence and purity and keep it in his possession— there was no way he would refuse you of anything.

“ngh, sugu— fuck, it hurts!” you squeal, thighs aching from the awkward angle. he’s holding your body entirely from your ass alone, gently playing with the soft flesh in attempts to distract you from the excruciating pain.

he places kisses at your cheek, nuzzling into your smooth skin with a sympathetic sigh, “mhm, i know baby, i know.” his whispers fall short into your ears, noticing the goosebumps on your skin trailing. “just a few more inches, kay? you’re so close—y’got this mama.”

you’re so adorable, he thinks, as simple words are enough for you to nod, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. you sit up straight, nose grazing over his, and he leans forward to kiss your lips. you’re so distracted by the sweetness of his lips onto yours, tongue slipping in between your swollen lips that you fail to notice you’ve officially bottomed out.

geto eases your body down onto the rest of his cock, and groans when you clamp tightly onto his dick. you’re so tight he feels like he’s being suffocated, and even with all the prepping and squirting from prior, you still hadn’t been entirely ready to take him in.

though, the hard part is over, as you cry out into his mouth— fresh tears now staining your pretty cheeks and rolling onto geto’s face as well. he almost feels bad, but there were many layers to him— and he was extremely turned on by yours tears. knowing you were in a state of painful pleasure that brought you to tears, lashes thick and wet as you wailed and seeker comfort from him despite him being the reason you’re crying—

it has his balls ache terribly.

“there we go princess, just like that.” geto encourages you, one arm wrapped behind your back and the other holding onto your hips firmly. the back of your heels dig at his lower back, your chest pressing against his. “you’re taking me so well, shit, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

he takes note of the thin veil of dark red that coats the perimeter of his dick, realizing he’s finally popped your cherry— and he isn’t sure he can put into words the weird feeling that has him smirk ferociously in a primitive way. shamefully, he’s filled with pride that he’d been your very first time and disgustingly enough, he slips his hand between both your bodies, collects the evidence of your purity now taken away, before rubbing the liquid onto your neglected clit.

“forgive me, princess.” he mumbles into your ear, a gentle kiss pressed to the shell of your ear in major contrast to the sudden pain throbbing in your core at the newfound position.

you then understand by his relentless thrusts, your legs now draped over his shoulders as his hips meet the back of your thighs in rhythmic slaps, that he had been asking for your forgiveness because he wouldn’t be able to hold back any further.

“promise it’ll stop hurting soon—fuck, you wanna hold out for me, baby?” he never stops his thrusts, interlocking both your fingers together before pressing them above your head. his eyes stare deep into your soul, and behind those purple orbs you see your reflection intertwined with a mischievous glint. and when you nod your head, he tilts his own, “use your words, love.”

“y-yes suguru—want you to fuck me! i’ll hold out for as long as you n-need me to! i promise!” you roll your hips up to match the pace he has set. he rises his body up and slams down into your cunt, and you greedily accept him, muscles relaxing into the pain that slowly dissipates into pleasure.

you’d never felt anything like it before, but the way geto repeatedly fucked into you, his dick dragging against your walls and coming out slicker than the last time he plunged inside made the room stink of sex and echo with sinful squelches. his cock rubs at your virgin walls, spreading you open as you helplessly lay and take everything he has to offer you.

your toes curl at the sides of his head and your back arches— you’re effortlessly gorgeous when you’re milking his dick dry for what he’s worth, greedy pussy sucking him in so well, you could’ve easily fooled him into thinking you’d been experienced in this domain.

when he hangs his head low to watch how his dick enter and disappear inside the void of your tight cunt, he notices the bulge in your tummy. he can’t help the grumble that leaves his chest, ultimately obsessed by the pudge that forms at your pussy simply because you allowed him the honour to properly make love to you.

“whew, ‘s that me in there baby? shit— y’re driving me insane, ‘m gonna make you cum real hard, you’ll be cryin’ and beggin’ for more— oh yeah, you like that?”

nanami ☆ kento

“need you to hold still for me, sweetheart—shit, let me finish you up nice and good like you deserve, hm?”

nights like these, there were no logical reasoning as to whatever urge to passionately make love to you, to devour you whole and to make you crumble beneath him. anything could fuel the sudden want to strip you naked, body to soul, to sink his cock deep inside the cave of your warmth and have you come undone for him alone.

nanami loved it whenever you presented yourself so submissively to him, so obeying and willing to comply to his word. you were his wife, and he was truly and utterly obsessed with your entire being. to him, there was no prettier sight than your pussy dribbling slick from its puffy folds, clenching around air as it desperately calls out his name.

you laid on your knees with your cheek pressed into the mattress of your shared bed, hands bind and tied behind the back of your thighs by his infamous tie. you were restrained, most sacred parts of your body open for his accessibility alone. your entire body shivered, coming down from the high that nanami’s tongue brought to you, lapping at your folds and puckered hole, fingers pumping with precision into your cunt.

“kento, ngh, i need you, can’t wait any longer— please!” you squirm as much as your restricted form allows you to, wiggling your ass side to side as if to sway him to your desires.

you had to know there wasn’t anything you could ask him that he wouldn’t give you. begging was so below you, as his partner— there was nothing you needed to beg him for. he supposes he’s at fault for making you wait as long as he did, and he’s got no choice but to correct his mistake, to make you forgive his bad actions.

“stay still love, ‘m gonna fuck you real good now— don’t you worry, pretty girl.” he presses his kisses from the bottom of your back, the mounds of your ass, and makes his way up your spine, trailing his kisses to the column of your neck.

he revels in the way you shiver uncontrollably, your frame fragile and petite in comparaison to his larger one. you smell a scent too divine—an aura so sweet, so honeyed and so unmistakably you.

he collects your slick with two fingers, dragging the pad of his fingers at your weeping cunt, before coating his own raging hard on in your essence. he’d been so needy for you, mind clouded in trances of your body, that you hadn’t even needed to focus any attention on his dick for it to get to this point of arousal. bringing you to a state of blinding pleasure was enough of a stimulus to get him ready to go.

grabbing the base of his dick, he lines himself up at your entrance, dragging his mushroom tip up and down your folds. you whine and beg him to to push up inside, to fill you up to the brim, so full that all you can think about is the pattern of veins on the underside of his cock brushing at your golden spot.

when nanami finally does bottom out, you both release moans that sync in a melodious tune, the harmony of both your bodies and soul merging into one clouding his mind with primitive lust. he starts off slow, pushing in and out of your cunt, hissing at your tightness despite having fingered you open not too long ago.

“‘m losing my mind baby,” nanami breathes out, hands gripped tight at your hips. he quickens his pace, balls slapping at your clit in patterns as your body jerks forward. “your pussy feels heavenly—shit, so warm and tight and all mine.”

“yes sir, it’s all yours— always have been, always will be k-kento!” you whine, the surface below you dampened from your tears and drool. you catch his gaze from your angle, your lashes fluttering prettily as you wordless encourage him further.

he reads you like a book, he reads your soul and knows you better than he knows anybody. and so, he pistons his cock in your eager entrance, thrusts long and deep as your pussy grips onto his shaft greedily. you moan, toes curling as your fingers reach for him despite not being able to due to the cloth restraining you. your back arches and the shift in angles has his tip immediately locating your sweet spot.

“oh f-fuck!” you wail, body shuddering as you’re overwhelmed by an intense pleasure. you feel nanami’s hands trail over your skin, down your back, caressing your ass, the back of your thighs. “hah, right there sir— please don’t stop, hngh, ‘m gonna cum!”

and of course nanami knows this, already a step ahead of you as he leans forward, arms holding him up at the side of your shoulders. he puts a hand between your thighs and through the loop of his tie to focus his attention on your neglect clit, drawing figure eight patterns on the bundle of nerves.

you keep sucking him in, and he must be growing old the way it’s becoming so much easier to draw him to the finish line. nanami knows better— it’s the entirety of you, from the way you sound when you whine and beg him for relief, to the way your body reacts so fluidly with his, the way your eyes linger a moment longer on his own. he’s head over heels in love with your entire being, and it’s no shocker that when you cry out his name and soak both of your thighs in your sweet honey, that he himself feels his balls empty into your womb.

“shittt—there we go my love, take all of my cum like the perfect wife you are, mmh, just like that—my pretty little thing.”

kamo ☆ choso

“oh f-fuck, ‘m so sorry princess, it just— shit, it feels so fuckin’ good—need some more!”

load after load, your boyfriend shoots his cum inside your cunt without warning, hips stuttering and rutting into your sucking void. it doesn’t bother you as much as he thinks it does, though you are concerned that he’s going to fuck himself into a blackout with how eager he is to bring you to the finish line.

porn had nothing on real sex, choso concluded when he finally sunk his full length into your cunt and immediately came. there’d been no movement or warning, but as soon as his balls met the lips of your pussy, you moaned at the hot rush of cum spurting inside of you.

he’d been so winded, his fingernails left moon crescents into your flesh as he emptied out his first load of semen into your womb. he shivered and whined, your name rolling off his tongue in a desperate plea as his premature ejaculation washed over his body in waves.

by the time he’d come down from his orgasm, you’d caressed his cheek and pushed his hair away from his face, kissed him and told him this sort of thing happened often. he was still a bit embarrassed by the disaster but the gentle look of honesty in your eyes and your pretty smile had reassured him rather quickly— and also got him hard again.

“take your time baby, ‘m not goin’ anywhere.” you nod your head while giggling, sprawling your body down to your mattress. choso sits on the back of his feet and pulls his dick out, hissing as your pussy grips onto him despite his protest to slip out. eventually he pulls out and he’s enamoured by the way his seed spills out of your pretty hole, liquid filthily staining the sheets beneath you both.

you lick the tip of your index and middle finger, coating the digits in your saliva before slipping them in the space between both your bodies. you keep firm eye contact with your boyfriend as he watches you with hearts in his eyes, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak at the buds of your hardened nipples.

you collect his creamy cum from your cunt, bringing it back up to your plump lips and licking your fingers clean. you moan at the taste of him, so overwhelming and strong but undoubtedly him.

“cho, baby, you taste fuckin’ so good,” you plop your fingers out of your mouth, and smile in faux innocence. he’s quiet and gulping in anticipation, dick twitching at the entrance of your folds. he’s already dribbling more pre come, tip of his shady sticky and ready to dive into your gaping pussy, aiming to please you more and more, until you yourself feel as good as you were able to make him feel just now.

and so, pushing himself on his knees, he begins his rutting yet again, grabbing the base of his cock and lining himself at your puffy lips. he grabs your hips firmly and lifts you off the bed as he bottoms out, your ass falling onto his lap and fucks into you desperately. his thrusts come out sharp and harsh, penetrating so deep inside your pussy and rubbing at areas that had your vision go unfocused.

“oh fuck, b-baby, shit— oh my fuckin’— you feel so good, y’re killing me here!” choso throws his head back, sweat dripping down from his matted hair to his bare chest. his stomach contracts and he pants heavily, his hold on your hips tight. he’s fucking into you as if you were a fleshlight— a mere toy he’s discovered that he isn’t willing to stop playing with.

it doesn’t bother you the second time he cums inside your pussy and apologizes, it doesn’t the second and it doesn’t during the third time either. at every orgasm he’s taken over by, you feel yourself drawing towards the end of the finish line, that high so near that when it’s taken away from you suddenly, it’s annoyingly great.

he’s unintentionally edging you, and despite your whines and pleas, fingers messily rubbing at your clit in attempts to draw some kind of blinding conclusion, he cums yet again, filling you to the brim.

“fuckkkk, hah, ‘m so sorry baby— promise i’ll get it right this time, ngh, gimme another c-chance!”

[abyssruler]

roses are red, violets are blue, lynette is so done with the two of you

lyney x gn!reader

lynette thinks fontaine’s worst kept secret isn’t how neuvillette wears blue underwear or how the hydro archon loves a good drama, no, fontaine’s worst kept secret is lyney’s massive crush on you and how everyone and their grandmother know except you.

comedy, pining lyney, lynette being so done

Lyney’s frowning.

Most people would find it an odd expression on him, used to having him direct dazzling smiles and playful laughter their way. But Lynette isn’t just anyone, and the sight of Lyney frowning is hardly a rare phenomenon within the privacy of their household.

Freminet’s usually Lyney’s choice of victim for whatever nonsense he’s managed to build himself up in that head of his, but Freminet’s busy doing errands and Lynette is unfortunately the only person within vicinity that Lyney trusts with his secret—which isn’t even a secret by this point, people have been making bets on how long it would take you to realize that Lyney’s been pining over you since forever.

Case in point: Lyney frowning over two identical flowers. She doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that her brother is having a midlife crisis over which flower to give you.

Lynette thinks he should just man up and confess. Preferably within the next week or so, otherwise she’d lose her bet.

“Lynette, which one is more eye-catching, the crimson one,” he holds up the flower in his right hand, then he raises the other one, “or the maroon one?”

Lynette gives him the deadest stare she can muster. “They’re the same color.”

“Oh, sister, have you no taste?” Lyney tuts, pouting at her for a moment before returning to that constipated look as he squinted at the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ flowers. Talk about being delusional.

“(Y/N)’s not gonna care whether the rose is crimson or maroon or red,” she tells him. You’d probably accept a dead flower if it came from Lyney, with that starry-eyed look you always got whenever he so much as glances your way. Lynette’s not one to judge other people’s taste too harshly, but she does wonder what you see in her overdramatic and annoying brother.

Ah, well. They do say love makes people blind. Hopefully not literally though, Lynette’s not looking forward to performing shows alone because Lyney got blinded by his love for you—though if you asked Lynette, she’d tell you it wasn’t love so much as obsession. Only someone insane would spend hours picking out flowers and calling them ‘maroon’ and ‘crimson’. It’s just red.

Lynette squints at him. “And since when were you interested in the meaning of flowers?”

“Well, I suppose you could say I like to dabble in other pursuits.” Lyney gives her a cheeky grin.

“Right…” He’s clearly losing his mind.

“Red roses symbolize true love, though rainbow roses in particular pertain to passion, and…” He trails off, eyes blinking in astonishment. She can practically see the lightbulb appearing on top of his head.

With a flick of his wrists, the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ roses disappear. Lynette watches him warily, wondering what kind of outlandish idea has formed in that head of his.

But he doesn’t elaborate more, only shoots a wink at her and says, “I’ve got a great idea.”

✧

His great idea, as it turns out, is to corner you in an alleyway and make it rain rainbow roses around you as he asked you out on a date, all while Lynette is crouched on the roof, dumping sacks of rainbow roses and vindictively hoping one of them stabs Lyney in the eye. No such luck.

You, as the ever-crazy romantic that you are, are awestruck and amazed by what he’s done instead of weirded out like how a normal person would be. With an eager smile and a twinkle in your eye, you accept the rose in Lyney’s hand and say yes when he asks you to meet him for dinner tomorrow. Lynette wants to barf, but settles for dumping another sack of flowers on top of the two of you.

And if she uses a little bit of anemo to direct a few petals to Lyney’s face? Well, you removing a petal sticking to his cheek and having your fingers linger there for a few moments wasn’t part of the plan (the plan being: embarrass her brother by having him choke on a petal while he’s speaking), but she can’t entirely begrudge the result. Not when Lyney looks like he’s about to have a meltdown with just one touch from you. Good blackmail material right there.

Lynette’s happy that the two of you have finally gotten your heads off your asses and are actually going on a date. Though mostly she’s happy about the amount of mora heading her way soon.

She’ll have to thank Freminet for telling her about the bet about you and Lyney. Maybe she can start a new bet on when the two of you are getting married—probably soon, if the lovestruck look on Lyney’s face is anything to go by. She hopes he won’t be crazy enough to propose on the second date, because you’d certainly be crazy enough to accept if he did.

Oh, well. Lynette will put a bet on one month just in case.

[aquaticmercy]

The Great Wave

Summary : Bucky would do anything to make his girl happy. He would even risk his life to get you the perfect gift.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : fluff. A bit of violence. Established relationship. Bucky is just so in love???

Requested by : myself (I have a couple ideas I have to burn before I move on to the requests. I will get to them soon, I promise!)

Word count : 2.1k

Note : Reader is an art enthusiast for the sake of the plot. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

Bucky had always been good at listening, even when you didn’t realise you were saying something important. He’d tune in while you rambled about your day, his eyes softening when you went on and on about something that made you happy. That was how he came to understand just how much you adored art. Lately, your latest obsession was art prints. One of them, in particular. 

The Great Wave off Kanagawa.

It started with your subtle mentions, then turned into hours of research and giddy excitement as you told Bucky about its significance in art history. “It’s not just the wave, Bucky,” you’d try to explain, “it’s the effort. Woodblock print artists had to carve wooden blocks one by one, for each colour used. The precision, the patience this requires is incredible.” you’d say, eyes wide with passion. “The focus is actually on Mount Fuji, which was a personal spiritual obsession of the artist— Hokusai. He was like the Beyoncé of the Edo period.” 

Bucky, ever the silent, brooding observer, stored every detail away in his mind. 

You had admired the prints in museums, dragging Bucky there with you. Once, when you had visited a small art gallery, you had found a reproduction of it. Bucky remembered how your fingers lightly touched the frame, lingering a little longer than normal. He also remembered how you mentioned that it would make a good birthday gift.

Bucky knew he had to do something about that. In fact, Bucky knew he could do better. 

—

For the past six months, he had been looking for something so rare that it almost seemed impossible to acquire. But if anyone could help him get hands on something like that, it was Sharon Carter. 

It had taken months of planning— months of digging into Sharon’s shady art dealings, but she finally tracked one down.

Bucky had burned through a few old contacts just to arrange this. The Dealer he had found had one of only 100 copies that still existed.

Bucky now stood at the edge of the alley, his eyes scanning the dimly lit streets of Madripoor. He hated this place. The stench of greed and violence clouded every corner. Truly lawless. But for you, he’d walk through these dingy streets any day.

Sharon leaned against the wall beside him, her arms crossed. “You sure you want to go through all this trouble?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course,” Bucky replied dismissively. His tone was resolute.

“You’ve gone soft, Barnes,” Sharon smiled. “Risking your neck for a gift.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, glancing at the old brown purse tucked in his jacket. Inside it was more than enough money to secure the deal, but in Madripoor, cash only got you so far. 

Briefly, his thoughts wandered back to you. Was this really worth it? Was he risking too much? You had been on his mind constantly these past few months. He has thought more and more about what you have done for him. Of how you had stood by him, as he tried to piece the puzzles of his mind back together. You’ve been a constant comfort in his life, a rock for him.

And he knew your love wasn’t transactional, and he had no intention to make it that way, either. He just wanted to do something nice. That smile... He’d do anything to see it.

But Madripoor was a different world. A dangerous one. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. Bucky shot Sharon a sidelong glance as they neared the abandoned warehouse. “I don’t trust this guy,” he muttered.

Sharon gave a knowing look. “That’s why I’m here.” She patted the concealed gun under her jacket.

There was no going back now.

—

They walked into the abandoned warehouse. The Dealer was supposed to meet them here. The place reeked of decay, with crates stacked against the walls carelessly and dust particles drifting in the air.

Not long after, a door creaked open on the other side of the warehouse. 

A tall, wiry man stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed in a sharp suit that looked entirely out of place in the decrepit building. Two bodyguards in tactical suits followed close behind him, both armed. 

“We’re here for the print,” Sharon said, her voice calm and collected. 

The Dealer smiled, but it wasn’t sincere. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, the infamous Sharon Carter. I’ve heard much about you.”

“Do you have the print or not?” Sharon snapped. 

The Dealer gestured to one of his bodyguards. He stepped forward with a slim black case and opened it to reveal the print, meticulously preserved under layers of protective glass. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he forgot where he was, only imagining the smile you’d have on your face when you do get to see it. 

Bucky’s grip tightened on the purse as he handed it over to the dealer. 

“There’s one more thing,” the dealer said as his tone shifted, shutting the briefcase shut. “I hear Sharon Carter here has been causing a bit of trouble for some of my associates. So… I’m thinking you’re going to have to do me a favour before I hand this over.”

“We had a deal.” Bucky’s eyes darkened. He knew Sharon had a reputation in Madripoor—one she didn’t need to remind people of often.

But the dealer just smiled an arrogant grin, one that made Bucky’s gut churn. “Deals change.”

Bucky could feel the tension in the air rising. He knew this wasn’t going to end peacefully. He noticed the subtle shift in the bodyguards’ stance, their hands starting to reach toward their guns.

“I don’t have time for this,” Bucky muttered, knowing he promised you he’d be home before tomorrow. Reaching for his gun, he shot near the handle of the briefcase, just shy of The Dealer’s grip.

That was all it took for the room to explode into chaos.

When another gunshot rang out, Bucky dove for cover behind one of the crates as bullets rained on him. Sharon shot at one of the bodyguards, taking him down with a well-placed shot to the leg.

As the deafening echo of gunfire bounced off the walls, a thought crossed his mind: Why am I doing this?

As bullet whizzed past, his mind kept going back to you. The way you looked at the print in the gallery, the way you spoke about it with such passion. He found himself chuckling at how far he’d go to make you happy.

Would you even believe it if he told you what he’s done to get this for you?

The Dealer ducked behind his own men, the briefcase in his death grip. Bucky rolled out from behind the crate. He returned fire, his shots precise. He didn't aim to kill them— he didn’t do that anymore— but enough to incapacitate them. The remaining bodyguard dropped to the ground with a grunt, clutching his wound as one of Bucky’s bullets grazed his arm. For a moment, the gunfire stopped.

Bucky straightened up, his eyes locking on The Dealer, who was now cowering near the far wall. He stormed in his direction. “Give me the print, or the next one’s between your eyes,” Bucky growled, his voice deadly calm. He didn’t mean it, of course, but The Dealer didn’t need to know that. 

The Dealer raised his hands, his face pale. “Alright, alright! Take it!”

Sharon wasted no time, snatching the case with the print from the ground and tucking it under her arm. Bucky threw the purse against The Dealer’s chest. He kept his gun pointed towards him as they backed toward the door, carefully watching for any sign of movement.

Print secured, Bucky and Sharon slipped out of the warehouse, moving swiftly through the dark Madripoor alleys. The adrenaline still flowed in Bucky’s veins, but when he glanced at the case in Sharon’s arms, he felt a surge of relief.

They had done it. The print was his. Yours.

—

You came through the front door, tired but smiling. “Buck, you home?” you called out, taking off your shoes and dropping your bag on the side table. He had been away for the last couple of days. For a mission, he had said, though he had been vague. He was supposed to be home today.

“In here,” came his reply from the living room. There was a slight edge to his voice— like he was holding something back in anticipation.

You walked into the living room only to stop dead in your tracks. 

Bucky stood there with a sleeveless shirt, placing a screwdriver on the table next to him. The print was hanging on the wall, illuminated by the soft glow of newly installed lamps around it. The familiar sight of the wave crashing down with unrelenting power, the grounding calm Mount Fuji in the background made your heart skip a beat.

You've spent so much of your spare time studying it, that you know this wasn’t just a print. It was one of the prints.

Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes widening as you took slow steps closer to it. You were almost afraid it would crumble before your very eyes if you got too close.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “This… this can’t be real.”

Bucky stepped up beside you, his hands sliding into his pockets as he gave you a small, almost shy smile. “It is,” he confirmed. 

You took another slow step forward, eyes still locked on the print. How did he do this?

Your mind raced back to the past few weeks, remembering the subtle changes in Bucky’s behaviour—how he’d been more secretive, how he’d mentioned that mission but never gave you any real details. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, assuming it was just another dangerous job, but now it all made sense.

This wasn’t just a print hanging on the wall. This was weeks—maybe months—of effort. Planning. Risking his life in ways he probably would never tell you about. 

“Bucky… this is—this is one of the original prints.” You eyed the certificate of authenticity on the table by where he was standing.”This is—oh my God—why—how did you even get this?”

He shrugged, his lips forming a small smile. “Had to pull a few strings. Nothing too crazy. Had help from Sharon, too.”

You looked at him like you didn’t quite believe him, but the joy in your eyes made every bullet dodged, every shady deal, worth it. 

He tried to play it off like it was no big deal, but the way his lips curved up in a knowing smile told you otherwise. “You’ve been talking about getting a print for so long,” he said. 

Your heart swelled at the thought, imagining the sheer effort he had gone through just to get this for you. “Are you insane, Buck? I asked for a reproduction print, maybe. but this…”

You still couldn’t quite believe it. You knew how rare this print was, how impossible it was to find, and yet… here it was. Hanging in your living room. For you.

You turned to face him. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just want to make my girl happy,” he said, his voice as soft and sincere as it has ever been. 

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him in a bear hug. “You make me happy, you know that, right?”

Bucky’s smile widened just a little, his metal arm resting on the small of your back. “I know,” he murmured. 

You wiped the hint of a happy tear on your eyes as you turned back to the print, taking it in once more. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met,” you said, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I think we both are.”

Bucky pulled back slightly, shifting behind you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. The two of you stood there, side by side, gazing at the artwork. The warmth of his body against yours felt grounding, comforting.

“So…” he murmured, his breath soft against your neck, “now that you’ve got your Great Wave, what’s next? Starry Night?”

You laughed, scoffing at the thought of owning a Van Gogh. That would never happen, right? “I think I’ve got enough rare art for a lifetime.”

He grinned. “All you have to do is ask.”

You smiled, turning your head to look at him, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips met yours in the softest, most delicate kiss.

The Great Wave may be hanging on the wall in front of you, but to you, the true masterpiece— the one that truly mattered— was the man you loved.

-end

[generational-atrophy]

ok like ur one of my top 3 fav hetalia request blogs so uhhh could i get the big 8 (and canada ofc) and how they cuddle???

hetalia main 8 (+ canada & prussia) affection hcs

2.0k words ~ gender neutral headcanons

tw: mention of suggestive themes, mention of alcohol

a/n: sorry this got turned into just general affection hcs. hope thats ok. also i couldnt find the original source for any of these images :sob:

America

Alfred is a very casually intimate person. His legs intertwined with yours while you game, his hand on your shoulder while you introduce him, and his hands held over yours while he shows you anything, are all common sights even before you start dating.

But once you actually get together, he doesn't get much more affectionate as much as he does touchy. Say goodbye to any personal space, as Alfred loves to manhandle you. Anytime he likes something you're wearing, he just grabs it and forces you to stand there awkwardly.

Every time he comes home from work stressed, he insists that you hold his head in your lap and pet his hair.

When the night begins, he's on the other side of the bed. But by morning, the blankets are practically all on the floor while he hugs you from behind, his face buried in your hair and his legs caging you against the sheets.

Also: he's a great hugger (: Any sickness can be ailed by drowning in his arms.  Sometimes it really does feel suffocating, he has no sense of self-control and way too much love for you to realize that it’s alarming to be tackled to the ground.

England

Arthur despises PDA. Arthur despises you knowing how much he cares. Arthur despises being vulnerable in any way. Arthur despises rainbows and sunshine. But he loves you, so he'll hold you by the waist when your head falls on his shoulder.

Most of the time, the most you'll get is a chaste kiss, only sometimes on the lips. It took him a while to even agree to share a bed because it's “unseemly“ for an unwed couple. When you do share a bed, he rarely cuddles up to you. He’s almost always an arm's length away, close but not too close.

But when he gets drunk, his real self comes out. Suddenly he's pressing soft kisses up and down your chest, his hands keeping you pressed against the bed while he whispers how much he loves you in languages he hasn't spoken in centuries.

But even when he's in his right mind, you might be able to convince him to let you sit in his lap while he reads to you. He'll deny it, but he does love it greatly. In general, he prefers holding you rather than the other way around.

France

While Francis may be incredibly affectionate, he isn't really the biggest cuddler. His physical affection comes mostly in the forms of passionate, breath-taking kisses and slow dancing. But of course, he does love having you close, so you'll end up cuddling anyway.

He loves lounging with you by his side, a nice bottle of wine readily available, while you two reminisce. His hands always find a way to snake underneath your clothing, but it's only so he can trace soft patterns on your skin, making you relax even further against him.

At night, it depends on the mood. If you're feeling needy, he'll happily pull you close to rest your head on his chest. If he's feeling needy, he'll beg for you to hold him close, to run your fingers through his hair and tell him how much you love him. But if it's the summer and he's hot, he'll kick you off the bed if you touch him.

Also, just for the record, he never lets go of your hand throughout the day. Ever. The difference between affection at home and affection in public is completely lost on Francis, so be prepared for him to pull you against him just like he would if no one was watching.

China

In terms of love languages, Yao cares much more for quality time than physical affection. But he can be prone to clingy moods, refusing to leave your side for hours at a time. During those times, it's best to just let him nuzzle his face against your neck without protest.

On the rare nights that he lets you cook, he'll hold you tight from behind. Surprisingly not just to criticize your technique, but also because he just loves how you feel pressed up against him.

When it comes to the bed, he is surprisingly cuddly. He'll ghost his hands all over your body while you're falling asleep, seemingly always in awe of your beauty. He's rarely aggressive in any way, his affection always soft and thoughtful.

(Also, he prefers cuddling without clothes. Not for even a single remotely sexual reason, but just because it's so much more intimate)

When in public, he never goes beyond brushing a hair behind your ear; but with the way he looks at you, you always feel just as loved as you would otherwise.

Russia

The moment you give him permission, Ivan is all over you. Constant kisses, constant hugs, never more than a step away, he'll be attached to your side for as long as you let him.

Anytime you two are together, he'll pull you as close as possible. Watching a movie is always done with you on his lap, no car ride is complete without his hand around your thigh, and even when you're separated, he's anxious to keep an eye on you.

Without you in his arms, he'd find it difficult to sleep. He can't get enough of watching you while your eyes flutter shut, his calloused hands running through your hair until you finally relax completely.

Every time you reach out for him first, he finds himself too flustered to speak. He's a very handsy person himself, so it's impossible to make him uncomfortable. All he can do is watch you in awe, never growing tired of the feeling of your skin against his.

Canada

Matthew's affection is always hesitant, as if he's afraid you'll break the moment his skin meets yours. He'd never do as little as hold your hand without your permission, much less pull you into a hug.

But the opposite is true when you're the one asking him for his touch. If you seem nervous, suddenly his kiss is all-consuming, taking the breath out of your lungs and causing you to stumble.

At night, he absolutely melts when you hold each other. Your hands around his waist make him shiver, and he can't stop himself from burying his face in your hair, his fingers drawing feather-light patterns into your back. But it already takes an hour of convincing to get him into bed with you, much less to get him to cuddle without him constantly asking if you’re alright.

In public, however, any affection makes him blush bright red. He can barely believe that you're alright with showing your love for him. If you were to suddenly hug him to say goodbye, it's unlikely he'd be able to pull himself away. He loves your touch, but he can't let himself indulge, the fear of your rejection making him fear getting too close.

Italy

From the moment you two met, Feliciano's hands all over you, at all times. Personal boundaries is not something he's familiar with. No matter where you are, he's grossly affectionate. He usually doesn't care whether or not you hug him back, as long as you don't reject him too bluntly. Then he'll cry. But stop nonetheless.

If you're ever insecure, he's the man to reassure you. You'll never again leave the house without tons of kisses all over your face, much less do anything without his arm around your waist.

As expected, he's also very needy. He's satisfied to just rest his head on your shoulder most of the time, but sometimes he just needs you to hold him. If you're alright with it, his designated spot is always curled up against you with his head in your lap. If you pet his hair too, he'll be yours for life.

In bed, it's the same. If you're wrapped up in each other's arms, he's happy. But if you're holding him, not too soft yet not too tight, he might just start crying. For good reasons this time.

Germany

Ludwig’s affection is always awkward, his grip is always too tight or too soft, but he does truly love being beside you. No matter how afraid he is, as soon as you pull him into a hug, he completely forgets all nervousness. But still, it’s not often he goes out of his way to do any more than rest a hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

At night, it’s the same. He wants you close, close enough that you could always wake him up if you needed to, but not close enough that you’re pressed against each other. But on those awful nights when you just need some comfort, he’s more than happy to wrap you in a bunch of blankets and hold you all night long (He won’t get any sleep, but being so protective makes him feel just as happy.)

What he lacks in physical affection, he more than makes up for in every other area. At least he always knows the best places to kiss you.

Japan

Kiku is a very private man. You knew that before you were dating, but even now, it seems like even his affection is kept to himself. You constantly see him reach for you out of the corner of your eye, before he suddenly pulls away.

He's always rather cold in public. The most you get at home is usually just a chaste kiss, too.

Except at night, when he's too overworked and sleepy to think straight, it's the opposite. Suddenly he's crawling into your arms in the dead of night, desperate and whining for your affection. Sometimes it's the opposite, his hesitant hands running over your side, careful not to disturb you as you're pulled into his embrace.

Either way, it's rare that either of you wake up without the other, strewn across the bed and buried under the mountains of blankets Kiku loves. Just don't bring it up, because he's deathly embarrassed of how much he needs your affection.

Romano

There is not a day that goes by without Romano demanding you two cuddle. In public, at home, at night, in the morning, when you're doing nothing, when you're busy... he is... quite needy when it comes to physical affection.

His favourite way to cuddle is in bed, blankets thrown wildly around the two of you, him wrapped around you and resting his head on your thighs while you play with his hair. But he's honestly not that picky as long as you're almost painfully close.

He doesn't kiss you often (especially in public, just because he's so insecure about how people see the two of you,) but when he does, it feels like something out of a movie. Your breath taken in a second, your mind going blank, your entire body seeming to melt into his effortlessly...

As time goes on, he would probably become less clingy. When you first start dating, he's so anxious to make sure you understand how much you mean to him, that he ends up overcompensating in a lot of areas... especially when it comes to affection.

But his body IS kind of perfect for cuddling, so...

Prussia

Gilbert is a very proud man, and that remains obvious in the way he touches you. He's anxious to show off your attachment in public, always having his hand intertwined tightly with yours, his eyes never leaving you no matter what.

At home, it's the same. He's not overly clingy, especially when he gets in snippy moods, but he still believes everything is better when you're by his side. His favourite thing in the world is being cuddled up on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder while he runs his fingers down your thighs, watching probably one of the worst movies ever made.

When in bed, he's a lot more needy. He tends to get cold, so he always pulls you against him. When you cling to his chest, he swears he's in heaven. But that also means it's a struggle to get up in the morning since he always insists on “just 5 more minutes.“

He's rather... grabby. His affection is usually aggressive, and sometimes a little embarrassing, but it's just because he's so desperate to show you how he really feels, beyond the silly act.

[lividstar]

🎞️ — ♡ BULLSEYE!

៚ wc: 35.9k

៚ fluff, angst, student athlete!wooyoung x photojournalist!reader, enemies to lovers, hurt -> comfort, you’re both in love and everyone knows except for you yourselves, zb1 cameo

៚ playlist !

៚ Being part of your university’s journalism publication as the head photojournalist has its own ups and downs. The pros are having the right to roam around campus freely even when there’s no reason to do so—you could just come up with an excuse and say you were exploring the halls for some sort of documentation project, being able to express your passion for photography for a good cause, and your duties demanding you to technically be work partners with your best friend, Yeosang, who belongs to the sportswriting column. You mainly experience the highs of it, though on some days, however, you find yourself wishing you had just chosen a different profession instead. Caused by what—or who, rather, might you ask? Well, that’s none other than the so-called star football athlete Jung Wooyoung. His carefree demeanor and reckless actions irk you to no end, leading you to always involuntarily playing an escape game against him every single day inside the school buildings. Too bad your duties will never allow him to be completely out of sight, though.

Furious.

You were absolutely furious.

The campus buzzed with the energy of yet another eventful day as you navigated the crowded halls, your camera slung over your shoulder with a scowl on your face. A group of friends slash through the crowd, huge smiles on their faces as they chase each other, the sound of their shoes squeaking due to the newly waxed tiled floors making your ears bleed. The one at the very last of the line—you could only assume they were playing a game of tag and he was “it”—accidentally bumps his shoulder against yours as you walk, and you look behind your back at him with an offended expression, but all you were met with was the sight of the boy continuing to run, not even sparing a glance at you.

What a great way to make your day even worse, isn’t it?

As the head photojournalist for your university’s journalism publication, you had grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of student life, capturing moments that told the story of your school with a discerning eye. From documenting large occasions like various extracurricular activities to taking snaps of the rare quiet moments you treasure like a diamond such as coming up to the highest floor to capture photographs of the university’s building as the golden hour paints a warm hue all over it while students leave the campus one by one, progressively making your surroundings more silent as the minutes pass—you cherished it all.

Your favorite part of being a photojournalist is the moments when you’re snuggled up in your bed, continuously clicking the next button of your camera while checking the photos in its files—a few of them being ones you don’t quite remember taking—and stumbling upon photoshoots that capture the emotion of happiness conveyed all over people’s faces. You find comfort in the fact that you’re able to capture what could only possibly be their favorite memory to look back to every once in a while in the future.

Today, however, that sense of purpose was clouded by a sense of dread. You had been assigned to cover the football team’s practice for an upcoming sports article of Yeosang on the daily lives of student athletes. It was a topic that always garnered interest, especially with the team's recent winning streak. But for you, it meant spending time around Jung Wooyoung and his friends—the embodiment of every single trait you couldn’t stand in people.

Your journalism advisor, Mr. Kim, had been insistent. “We need fresh, dynamic shots for this article. The football team is perfect for that. You’re the best we have—quite literally the only one, so I’m counting on you.”

Well, of course. Your publication is short of a few people as the majority don’t quite seem to find the duties of being a journalist to be an essential part of making their college lives memorable. They like what you do, but the idea of being put in your position? Not so much.

You nodded, masking your irritation with a professional demeanor. “Of course, Mr. Kim,” you had said, though deep inside, you were fuming. There were a million other things you’d rather be doing than spending your afternoon with a bunch of overgrown children who thought they ruled the school.

As you made your way to the field, each step felt heavier than the last. The crisp autumn air did little to lighten your mood. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant shouts and laughter of athletes warming up only served to remind you of where you were headed and who you would be dealing with.

You spotted the team easily, their figures a blur of motion and color against the green expanse of the field. At the center of it all was Jung Wooyoung, the star athlete whose charisma and energy seemed to draw everyone in. His presence is impossible to ignore—you have to admit, yet not in a good way. He’s loud, rowdy, and always the center of attention. He was everything you typically found irritating in a person, and you already had plenty of reasons to dislike him. And you think that even if you didn’t, you’d still hate him just as much.

Adjusting the settings on your camera, you positioned yourself by the sidelines, focusing the lens on the players. Through the viewfinder, you watched as their captain, Kim Hongjoong, led the team in a series of drills, his voice ringing out with commands and encouragement. It was clear that these guys lived and breathed football, and while it may be impressive, it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re a constant source of annoyance.

You snapped a few shots, capturing the intensity of the practice, the sweat and determination etched on each player's face. Each click of the shutter was a reminder of how much you resented this assignment. Why did it always have to be them? Why not cover something, anything, else? The theater kids would’ve been much more worth your time, you think, even if they’re just as rowdy as the football team. The only difference is they don’t have someone like Wooyoung.

Lost in your work, you almost didn’t notice when the practice session ended, the players breaking off into small groups to cool down. Wooyoung, ever the social butterfly, was in the midst of a lively conversation with his teammates when his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he jogged over, his energy undiminished despite the rigorous practice.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Hey, photo girl!” he called out, his voice carrying easily across the field. “Getting some good shots?”

Photo girl? You grimace, judging him heavily inside your head. You lowered your camera, looking up at him from where you sat with a steady, unimpressed gaze.

“Just doing my job,” you replied, your tone professional but laced with an edge of irritation in hopes of him noticing your need to be left alone. But then again, you can’t be foolish enough to actually expect him to know how to read the room now, can you? Or maybe he does, yet simply doesn’t bother to do so.

Wooyoung’s grin doesn’t falter. “Well, make sure you get my good side,” he said with a wink, pointing finger guns at you.

You nearly roll your eyes, your expression remaining stoic. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, you turned back to your camera, trying to ignore the lingering annoyance. This was just another assignment, another day in the life of a university photojournalist. You didn’t have to like it, and you certainly didn’t have to like them. All you had to do was get the shots, get out, and hope you won’t have to be in the same space as them again any time in the future.

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, a chorus of teasing comments greeted him. Seonghwa was the first to speak up, a teasing grin on his face.

“What?”

“Didn’t know you had a thing for stoic girls who look like they could ruin your life.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, laughing it off. “Please, I’d never date a girl like that. I like those who can match my energy.”

“Wow, that’s boring,” Jongho chimed in, shaking his head. “You’re so old school, Woo. It’s the 21st century!” Everyone proceeded to laugh at Jongho’s comment, making Wooyoung land a hard hit on his shoulder.

He meant it, really. Wooyoung was well aware of the way students all over the campus describe his persona—at first, he thought the adjectives they always used whenever he was the topic brought to their table were absolutely stupidly inaccurate, but in a way, after a long while of getting used to being in the very center of the spotlight, he had started to embody the traits people paint on him—no one told him to do so, though. He just felt like he had to twist and turn himself to fit their ideals, is all. Now, he’s widely known as a carefree person who doesn’t care about whatever goes on in his life—well, he used to. Just way before people started thinking they knew him better than himself to make up their own idealized versions of him in their head, at least.

The laughter then died down, and for a moment, Yunho looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “I don’t get your issue, Woo. She’s actually really pretty. I see her taking documentations of everything that happens on campus all the time.”

Wooyoung shrugged, brushing off the comment. “I never said anything about her not looking good. She’s just… not my type, is all,” he immediately replied smugly, yet his confusion with himself appeared just as quick. For what reason did he have to hesitate with saying that?

At this, Mingi sensed an opportunity to push Wooyoung’s buttons, jumping in with a teasing smirk. “Please, like you’re her type. I bet she doesn’t like you just as much.”

Laughter erupted from the group once more, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but join in, though he shot Mingi a glare. “Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m everyone’s type,” he said with profound confidence, making everyone sigh.

“And by everyone you mean that creepy old lady in the cafeteria as well?”

“Gross!”

“Seriously though,” Yunho continued, “she’s really cool. She always seems so focused and serious no matter what she does—like she can easily adapt to her surroundings.”

“What do you mean by that?” Wooyoung asked, tilting his head.

“She’s one of the top students as well, remember? I don’t know how she balances her studies and duties, but it seems like she does it with such ease. It’s kind of impressive, especially to someone like me who doesn’t know how to breathe in an air that doesn’t reek of my sport.”

Jongho nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on. People like that are like rare gems these days—not to mention, in this university. It’s different.”

“Different is one way to put it,” Wooyoung said, shaking his head. “She looks like she’d tear apart anyone who dares to get in her way.”

San smirked, nudging Wooyoung. “Maybe that’s what you need, someone to keep you and your tendencies of being a brainless prick even during the times you need to get yourself together on check.”

Wooyoung scoffed, “Nah, I’m good. Besides, she clearly doesn't like us. Did you see the way she looked at me earlier? It was like I was some kind of pest. Not even just earlier—all the time. I don’t get what her deal is.”

“Can you blame her?” Seonghwa shrugged. “You did interrupt her work. I’d be mad, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she’s all sunshine and rainbows either,” Wooyoung countered. “I mean, she barely even smiles—scratch that, she never does!”

“Maybe she just needs a reason to smile,” Yunho suggested, giving Wooyoung a pointed look.

“Oh, here we go,” Wooyoung groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some knight in shining armor who’s going to make her see the bright side of life. She’s not interested, and neither am I. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” San said with a chuckle. “But don’t be surprised if she starts showing up in your thoughts more often.”

Wooyoung laughed it off, shaking his head. “Trust me, I’m not interested. I’ve got enough on my plate with football and classes I’m barely even passing.”

He said with such confidence, yet did so while keeping his focus on your blurred figure in his peripheral vision.

From where you sat by the bleachers, you could see the expressions on their faces—everyone had a wide smile on their lips, whereas Wooyoung was frowning. You don’t have a single idea of what topic they could possibly be discussing, but somehow, the look on Wooyoung’s face brought you a sense of satisfaction. Regardless of what they were talking about, if it was pissing off Wooyoung a massive amount, then you definitely have to thank whoever uttered out the first word that started the conversation.

You figured you’ve taken more than enough shots for your publication’s article already, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to start a practice match once more any time soon, either, so you start tidying your things up, placing a hand on your knee for support as you stand up. A gust of wind passes by, and a few strands of your hair cover your face. You tuck them behind your air, immediately making your way outside the field, grateful that your suffering will finally come to an end.

Making your way towards the school gates, you spot Yeosang waiting for you at a nearby bench, his eyes lightening up the moment he notices you walking towards him. He stood up, and as you got closer, the image of the frown you held became clearer to him.

“Didn’t go well, I assume?” he asked, taking your bag off your shoulder and slinging it on his as you both walked out side by side.

“Well, it could’ve, had Mr. Star Of The Show not interrupted me in the middle of checking my shots.” You roll your eyes, and a sigh comes soon after. “Seriously, who the hell does finger guns these days? That has to be the biggest sin one could ever commit.”

“It’s Wooyoung again, huh?” he mused, seemingly more used to the star athlete’s antics than you are. “Well, the fact that he embodies the stereotype of a typical jock should’ve been enough to tell you that he’d be that type of person.” Yeosang shrugged.

“I don’t even know what to expect from him and his friends anymore. They never fail to surprise me—and I mean that in a bad way.” You take the lace of the camera off your neck, giving it to Yeosang so he could check the shots you had taken.

“For someone who claims to hate the football team, your shots have turned out to be really good,” he said while looking through the photos, stopping at a particular image of San’s foot up in the air with the ball right at the tip of his shoe. “This one’s my personal favorite so far.”

“Professionalism is a crucial tactic in journalism,” you replied, clasping your hands together. “There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.”

“You say that, but I know that deep inside, you wanted to lash out at Mr. Kim earlier for personally picking you to be the football team’s official photographer,” he teased.

“I am not their official photographer, Yeo. I would rather eat a rock.”

“Well, with the amount of times you have been chosen to conduct documentation of the football team, you might as well be.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his shoulder. He stumbles to the side, nearly clashing with a tree. You turn to look the other way, whistling with your hands intertwined behind your back.

“So we’re just going to pretend you didn’t do anything?” he deadpanned, stopping in his tracks. You looked behind him, a blank expression on your face. “What are you talking about?” you tilted your head, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, we’re gonna pretend nothing happened. Got it,” he replied, catching up to you.

“How’s your sports article going, by the way?”

“Please don’t ask about that.”

—

Your eyes felt as if there was a fire igniting within them as you nearly dropped your head down on your study table, the dim, warm light of your lamp not being of any help with keeping your spirits wide awake. Had you known the amount of times you’d be robbed off your resting hours the moment you step foot into the college life, you probably would’ve constantly messed things up during high school just so you could repeat the year all over again and postpone the date of the official confirmation that you’re no longer a little child running through the playground.

You love to pick up pens and scribble words on blank papers even if your duty lies in clicking the buttons on a camera, but not on days like this wherein you’re doing not because you want to, but because you need to.

You hate being told what to do.

Mr Kim seems to have a knack for letting you carry all the burdens of those who are part of the publication of the campus, based on your past observations. The editorial writer has to publish an article due on Wednesday but she has to attend a family occasion on the same day? Sure, just swap her out with you. It’s totally fine, she totally didn’t have a chance to already start working on the paper for one whole week before it’s due at all. Sure, you’re fine with it—you should be.

People have always relied on you too much, and after a while, it made you start believing you weren’t brought upon this world to have struggles of your own, rather, you were here with a purpose to solve every conflict that occurs around you. You kept being pushed to validate others, so often to the point where the one you’re invalidating is yourself.

It’s not that you don’t bother to stand up for yourself, because you do—every single time, actually. But whenever such events happen, you’re always meeting a dead end with the same response from everyone.

“You won’t do it for me? You’re a horrible person, then.”

You’ve always been the problem solver, the go-to person when things go wrong. It started in high school, where you found yourself at the very top of a tower of extracurricular activities, balancing them with ease while also helping classmates with their assignments. Back then, you didn’t mind helping out. It felt good to be needed, to be the one people could rely on. It felt nice witnessing people’s success knowing you played a part in helping them improve, regardless of whether they expressed gratitude for it or not.

But somewhere along the way, that very role had become a cage, trapping you in a cycle of constant giving without receiving anything in return. You couldn’t afford to be carefree; you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had to be perfect, always. You thought college might be different, a place where people would finally stand on their own two feet, but hey, it turns out—it was worse.

Mr. Kim’s persistent habit of delegating others’ responsibilities to you was grating on your nerves. You were tired, not just physically, but emotionally. You felt like a machine, expected to churn out results without a moment’s pause for your own needs or desires.

The papers and notes scattered across your desk were a testament to your never-ending workload. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering back to the football field, to Wooyoung and his friends. The thought of them made you grind your teeth in frustration.

Your hatred for Wooyoung and his friends wasn’t just about their behavior on the field. It was about the deeper, more painful realization that they had yet another thing you might never have: the ability to live freely. They could be themselves without fear, while you had to conform to the expectations of others. Their lives seemed perfect in their imperfection, while yours felt like a never-ending quest for unattainable perfection.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the very thing you despised in them was something you secretly longed for.

You wonder what it would be like to switch places, to live a day in their shoes. But it was a futile thought, one that only served to remind you of the stark difference between their world and yours. With a sigh, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was always more work to be done, and little time to dwell on what could never be.

You glanced at the clock. It was way past midnight. The silence of your room was only broken by the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers. You knew you should be sleeping, but sleep was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not when there was always another deadline looming, another responsibility thrust upon you without warning.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your pen again. The words flowed, albeit reluctantly, as you forced yourself to finish the editorial story. Each sentence felt like a burden, each paragraph a reminder of the countless hours you had sacrificed for the sake of others. You really could’ve been snuggled up in bed right now.

Your phone buzzed out of nowhere, dragging you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to the right side of the table where you placed it, and a message notification from Yeosang lit up your lockscreen.

“Are you alright?”

And that’s when the last string fell apart.

You put your pen down once more, and it fell to the ground. The weight of everything—the constant pressure, the endless responsibilities, the relentless need to be perfect—crashed down on you all at once. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your face.

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the sobs, not wanting anyone to hear. Even in your most vulnerable moments, you couldn’t afford to let anyone see you break. It was a cruel irony that the one person everyone relied on had no one to lean on themselves.

The message from Yeosang was still on your phone, the simple words cutting right through your defenses. He always knew when something was wrong, even if you never said a word. But this time, you couldn’t muster the strength to reply. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that you weren’t alright, that you were drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations.

You hunched over, shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked your body. The room felt cold and empty, the dim light of the lamp casting long shadows that seemed to close in on you. It was as if the world had shrunk to this one moment of pain and exhaustion, where nothing else existed but the overwhelming need to just let it all out.

For a long time, you stayed like that, silently crying, letting the tears wash away the frustration and the bitterness that had built up inside you. It felt like an eternity before you finally began to calm down, the sobs slowing to quiet sniffles. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, taking deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself.

You glanced at your phone again, Yeosang's message still glowing softly on the screen. With a shaky hand, you typed out a reply.

“I will be.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You would be alright, eventually. You always found a way to pick yourself back up, to keep going no matter how hard it got. But right now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of it all—because you know it’ll be a long while before you can do so again.

You let out a long sigh, picking up your pen from the floor and placing it back on the table. The work was still there, waiting for you, but for now, you gave yourself a moment of respite. You needed it more than you cared to admit.

After a few more minutes, you straightened up, took another deep breath, and wiped the last of the tears from your face. There was no time for self-pity; you had work to do. And as always, you would find a way to get through it. One step at a time.

—

You were so tired and stressed while writing the article last night that you forgot to proofread each paragraph, and now Mr. Kim was endlessly nagging at you for the—mind you, two—mistakes you had made. His voice droned on, a relentless tirade that made you want to disappear into the floor.

“This is so unusual for you,” he said from his seat, as you stood in front of his desk with your hands intertwined in front of you. “You’ve shown me nothing but perfection for the past few months. Why can’t you live up to your reputation?”

“I... I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you muttered, not knowing what else to say. “Sorry? Do you think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it? You are supposed to set the standard here. Aren’t you one of the top students? What happened to the meticulous work you usually deliver?” he asked, clearly upset.

One of the top students, there it goes again. At this point, you can no longer recall how many times you’ve been called the exact same term. Funny how it always happens when you fail to live up to people’s expectations.

Each word felt like a hammer, pounding away at your already fragile sense of self. You kept your head down, murmuring apologies, wishing desperately for this to end. Mr. Kim continued, his disappointment evident in every syllable.

“This kind of sloppiness is unacceptable. I don’t care what your excuse is, this cannot happen again. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

When he finally gave you permission to leave, you hurriedly left the room, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. It was lunch break, and knowing that the football team didn’t have practice matches scheduled on Wednesdays, you headed for the quiet field. It was the only place you could think of to let it all out without anyone seeing.

Sitting at one of the bleachers, the tears began to fall softly. You weren’t shaking or sobbing like you were the night before—just silent tears streaming down your face. For a moment, you wondered if you had gone past your limit and had become completely numb. The pressure, the expectations, the constant need to be perfect—it was all too much.

Just then, a familiar voice called out of nowhere.

“Photo girl?”

You quickly wiped your tears, pretending not to notice him. You kept your eyes fixed on the greenery of the field, willing yourself to stay composed. Wooyoung approached and sat down behind you, his presence an unwelcome intrusion.

“Were you crying?” he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“No,” you replied almost immediately, voice flat and unconvincing.

“Yes, you were. I saw it,” he countered, undeterred.

“Then pretend you didn’t see anything,” you snapped, looking away once more.

He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “What’s the matter?”

You wanted to laugh at his face. “It’s not like someone like you would get it, anyway.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “What’s so different about me that I wouldn’t understand?”

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and emptiness—and it caught him off guard.

“Everything.”

“What do you-” he was about to ask for further elaboration, but you were already on your feet.

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to explain yourself to someone like him. Without another word, you walked away, leaving a very confused Wooyoung sitting alone on the bleachers. He watched you go, a frown creasing his forehead. There was clearly a lot he didn’t understand about you.

Class hours passed by like a blur, and now, you were on your way home, desperate for at least just a few minutes of rest. Looking back, it seems nothing had gone well for you today—to start off, Yeosang, the only person you like within the confines of the university, wasn’t around today because he and his family had to attend a relative’s birthday party.

When he told you about it earlier in the morning, you had considered calling in sick because truthfully, without him, the only thing that balances your dull life with half an amount of light, you’re not really sure how you’re supposed to survive the entire day without someone ‘accidentally’ ending up dead. Not that you’d actually do that, but the idea is, without Yeosang, you know you’d be a hundred percent more comfortable with lashing out at whoever dares to push your buttons.

But then again, perfect students don’t skip school no matter the intensity of circumstances, do they?

Coming in second is the conversation—if you could even call it that—you had with Mr. Kim in his office earlier. You genuinely believe he really didn’t have to say all that, betting every single penny in your pockets that if it were to have been a different student in your shoes, he wouldn’t even bother calling them to his office—he’d simply scribble corrections over the text written on their output with a bright red pen he once borrowed from a student and forgot to give back.

And last, but definitely not the least, Wooyoung’s unsolicited presence by the bleachers earlier. The words he let come out of his mouth were yet another testament to just how out of touch with reality he was—who in their right mind would ask a person who clearly wants to be left alone why they’re crying? The nerve he had to call you that horrendous nickname once again, too.

Finally reaching your most awaited location, you shoved your hand inside your bag, brows slightly furrowed while waiting for the tips of your fingers to feel the cool, metallic touch of your keys. Once you found it, you hurriedly inserted it in its designated hole on your doorknob, twisting your hand a few degrees so it would open. The sight that greeted you the moment you pushed the door open brought a soft sigh to your lips—at last, you were home.

Just a couple floors above your apartment, a group of boys were lounged lazily in the living room, a few of them busying themselves with watching the movie playing on the television, while the others engrossed themselves in a conversation with one another.

“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung called out from the sofa, his loud voice overtaking the quiet whispers of the two main characters of the dystopian movie playing on the screen.

Yunho, who was in the kitchen, answered back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wooyoung stood up and made his way to the kitchen. “What does it mean when you ask someone why they’re crying and they tell you, ‘It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway’?”

Yunho raised an eyebrow, dropping the kitchen knife down on the cutting board. “Where did that question come from? Did you come across someone crying?”

Wooyoung shrugged, not wanting to give away too much. “It’s a hypothetical situation. Just answer the question.”

Yunho leaned against the counter, contemplating. “Well, it could mean two things. One, what they’re going through is too complex for anyone to understand, so they feel like it’s pointless to explain it.”

Wooyoung nodded slowly, considering this. “And the other?”

Yunho shrugged. “The other is that they think you’re too stupid to understand.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, clearly offended. “Low blow, dude.”

Yunho chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t say that’s what they actually meant. Just a possibility, you know? Sometimes, people go through things that they don’t think others can relate to. It’s not always about intelligence. It’s about experience and perspective. Maybe this person just feels like you haven’t been through what they’re dealing with.”

Wooyoung remained silent for a few seconds, considering the possibilities behind your statement earlier being what Yunho was explaining to him.

He found himself thinking too deeply about it, which puzzled him even more. He and his friends knew you as that one quiet, smart photojournalist who never seemed to smile and hated everyone who wasn’t Yeosang. You were an enigma to him, someone who always seemed to float above the petty dramas and trivial concerns that occupied most students’ lives. He had always thought you were just like that because you didn’t know how to have fun with your life, or maybe you just chose not to. To Wooyoung, you were a constant—a fixture in the background who never wavered or showed any sign of vulnerability.

So seeing you in such a vulnerable state earlier left him perplexed, hence why he was deep in thought about it. The image of you sitting alone on the bleachers, tears silently falling, replayed in his mind. He couldn’t reconcile that image with the stoic, composed person he’d always seen you as. It didn’t make sense. People who didn’t care about anything or anyone weren’t supposed to break down like that, right?

He wondered if he had misjudged you all along. Maybe there was more to your story than he had ever considered. Maybe your silence and apparent disdain for others were a shield, protecting you from something he couldn’t see. The thought left him unsettled. It challenged his perception of you and, by extension, of himself.

Was he really so shallow that he couldn’t see beyond the surface? Had he been too quick to dismiss you as just another uptight overachiever who couldn’t loosen up? The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little he actually knew about you. He didn’t know what your interests were, what made you laugh, or what made you cry—except now he knew you did cry, and that knowledge gnawed at him.

Yunho noticed his friend’s unusual silence and gently nudged him. “Hey, you okay? You look like you’re lost in your own head.”

Wooyoung blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... thinking.”

Yunho gave him a curious look. “About the ‘hypothetical’ person?”

Wooyoung nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, she—I mean, they—always seemed so... untouchable. Like nothing could get to them. It was weird, you know, seeing someone like that break down.”

Yunho tilted his head, observing Wooyoung’s troubled expression. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe they’re not as untouchable as you think. Sometimes the people who seem the strongest are the ones carrying the heaviest of burdens. There are layers to everyone’s lives—the only reason it often doesn’t seem like it is because people tend to only show to the masses what they want them to see, and not the whole picture.”

Wooyoung remained silent, absorbing Yunho’s words. He found himself questioning his previous assumptions about you, wondering if there was more to your story than he had ever considered. He felt a strange mix of curiosity and guilt. Curiosity about what lay beneath your stoic exterior and guilt for having judged you so harshly without ever trying to understand you.

—

Is it possible to still feel lonely, even when you’re surrounded by a swarm of people at all times?

No matter what the answer to that question would be, one thing’s for sure—Wooyoung has not even a single idea of what it is. It’s an unanswered thought that has never left his mind the moment it first made its way inside. Sure, he’s deemed the star athlete of the campus, sure, pairs of eyes follow him regardless of which hall he decides to walk on, sure, he’s got the life of the party—but despite all that, why does he still feel like there’s something missing? Why does being full still make him feel empty, somehow?

His thoughts drifted back to the field, to you, the stoic photojournalist who seemed to see right through his façade. Despite your brief and antagonistic interactions, there was something about you that intrigued him. You seemed immune to his charms, treating him with a mixture of disdain and indifference. It was refreshing, in a way, to be seen as just another person rather than some sort of campus celebrity to gawk at.

But at the same time, he found himself oddly looking way too deep into the moment that occured back in the field a while ago. Your words kept echoing in his mind constantly, whether it was during the times he’d be lacing his shoes up or those when he’d be staring at the void of which is nowhere during class.

“It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway.”

He wondered what you meant by that. Mulling over the two possible reasons Yunho suggested, he had a feeling it was a mixture of both. He wondered if you were experiencing something similar to him—he wondered just how similar your worlds were to each other.

Weeks had passed since that encounter you had with Wooyoung, and in that time, you had perfected the art of avoidance. The mere thought of facing him, of the possibility that he might mention that moment, sent a chill down your spine. You couldn’t bear the idea that he had seen a glimpse of a part of you that was meant to stay hidden, especially someone who, in your mind, lived in an entirely different world.

Every time you passed the field, you felt a pang of anxiety. You had meticulously planned your days to avoid any chance of running into the football team, sticking to routes and schedules that would keep you as far away from them as possible. The thought of Wooyoung seeing you cry gnawed at you, an incessant reminder of your vulnerability.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The fact that Wooyoung was gullible enough to have the guts to ask you what could possibly make him different from you made you fume each time the thought would cross your mind. The answer couldn’t have been any more obvious—everything. He lived a life surrounded by admiration and camaraderie, while you navigated through solitary achievements and quiet struggles. It wasn’t just a matter of different worlds; it was a matter of fundamentally different experiences.

At home, you tried to lose yourself in your work, burying your emotions under layers of assignments and projects. Yet, despite your best efforts, the memory of that afternoon clung to you. You felt exposed, as if a spotlight had been cast on your most private pain, and Wooyoung had seen it all. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake, and it left you feeling raw and vulnerable.

Yeosang had noticed the change in you. “You’re avoiding the team more than usual,” he remarked one afternoon as you both sat in the library. “What’s going on?”

“They’re just getting more irritating,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “I can’t stand their antics anymore.”

He looked at you skeptically but didn’t push further. If you wanted to tell him about it, you would. There was no necessity to pressure you at all. “Makes sense.”

“Oh, by the way, a new café called ‘Heavenly Brews’ or something just opened up a few blocks away from our university’s building. Wanna check it out later? It’s the talk of the town lately.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding but unwilling to delve into the real reason behind your avoidance. The truth was too complicated, too painful to articulate. The incident with Wooyoung had left a bruise on your pride, one that you weren’t ready to expose, even to Yeosang.

In the weeks that followed, you threw yourself into your studies, hoping that academic rigor would drown out the thoughts of Wooyoung and the vulnerability he had witnessed. You kept avoiding the field and any place where the football team might be, crafting your life into a careful routine that kept you far from them.

One late afternoon, as you packed up your camera after a long shoot, Yeosang approached you with concern etched on his face. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone,” he said gently. “Maybe you should take a break.”

You forced yourself to answer. “I’m fine, really. Just a lot going on.”

No, you weren’t. There were circles under your eyes. You no longer seemed to put an effort in tidying up your appearance as you usually would. Your patience has turned into a ticking time bomb. You weren’t fine at all.

But you had to be.

He sighed, clearly not convinced yet not wanting to push you further. “Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk. About anything.”

“I know,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t see the cracks forming in your façade.

As you walked home that day, the weight of your secrets and the memory of that vulnerable moment threatened to overwhelm you. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, you would have to confront the emotions you were trying so hard to bury, and when that moment came, you hoped you’d find the strength to face it.

And it seems as if that very moment was now finally getting to see the light of day.

Sitting in Mr. Kim’s office, you tried to keep your composure as he sifted through a stack of papers on his desk. The dim light of the room and the cluttered desk made the atmosphere feel heavy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

“Do you remember the pictures you took of the football team for Yeosang’s article about the daily lives of student athletes?” Mr. Kim asked, finally looking up.

You nodded, your mind flashing back to that exhausting day. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I showed them to the dean,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a small smile. “And she loved them. In fact, she loved them so much that she wanted to see those shots published in some sort of newspaper or magazine.”

A rush of excitement surged through you. It was rare to receive such high praise, and even rarer for the dean to take a personal interest in your work. Despite the bubbling joy within, you maintained your composure, listening intently as Mr. Kim spoke.

“That’s great news,” you managed to say, keeping your tone neutral.

“There’s more,” Mr. Kim continued, his smile fading into a more serious expression. “In order to make the dean’s wishes come true, I’m planning to actually publish a magazine. And for that, we need more than just photos.”

You felt a knot forming in your stomach as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to interview a football player for the feature,” he said, his eyes fixed on you.

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Of all the assignments, this was the one you dreaded the most. Interviewing a football player meant spending time with the very people you had been avoiding, the ones who lived in a different world from yours, the ones who had no idea what your life was like. At this point, you’re starting to think Mr. Kim is absolutely out of touch with reality. He never seems to realize how much he’s working you out—and even if he did, at some point, you highly doubt he’d ever care.

He never even dares to do anything for the sake of you and the other members of the publication. All that matters to him is his reputation won’t be tainted, all that matters to him is his fellow faculty personnel praising him for ‘training’ the student journalists well. Once anyone tries to ask about the hardships you face for the sake of his image, he’s dead silent as if he was born with a mouth meant to only open to speak well of himself.

“But, Mr. Kim...” you started, trying to find a way out of this.

He raised a hand to stop you. “I know you’re not thrilled about it, but you’re the best person for the job. Your photos were impressive, and I believe your interview can be just as great.”

Of course he only cares about the final result. That’s how things have always been. But each time you get reminded of it, you still always end up finding it in you to stay. There was no way you were going to let a lazy man pushing his 50’s ruin your passion for you.

You swallowed hard, feeling cornered. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” he said, with no hint of apology in his voice. “This is a big opportunity, not just for you, but for our entire publication. I trust you can handle it.”

Our, and yet you’ve done things for the publication more than he ever has.

“Which player?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“That’s up to you,” Mr. Kim said. “Choose the one you think will provide the most compelling story. But remember, I’m expecting something exceptional from you.”

You nodded wordlessly, the weight of the new assignment settling heavily on your shoulders. The initial joy of the dean’s praise was overshadowed by the dread of what lay ahead.

“Alright,” you said, standing up. “I’ll get to work on it.”

As you left Mr. Kim’s office, your mind raced with endless thoughts. The joy you had felt moments earlier was now buried under layers of anxiety and frustration. You had been avoiding the football team for weeks, and now, you were being thrust back into their world with a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Walking through the halls, you tried to think of a strategy. Who could you interview? Who would be willing to share their story, and more importantly, who could you tolerate enough to spend time with?

As you approached your locker, you saw Yeosang leaning against it, waiting for you. He noticed the troubled look on your face immediately.

“Hey, what’s up? You look troubled,” he said, concern evident in his voice.

You sighed and began recounting everything about the conversation you had with Mr. Kim. “Remember when I took photos of the football team for your sports article?”

“Yeah, I do. Why?” he asked, tilting his head as he had no idea where this conversation would lead to.

“Mr. Kim showed those photos to the dean, and she loved them,” you started, watching Yeosang’s eyes light up with pride for you. “She even said she’d love to read a magazine of the university’s football team if those shots were to be included.”

“That’s amazing!” Yeosang beamed, but his excitement dimmed when he saw you weren't sharing his enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s more,” you continued. “Mr. Kim wants to make the dean’s wishes come true by actually publishing a magazine. And for that, he wants me to interview one of the football players.”

Yeosang’s face fell into a more serious expression. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I don’t know who to choose. I don’t know enough about any of them to know if they’ll be insufferable during the interview or not,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice.

Yeosang thought for a moment before suggesting, “What about Hongjoong? He seems to be the most wise and logical of them all. He’s like their team’s ‘captain,’ anyway, so it makes sense to interview him.”

You looked at him, skeptical. “I don’t even know how to contact him.”

“Why else do you think would I have suggested interviewing Hongjoong if I wasn’t prepared beforehand?”

“Huh?”

With a smile, Yeosang pulled out his phone and handed it to you, displaying Hongjoong’s contact information.

Confused and surprised, you asked, “Now… why on earth do you have Hongjoong’s number?”

Yeosang chuckled. “I’m a sports writer. Of course, I’d have his and the team’s numbers.”

You shook your head, slightly amused. “It would’ve been way better for you to be the one conducting the interview instead.”

“But it’s not me, is it?" Yeosang replied, gently nudging your shoulder. “Mr. Kim entrusted this task to you for a reason. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The moment you got home after school, you wasted no time in sending a message to Hongjoong.

“Hey, Hongjoong. This is the head photojournalist of our school’s publication. I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out because we’re working on a magazine about the daily lives of student athletes, and for this feature, I need to conduct an interview with a member of the football team. If you don’t mind, would you be available for it this Friday?”

Truth be told, you had no idea how the interview would play out. The thought of sitting down with a football team member filled you with a mixture of dread and anxiety. You hoped Hongjoong would agree to your request, sparing you the need to approach any other football player. You couldn’t shake the fear that Wooyoung had told his teammates about your vulnerable moment by the bleachers. The idea of facing any of them, knowing they might be aware of your breakdown, was unbearable.

You desperately wanted Hongjoong to agree, not just because he seemed the most approachable, but because the alternatives were too daunting to consider. The mere thought of interacting with the rest of the team made your stomach churn.

Meanwhile, at Jongho’s apartment, the football team was scattered around the living room. Hongjoong received your message and decided to share it with the group.

“Hey, everyone, listen up,” Hongjoong called out, standing in the middle of the room. “I just got a message from the head photojournalist of the journalism club. She said she had to interview one of us for a magazine about student athletes—a task from Mr. Kim, it seems.”

Seonghwa looked up from his phone, curiosity piqued. “Just how many more articles about us is that old man planning on publishing? Did she say who she wants to interview, anyway?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Well, she asked if I was available, so I can only guess it’s me.”

“When’s it set?” Mingi asked. He was not planning on volunteering for the interview in case Hongjoong would not be available at all, but he just wanted to know.

“The interview is set for this Friday. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the dean on the very same day, though.” Hongjoong explained. “Is anyone else free?”

San, lounging on the couch, quickly spoke up. “I’ve got a family occasion I can’t skip. Sorry, can’t do it.”

“Same here,” Jongho added. “My cousins are coming over, and I’m stuck entertaining them.”

Seonghwa sighed. “I’ve got a major project due next week. I’ll be buried in the library all weekend.”

Yunho, who had been half-listening while playing a game on his phone, shrugged. “I’ve got practice for another sport. Busy all day Friday.”

Mingi chimed in lazily, sprawled across an armchair. “An interview sounds like too much work. I’d rather just chill.”

“We’ve got everyone having valid reasons for not being available, and you’re out here saying you can’t do it because you’d rather chill?”

Just as a bickering session between Mingi and Hongjoong was about to bloom, Wooyoung emerged from Jongho’s room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice still groggy as he had just woken up.

Hongjoong turned to him, hopeful. “Hey, Woo. Are you free this Friday?”

Wooyoung nodded, still processing his surroundings. He squinted his eyes while being lost in thought, trying to recall if he had anything planned for that day. Once he was certain the date on his calendar was blank, he traced his gaze back to Hongjoong. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Hongjoong handed him the phone, showing him your message. “The head photojournalist wants to do an interview for a magazine about student athletes. She asked if I was available, but if you’re free, maybe you can do it instead since I’ve got something else scheduled on Friday this week.”

Wooyoung glanced at the message blankly, looking at the top of the phone screen to check Hongjoong’s low battery percentage first before finally getting himself to focus and read the message from an unknown contact. “Photo girl?”

“If that’s what you call her, then yeah.”

“Sure, I can do it,” he said, handing the phone back to Hongjoong. “No problem.”

“Great,” Hongjoong said, patting him on the back. “I’ll let her know.”

“Your phone’s about to shut down, by the way.”

After a few minutes of impatiently waiting, your phone screen finally lit up as your notification went off. When you read the message on your phone, a sigh escaped your lips.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but it looks like the rest of the team and I are unavailable on the day you set for the interview. Here’s a rundown: San has a family event that he can't miss, Seonghwa has a big exam the next day and needs to study, Jongho’s cousins are visiting, and he has to show them around, Mingi said he’s too lazy and doesn't want to do it, Yunho’s got some extra training sessions scheduled, and I have a meeting with the dean that I can't reschedule. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

When you said you didn’t want to interview any of them, you didn’t mean... this. How were you supposed to conduct the interview for the magazine now? You certainly couldn’t afford to disappoint Mr. Kim again.

Then you saw Hongjoong typing again, and the moment his next message arrived, you felt another wave of dread wash over you.

“Wooyoung is available on that day, though, so you could interview him instead. Would that be alright with you?”

Your heart sank.

This was exactly what you had been dreading. The last person you wanted to spend any time with, let alone conduct a one-on-one interview with, was Wooyoung. The thought of facing him again, especially after he had seen you in a vulnerable state, was something you couldn’t handle.

You desperately clung to the hope that maybe some of the others’ reasons for not being available would fall through. Maybe San’s family event would get postponed, or Jongho’s cousins would cancel. You didn’t want this. It felt like a cruel twist of fate.

But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t risk disappointing Mr. Kim and the dean or tarnishing the reputation of the publication. You knew the value of the activity, even if you hated it. Your commitment to your work and the expectations placed on you left you with no other option.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine with me.”

You sent the message, even though every fiber of your being was stressing over the impending interview. The uncertainty of how it would go and the anxiety of facing Wooyoung again weighed heavily on you.

Yet, you had to push through and maintain your professionalism, no matter how difficult it might be, your words from a conversation you had with Yeosang a while ago echoing in your head.

There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.

You didn’t know for sure how longer you could hold out until you’d eventually betray yourself, and you certainly didn’t want to find out.

—

It was now Friday.

You had scheduled the interview with Wooyoung after school, ensuring that no one would interrupt and ruin things for you. You had informed Hongjoong of the time and place, opting to avoid the trouble of negotiating with an airheaded Wooyoung. The field, usually bustling with activity, would be quieter in the late afternoon, providing a suitable backdrop for your interview.

This was the first time in your life you wished for your classes to last longer, hoping to stretch the gap between the time now and the schedule for the interview. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus while your professor endlessly droned on; your mind was preoccupied with how you would handle the upcoming encounter. You resolved to be more closed off and professional, determined to keep the interview strictly business so that there would be no room for Wooyoung to bring up your breakdown by the bleachers weeks ago.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the last class, you felt an overwhelming urge to just stay inside the classroom as you’d melt away in your seat forever until you’re gradually reduced to nothing but a soaked spot on the floor. But you couldn’t. You had responsibilities to fulfill, and most importantly, expectations to live up to.

You arrived at the field, where the setting sun cast long shadows across the grass. The air was cooler, and the usual buzz of student activity had quieted down, with only a few students still inside of the school building. You spotted Wooyoung near the bleachers, casually leaning against a post, his carefree demeanor unchanged. On the bridge of his nose sat a colorful bandage, and for a moment, you wonder whether he had a small cut on that area or if he simply stamped it on his face for a fun little look. Knowing him, it was most likely the latter.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him, clutching your notebook and pen. Wooyoung noticed you and straightened up, a playful smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, ready for the interrogation?” he teased, but you kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started,” you said briskly, flipping open your notebook. “I want to make sure we cover everything efficiently.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow at your tone but didn’t comment further. “Alright, shoot.”

“How long have you been playing football?” you began with a simple question, your pen poised to jot down his answer.

“Since I was a kid, about six or seven,” he replied, leaning back slightly. “My dad used to take me to the park every weekend, and we’d mick the ball around. Those moments are some of my best memories. Ever since then, football became my escape, my way of expressing myself when words weren’t enough.”

You scribbled down his answer and quickly moved to the next question, opting for one that a lot of other people would relate to—at least you hope they would. “What do you think is the most challenging part of being a student-athlete?”

“Hmm,” Wooyoung leaned back, thinking. “Balancing academics and sports is tough. There are days when you feel like you can’t handle both, but you push through because you love the game. It’s about discipline, really. There are times I stay up late studying after a grueling practice, and times I miss out on social events because I have to train. But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it when you’re on the field, giving it your all.”

He threw in a joke about juggling books and balls, but you crossed it off your notes. Wooyoung noticed it, making him gasp. “Why did you cross that out? It was a good joke!”

It really wasn’t.

“This is for a professional interview,” you replied simply. “I can’t include your stand-up routine.”

As you continued asking questions, Wooyoung's carefree demeanor gradually shifted. He gave more serious, thoughtful answers that revealed a depth you hadn’t expected at all.

“Why do you think teamwork is important?” you asked.

“Teamwork is everything,” Wooyoung said earnestly. “No matter how skilled an individual player is, it’s the team itself that starts the gamble on whether you’ll win a game or not. Trusting each other, understanding each other’s strengths and weaknesses—that’s what makes a team strong. We push each other to be better, and we cover for each other’s mistakes. In life and on the field, you need people you can rely on, and who can rely on you.”

You noted his answer, feeling a flicker of surprise at his sincerity. This definitely didn't sound like the annoying star athlete you had always pegged him as. And it was strange. It was like seeing an entirely new side of him—and to be fair, that’s quite what’s actually happening.

“What are your future aspirations in football?” you continued, trying to keep the momentum.

“I want to go pro, of course,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But more than that, I want to inspire younger kids. Show them that with hard work and passion, they can achieve their dreams. Football taught me a lot about resilience, about fighting for what you want. If I can pass that on to the next generation, I’ll consider my career a success.”

You paused, glancing up at him. “That’s a very noble goal.” You didn’t have to say that, but you did.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung said, smiling. “Football gave me a lot. It’s only fair I give something back.”

The interview progressed smoothly, and you found yourself begrudgingly impressed by his maturity and insight. It was as if a different side of Wooyoung had emerged, one that was thoughtful and introspective. Throughout the interview, you kept stealing glances at his bandage, trying to decipher what design it had without being too obvious.

“Do you have any pre-game rituals or superstitions?” you asked, curious.

Wooyoung chuckled. “Oh, definitely. You know, I have this pair of socks I wore for every game back in high school. They’ve got holes in them, and my mom kept threatening to throw them out, but I couldn’t, because I wanted to keep it so bad back then—well, that was my past superstition. Right now, I always listen to the same playlist before a match—it’s a mix of hype songs and calm tracks to get me in the zone.”

You couldn't help but be amused by his answer, subtly looking down to see if he was wearing those socks in question—mentally sighing in relief when you were sure enough he wasn’t. “I suppose I’ll have to leave out the part about the socks.”

“Hey, those socks are legendary!" he protested, but you shook your head.

As you wrapped up, you asked one final question, “Any advice for students who are struggling to balance their academics and extracurricular activities?”

Wooyoung looked thoughtful. “Find your passion and let it drive you. It’s going to be tough, but if you love what you do, it’ll all be worth it. And don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. No one gets through life alone. Whether it’s friends, family, or teachers, there are always people willing to support you. Lean on them when you need to, and don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone struggles; it's how you handle it that defines you.”

His answer to the final question hit you on a level more personal than you ever would’ve expected it to, but you couldn’t afford to let it show.

The interview was done, but you felt a lingering sense of unfinished business. Closing your notebook, you decided to ask him another question, one that wouldn’t make it into the article but that you needed answered for your own peace of mind.

“Hey, Wooyoung, can I ask you something off the record?” you said, your tone softer and more hesitant than before.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Why do you keep pretending everything is perfect? I mean, you always seem so carefree and happy, but... is it really like that?”

Wooyoung's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He leaned back against the bleachers, gazing out at the field before speaking.

“Everyone thinks my life is perfect—it appears even you do, but hey, I don’t blame you for it,” he began slowly. “It’s just that the truth is, it’s actually far from it. Well, yeah, I joke around and try to keep things light, but that’s just my way of coping, you know? There’s a lot of pressure being the person everyone expects to be happy and successful all the time."

You listened intently, feeling a pang of empathy. It was like hearing your thoughts from a perspective that wasn’t the same as yours, yet was not as different either.

“Behind the scenes, it’s not always as great as it looks,” Wooyoung continued. "I have my own struggles too. There’s the constant pressure to perform, to keep up my grades, to maintain this image. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And then there’s my family. They expect a lot from me, and I don’t want to let them down. But sometimes, I feel like I’m living their dreams instead of my own. I guess... I just try to make the best of it, you know? If I can make people laugh and forget their problems for a while, maybe it makes mine a little easier to bear.”

You were silent for a moment, absorbing his words. This wasn't the Wooyoung you were used to seeing—the carefree, confident athlete. This was someone who, like you, carried his own burdens and insecurities.

You’ve always held a great amount of resentment towards him because you thought it was unfair for him to be living a life so colorful while you were trapped within the confines of which is your very own self. You hated hearing him laugh because it would do nothing but remind you of your silent cries deep in the night. You hated seeing him smile because all it does is flash an image of the natural frown your lips always wore in your head.

But after finding out just what he hid behind the curtains and just how similar you were to each other despite standing in different lights, you figured there was no longer any reason to continue to hate him—none in the first place—because if you continued to, it would only mean hating a part of yourself as well.

“I never would have guessed,” you admitted, albeit hesitantly, making Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that’s exactly the goal I’m aiming for.” He shrugged, looking down to his shoes on the floor while he swayed a foot back and forth.

“I get that a lot.”

“So why do you keep pretending that nothing affects you?”

Before the interview, you had resolved to keep everything strictly professional. But now, after hearing Wooyoung’s candid revelations, you felt a shift inside. The idea of maintaining that professional distance seemed less important. Finding out that Wooyoung wasn’t so different from you had extinguished the fire of hate you once felt for him.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. He noticed this and quickly added, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

But you did want to answer. You really, really did. The words just felt heavy on your tongue, and you struggled to find the right way to express them, is all.

“It's not easy,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always felt like I had to be perfect. Growing up, people relied on me so much that I started believing my worth was tied to my ability to solve their problems and never show my own.”

Wooyoung nodded silently to show you he was listening, his expression encouraging you to continue.

“Being perfect became my shield,” you said, staring at the grass as you spoke. “If I didn’t show any cracks, no one would see how much I was struggling. But it also meant I couldn’t afford to let anyone in. I couldn’t let anyone see that I wasn’t as strong as they thought I was.”

You let out a deep exhale, feeling the weight of your own words. “It gets lonely, you know? Always having to be the one who has it all together. People think I don’t have any problems because I don't show them, but the truth is... it’s just easier that way. If I start showing my vulnerabilities, I’m afraid everything will fall apart.”

Wooyoung listened intently, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. “I get that,” he said softly. “It’s like, if you let one crack show, the whole facade might crumble.”

“Exactly,” you replied, feeling a strange sense of relief at his understanding. “It’s exhausting, though. Sometimes I wish I could just... be myself. But I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

“Be nobody, then.”

There was a moment of silence as his words hung in the air.

“What?” you asked, not quite understanding.

“Be nobody,” he repeated, his tone thoughtful. “I mean, stop trying to fit into the mold of who you think you should be. Don’t worry about being perfect or living up to everyone’s expectations. Just... be. You don’t have to be somebody all the time, you know? Let go of all the roles and responsibilities for a moment. Be nobody, with no expectations and no pressure. It’s freeing.”

You stared at him, processing his words. “It’s easier said than done.”

“Well, yeah, it really is,” Wooyoung admitted. “But start small. Give yourself permission to not have all the answers, to not always be the strong one. Find moments where you can just exist without any labels or duties. For me, it’s when I’m on the field. I lose myself in those moments, and it feels like a break from everything else.”

His words resonated with you. The idea of just being, without the weight of expectations, sounded almost too good to be true. “But what if everything falls apart?”

“Then let it,” Wooyoung said with a small smile. “Sometimes things need to fall apart so they can come back together in a better way. And you don't have to do it alone. Lean on people you trust. Even if it's just one person, it makes a difference.”

—

You found yourself spending more time in the field than usual.

Following Wooyoung’s advice, you attempted to let go of your responsibilities, allowing yourself to simply be and do what made you happy rather than what needed to be done. But it was harder than you thought. You had become so accustomed to striving for perfection that you had forgotten what it felt like to make mistakes. You were so used to always being at your highest that your feet could no longer reach the lowest, and it was suffocating.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Looking towards the direction of the voice, you saw Wooyoung holding a football, a smile on his face. “How’s the nobody journey going for you?”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s... difficult. Harder than I thought it would be.”

He walked over and sat down beside you, placing the football between his feet. “Yeah, it’s not something that happens overnight. But hey, it’s a process. You don’t have to get it right immediately.”

“I’ve been trying,” you admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. “But I’m so used to being perfect, to not making mistakes. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to cut myself some slack.”

Wooyoung nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I get that. When you’re used to always being on top, it feels like you can’t afford to slip, even a little. But that’s exactly why it’s important to let yourself be imperfect sometimes. It’s the only way to really breathe.”

You glanced at him, appreciating his empathy. “How do you do it? How do you find those moments to just be nobody?”

He shrugged, looking out at the field. “I find activities that let me lose myself. For me, it’s playing football—but you probably already know that, or even just hanging out with friends without any pressure. It’s about finding little pockets of freedom in your day.”

You nodded slowly, trying to take his advice to heart. “I guess I need to find my own pockets of freedom.”

Wooyoung smiled, nudging you with his shoulder. “How about we play football together?”

“Huh?”

You hesitated, feeling a bit on edge. The idea of playing football seemed so far from your comfort zone. “I’m not really... experienced with that. And what good would playing football with you do?”

He grinned, unfazed by your reluctance. “It’ll probably be a good way for you to loosen up. You don’t have to be good at it. Just kick the ball around, have some fun. No expectations, no pressure. It’s a chance to be nobody, remember?”

You frowned, still uncertain. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been the type to do such things.”

“And that’s exactly why you should try it,” he countered. “It’s not about being the best or even being good. It’s about doing something different, letting go, and just enjoying the moment. Come on, what do you have to lose?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of your hesitations. But his enthusiasm was contagious, and a part of you yearned for that freedom he talked about. “Alright, fine. But don’t laugh at me if I mess up.”

“Deal.”

You and Wooyoung got off the bleachers and walked onto the field. The grass felt soft under your feet, the evening sun casting long shadows. Wooyoung placed the football on the ground and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he said. Wooyoung placed the football down and began explaining with a focused expression. “So, there are different types of kicks in football. The most basic one is the inside-of-the-foot kick, which is good for short passes. You want to strike the ball with the inner part of your foot like this.” He demonstrated, tapping the ball lightly with the side of his foot.

“You can also use the top of your foot for a more powerful kick, like when you’re trying to shoot for a goal.” He took a step back and swung his leg, striking the ball with the laces of his shoe, sending it flying a few meters away. “See? More power.”

Nodding, you tried to absorb the information. “Okay, inside of the foot for control, top of the foot for power. Got it.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung said, retrieving the ball. “Now, let’s talk about dribbling. Dribbling is all about keeping the ball close to your feet while you move. You want to use small touches to guide the ball and keep it under control. Like this.” He began moving around you, tapping the ball lightly with each step, keeping it close to his feet.

“Try to keep your knees slightly bent and your body low,” he continued. “It’ll help you change directions quickly and keep the ball close.”

You watched closely, then attempted to mimic his movements. Your first try was clumsy, sending the ball away from you. Bracing yourself for the inevitable teasing, you were surprised when Wooyoung didn’t laugh or make fun of you. Instead, he smiled warmly.

“That’s not quite it. Here, I’ll demonstrate for you,” he said, jogging after the ball and bringing it back, showing you how to correct your stance and control your touches.

“Remember, small touches,” he encouraged. “Don’t be afraid to move with the ball. It’s like dancing. Feel the rhythm.”

After a few more attempts, you started to get the hang of it. “Alright, I think I’m getting it.”

Wooyoung grinned. “You’re doing great! Now, let’s combine the dribbling with the kicking. Try dribbling a few steps and then pass the ball back to me using the inside of your foot.”

You followed his instructions, managing a somewhat decent dribble before passing the ball back. Wooyoung received it with ease and nodded in approval. “Nice job! You’re improving already.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself enjoying the practice. Wooyoung’s patient guidance and genuine enthusiasm made it easier to let go of your usual reservations.

As Wooyoung continued to explain the different techniques and strategies of football, you found yourself increasingly impressed by his knowledge and passion. It was evident that he practically breathed football. Every word he spoke was filled with an enthusiasm that was contagious, and his demonstrations were executed with such skill and precision that you couldn’t help but be in awe.

It struck you that Wooyoung wasn’t just good at football—he was exceptional. Watching him move with such ease and confidence, you realized that this wasn’t just a sport to him; it was a way of life. His dedication and love for the game were palpable, and it was inspiring to see someone so genuinely committed to something they cared about.

This new perspective was enlightening. Where you once harbored resentment and annoyance, you now saw a depth and passion that was impossible to ignore. It made you reconsider your previous judgments and feel a newfound sense of liking for him.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that Wooyoung had stopped talking. He waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Hey, earth to you. Are you still with me?” he teased, a playful grin on his face.

You blinked, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I’m listening. Go on.”

Already encouraged by your progress, he continued explaining. “There’s also the outside-of-the-foot kick, which is great for bending passes or shots. You strike the ball with the outside edge of your foot. It takes a bit more practice to get the curve right.” He demonstrated with a swift kick, sending the ball curving gently to the side.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” you remarked, impressed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty handy. And for dribbling, you can use all parts of your foot—inside, outside, even the sole. It’s all about control and keeping the ball moving with you.”

You practiced these new techniques under his watchful eye. Each attempt brought a new correction or piece of advice from Wooyoung, who remained encouraging throughout. His dedication to helping you improve was surprising, and for the first time, you felt a connection beyond the usual frustrations and misunderstandings.

After another try at dribbling and kicking, Wooyoung clapped his hands together. “That’s it! You’re really getting the hang of this. Alright, so now, I’ll show you how to score a goal—”

“I know how a goal is scored, Wooyoung,” you interjected, although a little amused.

Awkwardly chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, right.”

Clearing his throat, he went back to the topic at hand in order to save himself from embarrassment. After Wooyoung finished his explanations, you both moved on to play together. You hesitated at first, still uncertain about whether you should do what you were about to. Sensing your reluctance, Wooyoung offered a reassuring smile.

“Remember, this is all about letting go of everything, alright?” he reminded you gently.

You both started kicking the ball around, your initial movements tentative. Wooyoung kept the ball rolling slowly toward you, encouraging you with gentle nods.

“Just give it a light tap,” he instructed as the ball rolled to your feet.

You swung your leg and sent the ball wobbling in an unexpected direction. Instinctively, you glanced at Wooyoung, expecting laughter just like how you did earlier, but he just smiled and jogged over to retrieve it—just like how he did earlier.

You gave it a shot once more, trying to replicate his past movements. The ball seemed to have a mind of its own, but Wooyoung's encouraging words kept you going. “You’re doing great, alright? Just keep practicing those small touches.”

Eventually, you started to get the hang of it, and Wooyoung suggested a simple game. “Let’s see if you can get past me and score a goal.”

A bit of your initial hesitation returned, but you nodded. “Okay, I'll try.”

The two of you began to play more energetically. Wooyoung lets you get the ball first, challenging you to maneuver around him. You were barely managing to keep the ball at your feet, but Wooyoung was always there, offering pointers and occasionally stealing the ball only to pass it back to you with a playful grin.

“Come on, you got this!” he encouraged.

You finally found a rhythm, dribbling the ball toward the goal. Wooyoung stayed close, but he wasn't making it too hard. When you took a shot and scored, he laughed excitedly and jogged over to you, his hand raised for a high five. “Nice one! That was awesome!”

Surprised, you mimicked his actions, raising your hand awkwardly. When he slapped his palm against yours in a celebratory high five, you were taken aback by the simple but genuine gesture.

“See? You're getting the hang of it,” he said, his eyes shining with pride.

The game continued, each moment building on the last, with both of you enjoying the newfound experience and the simple act of playing for fun. As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

For once, you were nobody.

—

You haven’t talked to Wooyoung days after playing football with him on the field, but you figured it made complete sense for things to be this way. You seem to only run into him during the times you felt like you wanted to be nobody, and at the times when you had to be somebody, he was completely out of your line of sight. Maybe that’s how things are meant to be, so you never really gave it any thought. On a few moments, however, you find yourself wondering if he’s holding out well, but you don’t quite understand why. You’ve been telling yourself it’s because you were just a concerned citizen at heart, but even that seems weird.

Unbeknownst to you, the exact same thoughts clouded Wooyoung’s mind. Whenever he and his team would conduct a practice match on the field, he’d find himself occasionally stealing glances at the bleachers, sighing to himself when he’s met with an empty sight. He doesn’t know why, but after spending a day being nobody with you, he figured those days would occur more often afterwards, so that’s precisely why he feels disappointed whenever he doesn’t see you sitting by the bleachers.

Opening your locker, you were about to reach for a textbook piled on top of others of its same kind yet covering different subject areas, but it wasn’t until you heard a laugh that was too familiar to you for your liking erupt from the end of the halls that you stopped dead in your motion, making Yeosang let out a confused hum.

“What’s up?”

You didn’t mutter out anything for an answer, immediately turning your head towards the direction you heard his voice from. And there he was, laughing loudly with his clapping hands echoing throughout the almost quiet surroundings while Mingi and San, who stood by either of his sides, seemed to have been cracking jokes back and forth.

The moment his eyes met yours, however, he was quicker than a millisecond to shut his mouth and forget just what exactly did Mingi respond to San’s awfully executed joke that made him laugh way more than he was probably supposed to. San, noticing the shift in his behavior, nudged his shoulder.

“What’s in your mind?”

Both you and Wooyoung avert your eyes from each other, you aggressively closing your locker shut before turning your attention back to Yeosang, whereas Wooyoung simply waved his hands off towards San.

“Nothing,” you both said in unison, unbeknownst to one another.

You were nearly losing your mind trying to figure out just how much you really knew yourself. You had told Yeosang nothing was up—but somehow, part of you refuses to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t the truth at all and was just something you wished you really meant.

Something was up, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

“Nothing, huh?” Yeosang teased, eyeing you with a skeptical look. “Well, you better mean that because we can’t afford to have any distractions in our way this week.”

“This week?” You leaned against your locker with your brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s anything new about that. We’re always busy at this very same week during this very same month every year,” he shrugged, making the left side of his jacket fall off on his shoulder, assuming you were only playing around.

“No, wait, Yeosang. What’s up?” you inquired, sounding genuinely curious—which caught him off guard.

“No way. Have you forgotten what always happens during this time of the year?”

“Clearly…?”

“The Autumn Harmony Festival. Any bells ringing in your head now?”

Ah, right.

Every year, the university holds a grand festival known as the “Autumn Harmony Festival.” It’s a long-standing tradition, celebrating the unity and diversity of the student body. The festival spans an entire weekend, featuring a variety of events that cater to different interests. There are music performances from student bands, dance shows, art exhibitions, food stalls representing cuisines from around the world, and games with prizes. Clubs and organizations set up booths to showcase their activities and recruit new members. The festival’s highlight is the cultural parade, where students wear traditional attire from their respective backgrounds, creating a vibrant and colorful spectacle. It's a time when the entire campus comes alive with laughter, music, and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air. The event not only provides a break from academic pressures but also fosters a sense of community and belonging among the students.

“Oh,” you mused, eyes scanning the entire hallway. “Right.”

Yeosang audibly gasped—you’re unsure if he did it playfully or if he was seriously offended that you forgot about the annual festival, placing a hand on his hip. “Yeah, right. You seriously forgot?”

“Well…” you trailed off, sheepishly rubbing your nape. “I’ve been pretty busy, so I guess that’s why I kinda forgot about it.”

“Busy with what?”

That, you cannot answer. Not because you didn’t want to, yet rather because you had no idea how to. Was being busy due to your never ending thoughts even a valid reason to begin with?

“Just… things.”

“These things could either scale from being busy with your schoolwork to being busy with hunting down each football team within the shadows, so I’m just gonna pretend I never asked you what you’re busy with in the first place.”

“Do you actually think I’m capable of doing that?” you asked, mildly offended.

“Well, you never know which people here on campus would end up harboring murder tendencies on a random day,” he shrugged.

“I think we should just go back to talking about the festival before any passersby start looking at us weirdly.”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Yeosang agreed, looking around the halls. “Well, the journalism club will be having a meeting about it later today,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “You have the group chat on mute, remember? You don’t quite like everyone there other than me.”

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I forgot about that.”

Time passed quickly, and soon it was time for the journalism club meeting. You and Yeosang hurriedly headed to the club’s office, ready to discuss the festival coverage and immediately settling down the moment you both stepped foot inside.

“Alright,” Mr. Kim began speaking, clasping his hands together. “As you all know, the Autumn Harmony Festival is right around the corner. You might be wondering why conducting a meeting about it is necessary, but here’s the catch—for this year’s festival, the student council has bigger plans than usual, although they’re struggling with making all of it come true as they are quite short of people who can help them out. So…”

Silence engulfed the room, and by looking at everyone’s expressions alone, you could easily tell that they all knew where Mr. Kim was headed.

“The student council president, Karina, reached out to me to ask if we could lend them a hand. Of course, our duties and theirs do not differ that much from each other, so I figured accepting their proposal would not be a bad decision. That being said, we will be busier for the next few weeks. But of course, that doesn’t mean we’ll push our responsibilities to the side. We still need to publish an article the day after the festival, so I’m gonna need all of you to stay until the very last second of the event to document everything.”

You pursed your lips, hoping there wouldn’t be a further catch.

But much to your dismay, Mr. Kim continued speaking. “And for this year’s article, I’ve decided that our lead photojournalist will be the main one to cover the event.”

So much for wanting to stay in the shadows for once.

Just then, a noticeable shift occurred in the room. Eyebrows were raised, eyes were rolled, quiet sighs were released, and even few members exchanged knowing glances. No one said anything outright, but you could sense the undercurrent of resentment. You had always been observant, and this moment was no exception.

Suddenly, one of the members, Minjae, a junior who has always held a competitive soul, couldn’t contain his frustration. “Why is it always her?" he burst out, standing up as everyone turned their eyes towards him. “Every big assignment, it’s always her. What about the rest of us? Are we just not good enough?”

Yeosang quickly stood up to intervene. “Minjae, sit down. Now’s not the time—”

You gently tugged Yeosang back, making him sit down. He looked at you, confusion and concern etched on his face, but you met his gaze with a blank expression and a slight shake of your head, silently telling him to let Minjae continue speaking.

Mr. Kim tried to interject as well, “Minjae, this is not the way to handle—”

But he continued, ignoring Mr. Kim. “She acts like she’s better than all of us just because she takes good photos and aces her classes. It’s ridiculous! She’s not even a team player. She’s just Mr. Kim’s favorite. It’s like she’s the only one who matters. We’re all working hard here, but we never get the same recognition. Maybe if she shared the spotlight, we’d have a chance to show what we can do, too! If she actually bothered to socialize or help others instead of hogging all the work, we wouldn’t feel this way. But no, she’s too busy being the perfect little photojournalist, right?”

The final straw snapped. You slammed your hands on the table, the sound reverberating through the eerily silent room. Standing up abruptly, you walked over to Minjae and slapped him across the face. The force of the slap left a stinging red mark on his cheek, and everyone gasped, wide-eyed and shocked.

With venom in your voice, you finally spoke, “Maybe if you actually bothered to do your work properly, then I wouldn’t have to butt in to mend your mistakes every single time. You think I want to be here fixing your half-assed efforts? Think again. I do what I do because I care about this publication and our reputation. You, on the other hand, are too busy whining instead of actually contributing anything meaningful. You talk about being a team player? All you ever do is complain and shirk responsibility. You think you deserve the spotlight? Prove it. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

Minjae stood there, stunned, unable to respond as you turned on your heel and walked out of the room. Yeosang quickly followed, but not before casting a scathing look at the others. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done,” he said, voice low and filled with disappointment.

Minjae, nursing his cheek, looked at Mr. Kim. “She hit me. There has to be some offense for that!”

Mr. Kim remained silent for a moment, then simply said, “Sit down, Minjae.”

Yeosang caught up with you in the hallway, gently tugging your arm. "Hey, wait up."

You shooed his hand away, turning around to face him calmly. “Go back to the office, please.”

He shook his head, concern etched on his face. “I’m not leaving you alone after that. You need someone right now.”

You sighed, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in your eyes. “But what if I want to be alone? What if that’s what I need?”

Yeosang hesitated but tried again. “I get that, but I can’t just—”

You gently pushed his shoulder back, giving it an affirming squeeze to let him know you weren’t mad at him. “Just leave me be for now, Yeo. I promise I’ll come by when I’m feeling lighter.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of anger towards him, but found none. With a reluctant nod, he pulled out a tiny crocheted voodoo doll with a keychain attached to it from his pocket. “Here, take this. In a way, you’ll still have me with you.”

You vividly recall him crocheting the doll during one of your sleepovers back in high school and being absolutely freaked out when you saw it hung by your ceiling fan the morning after. You still have no idea why he chose to crochet a voodoo doll out of everything else back then to this date—but then again, Yeosang has always been full of surprises, so much so to the point you’ve eventually learned to expect the unexpected from him at all times.

“You still have this?” you mused, hooking your index finger through the keychain and lifting it up.

“I thought it could be useful someday,” Yeosang shrugged. “Just… promise me you’ll let me know once you’re feeling better, alright?”

“I will, I promise.” You gave him an affirming nod before turning your heel, your form gradually decreasing in his point of view the further you walked away. You and your well-being meant the whole world to him, and he could only hope you felt the same way about yourself, too.

You don’t know where your feet are leading you, but the next thing you knew the moment you snapped out of your thoughts was that your line of sight was filled with greenery matched with the bright blue sky. The tranquility of the field provided a stark contrast to the tension you felt inside. You found a secluded spot on the bleachers and sat down, trying to clear your mind.

Just as you began to relax, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Hey, stranger.”

You looked up to see Wooyoung standing there, a warm smile on his face. He held a football under his arm.

“Wooyoung,” you said, your voice coming off as mildly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured to the rest of his team entering the field one by one. “We’re having a practice match.”

“Oh, right. Makes sense,” you replied, though your voice lacked its usual steadiness.

Wooyoung’s smile faded as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. To others, your expression might seem no different from usual, but somehow, Wooyoung could easily tell something was up. “What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

You shook your head lightly. “Nothing. Go to the field. It looks like your teammates are waiting for you.”

He glanced at his teammates, then back at you. “Stay here. I’ll make sure we finish practice early.”

Confused, you asked, “Why?”

“Just... stay, alright? Don’t leave.”

With that, Wooyoung ran off to join his team. San was the first to notice something different. “What were you talking about?” he asked, with skepticism in his voice.

For once, Wooyoung didn’t play along with their teasing. “Let’s start the match,” he said to Hongjoong, his tone more serious than usual. Everyone noticed the shift in Wooyoung’s behavior, but no one dared to say anything.

As you remained seated on the bleachers, you watched Wooyoung and his team practice. The rhythmic thud of the ball and the shouts of the players filled the air, providing a temporary distraction from the turmoil in your mind. You replayed Mark’s words over and over, each repetition cutting deeper. Despite knowing he had no right to say those things, his accusations hurt more than you cared to admit.

Were you really stealing their spotlight? Was it wrong to take charge because no one else seemed up for it? Was trying to be enough, too much?

Wooyoung stole glances at you throughout the match, his concern evident. You noticed but pretended not to, focusing on the game as if it could somehow drown out your thoughts.

When the match ended, Jongho suggested going out to eat. “I’ll pass,” Wooyoung said, catching everyone off guard.

“Why?” Hongjoong asked, his confusion mirrored by the rest of the team as it was a first for him to reject such a proposal.

Wooyoung’s gaze shifted momentarily towards you. “There are things more important that I want to prioritize.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks but knew better than to pry. Seonghwa glanced at you briefly, then turned back to Wooyoung with a knowing smile—one he didn’t quite catch. “You’re free to catch up if you want.”

After the rest of the team left the field, he was quick to run towards where you sat. “Hey,” he said softly, slightly out of breath. “Mind if I sit?” You wordlessly nodded, shifting slightly to give him space.

“So… what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes reflecting the confusion and hurt you felt inside. “Am I too much, Wooyoung?”

His eyes widened slightly at your question, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his face. He took a deep breath, clearly wanting to choose his words carefully.

“Why would you think that?” Wooyoung asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

You fidgeted with the voodoo doll keychain in your hands, finding it difficult to articulate the storm inside you. “It’s... complicated.”

Wooyoung could sense your struggle, and for a moment, you felt a ghost of his touch on the back of your shoulders, but it left just as quick as it appeared. “Hey, take your time. You don’t have to rush it all out.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “Earlier today... in the journalism office, something happened. We were discussing our plans for the upcoming Autumn Harmony Festival, and Mr. Kim chose me to be the main one to cover the event. And…”

“And?” Wooyoung prompted, listening intently.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. “I don’t want to give away any details, but someone said really hurtful things. They accused me of... hogging the spotlight, of not being a team player. They said I act like I’m better than everyone else.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, though he remained silent, letting you continue.

“It made me question everything. Am I really doing the right thing for the club? Is caring about our reputation so wrong? I’ve always thought I was helping, but maybe... I don’t know, maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. My mind’s a total mess and I just—”

Your voice broke, and tears started to well up in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but the emotional weight was too much. Wooyoung watched you with a mixture of empathy and anger, his heart aching for you while a burning rage simmered inside him at the thought of someone hurting you like this—he doesn’t quite understand why he feels this way.

“I... I just don’t know anymore,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you started to cry.

Wooyoung’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “Can I… can I hug you?”

You wordlessly nodded, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely.

“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. “You’re allowed to feel this way. Let it all out.”

You clung to the fabric of his shirt, sobbing quietly as he continued to hold you, offering silent support. His presence was a calming anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

Wooyoung’s thoughts raced. Who would ever have the nerve to speak such words to you when you were one of the most hardworking people he’s ever known? But for now, he focused on comforting you, letting you know that you weren’t alone.

When your sobs finally began to subside, he pulled back slightly to look at you, immediately taking his hand off your shoulder the moment he took note of the proximity. “You are not too much, alright? You’ll never be,” he said firmly. “You’re doing the right thing by caring about the club and its reputation. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that. You’re dedicated and passionate, and that’s something to be proud of.”

You looked into his eyes, and you swore you’ve never felt so seen before.

Wooyoung brushed a stray tear from your cheek and asked softly, “Do you mind telling me who it was?”

You looked at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Why?” He hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “I’m just… curious, y’know.”

You sighed, glancing away for a moment. “Do you know anyone named Minjae?” Wooyoung nodded. “Oh, yeah, I do. You get to know a lot of people when you’re well-known around school—kinda like a package deal, if you think about it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek debating whether to say more or to just leave things as is. Finally, you sighed once more and said, “It was him.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened slightly, but he simply nodded. “I see.”

He didn’t press further, sensing that you needed a break from the topic. Instead, he pointed at the voodoo doll keychain in your hands with a curious and somewhat mildly horrified look. “What’s the doll for?”

“So, you see…”

The following day, you walked into the journalism office, still feeling the emotional remnants of yesterday’s confrontation. As you opened the door, expecting the usual hustle and bustle, you were met with a surprising sight: Minjae, diligently working at his desk.

He looked up when he heard the door and, catching your eye, gave a small, somewhat awkward nod before returning to his work. You stood there for a moment, processing the scene. It was strange seeing him so focused, especially after what had happened.

Yeosang, noticing your surprise, walked over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

You nodded slowly, still staring at Minjae. “Yeah, just... surprised, I guess.”

He followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Maybe yesterday had more of an impact than we thought.”

You turned to him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your eyes. “Do you think... do you think he’s actually trying to make up for what he said?”

Yeosang shrugged. “It’s possible. Sometimes people just need a wake-up call.”

As you moved further into the office and sat down at your desk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty. Minjae working diligently was a stark contrast to his usual behavior, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this change would last.

Yet for now, you decided to focus on your own work, letting the events of the previous day serve as a reminder that even when things seem overwhelmingly difficult, there can still be moments of unexpected change. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was one of those moments—well, hopefully.

As the lunch break bell rang a while later, you gathered your things, ready to head to the cafeteria with Yeosang. Just as you were about to leave the office, Minjae called out, “Hey, can you stay behind for a bit?”

You glanced at Yeosang, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. With a slight shrug, you nodded towards the door. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Yeosang gave Minjae a curious look before turning back to you. “I’ll be waiting at our usual spot,” he said, and with that, only you and Mark were left inside the room.

Turning to Minjae, you asked, “What’s the matter?”

Minjae took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I just… I want to apologize. For, y’know, everything. For all the things I said, for being a slacker, for misjudging you, for not doing my work. I’ve been a terrible team member and an even worse person. I let my insecurities and frustrations get the best of me, and I took it out on you. I was wrong, and I’m truly sorry. I’ve realized that I’ve been hiding behind my complaints instead of actually contributing and taking responsibility. You’ve been carrying the weight for all of us, and instead of appreciating your efforts, I resented you for it. I want to make it right. I’m going to start doing my part and prove that I can be better. Please, forgive me.”

You stood there, silent, processing his words. And you’re not sure if it’s due to the office’s painfully blinding fluorescent lights, but he looked like he had just gotten a black eye and covered it up with a mismatching shade of concealer. There was a little cut on the right corner of his lips, too.

After a few seconds, you let out a soft sigh. “I don’t need you to apologize, Minjae. I need you to take accountability for your actions. The words you’ve just said right now won’t mean a thing if you don’t keep the consistency of your efforts.”

Minjae nodded, clearly moved by your response. “I understand. I will. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

Just as you were about to leave, you paused and turned back to him. “And don’t be too comfortable with misjudging people. You, too, have a side within you that you don’t want to show people, don’t you? That’s the same case for everyone else. If what you did to me had been done to you, would you like it?”

Minjae’s eyes widened slightly as he absorbed your words. “No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted quietly. With a final nod, you turned and left the office.

Little did you know that Wooyoung had been standing just right outside the office door, listening in on your conversation.

Reaching the cafeteria, your eyes searched the crowded space for the familiar sight of Yeosang’s curly brown hair, sighing in relief when you spotted him sitting at your usual table positioned right beside the windows.

The moment you walked towards him, he wasted no time in interrogating you. “So… what was that about?”

“You tell me,” you sighed. “Who would have thought I’d hear such words from Minjae himself?”

“Why? What did he tell you back in the office?” he asked, resting both of his elbows on the table, slightly leaning forward in curiosity.

“Well, to start off, he apologized for being a slacker. Days within this university really are filled with surprises.” You shook your head, gazing out the window.

“You want me to believe your narrative that the Kim Minjae apologized for being a slacker?” Yeosang raised an eyebrow, skeptical of whether you were telling the truth or just making up blatant lies. Well, it’s not like you could blame him, anyway.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t believe it either, honestly. I mean, it’s good that he seems to be taking the very first few steps to turning over a new leaf now, but it was… weird, nevertheless. You know him well enough to know what happened yesterday couldn’t have possibly been enough for him to feel bad.”

Yeosang rubbed his chin with a finger, deep in thought. “Makes sense. Maybe someone else knocked some sense into his head?”

“And by who, exactly? That’s just downright ridiculous,” you shot him a questioning look, turning your head to the side ever so slightly when you heard the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter from the cafeteria’s entrance.

It was only then that you realized Yeosang still doesn’t have a single clue that your perception of Wooyoung had done a full 180 ever since you interviewed him for your publication’s magazine. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to know about it, yet rather, you simply felt like it would be unnecessary to bring it up. Wooyoung doesn’t have that big of a role in your life—or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself—anyway, so why should it matter?

“Well, it’s just a theory,” Yeosang defended himself. “Anyway, if—and only if, Minjae is actually planning on being consistent with his growth, then that means the weight you have to carry for the sake of our publication will gradually decrease. That’s a good thing, especially considering the festival is only a few weeks away,” he beamed.

“Our, Yeo, our. I don’t think you’re aware of how much you’ve helped me with handling my responsibilities,” you said, tilting your head lightly. “You’re a great person, you know? You should give yourself more credit.”

Yeosang awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to respond to your kind words. “Well, I mean, you’re my best friend. It’s only right for me to lend you a hand when it’s due,” he shrugged.

“I just told you to give yourself more credit and here you are doing the complete opposite,” you said, sighing.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cafeteria, Wooyoung and the rest of the football team were sitting together, their conversation lively and full of energy—as usual.

“Anyone else hyped about the Autumn Harmony Festival?” Seonghwa asked, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smile, a half-bitten sandwich in his hand.

“That’s gotta be me right here,” Mingi replied, grinning. “The festival’s always a blast. The food, the music, everything’s just awesome. I can’t wait to find out what they have in store for this year’s celebration.”

Hongjoong nodded in agreement. “Same here. I mean, last year’s festival was nothing short of absolute perfection, y’know? I wonder how they’ll top it off.”

“Don’t forget the championship game that’s only a week after the festival ends, though,” Jongho added. “We need to make sure we’re ready for that, too.”

“True, true,” Yunho agreed. “We’ve been training hard recently, but we can’t be complacent. We can’t slack off just because we have a festival in between.”

“Speaking of the festival,” San chimed in after leaning towards Seonghwa to gobble the remaining half of his sandwich. “What’s your favorite part of it? For me, it’s always the fireworks. There’s something magical about them.”

“This was only done last year, but my favorite’s gotta be Dilettante’s surprise dance performance,” Hongjoong said with a smile.

“Now that you’ve brought it up, that’s one of my favorite parts from last year’s festival, too. Suddenly seeing Yunho on stage after wondering why he was gone for the whole day gave me goosebumps,” San agreed, making Yunho shyly scratch his head.

“It would’ve been way cooler if Seonghwa was up there with me, though,” Yunho said, nudging Seonghwa who sat between him and San.

While everyone was agreeing with Yunho’s statement—save for Wooyoung who had been awfully quiet for a while now, Seonghwa was quick to brush them all off. “I don’t have the spirit for dancing anymore, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“But if we’re talking about our favorite moments in the festival, it would be the atmosphere at night for me. Everything feels so alive—and the couples walking around holding hands, too,” Seonghwa added. “It’s kind of cute, seeing everyone so happy and in love.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, the festival is definitely a romantic place. It’s like the perfect setting for a date.”

At the mention of a date, Wooyoung’s thoughts immediately drifted to you. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to spend the festival with you. His eyes shifted across the cafeteria to where you were sitting with Yeosang, engrossed in a conversation. You must have felt his eyes on you, for you glanced up and met his stare. Caught off guard, Wooyoung quickly looked away, focusing back on his friends.

“There’s something about festivals that just brings out the romance in people,” Yunho mused. “The music, the lights, the whole vibe. It’s like you’re in a different world.”

“Exactly,” San agreed. “And you know what? Sometimes, it’s not about having someone special to spend it with. Just being in that atmosphere makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“You guys are getting all sappy,” Jongho teased, but there was a wide smile on his face. “But yeah, I get it. There’s a certain charm to it all.”

“Hey, Woo,” Seonghwa said, turning to Wooyoung. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Wooyoung shrugged, playing it off. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

San, however, knew him too well to buy his excuse. Leaning closer, he asked, “Does this ‘stuff’ involve a certain someone, maybe?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Nah, just got a lot on my mind with the festival and the game coming up.”

Jongho nudged him. “Well, since that’s what we’re talking about right now, what’s your favorite part of the festival?”

Wooyoung thought for a moment. “I’d say the food stalls. There’s always something new to try, and it’s fun just walking around and tasting different things.”

Jongho nudged him again. “Speaking of which, who do you plan on spending the festival with?” Wooyoung shrugged, acting unbothered. “I don’t know. I’ll probably spend it alone.”

Yet he said so with a fragment of you appearing in his mind.

And almost as if by fate, Yunho suggested, “What about the head photojournalist?”

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You know,” Yunho said, eyes twinkling. “The head photojournalist. You guys would look cute together.”

“Totally. Imagine the fireworks reflecting in your eyes as you both stare at them,” Mingi added, his tone dreamy. “It’s like a scene straight out of a movie.”

“And then she goes to capture that perfect moment,” Hongjoong laughed. “Only to realize she’s part of the story.”

Wooyoung brushed them off, his cheeks warming. “You guys sound absolutely ridiculous. What are you, teenage girls?”

Yet despite his comment, they weren’t ready to drop the topic at all. They sensed an opportunity to have some fun at his expense and were eager to exploit it.

“You know, Woo, it’s not exactly ridiculous for us to think you’d look cute together,” Yunho said, grinning. “There’s definitely some chemistry there.”

San nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and think about it—she’s got that whole serious, focused vibe, and you’re the total opposite. It’s like a perfect balance. You’d bring out the fun side in her.”

Hearing the way San described you just made him realize he knows a part of you you’d never reveal to others—and he was someone you trusted enough to show him that part.

“And she’d probably help you stay out of trouble,” Jongho added with a laugh. “You need someone who can keep you in check, Woo. Plus, you can’t deny that you’re always a bit more... animated when you talk about her.”

“Not to mention, you literally have a nickname dedicated to her. You know, photo girl.” Hongjoong teased, making everyone laugh. Wooyoung shook his head, trying to hide a smile. “You guys are reading way too much into this.”

“Come on, Woo,” Seonghwa said, playfully nudging him. “You’ve got to admit there’s something there. Enemies to lovers is a classic trope for a reason. It’s all about the tension and the eventual realization that you actually care about each other.”

“Slowburn would probably be more fitting. It’s not enemies to lovers when she’s the only one who hates him.”

Do you, though?

Yunho’s eyes widened in mock excitement. “Think about the moment when you both realize you’re more than just rivals. The looks on your faces would be priceless.”

Mingi joined in, over the moon that Yunho gets his vision. “And the festival is the perfect setting for that kind of realization. All the romantic vibes, the lights, the music…”

“And then there’s the fireworks,” Hongjoong added, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “The perfect backdrop for a confession.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing at their enthusiasm. “You guys need to snap out of it.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “Maybe, but you can’t deny we’re onto something.”

“You’re not onto something—you’re on something.”

San wasn’t convinced, though. “Sure, sure. But let’s be real—if you were to be asked who you want to spend the festival with, she’s the first person who comes to mind, right?”

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to his friends. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Then think about it.”

And he did.

—

As the weekend approached, you found yourself diving headfirst into preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival alongside Yeosang, Minjae—surprisingly so, and the rest of the journalism club. The gymnasium buzzed with the sounds of laughter and chatter as you all worked together to bring the student council's vision to life. Paper lanterns hung from the rafters, colorful banners accentuated the walls, and tables were adorned with bright flower arrangements.

You were paired up with Karina, the student council president, who took you under her wing, guiding you through the handful of processes of creating the decorations. She showed you how to fold paper into elegant origami shapes, demonstrating each step with precision and grace.

“Alright, so first, you fold the paper in half like this,” Karina explained, her hands moving deftly as she demonstrated the technique. “Then, you fold the corners in towards the center, like so.”

You watched closely, mimicking her movements as you tried to keep up with her expertise. Despite your initial apprehension, Karina’s patient guidance put you at ease, and soon you found yourself getting into the rhythm of the task.

As you both worked, Karina couldn’t help but notice Minjae's uncharacteristically diligent efforts. She turned to you with a curious expression, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s gotten into Minjae? He’s usually not one to work so hard.”

You glanced over at Minjae, who was engrossed in arranging flowers with a focused expression. “You know Minjae?” you asked, surprised by the revelation.

Karina nodded with a chuckle. "Of course. He's the younger brother of my girlfriend, Minjeong. And let me tell you, he’s definitely not known for his work ethic.”

You shrugged, shaking your head in amusement. “I guess he just got a wake-up call,” you mused, turning your attention back to folding a paper origami.

As the day wore on, fatigue began to set in, and you found yourself longing for a break. Glancing over at Yeosang, who was focused on his own task, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hunger.

“Hey, are you hungry?” you asked, interrupting his concentration.

Yeosang looked up, a tired but grateful smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, I could go for a snack.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sudden craving for something salty and sweet. “I’ll go grab us some snacks from the convenience store down the street. Be right back.”

After informing Karina you’ll be off for a while to buy some snacks and asking her if she wanted anything from the convenience store as well, you set off on your own, the cool breeze outside a welcome relief from the stuffy gymnasium. As you walked, your mind wandered, thoughts of the festival and the tasks ahead swirling in your head.

The moment you entered the convenience store, the familiar chime of the door greeted you, signaling your arrival. Your first task was to find the ramen Karina had requested, scanning the aisles until you spotted the familiar packaging. With the ramen now in hand, you moved on to gather snacks for yourself and Yeosang.

Peeking through an aisle, your eyes widened slightly in surprise when you spotted a familiar figure browsing the shelves nearby.

“Wooyoung?”

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, a warm smile immediately spreading across his face as he recognized you. “Hey there,” he greeted, making his way over to you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

You shrugged, gesturing to the items in your hands. “Just picking up some snacks for myself and Yeosang. We’re helping with the festival preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival.”

“Preparations? What’s the journalism publication gotta do with that?” Wooyoung tilted his head, sounding genuinely curious. Well, you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“The student council president reached out to Mr. Kim a while ago to ask if we could lend them a helping hand since their plans for this year’s festival are bigger compared to the past few years, and they’re a bit short on people to be able to work on it by themselves—hence why a meeting was held a few days ago,” you explained. Upon processing your words, Wooyoung started to slowly nod his head.

“Asking for help is definitely a first for the student council. I wonder what they have in store this year…” he trailed off, picking his words back up after coming to a realization. “Hold on. You’re helping them out with the preparations, right?”

But you were quick to catch on what he was implying, responding by simply shaking your head. “No, Wooyoung. Any details about the festival are strictly confidential. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until the event takes place.”

He whined in disappointment, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself mildly amused.

“But there’s still two weeks left… you can’t even tell me what the theme for this year’s festival is?” he said, trying to persuade you into giving at least a crumb of information.

Yet all you did was shake your head once more. “Confidential means confidential. I’m sure what the student council has in store will cater to your liking, though.”

“Really? Why?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You brushed him off, still refusing to share any details. “Just trust me on this one.”

It wasn’t completely a lie. A few days ago, when Karina was briefing the journalism club about the festival plans, your immediate thought was, “Oh, that sounds like something Wooyoung would have fun with.” You had no idea why, but it was all you could think of. You imagined how wide the smile on his face would look under the glow of the light decorations. The thought of him enjoying the festivities filled you with an unexpected warmth, and you couldn’t help but look forward to seeing his reaction.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Yeosang, asking what was taking you so long. Quickly, you typed out a response and shoved the phone back into your pocket.

“What’s up?” Wooyoung asked, noticing the slight shift in your demeanor.

“Yeosang’s looking for me. I should probably get back,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, hesitant to bid farewell. There was an awkward silence between you, both seemingly unsure of why parting felt so difficult.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” you finally said, eager to break the silence.

“Right, yeah, see you,” Wooyoung replied, and for some reason, you had a feeling the smile on his face as he bid you farewell was forced.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze lingering on you. Through the glass wall of the convenience store, he watched you cross the street, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wooyoung was eventually snapped out of his reverie when his phone buzzed with a message from Hongjoong, reminding him of what specific brand and flavor of chips he wanted him to buy. Staring at the message notification blankly, he let out a soft sigh and turned his phone off, once again looking through the glass wall, only to find you no longer in his line of sight.

Returning to the gymnasium, you handed Karina the ramen she requested. “Here you go,” you said.

Karina looked up from the paper decorations she was working on, accepting the ramen with a grateful smile. “Thanks a lot! This tastes perfect. You should definitely try it out sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded, making your way over to where Yeosang was sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor. He looked up as you approached, a curious expression on his face. “What took you so long?”

You shrugged casually, setting down the snacks. “I happened to cross paths with Wooyoung in the convenience store.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? Where’s the usual ‘I-hate-Wooyoung-so-much-he-never-fails-to-ruin-my-day’ energy?”

You stared at him blankly, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

Yeosang blinked at you, as if trying to process your words. “You don’t hate him anymore? What happened?”

You paused, reflecting on the question. What has changed? It wasn’t that long ago when even just the mere mention of Wooyoung’s name would have irked you, sending a wave of annoyance coursing through you. You remembered the countless times you had grumbled about his antics, the way he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and how his presence always felt like a thorn in your side, always ready to push the weakest of all buttons. But now, the hostility has dissipated, replaced by... something else. Something you couldn’t quite define yet.

The memory of the first time you saw him in a different light flickered in your mind. It was during the interview for the publication’s magazine. Despite your preconceived notions, he had surprised you with his genuine answers, his passion for football, and the unexpected depth in his personality. You had caught a glimpse of a side of him that he didn’t often show to everyone, a side that intrigued you more than you wanted to admit.

Since then, your interactions have taken on a new tone. There were moments of unexpected understanding, brief conversations that revealed layers you never would’ve thought existed. The irritation had slowly melted away, replaced by curiosity and, perhaps, a hint of admiration. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere along the way, you had started seeing Wooyoung as more than just an annoyance.

Even now, thinking back to your encounter at the convenience store, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that was distinctly unfamiliar. His smile had been genuine, his questions filled with sincere curiosity. There was no hint of the playful mockery that used to define your exchanges. Instead, there was an ease that had taken you by surprise, a comfort that felt strangely natural.

As you stood there, Yeosang’s question hanging in the air, you realized that your feelings towards Wooyoung had become a complex mix of past grievances and newfound respect. It was confusing, but not entirely unpleasant.

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he studied your face. “When did this shift happen? You used to be so adamant about how much he annoyed you.” You looked around the gymnasium, thinking back. “It started with the interview I did for the magazine,” you began, finally meeting his gaze. “There was this moment... I asked him a question off the record.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. “Off the record? What did you ask him?” You shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you that. It was personal, something that wasn’t meant for the article. But his answer... it caught me off guard. It was like I was seeing an entirely new side of him, one that I never thought existed.”

Yeosang leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you mean? What side?”

“I guess I realized we’re not that different, him and I,” you said, your voice softening as you recalled the moment. “He showed me a side of him that’s more thoughtful, more passionate than I ever gave him credit for. It wasn’t that he changed; it’s just that he revealed a part of himself that I hadn’t seen before.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, absorbing your words. “So, simply put, he’s not just the guy who annoys you anymore.”

“No,” you agreed, shaking your head slightly. “He’s more than that. There’s depth to him, layers that he doesn’t show to everyone. And once I saw that... I couldn’t go back to seeing him as just a nuisance—we’re not friends or anything, though. Things are just... different now,” you hesitantly said, trying to put your feelings into words.

Yeosang looked at you with a knowing gaze, a small smile appearing on his lips. He had a feeling there was something more there, something you hadn’t yet noticed. But he decided not to say anything. It would be better for you to explore those feelings on your own, to figure out what they meant without any external pressure.

“Does this mean I no longer have to worry about endlessly persuading you to take pictures of them for my articles?”

“Perchance.”

“You can’t just say perchance…”

—

Wooyoung had recently noticed he hadn’t been seeing you around that often these days. With only two weeks left until the festival, he figured that was probably what had you so busy. During lunch breaks, he no longer saw you and Yeosang at your usual seats in the cafeteria, and you hadn’t been stopping by the field to watch their practice matches, either. Earlier during the afternoon, when he passed by the journalism club’s office, the door was open, and he saw you sitting on the floor, sleeping, resting your body on Yeosang, who sat beside you with his elbows and head down on a chair beside him. You both looked tired, and he knew he had to do something about it.

So here he was in the middle of the night at a convenience store, accompanied by San, whom Wooyoung had forcefully persuaded to come with him by calling his phone again and again.

As they stood in front of the store’s entrance, San yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Remind me again why we’re here on a school night?” Wooyoung brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Nothing I need to tell you about.”

They walked inside, and Wooyoung immediately started grabbing snacks and drinks off the shelves. San watched him, amused. “What’s with the midnight shopping spree?”

Wooyoung ignored him, focused on searching the aisles. He picked up the same snacks he saw you holding that weekend: two cups of instant ramen, a bag of honey butter chips, and a bottle of iced green tea. He then added a few more of his personal favorites: a pack of strawberry Pocky, some chocolate bars, and a few cans of soda. San watched the pile grow, raising an eyebrow. “Are you buying all these for me?” he joked, nudging Wooyoung’s arm.

Wooyoung shoved him lightly. “You wish.”

He did let San grab a few snacks, though.

At the counter, while Wooyoung was paying, San asked, “Seriously though, who’s this all for? I’ve never seen you so willing to spend so much on snacks that aren’t for you…” Wooyoung avoided his gaze, busying himself with the payment process. San continued, a teasing note in his voice. “... Unless these are for someone-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Wooyoung interjected, handing over the money to the cashier. He grabbed the bags and turned to leave, but San wasn’t letting it go that easily. “Come on, Woo. You’ve been acting weird lately. Is it for her? You know, the one you keep talking about—the head photojournalist, or photo girl, as you like to call her?”

Wooyoung sighed, finally giving San a serious look. “Yes, alright? It’s for her and her friend. They’re overworked with the festival preparations. I thought I’d do something nice.”

San smirked, following him out of the store. “So, what, you’re a secret snack fairy now?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curved upward ever so slightly. “I just... I noticed she’s been stressed. It’s no big deal.” San laughed, pushing Wooyoung’s shoulder lightly. “No big deal and yet you’re wide awake by choice at 2 in the morning to buy her snacks, huh?”

The next day, Wooyoung and San were hiding behind a corner wall, waiting eagerly to see how you would react to Wooyoung’s surprise. They were bickering quietly, their whispers sharp but quiet.

“San, seriously, you’re going to blow our cover if you don’t shut up,” Wooyoung hissed, peeking around the corner. “Me? You’re the one who can’t stop fidgeting,” San retorted, nudging Wooyoung with his elbow. “And why did you drag me into this again?”

“Because I need moral support,” Wooyoung replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, you owe me one for covering for you last week.” San sighed. “Fine, but if we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

They immediately shut up the moment they saw you walking toward your locker. Yeosang called in sick for today, leaving you to head on your way to the campus all by yourself.

Walking up to your locker and opening it, you were surprised to see an unfamiliar item you don’t quite remember putting inside. It was a medium-sized, square box, wrapped in a vibrant, glossy paper patterned with cartoonish cat faces and tiny hearts. The wrapping was slightly crinkled, giving it a somewhat endearing, handmade feel that hinted at the effort put into it. A pastel-colored ribbon tied into a neat bow decorated the top with its ends curled. The ribbon was dotted with small, glittering stars, adding a touch of sparkle whenever it would catch the light.

Curious, you took it out and opened it, your eyes widening at the sight of the snacks inside—which were just as thoughtfully arranged. Tissue paper in complementary pastel hues cradled the snacks that seem to follow a pattern of being yours and Yeosang’s favorites, along with the other half being a new addition, each sheet carefully fluffed to provide a soft bed for the treats.

Examining the box once more in hopes of finding a clue of who it could be from, you checked the lid, spotting a black, cat-shaped sticky note attached to it, the edges carefully cut to resemble pointed ears, and a cheerful cat face drawn with exaggerated features, large eyes, and a tiny, upturned mouth. The sticky note bore a handwritten message: “What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.” At the very bottom of the note was a poorly drawn ocean waving to the beach with a smile. From their hiding spot, Wooyoung watched intently, his heart pounding in anticipation. When he saw your lips curl up ever so slightly at the cheesy pick-up line, his eyes widened in surprise and delight.

“Did you see that?” he whispered excitedly, a bit too loudly. “She smiled. She actually smiled!” San raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I have eyes, you know. You’re acting like it’s the first time she’s ever smiled.”

Wooyoung turned to San, his expression almost giddy. “That’s because it is! Well, at least the first time because of me. She never smiles, San. Never. And I made her smile!”

San chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re really smitten, aren’t you?" Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently. “Smitten? No way. I’m just... happy I made her smile. That’s all.”

San smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You’re totally smitten, dude.” Wooyoung glared at San. “I’m not. Have you ever heard of this thing called trying to be nice?”

San rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Keep living in denial. But just so you know, this whole ‘trying to be nice’ thing? It’s a classic symptom of being smitten.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, determined to stick to his story. “I’m not in denial because there’s nothing to deny. I’m just doing a good deed.”

San shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. But if this is how you’re going to act every time she smiles, you might as well get used to it. You’ll have to come up with something bigger next time.”

As you walked back to the office with the box of snacks, Wooyoung watched you go, a satisfied smile on his face. San clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement. “Denial or not, you’re totally whipped.”

Wooyoung ignored him, still basking in the small victory of making you smile. “Let’s just get back to class.” San laughed, but he didn’t push the matter further, deciding to let Wooyoung come to terms with his feelings in his own time. “Sure thing, Romeo.”

Entering the office, you find only Karina there, humming softly as she arranged some newly made decorations. The office is a bit cluttered, with props and decor for the festival neatly stacked and stored to avoid any damage. Everyone else has already headed to their respective classes, but your professor had announced in your group chat that he would be late today, so you weren’t in any rush.

Karina looked up as you walked in, her eyes immediately catching sight of the brightly decorated box in your hands. “Hey there,” she greeted with a smile. “Didn’t know you had a lovergirl spirit in you.”

You felt your cheeks warm up at her comment but let your shoulders relax after hearing her voice, feeling at ease with her presence. Over the days you’ve spent making preparations for the festival alongside the student council members, you’ve found yourself to grow fond of her—and so did she with both you and Yeosang. “It’s not like that,” you say, placing the box on a nearby table. “I don’t even know who the box is from.”

This piqued her interest, and she stopped what she’s doing to give you her full attention. “Really? A secret admirer, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. You shrugged, feeling a bit curious yourself. “I wouldn’t say that... There wasn’t any name on it, just a note.”

Karina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Well, why don’t you take a look through the box? Maybe there are some clues inside.” You glance at the box, then back at Karina. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

With that, she walked over, peeking into the box as you opened it again. The snacks and little trinkets inside are arranged with such care that it gives you a strange, warm feeling. Karina lets out a low whistle. “Wow, someone went all out. This looks really thoughtful.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit stunned by the whole thing. “Yeah, it does.”

Karina picked up one of the snacks, examining it. “Half of these are your favorites, right? And some of Yeosang’s, too. Whoever did this knows you pretty well.” You found yourself agreeing with her, thinking about the effort put into the box. “I guess so…”

Karina placed the snack back into the box, pinching your cheek lightly. “Well, good luck figuring out your secret admirer. I’ve got to head to class now.”

“Thanks,” you said, waving her off as she left the office. “See you later.”

As she walked out, you couldn’t help but feel a little more curious about who could have gone through so much trouble to put this together—and who else other than Yeosang could have known you well enough to pick just the right snacks to put inside the box.

On the other side of the building sat Wooyoung and San in their respective seats at sociology class—but today, there was something unusual, and that would be nothing other than Wooyoung seeming to be more smiley and eager to learn than usual. Even their professor, who is used to Wooyoung’s occasional inattentiveness, couldn’t help but notice the change in his demeanor, though he silently hopes it will last.

San, sitting beside Wooyoung, nudged him, whispering, “What’s with you today? You seem more cheerful than usual.” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, brushing him off. “Can’t a guy have a good day without it being a big deal?” San smirked, “Woah, chill out. Well, whatever you say.”

San was about to leave him alone, but Wooyoung's anxious voice caught his attention. “San… What if she didn’t like the surprise?” Wooyoung whispered, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by genuine worry. “What if the only thing that made her smile was that lame dad joke I wrote on the cat-shaped sticky note?” San huffed, shaking his head. “Oh, and here I thought you weren’t whipped for her.”

“I’m not!” Wooyoung insisted, his eyes wide. “I’m just worried she wouldn’t like it.”

“So... whipped?”

“No!”

Their professor shushed them from the front of the class, giving them a stern look. They both fell silent for a moment, but San leaned in again, this time with a reassuring tone. “Look, you saw her smile, right? That’s a big deal. Trust me, she liked it. You put a lot of thought into it.”

Wooyoung fidgeted with his pen with an ink halfway drained, still uncertain. “But how do you know?”

San rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Because, my guy, no one smiles at a lame dad joke if they’re not already in a good mood. Plus, you bought all her favorite snacks. She probably loved it. Stop worrying so much.” Wooyoung sighed and leaned back on his seat, nodding slightly. “Alright, alright, yeah, that makes sense. I just hope you’re right.”

San patted him on the back. “I always am. Now pay attention to the board before the professor kicks you out.” Wooyoung laughed softly, feeling a bit more at ease. The class went by smoothly, yet his worries about what you thought of his present kept lingering in his thoughts. He could only hope San was right.

Time seems to be passing by quicker than usual this week, as you didn’t even notice it was already lunch break—at least until you were the very last person inside your classroom. You headed towards the cafeteria, but as you reached its entrance all by yourself. you were quick to feel out of place in the room. The noise and chatter around you amplify your sense of isolation, only further highlighting Yeosang’s absence. Seeking a quieter atmosphere, you headed to the field, bringing along some snacks from the mysterious box you found in your locker earlier. You still don’t know who the box is from, but the treats inside are a comfort, nevertheless.

The field is expansive and mostly empty, the grass a vibrant green under the midday sun. It’s a stark contrast to the crowded cafeteria, offering a sense of peace. You spot Wooyoung all by himself, kicking a football around with casual ease. It’s been a while since you last came here, given how busy you’ve been with the festival preparations, leaving little room for free time.

Wooyoung immediately notices your presence, his eyes darting to the strawberry Pocky and can of soda you’re holding—his personal favorites that he added to the box of snacks for you. The sight of you holding them makes him blush slightly, realizing it’s what you chose to bring with you. You wave slightly at Wooyoung, who enthusiastically waves back with both hands before sprinting over to you by the bleachers. His usual playful grin is in place, and his energy is infectious. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see at the field,” he greets enthusiastically.

“Hi,” you respond calmly. “Yeah, it has been a while. Sorry, I’ve been really busy these days.”

Wooyoung brushes off your apology with a smile, shaking his head. “What? No, you don’t need to apologize for that. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Have you been getting any rest?” You shake your head, a bit sheepishly. “Well… not really. But I did find a mysterious box filled with snacks in my locker earlier.”

“Oh?” Wooyoung feigns surprise, eyebrows raised. “What was in it?” You describe the decorations on the box in detail—the vibrant colors, the playful stickers, and the cat-shaped sticky note with a joke written on it. “It said, ‘What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.’”

Wooyoung pretends to scoff, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “Dad jokes? Really? Who even makes those these days?” You chuckle softly. “I thought it was lame at first, too. But somehow, it was so unfunny it became funny. It cheered me up.”

“Well, at least it lifted your spirit. That’s all that matters,” Wooyoung says, smiling. “You deserve something like that.”

“You think so?” you ask, tilting your head, your curiosity piqued by his sincerity.

“I know so.”

You look at him, a bit curious. “What about you?” Wooyoung tilts his head, confused for a moment, pushing you to elaborate. “Um, you know, championships. Have you been getting any rest lately?”

“Oh, right. Not really. That’s actually why I’m here playing around in the field to unwind a bit. Gotta have some fun before diving back into practice, you know,” he shrugged. “That’s good,” you nod approvingly. “But don’t overwork yourself. Overexertion can lead to muscle fatigue, reduced immune function, and overall physical burnout.”

Wooyoung laughs, a carefree sound that contrasts with your concern. “I have no idea what you just said, so I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.” You shake your head in amusement. “I really mean it. You deserve some time to yourself. Speaking of, are you and the team planning to attend the festival?”

“Of course!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“That’s great,” you say. “You should use it as a way to unwind and take a break.” Wooyoung pauses, then asks, “Are you planning to spend the festival with someone?”

You take a moment to reflect on the question. You mull over who you could spend it with, immediately thinking of Yeosang. However, a feeling tugs at you that maybe he should spend the festival doing something he enjoys independently, not always sticking by your side. He needs to “go out there,” too. But then, who else would you spend the festival with? The thought leaves you feeling a bit uncertain.

“I was thinking of spending it with Yeosang,” you finally say. “It’s kind of our default. But I also want him to go out on his own this time. I haven’t really given it much thought.”

Wooyoung’s heart races, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He doesn’t know why his immediate thought was to invite you to spend the festival with him, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “You could spend the festival with me and the football team.” You turn your head towards him, confused, not quite catching his words. “What?”

Clearing his throat and trying to seem more relaxed, Wooyoung repeats himself, “I mean, you could spend it with us. You know, the football team.”

You hesitate, your brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, but wouldn’t they mind?” Wooyoung shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “They don’t have the right to complain. But seriously, they wouldn’t mind at all. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

“You think so?” you ask, still a bit unsure.

“I know so,” Wooyoung says, then elaborates. “You’ve got this calm and quiet vibe, but at the same time, you’re also really cool. I think it would be good to have someone like you around. They’ll appreciate your presence—even if we tend to be rowdy at times. Plus, you’ve got this way of making people feel at ease. I’ve seen it.” You tilt your head, still a bit unsure. “You think they’ll really like me?”

“I know they will,” he says, his tone firm. “And besides, I’ll be there with and for you.” You blink, slightly taken aback. “What?”

He clears his throat again, trying to play it off casually. “I mean, I can serve as the mutual bridge between you and the team, something like that.” You nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

As you both sit on the bleachers, sharing the snacks, the atmosphere feels comfortable. The strawberry Pocky you munch on is sweet, and the soda fizzes pleasantly on your tongue. Wooyoung's presence is warm and easy, making you feel more relaxed than you have in days. It’s a simple moment, but it’s filled with comfort, nevertheless. It’s always the case whenever he’s around, anyway.

—

It’s now the day before the festival, and the campus is buzzing with activity. Members of the journalism club and student council are busier than usual, working tirelessly to ensure everything is perfect for tomorrow. The festival is on Sunday, so the first day of the weekend is dedicated to decorating the entire campus, setting up props, booths, the stage, and various other attractions. Everyone has been here since early morning, and the atmosphere is charged with a mix of both excitement for the day to come and exhaustion due to the amount of workload.

By afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, heating up the world like a large candle lit aflame. While Yeosang is busy hanging decorations inside the building, you are assigned to work on the decorations at the campus grounds, so you were both separated for the day. The heat is intense, and you can feel dehydration setting in as you continue working under the blazing sun.

Today, Minjae is also assigned to the campus grounds decorations. As he sees you struggling in the heat, he hesitantly approaches with a cold water bottle in hand. “Um, hey,” he says, extending the water bottle toward you. His demeanor is a mix of guilt and awkwardness, and you could tell from the way he couldn’t even look you straight in the eye.

You’re a little caught off guard at first—after all, you’re still not quite used to the change that occurred within him despite being grateful for it, but then accept the water, offering him your gratitude. “Thanks, Minjae.” He brushes you off, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he still feels bad about his past words and for slacking off in his duties. Seeing his discomfort, you decide to address it directly. “You know, I can tell you still feel guilty about what happened back in the office.”

He looks down, shuffling his feet on the ground as the friction between the soles of his shoes and the grass create a crispy sound. “Yeah, I... I’m still really sorry about that. I was out of line. And I know it’s pathetic how I’m the one who did you wrong yet I can’t even be around you without acting awkward. I’m doing my best not to, but I just—”

You cut him off, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Minjae, there’s no point in mulling over something that already happened. I’ve moved on from what you said, and so should you. I’ve seen you working hard lately, and that’s what matters now. Rather than focusing on your past mistakes, focus on continuing your growth. There’s no need to act awkward around me, alright? I’ve already forgiven you and I only wish you the best, and I have enough faith in you to trust you won’t do such a thing again.”

Minjae’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you can see he’s genuinely touched by your words. Wanting to lighten the mood, you pull out the voodoo doll keychain Yeosang gave you that you still haven’t returned. “Here,” you say, handing it to Minjae. He looks at the doll, confused and mildly horrified by its weird-looking face. “Uh… what’s this?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeosang gave it to me that day in the office after you said those things, so that I wouldn’t feel alone. It’s kind of like a good luck charm. It only makes sense to pass it on to you now.” Minjae still looks a bit horrified, but the oddity of the doll distracts him from his tears. “Thanks... I think?”

You ruffle his hair gently. “Don’t stress it out, okay? Go back to work. We’ve got a festival to prepare for.” He nods, a small smile forming on his lips as he pockets the doll and heads back to his tasks. You watch him for a moment, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It’s a small gesture, but you hope it helps him move forward.

The rest of the day progresses smoothly, with everyone enjoying the festive atmosphere of decorating despite their growing fatigue. The sun finally sets, casting a warm glow over the campus, now transformed with vibrant decorations and beautiful setups. Members of the student council and the journalism club gather to admire their collective effort. High-fives are exchanged, and congratulations abound. Karina steps forward, her eyes brimming with gratitude. “Before we all head home, I just want to thank everyone for all their hard work—especially the journalism club for lending us a hand. None of this would have been possible without you guys.”

A chorus of agreements and mutual thanks echoes through the group. They all wish each other well, hoping tomorrow’s festival will be a resounding success, before heading home for a well-deserved rest.

As you and Yeosang walk home together after bidding Karina farewell, the streets quiet under the evening sky, Yeosang turns to you. “So, what are our plans for this year’s festival?” You smile slightly and correct him, “My and your plans.” He stops in his tracks, confused. “Wait, what? Why?”

“You can’t possibly spend every festival with me when there are so many people wanting to hang out with you,” you explain. "I mean, come on, you're Yeosang."

He frowns, shaking his head. “But you’re more fun to hang out with.” You shoot him a playful, confused look. “Me? More fun? I’m widely known to be calm and composed—the top traits of a plain person, mind you. How is that fun?”

“You’re nowhere near plain. Plus, I just prefer your company,” he says simply.

You nod, understanding his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Yeosang, but you need to go out there, you know? Spend time with other people, meet new people.” Yeosang hesitates, his concern for you evident. “But what about you?"

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “You don’t need to worry about me all the time.” Reluctantly, he agrees. “Okay, but who are you planning to spend the festival with?”

“Well, Wooyoung invited me a few days ago,” You say, almost offhandedly. Yeosang isn’t surprised, and is just simply amused. “You’ve been bringing Wooyoung up a lot these days.”

You brush him off. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends, though?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitate, searching for the right words. You’re not sure what kind of connection you and Wooyoung have. The dynamic is confusing, but one thing is clear—you enjoy his company. “You know, you’ve been smiling a little more lately,” Yeosang speaks up, breaking the short-lived silence.

You furrow your brow, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He elaborates, “I mean, it’s not like you’re suddenly grinning from ear to ear, but there’s this lightness about you. Your eyes crinkle just a bit more when you’re talking. You seem less... guarded. Like the walls you put up are starting to come down, slowly but surely.” You feel a slight flush creep up your cheeks as Yeosang continues. “I think Wooyoung has something to do with it. Ever since you two started getting along, you’ve seemed happier.”

“That's ridiculous,” you respond, shaking your head dismissively. Even after saying that, as you continue walking, you find yourself mulling over Yeosang’s words. Were you really smiling more often now? How come you yourself haven’t noticed? And if it’s true, is Wooyoung really the reason? Why so?

—

It's now Sunday morning, and the alarm clock blares at an unusually early hour—8 AM. Despite the grogginess, you quickly remind yourself of today’s importance. The festival may not start until the afternoon, but the journalism club and the student council are expected to be on campus earlier than everyone else to ensure everything is perfectly set up.

Last night, Karina had insisted that you treat today as a special occasion. She urged you to take your time getting ready, to pamper yourself and dress up a bit. Initially, the idea had made you blush, but Karina had promised she’d be dressing up too so that you wouldn’t feel out of place. Determined to follow her advice, you dive into your closet, fingers sifting through hangers of clothes. After a good amount of deliberation, you finally settle on a cute, yet comfortable outfit—a floral sundress paired with a light cardigan and your favorite sandals. You snap a quick picture and send it to Karina. Her response is immediate and enthusiastic: “You’d look drop-dead gorgeous in that! 😍” She follows your message with a picture of her own outfit, equally stylish and encouraging.

Feeling a bit more confident, you head to the bathroom for a shower. As the hot water washes over you, your mind starts to wander. The realization that you won’t be spending the festival with Yeosang this year, but with Wooyoung and the football team instead, makes your stomach churn with nerves. What if they don’t like you? What if you come off as too quiet or awkward? The thoughts swirl, creating a knot of anxiety in your chest. But then, you remember Wooyoung’s reassuring words. His voice echoes in your mind, calming your fears. You take a deep breath and slowly exhale, allowing the tension to melt away. You wonder if Wooyoung is already up, preparing for the day with the same mix of excitement and nervousness that you feel.

After drying off, you sit in your vanity to fix your hair and apply a bit of makeup. You go for a natural look, just enough to enhance your features without feeling overdone. As you carefully apply your products on, you think about how different today will be. Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you check your outfit in the mirror one last time, ensuring everything is in place.

Grabbing your phone, you shoot a quick text to Yeosang: “Hey, I’ll meet you at the corner near my apartment in 15 minutes. Does that sound good?”

Even though you won’t be spending the festival together, you’ll be heading to campus together since both of you are part of the early setup crew. Yeosang replies almost immediately, confirming he’ll be there. You gather your bag to double-check if you have everything you need for the day, and head out the door. The morning air is cool, a slight breeze rustling the leaves. Reaching the corner, you see Yeosang waiting for you, a relaxed smile on his face. “Ready for the big day?” he asks. You shrug, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. “I hope.”

When you and Yeosang arrive on campus, the air is filled with liveliness and the promise of a worthwhile day ahead. The two of you head straight to the student council office where everyone has already gathered, the room filled with chatter and last-minute preparations. Karina, as always, is at the center of the activity, efficiently coordinating the final details.

She calls everyone to order, and the room falls silent. A quick run-through of the day’s schedule ensues, with each member confirming their responsibilities and ensuring everything is ready. Once satisfied that everything is in place, the group disperses to make final checks on the decorations scattered around the campus. As everyone moves out, Karina immediately makes a beeline for you, her eyes lighting up when she sees your outfit. “Look at you, Miss Universe!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You blush, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Thanks. It feels a bit awkward to dress up for a school event, though,” you admit, glancing down at your dress. "But you look gorgeous, too,” you said, admiring her appearance. Karina waves off your compliment with a playful smile. “Oh, stop it. But seriously, you’re stunning. I swear, you’re going to be the star of today. By the end of the festival, you’ll have a line of admirers at your feet.”

Her mention of admirers makes you think of the mysterious box from your locker, and Karina seems to read your thoughts. “Speaking of admirers, have you figured out who left you that box yet?”

You shake your head. “No, I still don’t have a single clue.” Karina gives you a knowing look. “Well, they better show themselves today—you can never go wrong with revealing your identity to your crush during a festival.”

You rub the back of your neck, brushing off her teasing. “We’ll see about that.” Karina laughs, giving you a light shove. “Oh, come on! It's bound to happen. Anyway, let’s check on the decorations outside before things get too hectic.”

You nod, grateful for her company and support. Together, you walk through the campus, making sure the decorations are still in place. The morning sun is already climbing higher, promising a warm day ahead. The banners, streamers, and various booths look vibrant and inviting, a testament to all the hard work everyone put in. As you move from one area to another, Karina continues to chat animatedly, her excitement infectious. She points out little details, praises everyone’s efforts, and occasionally teases you about your mystery admirer. Despite your initial nerves, you start to feel more at ease, caught up in the anticipation of the festival and the presence of your friends.

“Look at how well the streamers turned out!” Karina exclaims, pointing to the colorful decorations swaying gently in the breeze. “Everyone did such an amazing job.” You nod, admiring the handiwork. “Yeah, it looks really good. The campus feels so vibrant.”

Karina grins and nudges you playfully. “And speaking of vibrant, you’re positively glowing today. I think your admirer might just faint when they see you.” You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, absolutely not,” she laughs. “I’m fully invested in this mystery now. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know who has a crush on our gorgeous star reporter?” You shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

Karina points to a nearby booth, changing the subject slightly. “Oh, look at the detail on that sign. It’s perfect. And the balloons—they add such a fun touch.” You follow her gaze, appreciating the effort everyone has put into the preparations. “Yeah, it all came together really well. I’m excited to see how it looks when the festival starts.”

The two of you continue to check on the decorations, and as you move through the campus, you start to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that you’ve played a part in creating this beautiful, festive atmosphere. The exhaustion has definitely proved itself to be worth it.

The afternoon arrives, and the campus begins to buzz with life. Students, faculty, and even alumni trickle in, filling the grounds with a lively atmosphere. By the gates, Yeosang and a student council member greet everyone warmly, their cheerful voices carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd. From afar, you stand amidst the school grounds, your eyes scanning the growing throng for any sign of Wooyoung and his team. Nervous energy builds in your chest, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Your phone buzzes with a notification, pulling you from your thoughts. It's a message from Hongjoong. As you read it, you can’t help but raise an eyebrow in amusement: “We’ll be a little late because Mingi overslept and is only halfway done with preparing now. Sorry to keep you waiting. - Wooyoung 😺” The cat emoji at the end of the message brings a soft smile to your face.

A few minutes later, another message arrives, again from Hongjoong’s phone, saying they’re on their way. The nervousness in your stomach intensifies, and you decide to make a run to the bathroom to check your appearance. Socializing with big groups isn't your strong suit, and the thought of spending the day with Wooyoung and his team has you on edge.

In the bathroom, you adjust your hair, making sure every strand is in place. You touch up your makeup, ensuring everything looks perfect. As you scrutinize your reflection, your phone dings again. Another text from Hongjoong’s number: “We’re at the gates.” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. With one last glance in the mirror, you exhale, trying to muster confidence and calm your nerves at the same time. As you step out of the bathroom and make your way toward the gates, your heart pounds in your chest.

As Wooyoung and his team make their way through the crowd, Jongho glances at Wooyoung and smirks. “This is the first time I’ve seen you put so much effort into your appearance for the festival,” he says loudly, drawing everyone's attention. “Yeah, what's the deal, Woo?” San joins in, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Trying to impress a certain someone?”

"Ridiculous," Wooyoung rolls his eyes, trying to mask his embarrassment with annoyance. “I just felt like looking good today, okay?"

“Alright, you all better at least try to act like decent human beings for once—and that means zero teasing for today. We don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable,” Hongjoong says, immediately shutting San up. Wooyoung nods, grateful for Hongjoong’s intervention. “Especially you guys,” he says, pointing at Mingi and San, who both look at him with an offended expression. Jongho looks around, trying to spot you. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung replies. “But I’m pretty sure she read the message I sent through Hongjoong’s phone already, so she’s probably on her way.” Seonghwa suddenly perks up, pointing towards a figure in the distance. “Hey, isn’t that her?”

Wooyoung follows Seonghwa's gaze, and the moment he sees you, it feels as if time stops. He’s in a trance, completely unaware of everything else happening. The world fades, and all he can see is you, even amidst the crowd you’re surrounded with. San, noticing Wooyoung’s reaction, nudges him. “Snap out of it, lover boy,” he teases. Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. He calls out your name, his loud voice easily spreading across the noise of the festival. “Over here!”

You hear him and wave, making your way over to the group. As you walk up to Wooyoung and his friends, you shyly greet them, and their energetic response feels like a stark contrast to your quieter demeanor. Somehow, Wooyoung is the only one who awkwardly says hi back. “The decorations look so cool,” Yunho compliments, his eyes wide with appreciation. “You and the others did a great job.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, feeling a little flustered. I agree. It was definitely worth all the restless days we went through.”

Yunho continues, “So, what do you guys have in store for today?”

“Well, you’ll find out later,” you respond vaguely. “But for now, you’re free to enjoy the various booths and attractions all around.” As you start walking around, you find yourself in front with Wooyoung, while the rest of the group trails behind on purpose. “Your friends have talked more than you so far,” you mention, glancing at Wooyoung. He awkwardly chuckles, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want to say something?” you ask, sensing that he might. Wooyoung hesitates for a moment before shyly whispering, “You look beautiful.”

“What?” you ask, not quite catching his words. A little flustered, Wooyoung blurts out, “You look beautiful.” The guys hear this but resist the urge to tease or react. You blush in return, “Thank you. You look good too, Wooyoung.”

As you pass by a large backdrop designed for festival photos, you look back at the group. “Do you guys want me to take a picture of you here?” you offer, holding up your DSLR camera, the strap slung around your neck.

“Yeah, sure!” Seonghwa says enthusiastically.

You take pictures as they strike silly poses, making you smile—a sight that doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s notice. After showing them the photos on the DSLR’s screen, Hongjoong suggests, “How about we get a picture of you and Wooyoung too?” Both you and Wooyoung are caught off guard, but everyone else agrees eagerly. Eventually giving in, you hand the camera to Hongjoong, you and Wooyoung walk to the backdrop, unsure of how to pose. “Make a heart,” San suggests, grinning mischievously.

“Heart...?” you ask, flustered.

Yunho and Mingi demonstrate, forming a heart shape with their arms. You look at Wooyoung, who is already looking at you. Both of you look away quickly, then awkwardly position yourselves to form a heart shape together. The rest of the group then resists the urge to scream and holler like teenage girls, save for Mingi who starts hitting Yunho’s shoulder continuously. “Smile!” Hongjoong calls out, but you struggle to smile on command. Noticing your discomfort, Wooyoung leans in and whispers a lame joke in your ear. The unexpected humor makes you let out a short, breathy laugh, and Hongjoong times the shutter of the camera perfectly, capturing the moment. Hongjoong shows you and Wooyoung the photo. When he sees the genuine smile on your face—for the very first time—Wooyoung can't help but smile as well.

The day passes by in a blur of laughter and activities. You visit different booths, play games, and try various foods. Despite the occasional teasing from the group that you don’t quite understand, the atmosphere is light and fun nevertheless. Mingi wins a giant stuffed animal at one booth and insists on carrying it around, much to everyone’s amusement. At another booth, San tries his hand at a strength tester and dramatically fails, causing a chorus of laughter. Every now and then, Wooyoung and you found yourselves in oddly heartwarming moments. Once, you both reached for the same snack at the food stall, your hands brushing against each other. Wooyoung quickly pulled back, a shy smile on his face, “Uh, you go first.”

As the sun sets and the sky turns a deep shade of blue, Hongjoong suggests, “Hey, how about we take another picture of you two?” You agree, and Hongjoong takes the DSLR from you. You and Wooyoung pose again, this time feeling more relaxed. After the photo, you forget to take the camera back from Hongjoong, who happily holds onto it.

Night falls, and the festival takes on a magical glow with lights and lanterns everywhere. You realize it’s now time for the surprise event. With excitement bubbling inside you, you turn to Wooyoung and the rest, “Follow me! I have something to show you.” In your enthusiasm, you grab Wooyoung's hand without realizing it and lead the group through the crowd. San, being the first to notice it, ushers Hongjoong to sneakily take a picture of you holding hands.

You lead them to an open area where lanterns are set up, ready to be released into the sky. “Everyone gets to write their wishes on the lanterns before letting them fly up,” you explain, beaming. Everyone else eagerly rushed to get their lanterns, leaving you and Wooyoung standing together. It’s only when you reach for a lantern that you realize you’re still holding his hand. You both awkwardly let go, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Wooyoung grabs a marker and starts writing on his lantern. Curious, you peek over and read his wish, and beside your name, he wrote: “I wish for her happiness.” You chuckle, “You’re supposed to make a wish for yourself.” Wooyoung shrugs, a sincere look in his eyes. “My point still stands.”

Touched, you immediately write on your lantern as well: “I wish Wooyoung luck for the championships.”

“Thought we were supposed to make wishes for ourselves?” Wooyoung echoed your words from earlier, playfully raising an eyebrow—just so you wouldn’t notice the light red hue on his cheeks. Together, you and Wooyoung release your lanterns into the air. As they float upwards, you both look at each other and share a smile. Nearby, Hongjoong captures the moment with a photo.

As you watch your lanterns drift higher, you come to a sudden realization: Wooyoung’s handwriting matches the one on the sticky note from the box. You choose not to bring it up, letting the moment linger. When the night deepens, the festival then starts to reach its crescendo with a fireworks display. The air is filled with anticipation as everyone gathers in the open fields, eyes glued to the dark sky above. Wooyoung nudges you gently, “Come on, I know a spot where we can watch the fireworks without the crowd.”

You follow him, weaving through the throngs of students and faculty. He leads you to a secluded area on the edge of the campus, where the noise of the crowd fades, and the view of the sky is unobstructed. The space feels intimate, almost like it was made for just the two of you. As you both settle in, the first firework bursts into the sky, painting it with vibrant colors. You watch in awe, the sight pulling you into a reflective state. You sigh softly, feeling a mix of contentment and nostalgia. “You know, today has been amazing. It’s been so long since I felt like... like I’m actually someone outside of my responsibilities. Today, I felt free.”

Wooyoung listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His heartwarming smile is constant, encouraging you to continue.

“I’ve been so caught up with the journalism club and everything else that I forgot what it feels like to just have fun. To be part of something without the pressure of expectations. And today... you made me feel that again.” A particularly loud and colorful firework explodes overhead, but neither of you look away from each other.

Wooyoung’s smile grows softer, more affectionate. “I”m glad you had fun. You deserve to feel this way more often.” You nod, feeling a lump in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung. For everything. For inviting me, for making me feel welcome. For... just being you.” He reaches out and gently squeezes your hand. “Anytime. Really.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the fireworks light up the night sky. Each burst of color seems to reflect the emotions swelling in your heart—joy, relief, and something new, something deeper that you can’t quite name. As the grand finale of the fireworks display starts, you find yourself leaning a little closer to Wooyoung. He doesn’t move away, instead, his thumb softly strokes the back of your hand. In that moment, surrounded by the dazzling lights and the warmth of his presence, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and hope for what the future might hold. When the last firework fades and the sky returns to its star-studded calm, you turn to Wooyoung one last time. “Today was unforgettable.”

He looks at you, eyes full of sincerity. “It really was.”

—

The following morning, you woke up with the sun, the events of the festival still fresh in your mind. The day had been magical, filled with laughter and moments that made you feel alive. It wasn't until you started getting ready for school that the realization hit you—you had completely forgotten to cover the event.

Panic set in as you frantically checked your camera. The memory card was filled with photos of you, Wooyoung, the football team, and various candid shots likely taken by Hongjoong. There were no pictures of the important moments, the highlights that were meant for the article. Guilt gnawed at you as you hurried to school, the weight of your mistake heavy on your shoulders. Entering Mr. Kim’s office, he looked up from his desk as you walked in. “Morning,” he greeted curtly. “Let’s see what you got from the festival.” Swallowing hard, you approached his desk. “I… I’m really sorry, Mr. Kim,” you began, your voice trembling. “I didn’t manage to cover the event properly.”

Mr. Kim’s face darkened immediately. “What do you mean you didn’t cover it?” he asked sharply. You took a deep breath, preparing to explain yourself. “I got distracted. I... I didn’t take the necessary photos for the article.”

“Distracted?” he repeated, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea how important this was? This was your responsibility! This was your chance to prove yourself, and you blew it!”

“I’m really sorry,” you said again, fear evident in your voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” he snapped, his face flushed with anger. “Do you realize the consequences of your negligence? We have deadlines! We have standards! And you... you chose to shirk your duties for what? A bit of fun?” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. “I… yes. I messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“You’ve let everyone down,” he continued ruthlessly. “You’ve let me down. You’ve let the whole publication down. We trusted you with this responsibility, and you proved that you can’t handle it. You’re a disappointment.” Each word was like a blow, and you felt yourself shrinking under his tirade. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, feeling utterly defeated. Mr. Kim’s voice was cold and sharp. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’re out of the publication. Pack your things and get out of here.”

Numbly, you gathered your belongings, shoving them into the box that had once held the snacks from Wooyoung. You kept your head down, avoiding Mr. Kim’s gaze as you left the office, your chest tight with shame and regret. You quickly placed the box in your locker, then spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. You couldn’t face Yeosang, Karina, and especially Wooyoung. Not now. When you finally got home, the tears you had been holding back all day spilled over. You collapsed onto your bed, clutching the camera that held the memories of the festival. As you scrolled through the pictures, your sobs grew louder. The happiness you had felt seemed like a distant dream now, replaced by a crushing sense of guilt and failure. Unable to bear the loneliness, you called Yeosang. He arrived quickly, his face etched with worry as he took in your tear-streaked face. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with concern all the same.

Between sobs, you explained everything. “I forgot to take the pictures... Mr. Kim kicked me out... I messed up, Yeosang. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang’s expression hardened, but his touch was soft as he hugged you. “Hey, don’t say that. None of this is your fault,” he said firmly. “Mr. Kim is an idiot for not seeing how hard you work.”

You shook your head, unable to accept his words. “It is my fault. let myself be happy for once, and this is what happens. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang held you tighter, his own heart breaking at your pain. “You deserve to be happy. It’s not wrong to enjoy yourself.”

“But I neglected my duties,” you argued, pulling away slightly to look at him. “I failed, Yeo. I failed everyone. I let myself down.”

"No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You work harder than anyone else. You put everything into this job, and you deserve a break. You deserve to be happy. Mr. Kim is wrong. He’s wrong to treat you like this.” You shook your head again, the tears flowing freely. “I can’t believe that. I can’t.”

“Please,” Yeosang pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. “Please believe me. You are not a failure. You are not a disappointment. You are amazing, and you deserve so much more than this.”

But you couldn't hear him. The words of Mr. Kim echoed in your mind, drowning out Yeosang's reassurances. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He held you close as he whispered soothing words, trying to comfort you even though you refused to accept his validation.

The next day at school, Minjae noticed your absence from the office. Confused, he approached Yeosang, who was sitting alone at one of the desks, still fuming from what happened yesterday.

“Hey, where is she?” Minjae asked, frowning. Yeosang sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mr. Kim kicked her out. She... she forgot to cover the event, and he went off on her. It was brutal, Minjae. He said things—awful things. Called her a disappointment, said she didn’t deserve to be here.”

Minjae’s eyes widened in shock and then eventually narrowed in fury. “He said that? Are you serious?” Yeosang nodded. “Every word. It was like he didn’t care at all about how much she’s done for him and us as well.”

Minjae’s jaw tightened. “This is bullshit. She’s the reason this publication runs smoothly! She does more for this place than he ever has.” Without another word, Minjae stormed off to Mr. Kim’s office. Yeosang didn’t even try to stop him, knowing whatever Minjae was about to do to Mr. Kim, it would be well-deserved.

Minjae stormed into Mr. Kim’s office, his fury palpable. The door slammed against the wall, causing Mr. Kim to look up in shock. The typically composed Minjae was anything but calm, his eyes lit with anger.

“How could you do this to her?” Minjae yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. “How could you treat her like this after everything she’s done for this publication?” Mr. Kim looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. “Excuse me?” he said, his voice cold.

“You heard me, you old hag,” Minjae said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the reason this publication is what it is. She’s been overworked and underappreciated, and the one time she takes a break, you punish her? How dare you!”

Mr. Kim’s jaw tightens in annoyance. “This is not your concern, Minjae.”

“Not my concern?” Minjae echoed, his voice rising. “You’ve got some nerve. Kicking her out is the worst decision you could make. She acts more like an advisor than you ever have. Without her, this publication will fall apart.” Mr. Kim stood up, trying to assert his authority to get the upper hand. “That’s enough. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Minjae shot back. “Without her, you wouldn’t have a clean image. People wouldn’t praise you and your publication. You don’t deserve any of the credit she’s brought to this place.”

“You’re out of line,” Mr. Kim said coldly, brows nearly touching one another. “And you’re out of your mind if you think this place will survive without her,” Minjae retorted. “She’s been carrying this publication on her back, and you have the audacity to call her a disappointment? She’s worth more than you ever will be.” Mr. Kim’s expression faltered slightly, but he tried to regain control. “This is not up for discussion.”

“It better be,” Minjae said, his voice deadly calm. “Because if you don't take her back, I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of person you really are. I’ll expose every filthy secret you’re hiding. Do you understand me?” Mr. Kim’s face turned pale, struggling to find the right words to shoot back for a fleeting second—he wouldn’t dare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Minjae said. “You think you’re untouchable because you’ve managed to hide your true nature behind a facade of competence and authority? Well, I’ve had enough. We’ve all had enough. You have no idea how much we know about you. All those late submissions you blamed on us? We know they were because you were out of the office, drinking away your evenings instead of doing your job. Those articles you claimed credit for? Everyone knows it was her who wrote them, who polished them until they shined. Without her, you’re nothing but a fraud.”

Mr. Kim tried to interject, but Minjae was on a roll, his voice growing louder with each word. “Do you remember the budget issues last year? The ones you blamed on a miscalculation? We all know you skimmed off the top for your little ‘business trips.’ You’ve been siphoning funds meant for student activities for your own use. How long do you think it will take before the administration finds out? Before the parents find out?”

“You have no proof,” Mr. Kim said, but his voice trembled slightly. He was losing, and Minjae loved seeing him crumble down.

Minjae leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Proof? I don’t need proof to start talking. Once people start asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before everything unravels. Take her back, or I’ll make sure you never work in education again. I’ll drag your name through the mud until there’s nothing left of your precious reputation.” Mr. Kim stared at Minjae, realizing the seriousness of his threat. He knew Minjae wasn’t bluffing. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ll consider it.”

“Consider it?” Minjae echoed, incredulous. “You better do more than that. You better make it happen, or I swear, I’ll make your life a living hell. She deserves better than this, and if you can’t see that, you don't deserve to be in this position.”

—

You’ve been absent for days now. The weight of your mistake at the festival sits heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t bring yourself to show up at school. The festival was one of the most important events of the year, and you let yourself be selfish enough to prioritize your happiness instead of doing your job. The guilt gnaws at you, making you feel like a disappointment. You can’t face anyone—especially Minjae. After reconciling with him, you’ve heard from others that he always talks about you being his role model and how you played a huge part in his development. The thought of showing your face to the junior who looks up to you after making such a big, disappointing mistake feels pathetic.

Karina has also noticed your absence and questioned Yeosang about it when she crossed paths with him in the halls. Yeosang, respecting your trust, explained the situation but asked Karina to keep it confidential. The way Karina sees Mr. Kim has drastically changed, but as much as she wants to take action against him, she respects your request to stay silent. Instead, she checks up on you, trying to provide the support you need.

One day in the middle of the week, you and Yeosang are hanging out together in your apartment. You find yourself checking the photos on your DSLR again, and your chest tightens after coming across the candid photo of you and Wooyoung releasing your lanterns up in the night sky. You didn’t know genuine happiness would come at such a huge cost. Yeosang notices your distress and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, struggling to hold back tears. “If Wooyoung asks you about my absences, please don’t tell him anything.” Yeosang looks confused. “What? Why?”

“I can’t afford to mess up again,” you say, your voice void of emotion. “I can’t afford distractions. I need to cut the string connecting me to Wooyoung.” Yeosang hesitates, trying to find another solution. “Are you sure? Maybe there’s another way…”

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t want to do it, but it’s what has to be done. If I keep Wooyoung around, who knows what else I’ll mess up? I don’t want him involved in my troubles.”

“But wouldn’t that hurt you?” Yeosang asks softly. “It already is hurting me,” you whisper. “But I have no choice.”

A week has passed since then, and it was now the last week before the championships. The day after the festival, Wooyoung noticed your absence but thought nothing of it at first, assuming you were busy. But as your absences spanned an entire week, he couldn’t help but worry. On Friday last week, he finally asked Yeosang about it.

“Please be patient with her,” Yeosang had said, offering no further explanation. This left Wooyoung confused and anxious. He wasn’t used to the absence of your presence and was increasingly worried about your wellbeing

This week, you finally muster the courage to return to school, but you avoid Wooyoung at all costs. You look sad, as if you’ve gone back to being the girl you once were before he got to know you. Wooyoung keeps trying to approach you, crossing paths with you on purpose and calling you, but you avoid him, even though it hurts you deeply.

Wooyoung has been constantly distracted and unfocused lately, his thoughts consumed by you. He keeps wondering if he did something wrong, if he unintentionally hurt you. During one particular practice round, he zones out and gets hit in the face by the football. Hongjoong decides he’s not in any shape to continue and tells him to take a break. Sitting on the bleachers, Wooyoung is visibly frustrated, his body language tense. The team continues practicing, but Yunho notices Wooyoung’s state. The sight of Wooyoung being unhappy pains him, and he ends up tripping himself on purpose to earn a break and join Wooyoung on the bleachers.

“Hey, you alright?” Yunho asks, sitting beside him. Wooyoung snaps, “Does it look like I am?” Then, realizing his rudeness, he sighs. “Sorry, I’m just stressed.” Yunho waves it off. “It’s all good. What's got you so distracted lately?”

When Wooyoung doesn't answer, Yunho guesses, “Photo girl?” Wooyoung sighs, and this serves as the confirmation Yunho needs. “What happened? I haven’t seen you two together, or even her around lately.”

“I don’t know," Wooyoung admits. “I asked Yeosang, but he just said to be patient with her. She’s been avoiding me, and it reminds me of when she used to hate me. It’s like we’re back to square one.”

“And why do you think that bothers you so much?” Yunho asks gently. “I don’t know why she’s affecting me this way,” Wooyoung says, his frustration evident. “Why I’m so worried about her, why she’s all I can think about. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Yunho looks at him thoughtfully. “Are you two dating?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “No.”

“You should be.”

Wooyoung looks at him, confused. "What?"

"You only being able to think about her isn’t something that happens just casually to anyone,” Yunho explains. “You’re in love with her. Everyone can see it, but it seems you have no idea.” Wooyoung stares at Yunho, confusion etched on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Yunho sighs, deciding it's time to lay it all out. “Think about it. You’ve been troubled over her absence, worried about her well-being, and sad that she’s avoiding you. That’s not just a concern for a fellow citizen, Woo. It’s more than that. You’ve been affected by everything she does because you care deeply about her, more than just as a friend.”

Wooyoung's brows furrow as he tries to process this. “But... how can you be so sure?” Yunho leans back, trying to find the right words. “Remember when she used to avoid you and us as well? It bothered you then, too, but you were persistent. You wanted to know her, to be close to her. And now, when she finally opened up and let you in, she’s gone again. That emptiness you’re feeling? It’s because you love her, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s mind races as he recalls all the moments with you—the laughter, the shared secrets, the warmth he felt whenever you were around. “But if I love her, why didn’t I realize it?”

Yunho shrugs. “Sometimes, we’re too close to the situation to see it clearly. It’s like being in the middle of a storm and not realizing how bad it is until someone points it out. You’ve been so focused on her that you didn’t notice your own feelings.” Wooyoung looks down. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

Yunho puts a hand on his shoulder. "Yeosang told you to be patient with her, right? That means she’s dealing with something, and she needs time. For now, you need to wait until she feels ready to approach you again. When that time comes, you can tell her how you feel.” Wooyoung’s frustration seeps into his voice. “But waiting is driving me insane.”

Yunho chuckles softly. “I know, but sometimes, waiting is all we can do. She’ll come around eventually. You just need to give her the space she needs. In the meantime, focus on being there for her when she’s ready. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, feeling a bit lighter. “I’ll try.”

—

It’s now the day before the championships. As you walk to your first class, you pass by Mr. Kim in the hallway. You intend to greet him quickly and keep your head down, but he stops you. “Come to my office after school,” he says, his tone surprisingly neutral.

You look up, expecting his usual condescending demeanor, but instead, he seems different—awkward, for a lack of a better word. You nod, too puzzled to speak, and watch him walk away. You stand there for a moment, your mind racing with questions. Little did you know, Wooyoung had watched the interaction from afar, his curiosity piqued.

During lunch, you and Yeosang return to your usual spot in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is filled with chatter and laughter, but your table is unusually quiet. You poke at your food, lost in thought, replaying Mr. Kim’s words in your head. The weight of your mistake still lingers within you. Yeosang notices your distant expression. “What’s on your mind?” he asks gently, taking a sip of his drink.

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Mr. Kim told me to come to his office after school.” Yeosang raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “Really? What for?” You shrug, feeling a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. “I don’t know. It’s just strange. He didn’t seem... angry. Which was odd.”

A thoughtful look crosses Yeosang’s face. “Maybe he’s going to take you back,” he suggests, trying to infuse some optimism into the conversation. You look at him skeptically, your brow furrowing. “Why would he do that after lashing out at me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Yeosang realizes you don’t know about Minjae confronting Mr. Kim. He decides to keep it to himself, not wanting to raise your hopes prematurely. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, who knows? The possibilities are endless. Maybe he realized he was too harsh.”

You glance around the cafeteria, your eyes scanning the sea of students. Your shoulders slump slightly when you don’t see who you’re looking for. Yeosang notices your wandering gaze and the faint disappointment that crosses your face.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks, though he already has a hunch of who it could be.You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thought. “No one,” you mumble, returning your attention to your untouched meal. A heavy silence falls between you, filled with unspoken thoughts. Finally, you break the silence, your voice tinged with worry. “Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be in good shape lately.”

“... Are you worried?” Yeosang asks gently, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know,” you admit hesitantly. “I just hope he’ll do well in his championships.”

Later on after school, with a mix of trepidation and hope, you make your way to Mr. Kim’s office. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and knock. “Come in,” Mr. Kim’s voice calls from within. Entering the office, you find Mr. Kim seated at his desk, looking unusually contemplative. The sternness that typically defines his demeanor seems to have softened slightly, replaced by an air of awkwardness. He clears his throat, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words.

“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair placed in front of his desk. You do as you’re told, hands clasped tightly in your lap, waiting for him to speak. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation. Finally, Mr. Kim begins, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “About the festival and your... lapse in judgment.” You nod, bracing yourself for another scolding. But instead, he continues, his tone less harsh than you expected. “I was too severe. You’ve been a dedicated member of this publication, and I realized that one mistake shouldn’t overshadow all your hard work,” he admits, looking almost embarrassed.Your eyes widen in surprise.

“What do you mean...?” Mr. Kim shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself. The championships are tomorrow, and I want you to document it thoroughly. That will be the basis for whether or not I reinstate you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real? With the amount of times you’ve made up scenarios in your head about how things could’ve turned out had you not been reckless, you’re not even able to distinguish this between a fragment of your imagination or reality anymore.

Tears well up in your eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Kim. Thank you so much,” you say, your voice filled with an overwhelming amount of gratitude. He nods curtly, clearly uncomfortable with the sentiment. “Yes, well… you can go home now. Don’t let me down.”

You thank him again, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to leave. As you step out of the office, a smile spreads across your face, the burden of the past few days lifting. You practically run to the school gates where Yeosang is waiting, and when he spots you, his face lights up with curiosity and concern. Seeing the tears in your eyes and the smile on your face, his worry quickly turns to joy.

“Hey, what’s—”

Before he can say anything else, you blurt out, “Mr. Kim is giving me a chance! He wants me to document the championships tomorrow!”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise and happiness. “That’s amazing! See, I told you! I knew he couldn’t just throw you out like that,” He pulls you into a tight hug, the two of you celebrating in joy. It feels like an eternity has passed since you last smiled, even though it’s only been two weeks.

“Thank you for always believing in me,” you say, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’ll never not believe in you,” Yeosang replies proudly, his smile genuine. As you both revel in the good news, the football team exits the school after their practice match, their boisterous voices filling the air. Wooyoung lags behind the group, his usual exuberance dampened by a quiet melancholy. When he spots you and Yeosang celebrating, he stops in his tracks, a look of yearning and sorrow crossing his face.

For him, time seems to slow. He watches the joyful interaction between you and Yeosang, a pang of longing hitting him hard. His heart aches with a mix of regret and confusion, feelings he has been struggling to understand ever since you started avoiding him. You, still caught up in your conversation with Yeosang, fail to notice Wooyoung. Your back is turned to him, and you’re too wrapped up in the moment to sense his presence. But Yeosang sees him, and their eyes meet. Yeosang gives Wooyoung a small, supportive smile.

Wooyoung tries to return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns away, rejoining his teammates as they head out of the school gates, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and unresolved feelings. As he walks away, he can’t shake the image of your happy face, feeling more eager than ever to find out what went wrong and how he can make it right.

As you and Yeosang walk home, the excitement of the conversation with Mr. Kim begins to wear off, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. The realization hits you like a freight train. Documenting the championships means being on the field, watching Wooyoung play. It means being in the same space as him after all your efforts to keep him at a distance.

You stop abruptly, causing Yeosang to look back at you with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I just realized documenting the championships means I’ll have to be around Wooyoung—after all this time I’ve spent avoiding him.”

Yeosang nods thoughtfully. “Oh… right. But, hey, Mr. Kim already gave you a second chance. There’s no longer a need to distance yourself from Wooyoung, right? I mean, it’s clear that avoiding him has been really hard for you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. "That makes sense, but... I’ve been avoiding him for two weeks straight without telling him what’s wrong. The last time we interacted, everything was fine. Now, I’m worried that he thinks he did something wrong. That’s all I can think about whenever I see him on campus and I act like he doesn’t exist. The guilt has been eating me alive.”

Yeosang gives you a sympathetic look. “I get it. But hey, you had your reasons, right?” You nod in agreement. “Well, yeah. But I don’t understand why Wooyoung is still trying to get my attention when I’ve made it clear that I can't talk to him.”

Yeosang chuckles softly. “Oh, that's simple. He’s in love with you.”

You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Yeosang in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Stop joking.”

Yeosang shakes his head, his expression serious. “I’m not joking. Wooyoung is in love with you. Think about it. All the times he’s gone out of his way to be near you, the way he looks at you, the effort he puts into getting your attention. Those aren’t the actions of someone who’s indifferent, are they?” You frown, trying to process his words. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he be in love with me?”

Yeosang sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re still not seeing it, are you? Let me spell it out for you. When you first started avoiding him, it was clear he was confused and hurt. But instead of giving up, he kept trying to find out what went wrong. He’s been distracted during practices, worried sick about you. He asked me about you, and I told him to be patient. He’s been following that advice, even though it's tearing him apart.”

“I didn’t realize…” you trail off, feeling your guilt spread even further. Yeosang continues, “And then there are all the little things. The way he lights up when you’re around, the way he’s always willing to do anything just to try to make you smile, the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way he talks about you to others. He’s never given up on you, even when you’ve given him every reason to.” You swallow hard, the weight of Yeosang's words sinking in. 

“And what about you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Do you love him?” he asks, his voice gentle but probing.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words get tangled in your throat. Do you love Wooyoung? You stop to think, memories flooding your mind. You remember the first time you met him, how he annoyed you with his relentless enthusiasm. But over time, that annoyance turned into something else. You began to appreciate his persistence, his kindness, and his unwavering support. You recall the times he made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to cheer you up.

You think about the countless moments you’ve shared, the conversations you had when it was only the two of you around, the time he invited you to play football with him so your spirits could be lifted up, the unspoken understanding between you. You remember the way your heart would race whenever he was near, and the ache you felt when you had to push him away.

“I... I don’t know,” you finally whisper, though deep down, you realize you do know. You’re just afraid to admit it.

Yeosang smiles softly, as if he can see right through you. “Maybe it will all make sense to you tomorrow during the game.”

—

The atmosphere in the locker room is thick with tension. It’s the day of the university football championships, and everyone is preparing themselves mentally and physically for the big game. The sound of cleats clicking against the tile floor, the rustle of jerseys being pulled over heads, and the occasional nervous banter fill the room. Wooyoung sits on the bench, staring blankly at his cleats, his mind elsewhere.

Hongjoong notices Wooyoung's distant look and sits down next to him. “Hey, Woo,” he says softly. “You sure you want to play today? You don’t look too good.” Wooyoung snaps out of his trance, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I can do it. I can do it.” But even as he says the words, doubt laces his voice.

Hongjoong places a reassuring hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. “Look, I know what’s been bothering you. And I know it’s hard. But you have to trust me when I say she’ll show up.” But Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be on the same bright side as Hongjoong. “What if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t come?” Hongjoong squeezes his shoulder. “Then you’ll play for yourself and for the team. But I have a feeling she’ll be here. Just trust me.”

The stands are packed with students, faculty, and supporters, all buzzing with anticipation. The announcers, Mr. Lee and Ms. Park, take their seats in the commentator’s box, ready to call the game. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the university football championships! We have an exciting match ahead of us today,” Mr. Lee announces enthusiastically.

“That’s right, Mr. Lee. Our home team will be facing off 

against the formidable opponents from Eastside University,” Ms. Park adds. Their voices boom through the loudspeakers, introducing the two teams and hyping up the crowd. The players line up, waving to the cheering spectators. The opposing team looks formidable, their players tall and intimidating. The tension is palpable as both teams take their positions on the field.

Wooyoung scans the bleachers, searching for your face among the sea of people. He doesn’t find you, and his heart sinks. The whistle blows, and the game begins.

You, on the other hand, had just woken from your slumber—a little later than usual, as the adrenaline and mixture of emotions from the previous night kept you up. Panic sets in as you realize the championships are starting soon. You hurriedly get dressed, grab your camera, and rush to catch the bus, messaging Yeosang along the way.  “Have the games started yet?” you type frantically. “They just started,” Yeosang replies. “Hurry up!”

Traffic is a nightmare, and every minute feels like an eternity. At the field, Minjae and Yeosang are already documenting the match. Minjae turns to Yeosang, a concerned look on his face. “Where is she? You said she was given another chance by Mr. Kim.” Yeosang explains your situation, and Minjae decides to cover for you until you arrive.

From the kickoff, Eastside University takes control of the ball. Their captain, Hanbin, swiftly maneuvers past the midfielders, displaying impressive footwork. He passes the ball to their forward, Gunwook, who attempts a shot on goal. “Gunwook with an early shot! But it’s blocked by Yunho, our goalkeeper,” Mr. Lee comments.

The home team tries to regain their footing, but their movements are sluggish, and their passes lack precision. Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts to dribble down the field, but he’s quickly surrounded by defenders. He hesitates, looking for an open teammate, but no one is in position. He loses the ball, and Eastside counterattacks. “Eastside University is pressing hard. They seem to have a clear strategy to target Wooyoung,” Ms. Park notes.

Hanbin sends a long pass to their winger, Jiwoong, who sprints down the sideline. He crosses the ball into the box, and Gunwook is there again to meet it with a powerful header. “Goal! Gunwook scores for Eastside University. It’s 1-0,” Mr. Lee announces.

Wooyoung’s team looks deflated. Their coordination is off, with players missing passes and failing to cover their marks. Wooyoung tries to rally his team, but his own mind is clouded with thoughts of you. The ball is back in play, and Eastside continues their aggressive approach. Wooyoung manages to break through the midfield and takes a shot, but it goes wide. The frustration is evident on his face. “This isn’t looking good for our team. They need to regroup and find their rhythm,” Ms. Park says.

Finally, you arrive at the field, out of breath and frazzled. Minjae and Yeosang immediately give you a rundown of what’s been happening. “Wooyoung has been out of it,” Yeosang says, worry etched on his face. “Everyone's noticed. It’s obvious he’s not in his best form.” Concern floods your chest. “What do you mean he’s out of it?” Yeosang sighs. “He’s been distracted, demotivated. It’s like his spirit is just...gone.”

Your heart aches at his words. You bid him and Minjae farewell for the meantime and a spot on the bleachers, ready your camera, and prepare to do your job—yet you can’t help but let your worries cloud you.

The team’s defense is struggling to contain Eastside’s relentless attacks. A pass from Jiwoong to his teammate, Matthew, results in a one-on-one with the goalkeeper, Yunho. Matthew fakes left and shoots right, scoring his second goal of the match. “Matthew scores with a goal! It’s 2-0 for Eastside,” Mr. Lee exclaims.

Wooyoung’s frustration grows. He gets the ball again and tries to dribble past three defenders but is tackled hard. He hits the ground, and the referee calls a foul. “Free kick for our team. Wooyoung will take it,” Mr. Lee says.

Wooyoung sets up for the free kick, his eyes scanning the field. He curls the ball towards the goal, but it hits the crossbar and bounces out. The crowd groans in frustration, and their team calls for a timeout. “Snap out of it, Wooyoung! We need you in the game, not in your head,” the coach barks at him.

Wooyoung nods mechanically, but his mind is far away. The timeout ends, and the team drags themselves back onto the field, still trailing behind. As they line up for the final half, San sidles up to Wooyoung, giving him a gentle nudge. 

“Look to your right.”

Wooyoung turns, his heart skipping a beat. There you are, sitting in the bleachers with your DSLR camera in hand, eyes focused on him. In that instant, the fog in Wooyoung’s mind clears, replaced by a surge of determination. He straightens up, his gaze hardening with resolve.

The referee blows the whistle, and the final half begins. Wooyoung’s transformation is immediate. He moves with renewed energy, his steps light and purposeful. The crowd senses the shift, their cheers growing louder. “Woah, Wooyoung is back! Look at him go,” Ms. Park exclaims from the commentary box.

Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts a swift counterattack. He weaves through defenders with ease, his focus razor-sharp. He passes the ball to Jongho, who takes a shot. The opposing team’s goalkeeper, Taerae, dives, but Jongho’s aim is direct. The ball hits the back of the net. “Goal! Jongho scores! It’s 2-1,” Mr. Lee shouts.

The team feeds off Wooyoung’s energy. Seonghwa and Hongjoong step up their game, working in perfect harmony. Hongjoong makes a crucial interception and passes to Seonghwa, who crosses the ball into the box. Wooyoung is there to meet it, heading the ball into the net. “Another goal for Wooyoung! It’s 2-2. What a comeback,” Ms. Park cheers.

With the score level, the tension is at its peak. Both teams are giving their all, but Wooyoung’s team has the momentum. Wooyoung receives a pass from Mingi and charges towards the goal. He’s tackled hard, but the ball rolls to Seonghwa, who shoots and scores. “Seonghwa scores! Our team takes the lead, 3-2,” Mr. Lee announces, the crowd roaring in approval.

Eastside tries to equalize, but the home team’s defense is solid. Hongjoong makes a critical save, keeping their lead intact. As the clock winds down, the pressure mounts. In the final minutes, the ball is at Wooyoung’s feet. He dribbles past two defenders, eyes locked on the goal. He takes a deep breath and shoots. As if right on time, you capture the perfect shot with your DSLR, the ball soaring through the air towards the goal. The ball curves beautifully, sailing past the goalkeeper and into the net.

“Goal! Wooyoung scores the final goal! It’s 4-2,” Ms. Park screams.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of the match. The stadium erupts in cheers. Wooyoung’s teammates rush to him, lifting him into the air in celebration. They toss him up, chanting his name. As you capture the moment through your lens, you notice Wooyoung looking directly at you, a triumphant smile on his face.

When the team finally sets Wooyoung down, he immediately bolts toward the bleachers. You’re positioned at the very front, ensuring you have the best angles for your shots. Seeing him run toward you, your heart races.

“Hey, I—” you begin, leaning closer.

But Wooyoung doesn’t let you finish. He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you so firmly it feels like he never wants to let go. The warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, and for a moment, the world fades away.

The crowd gasps in shock, then bursts into squeals and screams, cameras flashing as they capture the moment. You’re about to tell Wooyoung that everyone is watching and taking pictures, but he speaks first, his voice muffled in your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, his words filled with raw emotion.

You pull back slightly, enough to look into his eyes, which are filled with a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper that makes your heart ache. “I… I missed you too,” you say, your voice breaking. The noise around you fades as you both stand there, lost in each other’s eyes. It’s as if time has stopped, and there’s only the two of you in this crowded stadium.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Wooyoung,” You speak up, your voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry for disappearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry for not telling you about what I was going through, I was just… I was scared. I should’ve—”

He gently shushes you, his hands on either side of your face. “Everything’s alright, okay? You’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me. And for the record, I don’t mind waiting for you a million times more—just as long as you promise me you’ll come back every single time, too.”

Behind you, the crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, but it’s a distant sound, an echo of a world outside this bubble you and Wooyoung have created.

“You’ll… you’ll stay now, right?” Wooyoung asks, and the worried tone in his voice strikes a chord right deep in your heart. 

“I will. I won’t leave.”

Meanwhile, a little distance away, Yunho and Mingi are watching the heartwarming scene unfold. A week ago, they had made a bet about you and Wooyoung reconciling exactly during the championships. Yunho had been on the agreeing side, while Mingi had not.

Yunho grins and turns to Mingi. 

“So, about that bet...”

🪞— lividstar.

[nattikay]

wooooo they have proper refsheets

massive lore dump under the cut

Might as well start with Neynari. Probably the most striking thing about her visually is that she has a condition called leucism, which causes an underproduction of pigment. In Neynari's case, her leucism is a random mutation that resulted in the malfunction of her pigment-producing cells, rather than a genetic trait inherited from her family. Needless to say the clan was quite surprised when she was born hrh

Speaking of which, Neynari was born in the Aranahe clan to a couple by the names of Seylana and Vontxu. She was an only child and has an especially close relationship with her mother. Her father, Vontxu, was very quiet and reserved; he rarely spoke and was difficult to get to know. Seylana found his soft demeanor charming, but while Neynari loves her father and knows he loves her too, his personality made it harder for her to bond with him, so she was never quite as close to him as she was to her mother.

Her pale skin makes her a poor hunter--prey can see her coming from a mile away--but she more than makes up for her lack of hunting ability with excellent craftsmanship. Growing up in the Aranahe clan she is of course well versed in weaving and dyeing, but her true passion is beading. She absolutely loves making beads of all varieties and incorporating them into her weaving projects. Vontxu is actually the one who first taught her how to make them, and it was one of the few activities she felt she and her father could bond over. She used to sit for hours in the weaver's den with him, not speaking, just carving beads to their hearts' content.

One day a group of Aranahe artisans, Neynari among them, set off on a trading route to visit the Anurai clan. Neynari knew the Anurai clan also had a reputation as skilled artisans and was keen to compare their crafts. It was on this trip that she met Se'txelu...

(rewinds tape recorder) alright let's talk about Se'txelu now hrh. I mentioned how Neynari has a condition called leucism. Well, Se'txelu has the opposite: melanism (or I guess for a Na'vi it would be called cyanism). So while Neynari's body underproduces pigment, Se'txelu's overproduces it. Unlike Neynari whose condition was a random mutation, Se'txelu's is one that I headcanon as a rare but established recessive trait among his clan, the Anurai (actually google tells me that irl melanism is dominant but shhhhhh this is imaginary alien version I can do what I want with it lol). This Pandoran version of the condition, in my headcanon, requires just the right combo of genes to show up in the phenotype, so while several of the Anurai are carriers of the gene(s), it's very rare to have more than two or three indivduals who actually display it living in the clan at the same time, and sometimes there are none at all. At the time of this "story" there are only two: Se'txelu himself, and the current tsahìk, Awlun (who happens to be his great-aunt.) Before them, the most recent person to have it was Se'txelu's great-grandfather. 

The Anurai don't use human terms like melanism or cyanism of course; they refer to this condition as txonleng (shortened from txonä ta'leng, meaning "skin of night"), and because the dark color resembles the hide of the mighty palulukan which the Anurai canonically revere, it is generally believed that individuals born with txonleng are blessed by Eywa and destined to be legendary hunters, especially nocturnal hunters...which there may be a sliver of truth to, since they are naturally better at blending into the shadows.

In Se'txelu's case, though....well, he is good at camouflage, but alas, he's also kinda clumsy, which kinda cancels out any stealth bonus granted by his condition 😅 Despite his clumsiness, he is still a decent hunter at least, albeit a long ways off from "legendary" status (uh oh, potential source of angst for this usually happy-go-lucky dork).

When the Aranahe artisans visited his clan to trade, Neynari immediately caught Se'txelu's attention. He'd never seen anyone who looked like her before, and on top of that, she was quite beautiful. He was infatuated immediately. Lucky for him, she took notice of him too (they both kinda stand out in a crowd lol). Now, while Se'txelu had never seen anyone with leucism like Neynari, he had met two other people with his own condition, txonleng—his great-grandfather (although his memories of him are hazy since he was quite young when he died (of old age)), and Awlun (who of course is still alive and kicking)—so though his condition was rare he had never really felt alone because of it. Neynari, on the other hand, had never seen another Na'vi who wasn't standard blue, so meeting someone else who stood out like that was shocking and intriguing. 

The Aranahe trading party stayed with the Anurai for about a week. Se'txelu tried to work up the nerve to actually talk to Neynari. One day, she noticed him up in a tree and waved at him. Remember when I said Se'txelu was clumsy? Well, he tried to wave back...but in doing so let go of the branch he was gripping and fell out of the tree. Onto his face. And lost a tooth in the process. 

Neynari felt awful because she felt like the accident was her fault, and she came to check on Se'txelu once his bloody mouth had been cleaned up. But despite the initial awkward guilt, with that incident the ice, much like Se'txelu's face, was broken lol. They ended up talking for a long time after that, and clicked pretty hard. Neynari even gave him the joking nickname Sre'tìkelu ("tooth-lack") in reference to the now permanent gap in his smile. They continued to bond over the next few days, and when it came time for the Aranahe party to return home, Neynari found herself not wanting to join them...

Neynari's closest friend back home had always been her mother, Seylana. But tragically, Seylana had passed away of sickness about two years prior to Neynari's trip to the Anurai. With the loss of her mother back home, but the promise of a potential future with Se'txelu here, Neynari was wondering if she should stay and ask to join the Anurai clan...but would that be fair to her ancestors, and to the clan who had raised and loved her?

The night before the Aranahe were meant to leave, Neynari asked Se'txelu to take her to the nearest spirit tree. She connected to Eywa and spoke with Seylana's spirit, pouring her heart out to the memory of her mother and explaining her dilemma. Seylana comforted her daughter and encouraged her to stay with the Anurai. She wanted her daughter to have a bright and happy future and if she found that in another clan, so be it. 

Now with her mother's blessing, Neynari spoke with Awlun, the Anurai tsahìk, as well as with the leader of the Aranahe trading party, and explained the whole situation. She was allowed to join the Anurai, and she and Se'txelu began courting officially, and became mates not long after.

But wait! All these words and we haven't even mentioned Rolukx yet! Rolukx is Se'txelu's older brother, by roughly five or six years. When the boys were young, their father, Tanu, was involved in a hunting accident and almost died. He survived and is fine now, save a few scars, but there was a period of time where his condition was critical and his survival unclear. Se'txelu doesn't really remember this incident because he was too young, but Rolukx does, and it really affected him. Up until that point, he, like many young children, thought of his dad as invincible...this brush with death shattered that innocent belief for poor Rolukx; he became a lot more nervous and paranoid about safety and, well, mortality. One way he dealt with this trauma was becoming very protective of his little brother, even after they became adults (and to be fair, his worries over Se'txelu's safety aren't entirely unfounded because, again, clumsy dork lol). 

Though he spends a lot of his time keeping an eye on his brother, Rolukx is actually a musician and instrument maker by trade, and he's very good at it. The knife he carries is not (usually) used for hunting or cooking, but rather for whittling bone (and other materials, but Anurai clan so mostly bone lol) into intricate flutes and whistles. He plays them beautifully as well, but unfortunately suffers from stage fright and dislikes playing in front of others. The only person he'll consistently play for is his mother Lunaya, who was always very encouraging of his talents (he's a bit of a mama's boy).

Rolukx was a little wary of Neynari at first, as he felt like Se'txelu was rushing into this relationship with some random girl from another clan way too fast. But Se'txelu seemed happy, and when Neynari showed genuine interest in Rolukx's whittling skills, offering to teach him some Aranahe beading and weaving tips in exchange for some whittling and music ones, he warmed up to her and they wound up being pretty good friends, so Rolukx approves of his brother's relationship. 

Lunaya, the boys' mother, happens to also love beaded accessories and hit it off with Neynari right away. Neynari appreciates having her around because she reminds her of her own mother, even if Lunaya is much more extroverted and eccentric than Seylana was. 

(deep breath) sooooooooooo.....I think that covers most of it. those are my dumb dumbs, enjoy

[jacevelaryonswife]

You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

taglist: @venmondiese @re-per @anukulee @slytherincursebreaker @tulips2715 @rhaenyslay @angelinap09 @cupidelocke @aegonswife @fan-goddess @thenightmistress @deliaseastar @scarletbedlam @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk

my lovely beta reader: @moris-auri 💙💙

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I'd like to request a ShinyHunter!Reader giving their epilogue friends Pokemon they caught during their adventure (can be traded or gifted), with handwritten notes carefully taped inside their Pokeballs kinda explaining the meaning behind them:

Carmine - Authentic Polteageist

"I came to Kitakami as a stranger but left as your friend. It's my hope that this Pokemon and your beloved Sinistcha can be good buddies just as we are now."

--

Kieran - Roaring Moon / Iron Valiant

"I wanted to give you something that's just as rare, powerful, and wonderful as you are. Just as you found yourself through the darkness during the excursion in Area Zero, so too did I find this Pokemon."

--

Arven - Arcanine

"I wanted you and Mabosstiff to have a loyal, strong companion by your side, someone who will be by your side no matter what happens in life."

--

Nemona - Whatever the reader's starter was

"I wanted you to carry a piece of me in your party, since you've been the first friend to support and encourage me on my adventure."

--

Penny - Either Espeon or Glaceon

"I know you love a certain type of Pokemon, and I hoped this one would find belonging with your team - just like you've found it with me, Team Star, and the others."

Ik we can't trade shinies but damn it if gamefreak won't let us,,,we writers WILL make it happen

........

Carmine

One of the first things she learned about you during your trip to Kitakami was your obsession with shiny-hunting. You've done it all your life, with your first ever starter pokemon being a shiny, too!

You literally spend hours at a time running around different places, looking for Pokémon that either have a darker/lighter hue to their colors or looked incredibly different.

Tbh wonders if this is some Paldea craze bc no way could she see herself wasting so much time...

Despite that, your team of shiny 'mons had great stats and kicked her team down pretty good.

For a while she thought you were being the biggest show-off.

But after everything that happened with Ogerpon, the Loyal Three, BB Academy, Kieran, Terapagos, Pecharunt, etc..Carmine becomes one of your closest friends, learning to accept and support your passions for shiny hunting.

When she decides to trade you a Poltchageist, you surprise her by trading back a Shiny Polteageist with the authentic stamp, having found it by sheer luck.

Inside its pokeball, she discovers a note carefully taped within, and you assure her she can read it in front of you.

"To Carmine: I arrived to Kitakami as a stranger, but left as your friend, and I'm glad our bond has grown stronger. It's my hope that this Authentic Polteageist and your Sinistcha can become good buddies just like we have -[Y/n]"

She was so close to tearing up until she reads the word "authentic" and wonders how tf you managed to find such a specific Pokémon (especially a shiny authentic Polteageist).

"Well I had to set up a camp near Alfornada and then-" You almost start infodumping your hunting strategies, but she stops you with a hug instead.

"I promise they'll become the best of friends, and if not....then I'll...I'll make them be friends!" She huffs, while you just smile and hug her back, glad she appreciated the note.

Kieran

In Kitakami, he was always fascinated by your team of shinies, and at dinner he gawked when you brought up tales of your harrowing adventures in trying to find them.

For instance, you nearly got beaten up by some Mankeys before finding a Shiny Primeape somewhere nearby--but talked about it so casually. Like it was just another normal day for you.

You're not only strong, but very brave too..and he admires those traits.

Although when you two meet again at BB, it's just more fuel added to his jealousy of you. And he even comments about whether you wasted more time shiny hunting or training.

In the underdepths, you found a Shiny Carbink, and he tries catching it first---only for it to break out of the pokeball, and he scowls when you capture it without much trouble.

But after reconciling with each other and resolving the whole mess with Pecharunt, Kieran decides to trade you an Applin (after hyping himself up to ask you ofc).

You considered trading him one as well...

But you thought of something even better that also held special meaning:

A Shiny Paradox Pokémon you found when you returned to Area Zero to capture the alpha 'raidon.

More specifically, it was [Roaring Moon/Iron Valiant], and he was absolutely stunned when the creature pops out and greets him, unable to believe his eyes.

"W-Wowzers, you're actually gonna let me have one of.....huh?" It presents him with a note, handwritten by you.

"To Kieran: I wanted to give you something that's just as rare, powerful, and wonderful as you are. Just like how you've found yourself through the darkness back in Area Zero, I too found this Paradox Pokémon waiting for me. May it be your guiding light to future victories -[Y/N]"

He doesn't realize he's crying at your touching message until he sees several teardrops staining the paper.

How did he get so lucky to have such a caring and forgiving person like you in his life?

Arven

He knew about your shiny hunting hobby, although at times he thinks you're nuts for willing to risk life and limb for a slightly differently colored Pokémon.

You have notes about how you found a Shiny Garganacl, Copperajah, Gabite, Houndstone, and even an Iron Bundle--all down in Area Zero.

You explain that sparkling sandwich recipes make them show up more often, and he tries it out and is stunned when he finds a Shiny later on.

Ofc you take a little pride in teaching him something new.

When he visits the League Club and decides to trade Pokémon with you, it wasn't that hard to figure out what to give him.

He's stunned when it's a Shiny Arcanine with a note taped within the pokeball, addressed to him.

"To Arven: I've helped you and Mabosstiff before, and I will do so again. So here's a Pokémon who will be forever loyal to you both. No matter what curveballs life may throw at you, Arcanine will never leave your side -[Y/N] (PS: I've been calling this one Mustard, but you can give it a new name if you wish).

He laughs a little at the end of the message, as it brought a huge smile to his face.

"Not a bad name, buddy! Thank you..truly. I think Mustard and Mabosstiff will get along just fine."

Nemona

She'll thrilled you've found your calling as a shiny hunter during your Pokemon journey, but always reminded you not to forget about being her "rival for life", too.

When all is said and done, you invited her to the clubroom at the BB Academy with an idea.

Since she was the first person in Paldea to give you the encouragement to start your Pokémon journey, you wanted to give her something extra special to show your thanks.

Although first you had to pull her away from Kieran (who was startled by her demand for a battle) and distract her by proposing a trade.

Turns out she planned to do that exact same thing when she arrived....but got caught up in meeting a fellow champion and totally forgot in her excitement.

Anyways, you finally did a trade and Nemona's amazed when you give her a shiny version of your starter Pokémon (meanwhile, your fully-leveled starter ace is standing beside you, looking proud).

She's so hyped to rush outside and train it that she doesn't even see the note you left in the pokeball until the shiny gives it to her.

"Huh?? Oh! How could I have missed this??" She gasps dramatically before sitting down to read it over.

"To Nemona: You've always supported and encouraged me since the start of my Pokémon journey, and I couldn't be more grateful. So as my first friend and rival here in Paldea, I wanted you to carry a piece of me in your party. May you both grow stronger together -[Y/N]"

Her heart is just full as she reads the sweet note, before jumping up to crush you in a hug.

This really meant a lot to her--more than you ever know considering you've been her #1 source of encouragement, too.

Penny

Tackling all the Team Star bases definitely gave you an excuse to do some shiny hunting on the side, and you soon come across an Eevee.

It had a lonely/timid nature when you caught it, feeling like a misfit despite being in your party of shinies.

You weren't sure which form to evolve it into, as it didn't seem interested in any stone or in becoming your friend.

After helping Team Star and Penny redeem themselves and resolve the mess with Pecharunt, you have a small chat in her dorm room about Shiny Eeveelutions--to which she remarks her attempts to collect them, yet is having terrible luck so far.

She's well aware that Flareon, Glaceon, and Leafeon shinies look painfully similar to their counterparts (having slightly different hues) and expresses her frustration in the fact she could have seen one but didn't realize...

Later, you find Shiny Eevee digging through your bag, and you wonder why until it pulls out an ice stone.....and it finally occurs to you that it heard your conversation with Penny.

Seems like it finally made its choice.

So when you invite her to the League Club, you trade her a Shiny Glaceon, to which she just gawks like "are you fr???? I can have this one????"

Then she sees the note meticulously taped inside and reads it to herself.

"To Penny: I know how much you love a certain type of Pokémon. So I entrust you with this Glaceon, a true Shiny. I hope it finds belonging in your team, just like you've found it in me, Team Star, and all the others -[Y/n]."

She can't help the smile growing on her face, taking off her glasses to wipe at her eyes, all while Shiny Glaceon smiles and comforts her--proving that it's ready to be her new companion.

[hanyjar]

do stars return?

itoshi sae x reader

summary: your childhood friend leaves, and you question if he’ll ever come back.

notes: [1.2k words.] i like to think this man has super angst potential but that won’t be unearthed today LOL no beta we die like men <3

disclaimers: childhood friends trope, angst (if u squint) to fluff, making out for a lil bit, poetic dialogue, forgiveness theme.

masterlist.

Itoshi Sae shines.

It's a truth you've come to realise at the budding age of seven. He, with his tepid stature and equally cold attitude, is destined for greatness.

A star, you whisper, once upon a time. A time where he lived without a million eyes watching his every move. You will become a star, I just know it. 

And back in the day, it wasn't just you who believed it. Everyone did. From his teachers to his classmates, to his parents and his brother. It was an indisputable fact that the boy who dedicated himself wholly to soccer, a prodigy who made the sport look like an art form, had his future set out for stardom.

So it is no surprise to anyone when your naive declaration comes into fruition.

His face is plastered on every billboard - as far as the eye can see. Japan's pride, he is known as. The Ice Prince; he who dominates the field; a force to be reckoned with.

Itoshi Sae: the star.

You are proud. No doubt. Though, it’s false to say that you aren’t envious. Sae is a trailblazer: one that surpasses all of his enemies with a nonchalant stare, and transcends into the sky with the other geniuses. He is a part of the lucky few who are destined to be gazed upon with awe. Everything and anything you have achieved pales in comparison.

(You’d surely hear reprimands if you voice those thoughts out loud, though. In your time, you have made a name for yourself. An expert in your passion at the mere age of seventeen; a trailblazer in your own right.

…It’ll just never compare to the name Sae built for himself, you think with finality.)

But above the awe and envy you feel whenever Sae’s name comes up, is love.

Love: a trap that is inevitable for a childhood friend of his. A pitfall that you have fell into. Your love for him is a bittersweet fact, one which tugs at your heartstrings whenever his face shows up on your phone. Sweet, because childhood love is a beautiful, rare thing - you’re glad that it has happened, in all honesty - though bitter all the same, because he is a star.

And stars shoot past. They never go back.

(He, will never go back.)

So for the years that Sae is gone, you float by on that knowledge. Merely acknowledging him as the one who crashed into your life, and left as turbulently as he came. You work diligently to mute the love that festered in your heart, knowing it will never be. 

You wholeheartedly believe that your life will continue in this fashion.

Then, the impossible happens.

The star returns, seven years later. On your doorstep, nonetheless.

"Itoshi?" 

Somehow, even in the ungodly hour of 12:56AM, Sae manages to look as beautiful as the day he left. It's unfair. Unfair for him to show up at your doorstep unannounced; unfair for him to have grown into his boyish looks as gracefully as he did.

It’s unfair for him to still make your heart race, even after all this time.

"Who else would it be?" He scoffs, the bite of his words not quite reaching his eyes. "And, Itoshi, seriously?"

His voice makes your heart leap. It's like you are ten again. "Well… You haven't been Sae for a while now," you say. "Not since you ghosted me, anyways."

Sae's eyes flicker with an emotion you thought he is incapable of feeling. "I didn't mean to." Regret. The Ice Prince is feeling regret, all for you. And if you were ten again, maybe that alone would shake you. But you aren't. You are several years wiser. You know better.

"It's fine if you want to be the best in the world. I don't blame you for that - not at all. But you can be number one and not neglect the ones that love you, y'know?" You slowly retreat back into the comfort of your apartment, hand creeping onto the back of the door. "Goodnight, Itoshi. You should go home; it's late."

You push the door, preparing to end the conversation then and there.

It’s not supposed to be like this, you realise. He, your first love, is supposed to stay in the past. Itoshi Sae should not be at your doorstep past midnight, suitcase in tow, as if he came straight from the airport to your house. The feelings you hold for him should be locked up within the depths of your heart - not surging in full force from just the sight of him.

But alas, fate plays its mischievous tricks once again. And Sae is not the type of person who lets blunders get away scot-free.

"…You love me?” He says, barely above a whisper, foot wedged between the door and the entrance. An impenetrable silence follows from your end. 

Seven years older, but still a fool in the face of love, it seems.

“I did,” I still do, your mind yells. “But you’re a star now, Sae. Just like I said you would be.” Your breath hitches, nails forming crescent-shaped indents within your palm. “…And stars don’t fall in love with the big, black sea of nothingness, do they?”

A beat of silence ensues from his end. You cringe at your own word choice. Maybe he left, you think. Great. Itoshi Sae was at your door, and you scared him away with your stupid love and even stupider confession. How stupid can you even get—

The door hinge creaks as you topple over, shattering your inner turmoil. Sae announces his intrusion with a loud sigh.

“Hey! What are you?— This is considered trespassing—“ You begin. Sae shuts you up with a forceful kiss, pinning you against the door that you were hiding behind minutes before. It’s messy, tantalising, addicting. The smell of his aquatic cologne fills your senses, and he cups your face in between his hands. He feels so warm. He feels like home.

Sae’s whole body screams of need. The need for you; the need to make up for the lost time. 

You hate how you are so weak for him. 

“Idiot.” He deadpans as the two of you part. “If you’re going to get all poetic on me, fine. Stars don’t fall in love with the galaxy.” 

You remove yourself from his arms, eyes scrunching in offence. Bold thing for him to say, especially after he just kissed your lips raw. “So… You’re not in love with me?”

“Let me finish.” Sae is quick to pull you back into his embrace, voice impossibly soft for the otherwise stone-faced boy. “Stars don’t fall in love with the sky. They live in it; I live with you.”

Sae hopes that the implication is clear.

You, alone, are his hope; you are the reason he sparkles as much as he does. Even while you were miles apart, his childhood friend was the sole thing on his mind. A star cannot shine without its galaxy, after all.

“You’re not off the hook, by the way.” You breathe lightly, laying your head against his chest. “Seven years is still a long time. I don’t think you can cuddle your way out of this one, Itoshi.”

A small smile elicits from his face, “I can try, can’t I?”

…And this star is willing to wait for his galaxy to forgive him, no matter how long it takes.

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- kisses + the 13 flame-chasers

summary: what it says on the tin!

tags: flame-chasers x gn!reader, griseo's is platonic of course, fluff, lots of kissies.

i. kevin kaslana

kevin’s last try at love had left him unable to touch anything living, his body now colder than ice. he craves the contact he once was able to give and receive freely, but to sacrifice his own body in pursuit of the MOTH’s goals was something he was more than willing to do. but even the icy-hearted first flame chaser has his moments of weakness. in those moments he’ll grab your tie, or the end of your skirt and bring it up to his lips, inhaling the scent he was never close enough to know, and wonder how warm your skin felt underneath.

ii. elysia

elysia adores everything about you, and she wants you to know how much you are loved every moment she is with you. she places kisses to any place she can reach, but more than that she loves watching your reactions. so human, so beautiful. it’s not rare to end up with her rosy gloss all over you.

iii. aponia

aponia likes listening to you breathe. underneath a tree in the tall grass, your head in her lap. it’s one of the few times she feels she can live in the present. the future is the farthest thing from her mind as she leans down and places a kiss to your forehead, telling you to go to sleep. she doesn’t command you to do it so, but with her soft humming, you soon drift off. aponia kisses your eyelids, then, and prays for your dreams to be pleasant.

iv. eden

her lips taste of the finest wine; how could you not get intoxicated after kissing her? the high of eden’s performance doesn’t wear off for hours, and she loves to perch you up on her vanity and kiss you until she’s satisfied… and eden is hard to satiate. out of all the endless riches she has amassed, you are her favorite treasure of all.

v. vill-v

the great magician loves to woo you with her performances. look down into their hat and when you see nothing inside, she’ll tilt your chin up and give you a quick peck.

the expert likes to ramble off her ideas for projects — you’re the only one allowed in their lab. it’s not often they get excited about things, but with you there she finds that old passion for inventing return in spades. when you aren’t looking, she’ll place a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering out her thanks.

vill-v loves you wholly, with every part of themself.

vi. kalpas

you’re one of the few who has gotten to see under kalpas’s mask. his skin is fair, sunken pale eyes tired and angry. it’s the first time he lets you see underneath that you finally get to kiss him. his teeth are bared, and he threatens to kill you for standing so close. but when your lips touch his own, all feigned malice melts away, and he pulls you into him hard.

vii. su

his kisses are featherlight, as soft as a summer breeze. as busy as he is with his work, he will always find pockets of time to spend with you. even if it’s just as small as kissing your cheek before he leaves for work, he will remember your loving eyes, the way the morning light made your skin glow, your small smile… yes, this is one memory that will follow him forevermore.

viii. SAKURA

SAKURA always looks for you after battles. she is covered in bruises and cuts that will leave ugly scars later, but she needs to know you’re okay; that the one person left that she loves is still there. she ushers you someplace quiet and hums, a familiar song that she once sang to RIN and patches you up. you tell her of an old superstition that you once heard, and she takes it to heart. SAKURA doesn’t let you go until she’s placed her lips against every future scar, promising you that next time, she’ll keep you safe.

ix. kosma

try as he might, he will never be able to figure out what you’re thinking. when you reassure him that you like him, he wonders if you mean in a way that he can sit close to you. it’s easier show him what’s on your mind, tilt his chin up and plant a sweet kiss to his lips. kosma will think about your touch for a long time, one hand touching his lips and the other balled into his tunic. he hopes you’ll kiss him again and again.

x. mobius

mobius tastes sickeningly sweet, you sometimes wonder if her lipstick is laced with poison. when mobius kisses you, it is needy, her lips moving hard and fast against your own, pressing you against her lab table. when she pulls back, you’re seeing stars, and she grins at you like a predator. you can’t help but think if this is where you die, it wouldn’t be so bad.

xi. griseo

mama aponia tells griseo that kisses are reserved for people she loves. and so she gives mama aponia a kiss on the cheek before she goes to look for inspiration. today, you are her muse, and you sit for hours as she paints every color that she sees in you; each one unique to you. once you’re done, she tugs your sleeve and tells you to come look. you tell her it’s beautiful, and she kisses you on the cheeks as thanks.

xii. fu hua

hua fights with her fists, and so the bruises left on her knuckles are forever rosy, never allowed to fully heal. when she spars with you, she never goes easy, and you’re face down in the dirt after only one round. she notices the deep purple of fresh bruises on your hands, and places a kiss to each one, praising you for trying so hard.

xiii. pardofelis

pardo loves all things shiny, but she’s found she doesn’t mind being paid in kisses from time to time. she purrs as you take her cheeks into your hands, kissing her all over the face. felis can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles, falling forward into your lap and nuzzling into your neck.

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Clinically Jealous

Your two lovers have a slight problem ♪°

Yandere-ish jotaro x reader x yandere-ish kakyoin

Warnings: mentions of very light threat and violence. Slight yandere behavior? Very Cringe old writing, out of character. Very cringe.

Relationship: romantic.

This has been rotting in my notesapp for a good while now.

"What is wrong with you!?" You shout.

Smack!

"You... You merciless beast! I will take revenge on you!" You dramatically cry out as you pick up the pillow Kakyoin had thrown at your face.

"Ho? Let's see you try." Kakyoin says with a smirk as he picks up two pillows that were behind him.

"Come at me as much as you'd like!-"

Smack!

The next few moments were filled with squealing and laughter as you both throw pillows at each other. Running around the bed you were sure you both could've broken it but you two were having too much fun to care.

The door opens with a grunt following a small 'good grief' could be heard. You and Kakyoin both stop and look at Jotaro who pulled his hat down as he closed the door behind him.

"Wanna join?" Your question was met with an immediate "no."

Kakyoin grins and throws a pillow directly at Jotaro's face, but Jotaro caught the pillow before it could land on him but he couldn't dodge the one that was sent by you immediately after Kakyoin's. In his defense, how could he? When he's so relaxed and off guard around two of one of the most important people in his life? He doesn't need the feel to be cautious of anything. At least not now...

Kakyoin couldn't be any more happier. This feeling of contentment was something he so desperately searched for, with you and Jotaro filling the hole in his heart. He would never, ever, let any of you two go. The moment the anguishing ache of loneliness settles in again is the moment he'll lose his mind.

A proud laugh escaped your mouth followed by kakyoin's chuckling. Jotaro grunted with an unamused expression but let out a small smile as he picked up the pillow you had thrown at him, his hat blocking his face as he bent over to do so. He walked towards you both, a pillow in both his hands with a slight smug look that said he was going to indulge in the pillow fight for a bit. But he wasn't going to hold back...

Out of panic both you and kakyoin started fighting against Jotaro for the sake of both your lives now.

~ ~ ~

You sighed as you sat down between the two men on the bed. Jotaro on your right side and Kakyoin on your left, being sandwiched between two men was quite... The golden experience. Especially if those two men rarely ever showed their bare physique. Kakyoin was in a whole ass pajama but it was relatively thinner than his uniform frabic so you could see more of the outline and curves of his body a bit more clearly. And jotaro was in a damn tank top (plus he finally put down his hat). Almost not being able to take your eyes off of his bare arms, especially since it wasn't everyday you'd get to see someone as buff and chiseled as him this close. Focusing on every vein that bulged out of the back of his hands and forear- you should sleep. You swore you could've almost heard them holding in their laughs.

Of course, you three wouldn't forget the small ritual you would all do when all three of you were in a bed together. You giving them good night kisses that would sometimes be a little too passionate that would sometimes turn into full blown make out sessions that would probably last half an hour- but it never escalated anything above that. Besides it does a great job making you all fall asleep a little faster.

Intertwining your fingers with Kakyoins, he always wanted to be in contact with you one way or another. And while Jotaro insists he doesn't need it, he doesn't try to stop or pull away from you once as you wrap your hand around his. Indulging in Kakyoin's physical wants and needs doesn't stop him from "accidentally" Brushing or placing his hand on certain parts of your body though. (He'll stop if you express your discomfort and will apologize like a million times.)

As you close your eyes, feeling relaxed and comforted by the darkness and the warmth of your two lovers. A small frown attended Kakyoin's face as he exchanged a quick knowing glance at Jotaro who nodded slightly.

"Reader..." Kakyoin called out.

You opened your eyes and let out a hum. Almost simultaneously both Kakyoin and Jotaro got closer to you, inching their bodies towards yours as kakyoin gripped tighter on your hand and Jotaro wrapped his arm right under your chest at your ribcage as he held on firmly onto your left arm as to keep you in place.

"Me and Jotaro have been wanting to discuss about something.. To you." Kakyoin said in a soft voice although there was a bitter undertone in it.

"It's about that friend of yours." A deeper voice you knew as your boyfriend and the person on your left said. Jotaro's voice becoming slightly harsher and cold at the emphasis 'friend'.

All the comfort and relaxation in your body had been thrown out the window, feeling extremely uncomfortable and confused as your heart now pounded against your chest heavily. As if they sensed the fear in you, Kakyoin cut you off as soon as you opened your mouth to say something.

"We won't hurt you or anything, cherry." He says in a soothing tone that would've comforted you if it weren't for the situation you were in right now as he softly caresses your cheeks with his fingers. "Swear we won't lay a bad finger on you.." His voice hushed as he tried to 'reassure' you. It didn't make you feel any better in the slightest, really.

"You know that, Right?" Jotaro asked in an almost threatening tone as his fingers gripped on the side of your face, squishing your cheeks ever so slightly. You quickly nodded.

"Good." With that he let go. Your fear definitely did not subside.

"Now we got that out of the way, I think you should stop seeing them... For a while until or unless they fix their behavior around you. Or... You can let us take care of it." Kakyoin says. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion but then the realisation of what they were talking about hit you.

Of course that one friend who always seemed to laugh a little harder around you. Kakyoin suppressing showing any expression of annoyance but sending occasional glares whenever your back was turned. Even an idiot could tell Jotaro was annoyed and irked just by glancing at his face once.

That one friend who seemed to always brush their hands or arms against yours. Or hugged you a second or two longer than they should've. A clear frown on Kakyoin's face as he clenched his fist while watching the scene. Jotaro's eyes devoid of any indication of being okay with the interaction. For a man of a few words, he was sure good at speaking (anger) through his eyes.

That one friend who always seemed to want to hang with you way too much. Almost every day. Jotaro and Kakyoin pretending it doesn't piss them the hell off when almost everytime you guys are together and you keep getting texts from your friend just for the sake of not wanting to make it apparent they're jealous and irritated. But lately it's been getting harder.

That one friend who seemed to compliment you way too much, way too happy and eager to be around you. There was no mistaking it set both of your lovers off. Upset with the whole relationship dynamic with this 'friend'. Let's be honest here, are you sure they see you as just a friend? If you knew then... You would tell your friend off, right? You would consult Kakyoin and Jotaro about it, right? You wouldn't keep or hide anything away from them... Right?

"They're too damn touchy with you." Jotaro's voice snaps you out of your train of thoughts. "It's annoying as hell." He added, his voice deepening as he did so.

"I... I'm sure they didn't mean anything by it! They're just touchy like that! I'll tell them to stop" You reply and hope they'd be a little more understanding... Although it shows that it doesn't actually help in the slighest.

"See now, it doesn't matter if they're naturally touchy or they didn't mean anything by it." Jotaro's face gets a little closer to yours.

"We fuckin' hate it. And we want it to stop." His voice getting deeper as he continues speaking.

"You wouldn't like it if we let another girl keep touching us, right?" After a few seconds you slowly nodded. I guess it was reasonable enough...

"Good, we knew you'd understand." You feel Jotaro's hand softly caress your hair. "You'd always listen to us because we're your boyfriends and we want the best for you. Don't forget that, there are people out there to harm you and it would kill us if we let them hurt you. Please understand." Kakyoin pleaded softly, something about his tone... It felt so... Odd...

Your hands gripped on the bedsheets to try to calm your nerves down. You controlled your breathing and you felt the panic in you slowly die down. You closed your eyes, hoping this was all a horrible sick dream that you don't ever wanna experience again....

.....

You open your eyes to see the bright orange sunlight flooding in the room, you turn your head slightly. Kakyoin on your left and Jotaro on your right, their faces as innocent as ever... You sigh softly, what a nightmare. You sat up carefully and went over to the edge of the bed, your feet made contact with the ground and you were about to get up.

"Reader?" Startled, you looked back, this unfamiliar gut wrenching feeling in your stomach forming itself deep in your gut when you saw your lovers awake. Almost as if they weren't really asleep the entire time.

"Where are you going?"

"The- the bathroom..."

"..." An eerie silence filled the room for a second.

"Reader?"

"Hm...?"

"This better not change anything between us, alright?" You felt the churning in your stomach manifold and you grip the edge of the bed when you felt like needles were prickling the inside of your throat and your eyes starting to burn. It wasn't a dream. Dammit...

[ryker-writes]

Small moments with them (Diasomnia and Staff)

It's going on walks with Malleus. It's a simple thing really, but it always means so much to him. He rarely gets time alone since he usually has guards, but at night he can sneak out and be without them. He loves spending this time with you. You two were walking around the campus as usual. The usually busy and chaotic campus was quiet and peaceful. A nice change really. Malleus was smiling as you described your recent adventures with friends. He loved hearing everything you had to say, and was even more interested to hear about all the things you do and the trials you face. He laughs when you explain something stupid Ace did at the Mostro Lounge. But then you stepped walking and he grew concerned. Should he not have laughed? Are you upset with him? He must apologize and fix his mistake. But then you smiled and said he should come along next time. He was instantly filled with joy upon hearing your invitation. Of course, he agreed and you two continued your story telling and walk.

It's styling hair with Lilia. He cuts and dyes his own hair, so he knows how to style hair. If you let him style your hair he will do it anyway you like. It's even more fun if you decide to dye it. He won't force it though. One thing he really loves though, is to let you do his hair. You sat behind him pondering what to do. He was patiently waiting on the ground in front of you. Lilia told you that you could do anything you wanted to his hair. His hair is pretty short so any ponytail would be small, but it would've been cool to see the black mix with the pink. Then you got an idea. The hair near the front of his face was probably long enough to do a very small braid. Politely, you asked him to turn to the side and he obeyed. The braid ended up very small, but it looked good. The pink and black looked really cool tied together. Once you said you were done, Lilia looked into a small mirror to check your work. He laughed but admired the braid, and promised to keep his hair like that for the rest of the day. He did, but Malleus and Sebek were confused.

It's taking naps with Silver. He's a well trained knight even if he falls asleep a lot. If there was any real danger he would be awake immediately. Basically, if Silver is sleeping, then you're safe. He fell asleep next to you out in the open grass. Even though other students would walk by, you knew you were safe with him here. You're laying next to him with his head resting on your hand. It's incredibly peaceful. So peaceful, that just being here in the warm sun with him was enough to make you fall asleep too.

It's talking about Malleus with Sebek. It doesn't take much to get him talking about Malleus. It's hard to have a conversation with him without him bringing up the fae prince. But Sebek is so used to people being annoyed by his talk about Malleus. So he's extremely surprised when you ask him to tell you about Malleus. Not because you don't know him, but because you want to hear Sebek's thoughts. He will sit you down, get you a drink, and make sure you're comfortable for the long conversation. A conversation which is mostly one sided. He tells you about all of Malleus' great achievements. You get to chime in every once in a while to praise Malleus or mention something else about him to keep the conversation moving. For some people it can be exhausting to hear him talk on about someone else for hours. But Sebek is so passionate when he speaks and his devotion to Malleus really is admirable. Really Sebek is happy that you're even willing to listen to him.

It's being nice to Crowley. Anything nice really. He doesn't get a lot of positivity sent his way as headmage, so to hear something positive from you is really something. Most students think of him as a terrible headmage. He may be lazy and sometimes put his students in danger, but he thinks they just don't see how humble and kind he is. You didn't say much to him. It was just the two of you in the hallway when you complimented his coat. That was all it took for him to freeze. Someone complimented him? A genuine compliment? Sure it was about his coat, but it was a real compliment. Crowley is sniffling and his voice is wavering as he thanks you. You can see his arms raise almost like he wants to hug you. But he doesn't. Instead he stands there on the verge of crying and thanking you over and over.

It's getting to wear Crewel's coat. That's a privilege no one else gets, and it definitely doesn't happen often. Crewel often helps you keep up with your studies. Of course it's easier to help with science since he teaches it, but he'll help you with other subjects too. He may be strict but he's a good teacher. You've been buried in these books for hours now. At some point the sun set and all this studying was starting to make you tired. The books became harder to read and the words were just getting blurrier by the second. Maybe you just had to look at them closer? Okay maybe you're a little too close. Resting your head against the book probably isn't helping. Closing your eyes isn't either, but it's just for a second right? You can definitely hear Crewel talking, but you can't tell what he's saying. The next thing you know there's a big weight on top of you, and it's super soft too! It's very warm and comforting. Before you know it, you're drifting off to sleep under the big fluffy coat.

It's being the only person Trein trusts with Lucius. He get's freaked out when Lucius isn't with him, but if he knows Lucius is with you then he's not worried at all. The cat absolutely loves you, and will even purr for you. Even as you sat in history class with all your classmates around you. Most of them hated the cat and it's death-stare. But you never got that stare. In fact, you were the only person Trein would tolerate for not paying full attention. Partially because that attention was focused on his dear cat. Lucius sat on your lap perfectly content. He was even purring. You weren't fully paying attention to the class or what was being taught, but Trein didn't say a thing. Meanwhile he lectured anyone else who even had a uninterested look in their eyes.

It's being Vargas' co-referee. He's very enthusiastic about exercise in any form, and he's always encouraging other students to join in. So when you share that enthusiasm, he's both surprised and extremely happy. Most students do barely enough to pass, but Vargas is always trying to motivate them. He just wants them to be as strong as they possibly can. Now he gives you the chance to help motivate them. Maybe a fellow classmate will be more inspiring than he is. So, he gives you your own whistle and everything. Together you two are running around the field towards students who were slacking behind. Maybe you didn't share the same level of enthusiasm as you blew that whistle, but he was over the moon about it anyway.

It's the little care packages Sam gives you. He isn't one to give things away for free. Maybe a discount for some, but rarely for free. But you are an exception for that. Occasionally he'll ask you to stop by his shop, and when you get there, he has a box with a neat bow waiting on the counter. This time was the same. When you opened the box there was a whole treasure trove waiting for you. Your favorite snacks, drinks, and even little trinkets he thought you would like. It isn't a big thing, but it's a big sign he cares. Just like always, you hug Sam and thank him for the package.

It's these small moments with them that makes everything in Twisted Wonderland more worth it.

[randomlifex]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

✧*ૂ༄How’s being in a relationship with…

- Night has come headcanon -

Go Kyungjun

When he sees you he KNOWS he wants you

And since he always gets what he wants be sure that, sooner or later, he’ll get to your heart

At the beginning he’s just always around you and you wonder why

He may tease you and go too far sometimes

But he’s just trying to understand how you work so he’ll find the right way to court you

He doesn’t give a shit in giving hints cuz he knows that when you want something you gotta go for it

He flirts A LOT and his flirting is EXPLICIT

When he’s sure you reciprocate his feelings he will go straight to the point and ask you to be his partner

Dating a bully sounds controversial but for you he got only the princess treatment

He barely says “I love you”

But shows it through gifts and even acts of service

Ties your shoes

Never lets you drive once

Dinner must be always on him

Great kisser:his kisses are passionate

His favourite spots must be your neck and collarbone

He hates to see you sad so he always finds out what’s the source and tries to make you feel better

But if the source is a person he’ll make them regret all their life decisions

He’s cold with everyone but you

He considers you his whole world and will take care of you everyday

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Kim Junhee

Probably he’s already your best friend or your school tutor

You fall first but he falls harder

He understands he has feelings for you in the most random moment ever, probably the two of you are studying together

At the beginning he hides everything,so you believe he sees you only as a friend, but don’t worry, his attention is fully on you

He buys you a necklace to confess his feelings when he’s sure you love him

Rarely says “I love you” but constantly shows it through his actions

Daily random kisses on forehead and cheeks

Cooks your breakfast

Spends hours helping you studying to make sure you get good grades

He’s the best at comforting you when you need it

He listens to you mumbling and crying

And gives you the best hugs

He takes you out for a date at least once a week

It happens to fight but the two of you talk through it and make it up

He’s got a lot of girls around but he reminds them he’s in a relationship

That’s why in class he always holds your hand and kisses you in front of everyone

Shares his lunch with you

Changes his lockscreen every time you take a new picture of yourself

He treats you like a queen

He knows that no one can replace you

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jang Hyunho

At the beginning he loves you from afar

His eyes are always on you,that’s why he pops up anytime you need help

You don’t immediately understand his feelings because he’s extremely discreet, but you’re naturally lead to him

You become close and stay friends for a while

He acts cocky and often goes “be careful or you’ll fall for me”. The truth is that he’s already whipped and can’t wait for it to happen

Once he’s sure you love him, he brings you a rose and declares his feelings

His love is soft and healing

He cuddles you on the sofa

Brings you daily flowers and small gifts to see you happy

When you’re stressed he notices it immediately and holds your hand

His love language is quality time

He takes you to your favourite restaurant every week

He always has a jacket with him so when you’re cold he hands it to you

Always carries your bag

He hugs you while sleeping

And wakes you up with soft kisses

Definition of golden retriever boyfriend

You are his most prized possession

No one makes you feel loved and seen as much as he does

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jin Dabum

Too shy to approach you but has a crush on you since first year

You eventually become friends after you stood up for him against his bullies

Now he has been following you around all day

Music is the thing you two have in common and spend hours talking about it

Share headphones and playlists as well

His crush turns into love when you help him during a breakdown caused by Kyungjun

But you fall for him later on

You give him the strength to bite back at Kyungjun anytime he bothers him

His love language is words of affirmation

He tells you that you are the love of his life 24/7

And that you are the prettiest person he has ever met

He tells everyone how amazing you are and how lucky he is to have you

When he listens to a song which makes him think about you he sends it to you

The gallery of his phone is full of dumb pictures of you

And he looks at them anytime he needs to feel better

He’s a loner but nothing makes him happier than spending his time with you

He takes you anywhere you want to go

He’s a little bit jealous

And sometimes he’s afraid to lose you

But you are his world and he will do anything to make you happy

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕄𝕖𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕙 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Could I request Simeon, Barbatos, and Solomon with a metalsmith s/o?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yeah! Definitely! Honestly, I'm not fully satisfied with it but... I hope you're still gonna somehow like it?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

✧ Barbatos is honestly surprised someone his young is still doing it, it's now rare to find a metalsmith so you must be really dedicated...

✧ back then, when metalsmiths were still common, he remembers helping and observing, learning how humans do it

✧ so now when he sees you, he'd love to see if the methods changed and maybe even push you towards right direction

✧ if you're simply using new methods, he'd be more than happy to learn or understand them better

✧ but if you're new to this, he won't interrupt your learning process but he might point out few basic mistakes so you won't adapt them later on

✧ if you're a woman, he'll be even more impressed, it's not often you meet female metalsmith so his theory that you're passionate about this, only confirms more

✧ even if you're not working as metalsmith and do it just as a hobby, he'll still support you

"Few years ago your earn thousands by doing this everyday... well yes, it is couple hundreds but for me there's little difference."

✧ and if you have your shop of any kind, he'll be happy to assist you and help you out, mostly in the cleaning process since he doesn't want to accidentally mess up your vision but still wants to somehow help

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Simeon has big respect towards what you're doing, he know it's not easy nor is it profitable nowadays

✧ if you'll want to, he'll be happy to tell you how this profession was doing in the past but he doesn't want to demotivate you either so he might keep it brief

✧ if it's your job, he'll often remind you how rare it is and try to motivate you so you won't burn out

✧ but if you're doing this because it's your hobby , he'll of course still do his best to motivate you but also takes it a bit easier as he realizes you must have some passion for it if you call it your hohby

✧ he definitely knows more about this than technology so you can actually count on his help here!

✧ if you want him to help with metal, he gladly will do his best to take some weight off your shoulders

✧ but if you just need someone to clean, he'll be happy to do that too and knows he won't mess up here so he's much more confident!

"Don't worry. You can finish your swords, I'll take care of cleaning. Oh and also, would you like to eat something? It was about 6 hours since you had something... I'd be happy to cook something for you."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@vodka-glrl - come get your soft angel~

✧ Solomon somehow have that feeling you'll be into stuff like that, it was like his intuition just told him the right thing

✧ he's happy to see you're doing something so important and so rare

✧ he can't keep his hands to himself, he'll touch every sword or anything you make and inspect it. But he at least gives compliments while doing so!

"Wow... this sword is great! You really did it by hand? I'm surprised it hasn't been sold yet... if someone won't take it, I might as well do so!"

✧ if you're doing this just for works sake, he'll try to show you all the positives of what you're doing and hopefully you can start enjoying your job as well

✧ but if you're doing this we hobby, prepare he'll often drop his ideas to you and watch what you'll do with them

✧ he's really just hanging out around you and being your mental support as he peeks into every corner

✧ and he probably knows a lot about metalsmith work too but he decides to keep it a secret and pretend to learn from you, because he just loves seeing how much you know about it and your passion for it

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[despicablebisexual]

just thinking about being the one person bruno contemplates giving up the gang life for...

bruno x gn!reader, smut, MDNI, angst, cw: minor amount of violence and gore

somehow, he was back, and bruno didn't ask any questions when giorno was there to welcome him back from whatever place he had been

giorno just silently cried, a rare show of emotional vulnerability from the young teenager

so, bruno decides to live this time, live like he'd never have another second chance again

and of course, the first thought that comes to mind is finally asking out the beautiful worker from the small bakery right around the corner

he's seen you for months, carefully decorating intricate cakes, biting your lip as you finally nail the design you've been working on for months, but he's never bothered to approach since he figured that him being a mafioso would rightfully scare you off

but, he's been miraculously granted another chance and he knows he must take it

so he walks in one day, a single flower held behind his back, and confidently asks if you're available

and of course, you all but shout that you'll go out with him

the gorgeous mafioso that had captured your attention so many months ago, but then disappeared out of the blue for several weeks had finally asked you out, and you weren't going to waste this chance

but, he's a mafioso, a man with an insurmountable amount of money, which scares you (as does his profession)

you, the keeper of a small-time bake shop

you're expecting him to show up in a fancy sports car and take you for a spin on the wild side, show you a life completely different from yours

but, he manages to surprise you when he knocks on your door the next night, dressed casually in a gray sweater and black jeans, and tells you he's packed a picnic for you two to enjoy out on the beach

the sun sets over the two of you as you enjoy a full on buffet that he insists was fully prepared by him (you have your suspicions)

it's a wonderful first date, the pinks and oranges reflecting off the glistening water and in bruno's deep blue eyes while he talks

he's equal parts a great listener and a great talker, filling in all the gaps when you're not sure what to say

all the rumors from the older women around town stating he was quite the catch are true, you realize that night

and when he kisses you for the first time, you know you're going to fall completely head over heels for him

several months pass by and bruno's got the world in his hands

he's the underboss of italy's biggest crime syndicate

he's got more money than he could ever hope for

he's got a loyal crew always ready to stand by his side

but most importantly,

he's got you...

you, his wonderful partner whom he loves with all his heart

over the course of the beginning of your relationship, he'd be insistent you stayed away from everything pertaining to Passione

even though it stood for something better now, aiming to cleanse the streets of italy from the filthy drug trade, it's still a dangerous place to be caught up in

especially with you not having a stand

no one has ever met you, and they never will

(well, giorno knows OF you... bruno thought it best to at least tell giorno considering he's the boss, but he didn't even need to. giorno knew immediately what was going on once he noticed how many times bruno came back to the Passione headquarters with little treat bags from your shop)

anyway, he keeps you tucked away

far from any prying eyes, any danger, and far, far away from anything related to stands

he wanted your love to be authentic, one-of-a-kind, something they'd write about in books one day, not tainted with the poison that is mafia life

and your love certainly felt that way

each time he made love to you, it was like the heaven's aligned

the taste of you was enough to drive him wild, he'd spent countless hours professing his love to you by kissing and sucking eagerly at your most sensitive parts between your thighs

he'd praise you constantly for your seemingly divine beauty, and how blessed he felt to be the one to receive your affection, especially when you were knelt between his legs

but, he'd fight an internal battle each time he was with you

the angel on his shoulder would direct him to lay you down gently and put on slow r&b while he lazily thrust into you, not even bothering to focus on his own pleasure but instead just on yours

the gentle sound of your moans and sighs and professions of love like music to his ears

but the devil on his shoulder, the one that made him the ruthless mafioso he was, would constantly tell him to give in to your demands and mercilessly fuck into you while your nails scratched down his back

the oh-so welcome sound of you screaming and gasping out how good it felt to be the object of his desire

yes, it was a dilemma he struggled with indeed

but at the end of each night, when you two were laid on top of the sheets, catching your breath after an all too long love-making session

bruno would smile into your hair, so perfectly content in those moments

no mafia, no stands, no acting as the righteous hand of Passione

just you

just you, with your bruno

he'd struggle for months, tossing and turning at nights

giorno brought him back to fulfill his duty, to help him with his cause

and girono was more than a boss

he was his friend, his precious comrade who he owed his life to (literally)

but you were this perfect thing, this beautiful, innocent being that gave him a new way to live

he was no longer the traitorous gangster he once was, he was someone you said you'd want to spend the rest of your life with

someone to taste test all the new cake flavors, someone to walk alongside of in the setting sun, someone to have and to hold

he'd walk in and out of the finest jewelers in italy, searching for the one ring that would be perfect

and it'd be a heavy weight in his pocket on the day he finally found it in Milan

he knew your ring size already, having got the measurements while you slept

(sticky fingers might have helped by zipping off your finger for a second)

he'd basically skip down the street, intent on making his way back to giorno and telling him he would be retiring by the end of the year

in his two years as the underboss, he'd helped giorno build an empire already

he trained countless new and exisiting stand users, he'd made great friends with neighboring houses, and mista was more than prepared to step up now

his future plans? help you out with the bake shop

the owner you'd be working for for the past three years was retiring and decided to leave it in your possession

you two would get married, have a couple kids, run the shop, leave it to one of them eventually, move to a house by the seaside (maybe even his hometown!) and grow old together

it'd be perfect

but

then he'd get the call

giorno would be frantic on the other end, explaining a serial killer stand user was loose in Naples

one that trish alerted them to, as she said the killer explained he had a bone to pick with whoever overthrew diavolo, and was targeting loved ones

and he'd been watching for quite some time now

he immediately zipped to your apartment, finding the door wide open

fear churning in his stomach, he'd storm the small apartment, searching for any sign of you

when all he found was a single finger perfectly cut off and preserved

his heart stopped

a ring finger, giorno confirmed

your ring finger.

they never found your body, nor your killer, not even after months of searching on end, going to neighboring countries and speaking with other syndicates around Europe

it'd be months, years later before bruno would ever even crack a smile like he used to

he just wasn't the same anymore, this wasn't a death that gold experience requiem could change, and bruno had nowhere else to turn

so, he'd spend the next years committing himself completely to his underboss duties

Passione would be feared, and not just for their untouchable boss

the underboss would be scarier, the man who could walk through walls and kill you with a single command of his stand

traitor after traitor, he'd interrogate anyone who'd so much as questioned giorno's authority, even minorly

everyone would come to fear his wrath

and in each interrogation, each time he'd zip someone's head almost completely off and remove all their limbs and beat them to the brink of death

he'd be searching

waiting

for the person who knew what happened to you

no one would know anything

who would remember the worker from the little bake shop around the corner that had closed so many years ago?

no one

no one knew you, and bruno had no evidence of your existence besides an unworn ring and a cold and empty bed

so

he'd be left to turn back to the cold, gangster life

until one day, giorno would let him rest in peace finally

and he'd be reunited with you