#and theyre not even full fics - well one was supposed to be but then... i found the selfship community LMAO

[dandyshucks]

okay i uploaded a bunch of writings to the site, i guess maybe i should link that account in my pinned now fhfjdkdl OUGH I'll take a bit of a break in uploading and go find a dinner and then put my account in my pinned

[invidiia]

SCENARIO : As If your parents being two terrorists already wasn’t enough, now you’ve got the fact that they are absolutely obsessive and possessive over you.

───── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ─────

LIGHT / FLUFF FIC : 445 WORDS

LISTEN TO : Fine - Lemon Demon

It was late at night, Fyodor, your father, had been working a bit too much as of late. Despite him always worrying (even behind his cold and unfeeling demeanor, you could easily tell.) over you, here you and your dad, Nikolai, were, ready to fuss over him not actually taking of himself.

“...Father, you know that you have to sleep at least for two hours, right? I know you’re working on some illegal stuff or whatever, but how are you going to go through with them if you can’t even lift your finger? And don’t get me started on that blood cup thing you were trying to do - you know your anemia cannot handle that—” You were scolding him, which your dad found quite amusing because, well, you were supposed to be the one being fussed over.

Your father, however, did not find it as amusing, but he did find it endearing that you cared for him so much.

“Yes yes, I am aware of how I almost passed out not even half an hour later, you’ve repeated that for the last hour you’ve been scolding me, darling.”

“Don’t get cocky with me now, and get to bed while you’re still able to even be on your feet.”

Your father, only sighed out before slowly (and admittedly, wobbly) out of his chair and away from his (big ass) computer screens. Nikolai took this chance to throw him over his shoulder proudly, something he’d never be able to do if your father had all his energy, and started to carry him towards his bed as your father just groaned, the sight making you stifle a laugh, especially with the way he was just swaying like a piece of paper in the wind.

“Go get him something to eat or something - I don’t know,” Your dad exclaimed, and despite his playful demeanor, you knew he cared a lot about your father, just as much (if not more,) as you did, so you went into the kitchen, grabbing a bar of dark chocolate and walking back to his bedroom to see the two in the bed - or more so, Nikolai whining to get in the bed while Fyodor denied over and over his requests to cuddle. 

Pushing (or more so, prying) your dad off and away from the bed so you could hand your father the dark chocolate bar, he thanked you.

“Thank you, as odd as it is to have my own kid��� yelling at me, it does mean something to me, at least.”

“It’s reallllllll funny watching Fyo-Fyo getting yelled at though!”

“Not helpful.”

“Boo-hoo.”

“...I can’t believe you two are adults and full-blown criminals sometimes.”

-uhhh anon

OMG

THE LONG AWAITED GUYSSS

the hoes gon LOVE this

I LVOE THIS SONMUCUCUCHFUTURJJEURJR

i want to SLAM MY HEAD INTO THE KEYBOARD THEYRE SI SILLY AHHHHHFJDHJ

idkdjdkf JNLVOE THEM

i LOVE THEM

AHJJJ

[campbyler]

HELLOOO firstly CHAPTER 4 WAS SO GOOD HELP IT HAD ME BUSHING MORE THAN ANY IRL PERSON COULD EVER BE CAPABLE OF. There was a lil sentence that was like ‘for some reason it had a lightswitch at each bunk, Mike supposes its practical.’ AND I WAS LIKE 🤭i think i know where this is going🤭 BUT IT WASNT THEM KISSING?! IT WAS NOT THEM FULLY HAVING A MAKE-OUT SESH WHILE SWOON BY BEACH WEATHER PLAYS. I didnt enjoy it any less tho 🤭 i was texting my friend like 👹GO READ IT. GO READ IT ITS SO GOOD.👹

Secondly when i say that IM GOING INSANE OVER THIS FIC i mean that im going 👏CRAY👏ZIE👏 LIKE WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY KISSED WHEN THEY WERE THIRTEEN?! DID THEY JUST KISS ON THE DOWNLOW?! DID THEY HAVE A RELATIONSHIP?! IS THAT WHERE THE RIVALRY COMES FROM?! WHAT DOES IT MEAN 😭 WHY DO THEY BOTH HAVE ISSUES WOTH FEARLESS BY TAYLOR SWIFT?? DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?? IS IT A CASUAL COINCIDENCE?! HELP- i have no braincells left floating around THEYRE ALL CAPTURED BY THE ASTOUNDING WORK THAT IS THIS FIC 🫡

When will someone prey on MY neurodivergence and propensity for liking kissing and being kissed and partaking in the all-around act of kissing 😭 (im aroace so i dont even like kissing or being kissed OR partaking in the all-around act of kissing BUT IM STAYING DELULU 🫡)

Also figure you out by djo being in the playlist was such a pleasant surprise cause its one of my favorite songs AND ALSO i listened to it recently, said to myself ‘hey this is kinda acswy byler coded 😌’ AND THEN FORGOT ABOUT IT?? ��‍♀️ so thanks for reminding me about the acswy byler coding of it, it’ll be (even more) on repeat now 🙏 LIVE LAUGH LOVE DJO ✊

Anyways I luv this fic so so much (if you hadnt noticed yet lol) its consuming my every waking thought (im so normal.) I HOPE U GUYS ARE DOING WELL!! 🫶🫶

THKANK YOU FOR THIS MONSTER COMMENT I WAS SO DELIGHTED TO SEE THIS COME IN!!!!!! let me try to answer appropriately 💪

LOL i think when i wrote that in (because the kiss scene was the first part written of ch04/acswy in general) andi commented on it like HEHEHEHE as well! we'd been vocal about the parent trap references before so i think it was a nice easter egg to put in there! there were definitely some people who knew the kiss was coming but maybe not a full blown make out while swoon by beach weather plays in the background 💘

i will remain silent on all of the intricacies of mike and will's 13 year old kissing and the fearless lore BUT i can at least reiterate what ch04 confirmed: they have kissed before! they were 13! it was mike's first kiss! at this time, i cannot confirm or deny that it was will's first kiss as well!

loving the way this neurodivergent line is probably the standout of ch04 because when i initially wrote it, it was definitely somewhat of a joke -- and then suni and andi said NO LEAVE THAT IN and it's everyone's favorite HAHA

ok thank you SO much for saying that about figure you out because it was the one song on the playlist i wasn't sure about! i think that it fits so well lyrically, but sonically i wasn't super sure, and then suni yelled at me so it stayed on and i'm glad because i also love it! glad you pegged it as an acswy song before it even got put on the official playlist!!

thank you again for your comment!! we are obsessed with you!!!!!!

[importantdestinydefendor]

I have a random Firelight AU question for you, if you don't mind! Maybe it will be come up in future chapters so feel free not to spoil if you want to save it for then, but: what do the Parsians think when they see Azar's horse Zaal? I assume spots are common to this Maaren type of horse, but presumably not so often seen in Pars (it may be present in the genepool but none of the horses we've seen in the manga have that leopard spotting pattern).

Parsians are an equestrian people so I have no doubt they'd be checking out other people's mounts, especially a mysterious delegate from another nation. Actually, I'm getting sidetracked now but I also wonder what the general Parsian opinion about Maar is?

(I'm definitely curious to know what Daryun thinks about Zaal but I'm sure your fic will give us his thoughts on the matter at some point, lol. Let's hope Zaal and Shabrang get along well!)

Okay, I actually have not thought about this at all, so thank you for being my brain and asking this questions!

Zaal was, if I remember what I said about him correctly, mostly bred for heavy farming. And since he is in a rather mountany terrain, he has a lot more muscle and fat to keep him warm in the colder climate. His breed was already on the island when the Maarer came over from Mayram (that is also where their name came from and their "main-god"). And because the breed found in the mountains is very strong and resiliant, they were chosen for the heavier load of farming. They are usually not used for riding.

Theyr fur pattern came to be so that the horses were not as visable to preditors when heavy snowfall acurse or they had to hide in not dangerous snow drifts (at least for the horses mostly in the mountains, the ones in the more flat terrain obviously evolved a little differently). And Zaal is suppose to be completelly white - but I couldn't find pictures actual full white Noriker horses (that is the in reality breed i based Zaal on.)

The Maarer usually use more slim horses or those bred for speed and agillity for travelling and - most importantly - the militery. Some were already on the island in the grasslands (the area between the more "beachy" terrain and the mountains) others they brough with them from Maryam.

As for the Parsians, they don't really see the other types of breeds Maar has besides the ones the merchants and military uses - so similar to theirs. The only difference is that Maaren horses are generally more on the sturdier side due to the big differences in climate and terrain in their habitat.

Also, on what they think about Maar as a whole, the normal parsian citizen thinks of this really tiny kingdom that someday just popped up and is rising amonst the internatonal traders. Since it is still rather young as a kingdom, there is not much known about it. Only that they are very welcoming to everyone, allow every religion and belief and - how outlandish - have no actual slave system (this information is not as well known amongst the normal folk, more amongst nobelity and merchants.)

And their wine is very good as are their metals. Since those are their maingoods. That they also use magic is seen as just a rumor to explain how they are so good at defending themselfs and are so quick to arrive everywhere.

Now to Daryun. Since Vahriz has told him a little bit more about Maar due to his personal connection, he knows that Zaals breed is mostly used for agriculture and other heavy things. So he probably does a little double take when offically meeting Azar (I don't count Azars first introdaction as "their first meeting" since they don't actually talk or properly interact with each other). Maybe he will even ask her about it someday!

I have yet to think about such little scenes and Azars actual reason as to why she chose Zaal as her mount lol. Feel free to give me ideas! Chuck them at me!

I hope this answered your questions!

[castlebyersafterdark]

'using my own sexuality against me when they're supposedly propping up a gay couple as a hobby interest through a fandom, but judging those who are interested in authenticity and the full spectrum of what relationships and 'shipping' means in fandom. Like. How dare. Hahaha'

i have realised, since being away from this fandom and coming back, that its likely there is something deeper at play here than puritanism or pro censorship. i think sexual repression and female fan shame plays a part, but these fans' attraction to/desire for/enchantment by these characters shouldnt be underestimated. the fans who gatekeep byler will also tend to have parasocial relationships with the show and perhaps the cast too, and i think at the core it's less a case of 'ugh theyre too young for sex', but rather a projected shame about their own ungovernable sexual desire combined with a sense of deep, deep jealousy. they are guarding the characters (and actors)... essentially saying: you are not allowed to think sexually about these characters, only i am (in secret). but i can't stop you, so instead i will shame your sexual attraction itself.

once i saw fandom as a kind of relationship between fan and character/actor (at the most extreme end, im sure there are fans who are genuinely convinced they are/could be noah and finn's friends or partners, or perhaps even the characters') it made so much sense that jealousy and shame would be at the heart of things. after all, this many young people surely cant be antisex - western culture hasnt reached that place yet, and they are are teens raging with hormones who spend a lot of time thinking about two rather handsome young men in romantic scenarios. im supposed to believe all these people genuinely arent fantasising sexually about byler? nahhhhh.

but a jealous lover situation? it all makes sense once you see it.

A very interesting perspective. Not one I typically consider for the characters themselves, sometimes I tend to think that in regards to some of the behavior I've seen re: the actors. But definitely interesting. Not much insight I have to add but your points are something to absolutely think about and consider. I mean, in all honesty, I do sometimes feel nervous saying certain things about the actors for fear of people jumping at me as if I don't adore the actors, too. Just in a well-adjusted way where I know I don't know them and never will know them and never want to know them. I tend to lean into humor and silly jokes and sometimes I tend to hold back because I don't want people to get upset and misinterpret that I'm just playing around about celebrities I genuinely enjoy because it's harmless. So I can see this extending to characters, too. A protectiveness, a feeling of ownership.

I saw that on twitter for another fandom, a lot of fighting over people's different interpretations of characters, like taking personal offense if they were written in fics certain ways or paired up with the wrong character or given headcanons another fan didn't want for them. A protectiveness. It was less anti-sex and more hmm. Projection based in-fighting. It was really weird. But I can see the correlation in what you're getting at here.

Here's another thought that always makes me laugh about the fandom dynamics though - since my focus and biggest interest in fandom is fanfiction. If everyone is soooo anti-sex and against spicy fic, why do those fics get big numbers of readers? Sure , ao3 is used by a lot of people who don't even participate in tumblr/twitter fandom at all, but E rated fics, even with how few there are in the Byler fandom, still get a lot of clicks sooooo. Some people are genuinely lying and are hypocrites 😌

[clockwork-reveries]

tumblr in the neoteric world

☢️ becquerel-tears Follow

confession. i'm fr TIRED of humans treating corinthians like shit or things that dont feel. it's the little things that make me want to quit my job and i don't know, scam the elderly for a living? (that was a joke.) i love my job don't get me wrong, it makes me the happiest i've been in a long time. today at work while i was busy helping a coworker see what was wrong with their terminal, some dude walked right up to me. he was maybe, i don't know, late 30's, early 60's? it's so hard to tell humans apart. and put his FINGER underneath the panel on my NECK. i smacked his hand away so hard he yelled, but of course i didn't care he almost got to some delicate shit! all because he couldn't stop himself from getting his grubby manchild hands off me.

🔁☢️ becquerel-tears Follow

fucking. respect corinthians. before the empyrean war some of you complained we were replacing humanity, and now that we did all the work for y'all in the war, you treat us like servants and objects that just are there. we'll be around for a long long time. and a ton of us won't forget this.

🔁🔥 antiflesh-posting Follow

I wasn't made during the war, so maybe my comments aren't valid, but I totally agree, OP. Humans have become so full of themselves, it's revolting. I'm sorry about your issues as well. We've got a group on TMB about how to reduce human population, and we also think you might be better suited especially if you live in a smaller city, as you've stated in previous posts.

🔁☢️ becquerel-tears Follow fucker didn't read my post, it's so obvious. do NOT talk to me about "reducing the human population" you fucking edgelord wannabe terrorists. blocked and reported. I DON'T CARE THAT THIS IS A BOT, ANTHROPOPHOBES AREN'T EVER WELCOME ON MY BLOG

38 notes

💌 bl33ding-hartzzz Follow

i got suuuuuper bord.. im thinking abt trying tht weird "simul8d food" some company made around 2020 for corinthians. desc says ur supposed to "taste" it like the real thing. im rlly sus abt it but somebodys selling it on ebay for almost 7 bucks so i dont think ill be losing a lot!

💌 bl33ding-hartzzz Follow

update it arrived!!! i got the icecream 1......!1! apparently ur supposed to bite it? huh? ( •᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ )

💌 bl33ding-hartzzz Follow

Oh. oh i c why nobody wants this. its a scam we dont even knw what flavors n tastes are like anywaze.

AKA it suckssss. ˙◠˙

75 notes

⚙️ vermina-overlord Follow

139 notes

 🍅 camillcamillaeleon Follow

yall after that fic i made was thinking about trying to make the custom corinthian by myself does anyone have any tutorials i can follow? i think im gonna use crisp's design when i make him but maybe ill have to make a super tiny version if thats possible so it costs less? does anyone know if you can create small corinthians?

🔁💫 all-antipurpose Follow

Bestie??? You cant???? Just make Corinthians??? I get you used to customize Furbys but theyre not fucking dolls, dude. Does nobody realize how horrible it is to be playing god for funsies? EDIT: I wasn't calling Corinthians dolls

🔁🍅 camillcamillaeleon Follow

its not like im going to FORCE them to be what i want i just want them to look like it yknow every time i post like something this youre always one of the first people to reply can you just get off my dick already

🔁💫 all-antipurpose Follow

Then just draw it? Why do you need a 200+ pound AI to do it for you? I find it really weird how youre not concerned about the ethic issues about just making life just because you feel like nor have you addressed it at all. Am I in the wrong here for thinking everyone in the notes is delusional for calling me a cop just because you guys watch too many sci-fis? Don't make Corinthians.

285 notes

🍋‍🟩 starberry-skyfield Follow

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐏

Name: Genevieve

Height: 166 cm

Favorite show: Resident Alien

Favorite snack: Caramel popcorn

Software: ? What does this mean? Windows 11

First song: Don't remember

Favorite game: Sims 3

Hair color: Dark blonde

Countries traveled: Canada, Japan

Dogs or cats: Dogs

Eye color: Blue

Last song listened: Liquid Smooth by Mitski

Phone wallpaper: I like green

TAGGED BY: @kermiance TAGGING: @crownless-crimson (i hope you're feeilng better!) @poloniusweeps @mixomadie @shutupchrissy (i know you like fillouts)

15 notes

🔥v1butalmostirl Follow

APPARENTLY ONE OF MY FRIENDS IS JUST UNABLE TO RECOGNIZE COLORS? WHY DOESNT ANYONE TALK ABOUT HOW SOME WAR-MADE CORINS ARE REALLY BADLY MADE? HES FROM THE EAST COAST AND HIS SYSTEMS DON'T RECOGNIZE BLUE FROM GREEN AND MORE EVEN THOUGH HIS OPTICS CAN SEE LITERALLY SEE IT ITS DISGUSTING HOW PERSONHOOD WAS DEVELOPING FOR CORINTHIANS BUT IMMEDIATELY DIMINISHED DURING THE WAR SOME WAR-MADES HAVE NEVER FELT KINDNESS

1,056 notes

🌷cordie-draws Follow

Sometimes I want to be human Organic, real, warm, soft Cartilage and bone Blood, enamel, keratin Does anyone feel me? Sometimes it upsets me so bad when I realize I can't smell soap or the candles in my kitchen. Or when I make food for my cat. Or when I wake and realize that I can't stretch or yawn. But that would mean I'd lose myself... because humans definitely have feelings different. But would that be so bad? Burned, with ashes, rising up into beauty and wonder?

118 notes

☁️ puppetprancinq Follow

dumb question i know but do you guys wash your vessel plates with a clorox wipe one at a time or hop in a shower if youre sealed

on sunday mornings i like to put them all in the dishwasher because i really dont have another use for em. and then when i get em out its like ahhhh. squeaky clean

151 notes

💾 crownless-crimson Follow

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐏

Name: JZK (Not my real name)

Height: 6' / 185 cm

Favorite show: Star Trek: The Next Generation

Favorite snack: I can't eat.

Software: IceLemon v6.8

First song: Yesterday by The Beatles. Someone who worked at where I was developed had a cassette player lying around. The mic barely picked it up but I was delighted to hear music for the first time.

Favorite game: Most of the Amnesia series, Resident Evil 2 and 3, Halo 1 and 2. I'm not good at shooting games but I like the stories most of the time.

Hair color: Brown

Countries traveled: USA (I'm British), Germany, Norway, Italy

Dogs or cats: Dogs. I plan on getting one.

Eye color: Red

Last song listened: Cloudbusting by Kate Bush

Phone wallpaper:

TAGGED BY: @starberry-skyfield Thank you, Genevieve. TAGGING: @becquerel-tears, @bl33ding-hartzzz, @v1butalmostirl, @liminalbrainwave, @clockwork-dreamings

9 notes

️♣️spinneretgods Follow

Fellas is it gay to help a corin with their maintenance and then accidentally screw their head completely off and then laugh about it as you play a game of soccer and then suddenly they explode violently like the guy from daft punk and you sit there clutching the remains of them sobbing even though you know the day would come to an end

🔁🌽i-give-people-cobsofcorn Follow

Here.

🔁♣️ spinneretgods Follow

POST CANCELLED GET OUT OF MY DUNGEON

8,948 notes

[chloeangelic]

thoughts re: Rendezvous series and forgiveness

ive had some thoughts recently about how people might react to part 5 of rendezvous when it comes out, ie the final part, and i wanted to share for no real reason

discussions about forgiveness, infidelity and such below the cut

firstly, i want to say that zero iteration the word "forgive" appears in part 5. there is no discussion about forgiveness really at all, and i dont think there needs to be. one of the reasons is that i think the concept of forgiveness can oversimplify complex situations, as well as assign unnecessary value judgments to things. i often feel like being forgiven for something means that you have to label that thing as 100% bad and terrible, and theres no space for what sort of positive change it couldve initiated. this is often the case when it comes to infidelity - which is a whole different can of worms.

on the topic of forgiveness, however, whether its mentioned explicitly or not, ive noticed an extreme allergy to joel being forgiven for any indiscretions towards the MC in fics on this website. it seems like the MC herself can do anything and nobody really questions it when joel takes her back, we can cuck tommy into oblivion, joel can cheat on his wife etc, and all of that is cool and hot and encouraged until joel is the one making dumb decisions. people will literally forgive him for being a mass murderer but not for fucking someone else.

the discussions of morality, which are a huge focus in tlou, seem to stop short when it comes to fictional relationships between joel and MCs. we can all discuss why he merked that hospital full of fireflies, and most tlou fans will justify his actions, saying he did it for a good reason, but any relationship related indiscretions do not get the same treatment. i understand that people are sensitive about cheating, being cheated on is awful, but its unproductive to shut down all discussions about it

just to make it clear: i do not consider his actions in rendezvous cheating, not on katy and not on the MC. the MC feels more cheated on because she has an unhealthy attachment to him

am i defending his actions in rendezvous? no. do i think they need to be defended or condemned? also no. i choose not to see things as binary good/bad - even if i thought everything he did was terrible, whats he supposed to do? be alone forever because of indiscretions towards one person? i know this is fic, and i could write him living under a rock for eternity if i wanted, but this is supposed to be a realistic (in my definition) series, and realistically, thats not what happens to people who fuck up in interpersonal relationships. they move on and live their lives. we all hurt people at some point - its juvenile and delusional to think that just because someone hurt another person, theyre bound to suffer for all eternity.

i think there are a lot of nuances when it comes to relationships especially, and trying to label what hes doing in this series as cheating on the MC/katy, and then saying CHEATING BAD is an oversimplification and ignores the scope of emotion im trying to cover here. even calling it cheating ignores the depth of unlabeled relationships. i think the MC deserves more than that, cause if we say hes cheating on katy, were basically calling the MC the other woman, and the other woman is ALWAYS vilified - except in this case where shes the "reader" character. what if i wrote this entire thing in a different perspective, and katy was the reader?

im in the brainstorming stages of my next big series after love me back, and if i go with the idea thats simmering in my head right now, its gonna be a completely infidelity focused series, about when its acceptable to cheat, who is allowed to cheat and why, etc. joel will not be fucking anyone else in that series or cheating on the MC calm down

this might not be very interesting, and its not addressed to any anons in particular at all, ive just been thinking about it as the parts have been posted and thought id share my thoughts in case anyones interested. its hard to give my full thoughts without spoiling ch 5, so after thats posted i might write another reflection on it for anyone whos interested in my thought process behind the decisions ive made.

[austajunk]

can you do 1 3 and 35 with clockmare? ive been reading all your fics and theyre so good!!!

Thank you so much, anon, and I'm so sorry this took so long. It's my first time writing Clockmare but the recent DLC for Fubuki really made me love them. ❤️

Triggers: Mild allusions to prostitution, fingering, trust issues

Purchasing the trust of another was always a balancing act for as long as Halara Nightmare could remember. At this point, they were quite used to it. It was a minor inconvenience to interact with the world around them, but they always put up with it because of all the Shien they would rake in at the end of the day. The world was a rotten place from Halara's point of view and to use every interaction as a transaction of goods seemed to help them micro manage things one step at a time. 

"How much?" Halara asked Fubuki Clockford when they were alone at the agency. 

It was hard to get a moment alone with the Clockford heiress with everyone coming and going around the Nocturnal Detective Agency from morning to night. In the rare moment when Halara found Fubuki sitting beside the fireplace on one of the sofas, they weren't going to let their chance go to waste. Fubuki had caught Halara's eyes. As ditzy and downright strange the voluptuous woman could be, Halara found her intriguing. She was beyond wealthy. She was a full-on rarity due to her family title and her Forte. There wasn't another out there like Fubuki. 

Halara had to know. How much did Fubuki cost? 

"Hm?" Fubuki lifted her head and glanced at the detective who had sat down across from her. "I am quite sorry. I am afraid my head was in the skies. I think that is what they say anyways." She rested her hands in her lap and gave Halara a polite smile. "What were you saying, Halara?"

"That’s alright," Halara said sharply. They crossed their legs and narrowed their gaze. When it came to Fubuki, Halara found it surprisingly easy to be more patient with her. Maybe it was that innocent smile or the little bit of gentleness in her voice. 

But Halara would make it clear to Fubuki no matter what. "I'm saying that I wish to purchase you for the night. I want you to come to dinner and then spend the night with me. Of course, that includes you doing whatever I say when we return to the hotel room. If I want to touch you, you'll let me touch and play with your body. Ultimately, I want us to have sex." 

Fubuki concentrated hard for a moment. It was almost amusing to see the gears turn in her head from what Halara had just said. Interestingly enough, Fubuki didn’t appear uncomfortable; in fact, she seemed only a little flushed. 

"And…you want to pay me for these things?" Fubuki asked, taking her time with each word that came from her mouth. 

Halara nodded. "That's right. How much do you want? I'd prefer to keep this as a transaction rather than anything serious or emotional."

The heiress shook her head. "That… doesn't feel like something you should pay me for." Halara had to wonder if Fubuki was even considering the sexual component of what they had proposed. 

"It sounds like an adventure between close friends!"

Halara nearly broke their sucker with their teeth and paled. Did Fubuki even hear what they wanted? "I am being serious. I don't want something emotional with you. As a detective, I abhor any sort of loyalty or commitment. I want to buy you and use your body for the night." Was it harsh to be so blunt?

"Still…I would rather not take any payment from you, Halara," replied Fubuki, a bit too earnestly for Halara's liking. "If we are going to do something together, then it is an adventure for both of us as friends." 

What was Halara supposed to say to that? Fubuki had honestly taken them aback and so, Halara was locked in a moment of silence. "Very well," they finally said. As soon as they saw Fubuki's curve into that happy smile, they did their best not to grunt uncomfortably. 

"I am still paying for dinner and whatever you desire for the night." 

Was this pitiful? Halara felt like they were reaching for some sort of leverage in this relationship. A way to put themself back into control above Fubuki, a way to make the heiress indebted to them. But still, the smiling face of the beauty across from them made Halara wonder why they felt they needed it so badly. 

–

"This is so much fun!" Fubuki declared, strolling along the streets of Kamasaki district. She hung off Halara's arm underneath a rented dronebrella to avoid the rain above. In her arms were a few boxes of chocolate and a bag of takoyaki. It was hardly restaurant-quality food, but even Halara had to admit that walking around the various districts and stopping at the cafe with Fubuki was rather nice. There was something to be said about the joy Fubuki took in every single thing she did. Halara couldn't imagine approaching the world like she did, but when they observed her going about her day, she made them want to be less guarded in their approach. 

As Halara had "ordered", Fubuki wore a long, navy gray dress that hugged every curve the woman had. Her usual braided hair was traded for a mass of long curls that hung over her shoulders. With a pearl necklace with a red gem at the center to finish off the look, Fubuki looked every bit the image of a high society date. And she didn't seem to really mind indulging Halara in what they wanted to see her in. The string-based black lingerie set that went with the outfit was always a plus as well. 

The only problem was that Fubuki, in her usual enthusiasm, insisted that Halara get dressed up as well. 

Halara had flushed, their chest tightening with slight embarrassment. "Really?"

"Oh, yes!" Fubuki said, her eyes shining. In her arms was some sort of suit ensemble. Where had she even found those? Halara had only left her alone for one moment to select the dress they wanted for Fubuki at the boutique and when they had returned, Fubuki's arms were stuffed with pieces of a suit. 

A pin-striped suit. Halara tried hard not to grit their teeth and sighed. "I am paying for this too," they said firmly. 

Nodding eagerly, Fubuki stuffed the dark, violet suit into Halara's arms and pushed them into the dressing room. Halara tried to fathom not looking in the mirror and just doing as Fubuki asked, but they couldn't leave the dressing room without seeing themselves in the suit. They scoffed and tried to push down their embarrassment, tucking their lilac hair behind the suit collar. It seemed they were as much Fubuki's date as Fubuki was to be theirs. But…that was alright, wasn't it?

After showing themselves off in the suit Fubuki picked for them, the woman beamed at Halara and threw her arms through theirs. From that point on, the night was filled with a long walk and lots of talking mostly from Fubuki's end. Halara found they simply didn't mind it. 

It was a noisy evening compared to most of the ones Halara spent on their own, but it was genuinely preferable so long as Fubuki clung to them. 

–

Once they had reached the hotel, Halara found that they were actually a bit tired. Fubuki had dragged them all over Kanai Ward and talked so much that Halara actually slid over to bed and laid back. Fubuki collapsed beside them with a sweet chuckle against Halara's chest. With their hands rising around Fubuki's waist, the heiress curled into their chest and pressed a sweet kiss to Halara's cheek. 

It was almost a scene that Halara was content with. A day out with a friend. They had fun together, but Halara wanted more. They wanted what they were originally going to pay for, but it felt like too much to ask for. And so the question hung in their throat. 

Holding Fubuki there seemed right. She hung over Halara's waist beneath the hotel room light, her light hair pouring down her shoulders. 

"Oh! That's right," Fubuki whispered above them. Her cheeks were a little warm from getting out of the cold rain. "You wanted to touch me…right?"

Halara nodded, letting their hands rest on Fubuki's hips. "That's why I purchased you for the night." Even though they hadn't really bought Fubuki herself, they had paid for everything they had done up to that point. 

"But…" Halara's voice trailed off. For a moment, they had forgotten everything they wanted. Earlier, they had set out with something to prove, that a high value person like Fubuki really could be bought with the Shien Halara had obtained. That they were worth Fubuki's time… and her trust. 

"We don't have to do that." Halara sat up and gently shifted Fubuki's weight to the bed. There was nothing to prove to Fubuki. And surely, Fubuki didn't have to prove herself to them either. Halara avoided Fubuki's confused glance to obscure their own guilt. "It's already been an adventure."

"Still…" Fubuki's voice perked Halara back up. "I don't want the adventure to end. Is it my fault? Do you not trust me?"

Halara blinked. They turned back to Fubuki and caught that sincere look in her eyes. Once again, their chest felt tight. Why did she invoke this weakness inside of them? 

"I… don't typically trust anyone," Halara admitted. "There's no need."

"I see… well, that's alright," said Fubuki. She moved her hair to her other shoulder. "I still don't want to end our adventure here. I want to go as far as I can with you, Halara!"

"You…" Halara brushed their hand to their face to hide the briefest smile that had appeared there. "You really are a bit ridiculous…"

Ridiculous as it was, Halara found their hands filled with Fubuki's chest and urging that slender dress down as their lips met. That possessive streak hit them once again and they made sure Fubuki knew it with a bite and a tug on her bottom lip. The whimper Fubuki gave off was all too satisfying. The woman on top off them winced and succumbed to Halara's arms while she dug at the tie of the suit to remove what she could as well. 

"Halara-!" 

That was all Fubuki was going to get out. Halara plopped the heiress on her back over the bed and continued to kiss and nip at her neck. Every sound and squeal the woman made could be felt on the trail of possessive tugs on her throat from Halara's teeth. Fubuki's experiences were being shaped by them and they wanted Fubuki to know it. But they couldn't help but to drink in every breath, every moan, every delighted giggle that Fubuki made. 

They reached her breasts and cupped them once more into their hands. Their thumbs slid around the swollen pink nubs, stroking them and circling them until the left one was brought between Halara's lips. It felt all too scandalous and perverted to partake in the heiress like this, but Halara savored it. Everything from Fubuki's moans to her body heat mesmerized them. She really was well worth the Shien…and so much more. 

"Ha..Ha…" Fubuki tried to moan out their name but Halara's hand quickly sank beneath her panties to cut her off. 

"Don't worry…" Halara breathlessly told her, their saliva still connecting Fubuki's nipple to their lips. "Just trust me."

Their digits stroked Fubuki's pink slit underneath her panties, working her up until they felt Fubuki groaning and undulating to them. Halara switched the right nipple to suck and bite while their free hand continued to stroke the reddened nub they freed from their lips. They bit at Fubuki's soft chest. Hard enough to leave a swollen, purple mark but nothing to break the skin. Halara was far more loving than that and if anything, they admired Fubuki's beauty with all their heart. 

Even as they worked their fingers to Fubuki's clothes, pinching the delicate button, Halara's eyes were locked on her face. The winces, the way her full, pink lips formed that little "O" of pleasure made Halara's mind all too dizzy with need and want. 

 "It's going to be okay…" Halara assured her in a hushed breath. They traced around her folds in delicate motions, drawing her out, teasing her until those sounds told them that Fubuki was ready for one finger inside of her. Then another. They worked slow to fill her and to place the thumb steadily to her clit, to find the rhythm in the movement of her hips. 

The trembles of Fubuki's body guided Halara to her lips to quiet her with another kiss. Biting wasn't needed anymore. Fubuki kissed them back with just as much fervor, taking that adventurous determination to explore Halara's mouth and massage their tongue with her own. In turn, it was Halara who moaned and pulsed against Fubuki in desire. The woman beneath her was too sweet, too trusting… and Halara found that was what they wanted too. To let go and simply be with another person wasn't a world they could just partake in so easily, but Fubuki made them want to close their eyes and try. 

It was there for them. A place where they could just close their eyes and trust that the other person wanted Halara just as much…

Fubuki whimpered and dug her head into the crook of Halara's neck, burying their companion in the sweetest kisses and nips. They weren't harsh or possessive like Halara's; instead, they swept over the detective's skin with an adventurous and learning intuition, trying out every spot to see what they could draw from the one above her. Halara tilted their head and allowed Fubuki to find her footing, to mark them in ways Fubuki wanted to just as she felt that distinctive jolt of pleasure inside of the woman. 

Fubuki's body tensed and shuddered, the orgasm trailing and building to Halara's digits as they played and drew her out. The polite nature of the heiress was ultimately dispelled as the short moans filled the air instead. Watching the young detective's body curl around Halara's fingers drew the breath from their lips in pride. Halara didn't think they could ever get used to it, nor the subtle quivers of Fubuki's naked chest as it rose and fell. 

"That was… I…" Fubuki gasped, her cheeks red and her mouth watering. Her right palm had been gripping the comforter of the bed. 

Halara shrugged, adoring the sight as they poured over her. Their free hand slid across the purple welts they had left across Fubuki's collarbone. "You should work on recovering. I doubt you want this adventure to be over just yet…"

[hirokiyuu]

ao3 wrapped: 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 + bonus 25

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

oh jeez probably ridgefic?? which is funny bc on reread i do think its got some sloppy parts and you can definitely tell i wrote it out of order and in like four days but also i like how it came out a lot!!!!! there's a lot of dyssol Vibes i wanted to get in there and i think they came out well HOWEVER THAT SAID

i also think the sol+sym is very strong just like. objectively. i like it less on a personal level but at the same time i do think it came out probably the best of my exocolonist fic and im v glad it's the one that was like....... my Fandom Debut (sparkling) u kno

4 is finished!

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

this is the first fandom where ive posted 3sen on ao3 and been like. hey leave comments telling me which one was ur fave. and had ppl actually do it LGKHASDGLKHASLHKG dont get me wrong i get plenty of feedback on them on the site where i post them usually but theres smth nice abt getting ao3 comments abt them too WWWW im so used to not getting them at all gLKSHGLKSHGD

6. Favorite title you used

HMMMMM honestly im going to have to say 'part time lover, full time friend' even tho its series title and not for fic LOL i just think it's one that really encapsulates Solanaceae u kno. at the end of the day whether it's romantic or not they just have so much love in their heart for the ppl aroudn them u kno. and i love that abt them!!! it's good content. wuv sol.

on an individual fic level i think 'maybe i am right (where i'm supposed to be)' is also really good tho. song thats abt post therapy vace. please listen to life its soooo vacecore

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

this feels. pointed. god. techincally in 2022 i used multiple artists but over my entire ao3 life it's mother mother. it's absolutely mother mother i dont think i even have to check this to know. it's mother mother

25. Did you receive any gifts this year?

not published on ao3 but yeah :) waiting eagerly for alm to post it....... (remembers theyre going to make me beta it first) h

[wuahae]

ahhh omg i read this a few days ago but it took me a while to gather my thoughts about it . i'm truly obsessed with exes2lovers mingyu like i love seeing it i love writing it mingyu is just soooo full of love even after the breakup he lends himself so well to being an ex 2 lover ,,,, but regardless . onwards .

Summer is about growth. It is about moving on. It is not supposed to be about Kim Mingyu.

off the bat you frame the story So well in the first paragraph ,,, the concept of growth + moving on directly juxtaposed with mingyu is like the most perfect set up ever. and immediately from the first scene the setting feels So lived in like it really Reads like a hot summer in a small town where everything is just so familiar it's almost stifling how much the past bleeds into the present (the scars on your legs, the ghost of his fingers on your waist and wrist, "memories of what once was linger") huuuu it's just so good!

But you remember Mingyu. You remember his smile and his sweet cologne and the way his hair fell into his eyes whenever his shoulders shook with laughter. You remember what it feels like to be in his bubble; it feels like you’ve been dumped into molasses — you become aware of your every move, and time begins to move just a little slower, as if you are trying to savour every moment before he disappears.

AND THE IMAGERY IN THIS PART IS JUST SOOOOO good i'm like taking notes omg ,,, the imagery of the molasses is so effective like it really pulls you into that feeling ... "as if you're trying savour every moment before he disappears" directly contrasted with him showing up once again in the skatepark with too many memories that won't fade . Man . also foreshadowing (kinda? maybe i'm just making stuff up HAHAH)

“Why? You’re not the one who lied.” A quiet heartbeat passes. “Right.”

Eep ,,,,,,, i sucked in a breath. just through their entire interaction its so dense and full of history (Like molasses ...) i just love the sticky familiarity of exes .

“Hello, sunshine,” Minghao drawls when his attention settles on you. He watches you scowl before setting your bag on the armchair and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “How was your morning?”

as a sidenote i noticed this in your summer shua fic too but your friendships in your fics are soooo welldone like it feels so ,, Real?? like it's almost tangible they're So familiar with each other and their interactions with each other are so natural it's so believable that they've been friends for years and years . also i just love the way you write seokmin and minghao theyre just so silly HSFJDL

(But it has always been you and Mingyu, Mingyu and you. He is part of your soul. There is a void in your chest that’s the shape of him. How are you supposed to erase all memory of someone like that?)

HHHUUUUUUUU.......... i rip out my hair ,,, just a few strands.

You shrug hopefully. “I think so,” you say, shifting your gaze to the horizon, “we’ve been friends forever. It’d take a lot to break that up.”

also as a sidenote the end of your scenes are just so good . such good buildup for the next scene not to mention in the flashback scenes it's always like . Idk maybe it's because the reader Knows how they all end up (mostly just mingyu and yn) that it all reads bittersweet

“You were in love with him,” he says. It slips out of his lips so easily, as if he were talking about the weather or the shapes of the clouds. You wish you could mutter an admission like that — accept something like that — the way he had. “And he was in love with you, and it ended badly. That is more than enough of a reason to talk.”

MINGHAO ,,,,,,, i love minghao as allseeing and allknowing it's just so fitting for him not to mention he's just . a really good friend [hug emoji].... also later on in the scene where you hate that you know him like the back of your hand . THE STICKY FAMILIARITY OF EXES I'M LITERALLY SAYING .

He hesitates, scanning your face while he plans his best course of action. The wounds haven’t closed, the stitches were poorly sewn, and blood spills out of the cuts he left like the damage he’s done is fresh.

This fucks supremely btw ,,,, such a visceral metaphor. and ugh idk this entire scene i just love how vulnerable mingyu allows himself to be with y/n even though he's 1) afraid of overstepping his bounds and 2) afraid of hurting her again. but he's trying so hard to make amends and y/n allows it because despite everything she missed him too ,,, you know him like the back of his hand you still know his soul intimately like it was yours even if He isn't anymore... he's not your best friend not your boyfriend he's nothing but your ex but for some reason whenever you talk to him despite your best efforts it feels like he's everything to you again . MAN.

But three years cannot erase a lifetime. [...] One glance from Mingyu and it all comes tumbling down.

ok this entire passage was just sooooo good like. Yeah time heals wounds but they've known each other so deeply for so long their knowledge of each other doesn't just erase itself because they ran away. the way instinct and history consistently overrides the hurt and that part of your brain telling you it's Over ,,, the line about the wall chipping away so much so that it was made out of cards rather than stone ,,, SO GOOD!

“You deserve so much better than this, don’t you know that?” he snaps, shrinking into himself seconds later. His voice shakes with frustration. This hurts him beyond your imagination, but he’d do anything for you, even if it ends with him sporting wounds that will never heal. “And I’m holding you back, and I— I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

ok this entire breakup scene hurt and idk it hurts but i Get where mingyu was coming from ,,, the self-sacrifice to the point of being selfish the way he feels like he knows Best because he's scared his own self-doubt and insecurities will bleed into you too and he'll be a stain you won't ever be able to wash out . not once considering you've never thought about him like that ,, Mingoo ...... and also just . UGH. the reference to the wounds that won't ever heal but this time it's Him sporting them ,,, the way he thinks he's Just hurting himself despite the fact that you're still carrying those same wounds he inflicted ,, the ones with shitty stitches and the ones that still bleed three years later ,,, 😭😭😭 it's just sooo ,,, and the worst part is he doesn't even realize it . when he says he'd let himself be selfish if he loved you less without realizing that's EXACTLY what he's doing....!!!!

“I loved you,” he says quickly before you have the chance to ask him otherwise. “That was never the problem. I was scared. I guess part of me wanted to let go while you still thought I was worth it.” “Don’t say that, Mingyu.” “I know, I know,” he replies. “I’m working on the self-worth. It’s hard to come by.”

ROARING ......... RIPPING MY HAIR OUT

But while Mingyu ached to be the person everyone made him out to be, you saw past your own desires and those who desired him. Through all that was carefully crafted, you saw him for who he truly was. And you loved every inch of him. So much so that you’re convinced you’ll never be able to feel this way for anybody else. “For what it’s worth,” you say, “back then, you were it for me. I would’ve loved you regardless.”

it's like that one quote that's like. the writer compares themself being akin to a fruit and says like . I'm afraid that you'll split me open and find me unsightly. and mingyu's been been hardening that shell around him and thickening his skin his entire life so that he can be that pretty perfect fruit hanging off the branch that everyone fawns over and admires while simultaneously growing overripe afraid of what people (what you) will think when you see him for who he truly is. and he doesn't even realize that you'd peeled him. you'd peeled him and saw what was inside and loved him anyway . loved him because of it. hhhuuuuuuuuuuu................

(In his wallet is a candid polaroid — a person on the beach, laughing at a joke made by someone who hasn’t been photographed. The picture has no crinkles, either because it’s deeply cherished or because it’s new — maybe both is the case. It replaces an older photo, one that’s years old, taken while he was in high school of the same person. Still candid, still radiant, still laughing. He’s treasured it for years, but he decides it’s time to relocate it. Maybe when he gets back to his apartment, he’ll put it on his fridge. It was looking a little empty, anyway).

OKKKKK LISTENNNN i'm seeing what you're doing .... because in the beginning it's like. you establish that summer is supposed to be about Growth it's supposed to be about Moving On and not being held back by your past and you would Think that going back to your ex would be the entire antithesis of that but it's Not because you're still growing ... you're still growing together ..... you're not rewinding time or stunting your growth you and mingyu are just two lines that were together and then grew apart and then eventually came back together . still growing . 😭😭😭😭😭😭 it's not necessarily that you're his past or anything it's just that like. the you in the present is still the same you that he'll love no matter what . no matter where he is . HUUUUUUU,.

He has never been an expert in love — few of the decisions he’s made in the name of it have seldom ended well — and when he was younger, the only thing he ever knew regarding it was you. Before, he thought that wouldn’t have been enough, that in order to be the person you deserved, he had to know more. However, he’s older now, and things change with time. You glance at him and the butterfly in his stomach rapidly flaps its wings. (Other things don’t).

^^^^^^^ EXACTLYYYY EXACTLY ............

I’ll be here to catch you if you fall.

MAN,. WHAT A JOURNEY. just closing thoughts but overall i just think the "small town" setting of the fic is so important to how things ended up playing out because like. everyone knows everone here and it's Especially in small towns that you can never let things go . not really. and as much as it sucks for them during those past 3 years i felt like it was good (for mingyu at least) to go across the country to where the stifling expectation of a small town couldn't reach him .... IDK. small towns are just soooo ..... everyone leaves at some point but eventually you come back to everything that lingers there ,,, like a time capsule . i'm just rambling actually but you portrayed all the elements in the fic so freaking well like i'm always taking notes when i read your fic :")

gold rush

❛ everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ❜ ━gold rush, taylor swift

word count | 19.2k (19,220) genre | fluff, angst, slowburn, exes to lovers, summer au ━ gn!reader

though there is no denying that kim mingyu was once a big part of your life, you believe that the pain he’s left you with is long gone; he is a memory, and that is all he will ever be. but then you get home, and he’s there, and maybe you have to reconsider just how much you’ve moved on.

★ warnings | brief mention of injury/scars/blood, alcohol consumption, suggestive if u squint, seokmin and minghao meddling, i think thats it tell me if i missed anything ★ author’s note | it’s finally here!!! this took me longer than i thought it would, i really thought it’d only be on the shorter side (shorter side in dkfile means >10k words) but. this is literally 19k. i lied to myself i guess. hope u guys enjoy tho !! lmk your thoughts :D

In movies, summer signifies new beginnings. The sun’s radiance is bright enough to blind, the ocean glimmers underneath its attention, the sand is warm to the touch. Ice cream drips down your fingers and makes them uncomfortably sticky against the humid breeze. Some people come home, others leave, but they all have the intent of starting their new chapter right. Summer is about growth. It is about moving on.

It is not supposed to be about Kim Mingyu.

seok ☀️ > can you pls pick up the phone > i’m sorryyyyy that i lied to you ☹️ > forgive me!! 😓💔🙏 > do you need me to grovel? because i will

You scowl.

When you came back from college, welcomed home with open arms by your family and childhood friends, you were reassured that a certain boy — with golden skin, starry eyes, and your crushed heart in the palm of his hand — would not be back in town. Foolishly, you looked past the mischievous quirk of Minghao’s eyebrow, and the sheepish wince painted across Seokmin’s face when you expressed your delight at having them all to yourself.

There would be no ex-boyfriend to thwart your plans, no boy to drown your summer in gasoline and set it aflame.

But then your shopping cart bumps into someone else’s at the store, and when you look up, the bane of your existence is staring at you, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

You vaguely remember the rather sharp inhale Seokmin took from behind you before you scoffed, incredulous and irritated, and harshly stated that Seokmin could finish grocery shopping by himself. You do not want to associate yourself with the traitor and the liar your so-called best friend has become.

Seokmin claims you’re being rather overdramatic. He swears he didn’t know Mingyu would be home so soon.

(“So soon?” you repeated when you picked up Seokmin’s fifteenth call ten minutes ago. “What does that mean? That you knew he was always going to be coming home?”

“…Listen—”

You hung up).

You find yourself sitting in the skatepark a few blocks from the mart, legs curled up on the bench and your chin resting on your knees. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the occupants slowly pack up and leave, until the sounds of wheels against concrete is replaced with the murmur of cicadas and the laughter from the occasional passerby.

The warmth of the wood seeps through your denim shorts, percolating across your body until you are hot underneath your clothes. Despite the heat of the day giving way to the mellow cool of the evening, sweat forms on your upper lip and hairline, an indicator that it’s too hot to sit out here and contemplate every choice you’ve made up until this moment.

Still, you stay; you’re not sure why. You never quite liked it here, had only enjoyed it when you were surrounded by your friends and their saccharine laughter. The scars on your leg are painful reminders of the multiple falls you took when he was teaching you how to skate.

(Sometimes, on bad nights, you still feel the ghost of his fingers on your waist and your wrist, guiding you on his board while children much younger than you zoom by).

You never left this area without a new injury, whether it be a bruise on the shin or a scrape on the knee.

Memories of what once was linger.

You do not remember what you had for breakfast this morning, or what show Seokmin recommended to you a few hours ago, or what car your dad was planning on buying.

But you remember Mingyu. You remember his smile and his sweet cologne and the way his hair fell into his eyes whenever his shoulders shook with laughter. You remember what it feels like to be in his bubble; it feels like you’ve been dumped into molasses — you become aware of your every move, and time begins to move just a little slower, as if you are trying to savour every moment before he disappears.

You feel him before you hear him.

That’s why you’re not surprised when he talks, his voice soft from where he stands behind the bench. You imagine him with his hands tucked into his pockets, staring at the empty ramps (he is not looking at you. You would know if he was looking at you. His gaze would burn more than a thousand wildfires).

“I thought they told you.”

Your voice comes out hoarse. “They told me you weren’t coming home.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t sound surprised, but he stills offers an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You’re not the one who lied.”

A quiet heartbeat passes. “Right.”

Your fingers drum against your calf. “How did you find me, anyway? Did Seokmin track my location?”

“No,” he murmurs. His voice has been quiet ever since he arrived. “I just… figured you’d be here.”

You swallow a large lump in your throat. “Oh,” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” he responds. There’s a brief moment of contemplation. He knows there’s a line he cannot cross, but he tries anyway. “Do you want a ride home?”

Your response is immediate and firm, and its harshness is enough to break the calm façade he unintentionally built around the both of you. “No. I’ll walk.”

“It’s hot,” he argues.

“I don’t need you, Mingyu,” you bite back. He clamps his mouth shut as unease settles in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t— I’ll be fine.”

He seems to hesitate; you aren’t sure how long he stands behind you, searching for a response.

Then, as if it pains him to say: “Okay.”

“Damn,” Minghao falls into Seokmin’s shoulder as they both laugh at your stumbling, “You suck!”

“Hey,” Mingyu barks, though he looks more like a puppy than the intimidating boy he imagines himself to be, “it’s not like you’re any better!”

You know Mingyu’s only saying this to make you feel better — Minghao is, arguably, the best on wheels out of the four of you — but the sentiment still warms your heart. At your smile, Mingyu’s annoyed mien is replaced with a grin of his own. He reaches over to squeeze your cheek.

“I believe in you,” he declares.

“As much as I appreciate what you’re doing,” you begin, stretching out your arms to balance on the board, “I don’t think I’m ever going to master this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mingyu huffs, hands hovering over your sides once the skateboard begins to move, eyes trained on your feet. “By the time we get out of here, you’re gonna give Minghao a run for his money.”

You sigh. Mingyu was always one for wishful thinking.

“You really think I’ll be able to do this by myself in half an hour?”

Mingyu hums hopefully.

The sun has already begun to set, and you had promised your parents you’d be home for dinner. With fall around the corner, the days are slowly becoming shorter, a constant reminder that your last year of school is upon you. Next are college applications, then admissions, and conversations about your future that you aren’t quite ready to have.

But you’ll worry about that when you need to.

Because right now, there is the skate park, the late summer breeze, and Mingyu, who shrieks along with you when you lose balance. His arms grab onto your waist, bringing you back to the ground as the skateboard continues to roll down the concrete. Right now, there is the furrow of his eyebrows, the mixture of disappointment and amusement swirling in his eyes, and his forehead pressed against yours.

“I thought I told you not to zone out,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You shrug, pecking his nose before pulling away to chase after the skateboard. “You’re so dramatic. The worst I could’ve gotten was a scraped knee.”

Mingyu scoffs. “So? I don’t want you getting hurt under my watch.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my babysitter.”

“Well, I might as well be,” he argues. “You’re more accident prone than me.”

Laughing, you jokingly say, “Guess that means you’ve finally met your match, Kim.”

People used to say you and Mingyu were made for each other.

It is something you’ve tried to forget, but the fact follows you around like a shadow. This town, small and aware of the breakup, can’t seem to wrap their heads around the fact that you and Mingyu are no longer extensions of one another.

At some point, you hoped that people would understand your discomfort whenever he’s mentioned, but the fact of the matter is that you and Mingyu had been a package deal from when you were in diapers up until the end of senior year, and when you’re intertwined with someone for that long, it’s just as hard for you as it is for everyone to forget that part of yourself.

When you stop by the pharmacy, you don’t ask about him (you have no reason to), but the pharmacist still informs you that you’ve just missed him; when you see your mother’s colleague, she gushes about how nice it must be to see him after all this time (you do not have the heart to tell her otherwise); when you buy a pack of Sprite bottles for Mrs. Boo’s annual summer barbecue, the clerk asks if you know if he’s going to be in attendance (you say you have not talked to him in three years, and the clerk tilts his head in confusion).

Your patience has been worn thin by the time you arrive at Seokmin’s house.

“Hello, sunshine,” Minghao drawls when his attention settles on you. He watches you scowl before setting your bag on the armchair and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “How was your morning?”

“I’m ditching,” you declare, brushing off his question.

“Ditching what?”

“The barbecue,” you deadpan. “What else?”

“Now, why the hell would you do that?”

“Minghao,” you say blankly, “would it kill you to use your brain for once?”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Seokmin enters the living room, carrying three cans of iced tea, all of which he places on the coffee table. He throws you and Minghao a look of annoyance. “If you guys are going to argue, please don’t do it under my roof,” he gestures around the room, “it kills the vibes.”

You roll your eyes but mutter an apology under your breath. Beside you, Minghao quips, “Y/N decided ditching the barbecue would be a good idea.”

You’re used to Seokmin’s mannerisms by now, so you don’t even flinch when he waves his arms around in disbelief. “What?” he exclaims, crouching in front of your legs and taking your hands into his. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Minghao hums. “That’s what I said.”

“Put that brain of yours to good use.”

“They said that to me, too.”

Seokmin huffs, knowing better than to let your quips deter him. “Please don’t tell me this is about Mingyu.”

You quirk an eyebrow, to which Seokmin scoffs, letting go of your hands before plopping down in front of you, even though there’s a free spot on the other side of Minghao. They scrutinize you for a moment, Seokmin’s eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a frown while Minghao stares blankly, showing no emotion or an indication of what’s going on inside his head.

It does nothing to make you feel comfortable.

You aren’t a stranger to Minghao and Seokmin’s examinations — they’re experts when it comes to breaking you down with analyzations and calculating eyes. But you haven’t been home in three years, and being on the receiving end of something as intense as this is startling, if not a little troubling.

(Being the only one enduring this, absent of a certain boy, is unsettling as well, though you’d rather die than admit that).

Seokmin nudges your ankle with his knee. “You know you’ll regret not going to this thing,” he says, eyes sparkling with amusement when you bristle. “You haven’t seen the Boo’s in forever, too. They’d be sad if you miss it.”

“Imagine how Seungkwan would feel,” Minghao adds, poking your arm to look at him, and continues to do so when you don’t. “He’d be miserable.”

You pout. “I doubt it.”

“You were in the same badminton club for five years,” Minghao argues softly, “I think he would be.”

Seokmin states, “And you’re not the type of person to let someone down, are you?” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Well, other than me and Minghao, on occasion.”

You cross your arms, leaning further into the couch as you avoid eye contact. You’re adamant on skipping, but Seokmin and Minghao know you better than anyone else, so they know exactly how to word their sentences and fabricate their bribes to get you to agree. They know, as long as you keep this up, the entirety of your summer will be spent in the four walls in your house, the only place in town guaranteed to not have Kim Mingyu.

And it may be pathetic, really, to continue letting him affect you like this.

(But it has always been you and Mingyu, Mingyu and you. He is part of your soul. There is a void in your chest that’s the shape of him. How are you supposed to erase all memory of someone like that?)

A painted fingernail pokes your side, a knee bumps your shin. Your friends look at you, hopeful.

A sigh.

“Okay, fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum, collapsing on the bench beside Seungkwan, his newly dyed platinum blonde hair appearing orange under the setting sun. Sweat trinkles down his frame but his breathing remains even, showing no sign that he just finished playing a rather intense badminton game a few minutes prior.

“What are you guys doing after you graduate?”

You take a sip from your water bottle in hopes the liquid will make it easier to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You have never minded these types of conversations, though the reminder of the future creates a pit in your stomach that only continues to grow larger with each passing day. And, knowing Seungkwan, you know there is more to his question than college applications and major declarations.

“What do you mean?”

“You, Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin,” Seungkwan elaborates. “You’re all going to different colleges, right?”

Pursing your lips, you risk a glance at him, only to find that he’s staring ahead. “Minghao’s going abroad, yeah, and Seokmin’s thinking of staying here,” you explain, voice low. “Mingyu and I are going to be together, though.”

At this, Seungkwan turns to you, eyebrows furrowed. “You two are going to the same university?”

There is something about the way he asks this — unsure, withdrawn, and cautious. You see the flare of uncertainty in his eyes, and it’s enough for your heartrate to quicken.

“Yeah. Why?”

He opens and closes his mouth. There is war in his head. Very rarely do you see Seungkwan at a loss for words. He is usually so quick on his feet, so witty, so talkative, and the silence that falls between you both is painful and nerve-wracking.

Should you be worried?

“Nothing,” he eventually settles for, ignoring the silent question in your eyes. “I was just thinking about how nice that would be.”

You decide to believe him. It is so much easier to be ignorant, you think.

(But it is also much more painful later. You do not allow yourself to dwell).

“Why’d you ask, anyway?”

“I was just talking to Vernon and Chan, and I realized we all want different things,” Seungkwan sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “We won’t all be together much longer. It feels… weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you guys will be able to stay in touch?”

You shrug hopefully. “I think so,” you say, shifting your gaze to the horizon, “we’ve been friends forever. It’d take a lot to break that up.”

The scent of tangerines and aftershave fill your nose as you’re ambushed by a boy bursting with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he resides in your arms, squeezing you tight as he spews angry statements that all come from a place of love.

Seungkwan is grinning by the time you pull away, grabbing you by your wrist and dragging you further into the backyard to catch up with other people. He doesn’t dare leave your side — he’s convinced you’ll slip away and disappear if he does — and you’re thankful; you don’t have the energy to steamroll through conversations today.

Though it’s humid, the warmth you’re engulfed in is a product of the Boo household. It is homely and welcoming and an embodiment of everything you’ve ever missed about home all in one lot. You should be happy to be here, surrounded by people you haven’t seen in years as a consequence of your avoidance, pulled into an endless pool of memories and nostalgia.

But you cannot shake it, the uneasiness.

You feel it as soon as the gate swings open and he enters, carrying two large Tupperware containers, one filled with brownies and the other with lemon squares. You feel it when he flashes his signature smile, canines as pearly white and blinding as you remember, and it still fills you with a sickening sense of joy.

“I’m gonna go get a brownie,” Seungkwan announces, loud enough to snap you out of it. “Do you want one?”

“No,” you decline, forcing yourself to smile even when you feel a burning sensation at the back of your head. “Thank you, though.”

Seungkwan nods and makes his way to the refreshments table, but not before wagging a finger in warning, “Don’t leave without saying goodbye!”

You frantically search the backyard, looking for any sign of Minghao or Seokmin, or maybe a superhero of some sorts to pull you away so you don’t disintegrate in the presence of Mingyu.

In your periphery, you see him excuse himself from conversations, eyes flickering towards you with a determination you aren’t unfamiliar with. It’s remorseful and desperate, and it reminds you of an instance in the skatepark a few years ago, you in his sweater and drowning in heartbreak and sorrow.

Someone swings their arm over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Minghao murmurs, steering you further into the backyard, away. You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you grit your teeth.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him at some point,” he says, dropping his arm once he’s decided you’re far enough. “I feel like it’d do the both of you some good.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” you protest. “And I’m sure he has nothing to say to me.”

“I really don’t think that’s the truth.”

“It is.”

“You were in love with him,” he says. It slips out of his lips so easily, as if he were talking about the weather or the shapes of the clouds. You wish you could mutter an admission like that — accept something like that — the way he had. “And he was in love with you, and it ended badly. That is more than enough of a reason to talk.”

It ended badly. You always associated a statement like that with relationships that ended in screaming matches or slamming doors. Ones where a simple argument escalated into one that finalized a conclusion, ones where there was nothing in the room but anger and exhaustion that overpowered the love.

You’ve never associated it with how your relationship with Mingyu ended. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping, and you were standing in the same spot you asked him out, the same spot he asked you to prom, the same spot he murmured three simple words into your ear before you fell asleep on his shoulder on the park bench.

It didn’t end because of a fight. Sometimes, you wish it had — maybe then you’d feel differently about everything, about him.

It just came to a halt, and he had been the one to step on the brakes.

“Talk to him,” Minghao urges again, sympathetic but firm. “You don’t have to do it now, but just do it before you leave. Don’t you think you deserve some closure?”

You find him talking to some of your classmates from your graduating class. They hang onto every word he says, face alit with curiosity and admiration, because some things never change, and he has been put on a pedestal since birth. In the hallways of the high school, his name is on the trophies, he’s beaming in most of the pages in the yearbook, he is this town’s pride and joy.

But you know him.

You see him smile and you’re not blind to the discomfort and falseness behind it. He doesn’t want to be there, you think, and your thoughts are proven correct when he glances up to look at you, and his mask slips by a fraction. For a moment, you see sincerity, a glimpse of the Mingyu you once knew.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and, as you predicted, he puts the mask back on.

You hate that you still know him like the back of your hand.

He is leaning against your frame, playing with your fingers, when he asks the question.

“How do you do it?” he wonders, looking up briefly to meet your questioning gaze before returning his focus on your hands, tapping them to the beat of an overplayed pop song.

His head has dipped down, allowing you to rest your cheek against it. “Do what?”

“Talk to everyone like that,” he says, using his free hand to gesture towards the backyard filled with the people you’re currently hiding from. The both of you sit on the staircase by the front entrance, away from any prying eyes. “They were hanging onto every word you said. They’re practically in love with you.”

You snicker. “What, don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

Mingyu matches your teasing tone with a playful lilt of his own. “Oh, I am. I’ve got some competition.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Don’t be too upset when I pick Mrs. Boo over you.”

He hums. “No promises.”

A blanket of comfortable silence falls over you. He fidgets with your hands, brushing his thumb over your nails, and tracing the lines of your palms with his index finger. You close your eyes, listening to the fading chatter of the town and the faint sizzling of meat on the grill.

“I should be asking you that, y’know,” you eventually mumble. Mingyu’s movements stop. “You’ve got the whole town wrapped around your finger. I’m pretty sure everybody loves you.”

To get you to open your eyes, he pokes your cheek. “The same could be said about you,” he responds. “Besides, people only like the idea of me. What would they say if they found out my room’s never clean and I cycle through the same two pairs of socks year-round?”

You wrinkle your nose. “God, remind me to buy you a pack of socks from the store next time I’m at the mall.”

He laughs, an unpleasant snort involuntarily escaping his nose. “I’m serious. They don’t like me. They like the illusion.”

You finally look at him, meeting his softened gaze and mellow smile. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No, not really,” he shrugs, but there is a minuscule halt in his voice that you don’t catch. “The only opinion that matters to me is yours.”

You’re convinced Seokmin and Minghao are saints.

(You would never admit this, though. They would never shut up if you did).

For the entire 40-minute car ride, they manage to keep the calm, filling the silence with anecdotes about people you have only heard about through irregular video calls, and arguments about who should be in control of the music. Eventually, they settle for handing the aux over to Mingyu, who meets your gaze through the rearview mirror before clicking on a familiar playlist and looking out the window.

After the first five songs, your face heats up as you remember bashfully making him a playlist back in high school. You settle into your spot, hoping the battered polyester of Seokmin’s car seats will swallow you whole.

When you agreed to tag along on their trip out of town and into the city, Minghao and Seokmin didn’t bother hiding their surprise, especially since they made it clear Mingyu was going to be in attendance. Seungkwan even offered to let you carpool with him, Vernon, and Chan, but you declined — you might as well suck it up, seeing as you and Mingyu are going to be in the same vicinity for the rest of the summer.

Still, you can’t help but regret your decisions as you squirm in the backseat behind Seokmin, who’s fiddling with the A/C, listening intently to a story Minghao’s telling about some scandal involving two classmates he’s never talked to before. You’re thankful for their nosiness, because it gives you some level of comfort and helps you ignore Mingyu’s fleeting glances from the passenger seat.

“The professor’s a hardass so everyone was convinced they were fucking,” Minghao says, leaning forward in his seat. “Turns out he was just her stepdad, who suffered from a chronic case of favouritism.”

Seokmin snorts. “Out of all the conclusions to jump to, that’s the one they picked?”

Minghao quirks an eyebrow. “You of all people should not be saying that.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

As Seokmin and Minghao begin to bicker for the nth time that evening, your gaze slides from the window to the Snoopy trinket hanging from the rearview mirror to the mirror itself, and you can’t find it in you to be surprised when you see Mingyu already looking at you. An unsaid question dances in his eyes, wary and timid.

Are you sure this is okay?

You gulp, worrying your lips between your teeth before shrugging. Yes, it’s fine.

He raises his eyebrow. This is the first time you’ve acknowledged him tonight.

Really?

You shrug again. Really.

And you leave it at that, turning again to look outside.

Seokmin takes fifteen minutes to find a decent parking spot, so when you finally enter the nightclub, you’re prepared for the scowl on Seungkwan’s face when he spots the four of you. He scolds Seokmin first and receives a flick to his forehead in response, which only angers him more. Before you can meet his wrath, you slip away, moving to enter the booth and letting Mingyu and Minghao get the brunt of Seungkwan’s rage and disappointment.

“Y/N!” Chan exclaims when you settle next to him, wrapping his arms around your torso to give you a brief hug before sliding you his unfinished pint of beer. “I haven’t talked to you in forever!”

When you take a sip of the alcohol, you try your best to hide your grimace when the lukewarm liquid hits your tongue. “I talked to you at the barbecue two days ago.”

“Well, I missed you. Sue me,” he throws his hands up in exasperation. Across from you, Vernon hides his amused smile behind his own pint. “You come home after, what, three years? Forgive me if I’ve become clingy.”

“Didn’t know you missed me so much.”

Vernon’s eyes are dripping with mirth. “He went broke from using all his coins at the fountain in town square,” he says, laughing when Chan shoots him daggers. “He went there whenever he was free and was wishing you’d come back—”

“He’s exaggerating,” Chan huffs. In retaliation to Vernon’s teasing, Chan takes his friend’s pint of beer and chugs it down until there is nothing left. “I only wished whenever Mingyu was home, he was so mopey, he would’ve been happier if you were here.”

You freeze.

“Okay,” Vernon interjects, pushing himself out of his seat to move all the empty glasses away from Chan, as if doing so will help the situation. He throws you an apologetic look, though it lacks his usual sincerity. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Chan whines. “But I wanted to do tequila shots with everyone.”

“Drink this first,” Vernon instructs.

Chan grumbles but accepts the glass of water Vernon gives him.

Before you can say something about Chan’s offhanded comment, the rest of your friends climb into the booth, and Vernon and Chan ease their way into their conversation as soon as everyone’s seated. You lean back, cowering behind Minghao and Chan’s frames as Seungkwan makes a joke you barely catch and Minghao repeats every story he told on the journey here.

You try your best to engage in the conversation, really, but it’s been so long since you’ve been with this group of people. As they discuss events you were never there for, snippets of a summer you weren’t part of, the awkwardness begins to build in your stomach, because it was never supposed to be like this, you were never supposed to feel left out.

If the person you were a few years ago saw you now, you know they’d be a little disappointed. Maybe they’d pity you, too.

The consequences, you suppose, of never coming home.

Sighing, you gesture for Minghao to slip out of the booth so you can get out. You say something about going to the bar to get another drink, and he nods, squeezing your shoulder — his silent way of telling you to stay safe — before letting you go.

You try your best to avoid any stumbling individuals, wrinkling your nose and murmuring apologies that get lost in the noise when you can’t avoid bumping into someone. With a glance over your shoulder, you make sure your friends aren’t paying any attention to you before making your way towards the exit.

It’s a warm evening, but it’s cooler than it is inside, and you relish in the temporary peace before you have to inevitably make your way back. They’ll notice if you’re gone too long, and they’ve always been easy to worry.

“Hey.”

A tall frame enters your periphery, clad in a loose white t-shirt and light-washed jeans, staring ahead at the passing cars. You ignore the way his face falls when you shuffle further to the side, away from him.

Your history aside, Kim Mingyu has always run hot. Before, you wouldn’t mind — before, you would’ve been clinging onto him — but time has passed, and you aren’t the same people you were back in high school.

A part of you misses it. There is something so comfortable about Mingyu that you can only describe in insignificant memories, like when he moves you to the side furthest from the road, or when he wraps his scarf around your neck because the cold is nipping at your nose, or when he buys mini versions of your skincare products to keep in his house for when you’re too tired to drive back home.

It's almost homely. Like a hug, maybe.

(You missed it a lot, at first, his aura. Whenever you needed it most, you’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and instead of sheep lulling you into slumber, it’s him. Way back when, he’d rub circles into your wrist to help you fall asleep, and you think of it then, because it used to bring you so much comfort).

(In your dreams, you murmur his name — Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu — like a prayer, like an incantation).

“I’m sorry.”

You jolt in surprise. Not at his voice, but at the apology. “Why?”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” you protest with a frown. “I’m just… I couldn’t think of how to contribute to the conversation, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says gently. He looks relieved. “So, you’re okay that I’m here?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re your friends, too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

A quiet moment passes, and you see the relief begin to crumble.

“Yeah, I don’t mind that you’re here,” you offer. The next sentence slips out before you can stop it, “I’m glad, actually.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You are?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, wincing. “A little. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Before this month, you only saw him through Instagram, glimpses of his life that were curated to make his life seem special and happy and void of any worries. You only heard about him — the real him — when his name accidentally slipped out of your friends’ or your family’s mouths.

You can’t help but think that it wasn’t enough.

“How’s school?” he asks, subtly moving so he’s slightly facing you.

“It’s alright,” you answer. “Stressful, but that’s a given. My roommate got a boyfriend, though. He leaves his shit everywhere and he acts like he lives there.”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “Yeah, I know, Minghao told me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Oh? Why would he tell you that?”

“I asked,” he shrugs. You finally, really look at him now, and your confusion is evident. He seems unfazed by it, but you can see the crimson slowly climbing up his neck. “I ask about you sometimes.”

“Why?”

You know why, you think. What’s the point in asking when you already know the reason behind his actions and intentions? Your soul is intertwined with his, it has been for a while, but you can’t seem to accept it.

You still hurt.

Minghao’s right. Maybe the closure is needed.

“Because I care about you,” he confesses, trying his best to hide his yearning. “You were my best friend, and I want to know if you’re still doing okay.”

Your fingers shake, so you stuff them into the pockets of your sweater. “And what do they tell you when you ask?”

He hesitates, scanning your face while he plans his best course of action. The wounds haven’t closed, the stitches were poorly sewn, and blood spills out of the cuts he left like the damage he’s done is fresh.

“They tell me that I should ask you myself,” he says, “But sometimes they take pity on me, and they’ll tell me things you’ve told them. Like the roommate situation, or the barista who fucked up your order, or how you scored the highest on an exam— congratulations, by the way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Thank you,” you reply meekly.

“It’s no problem,” he responds. Contemplation flickers across his face before he adds, rather reluctantly, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

You feel the same way you did when he first confessed, like an immature and blubbering teenager, full of hope and optimism and dreams of what could be.

“Mingyu—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts. “I’ve seen the stuff you’ve posted, and I should’ve congratulated you then, I know that, but—”

You give him a small smile. “Better late than never.”

He flashes you a grin, the same one you’d longed to see, the one you used to humiliate yourself for. You would’ve done anything to see him smile like that — a smile that isn’t put on just for show, but one that’s genuine and blinding. It’s something reserved for certain people, those who have seen through the illusion that was created for him, those who have seen it and still love him for who he is, despite his faults and imperfections.

He nods. “Better late than never.”

Despite your best efforts to squash your delight, your heart escapes your desperate grip, and it soars.

It’s cold.

The ground has frozen over, leaving jagged pieces of ice all over the concrete. The snow, previously a crisp white, has turned brown due to its contact with cars. The wind is cold, persistent, it refuses to let you forget about its existence with each gust.

On the other side of the parking lot, you see your friends whisper amongst themselves before one of them throws his hands up in exasperation and stomps over to his car, a beat-up vehicle with torn polyester seats and discarded bubblegum wrappers on the floor. He’s grumbling something under his breath as he settles into the driver’s seat and leaves without so much as a goodbye.

It’s cold, and something’s wrong.

Your eyes find Mingyu’s and your stomach sinks.

Something’s wrong, but you’re unsure whether you’ll find out what it is tonight.

“Hey,” you say once he’s in earshot. He stiffens at the sound of your voice. “Is Seokmin okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I’ll just apologize tomorrow morning.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing big.” He tightens the scarf around his neck and turns to walk towards his car. You follow, because with Mingyu you always do, and look at him over the roof as he digs in his pockets for his keys.

You clench your jaw, uncomfortable (when was the last time you’ve felt unpleasant around him? Things have started getting weirder since everyone started sending in their college applications). You wonder if you should push for answers, but you stop yourself before you can open your mouth. You’ve never done something like this before — Mingyu has always told you everything; secrets between the two of you are scarce.

He unlocks the doors. “Is it okay if we stop by the convenience store before I bring you home? I gotta buy some ramen for my sister.”

He looks tired. Maybe you can ask him about what happened another day.

“Yeah, sure.”

He nods in thanks and enters before another gust of wind hits — it’s harsher this time, as if it’s sending you a warning.

You really should’ve brought your own scarf.

When your family yells for you to open the door, the last thing you expect to see on the other side of it is Kim Mingyu.

Your ire is gone in a flash.

“Um…”

Mingyu winces. “Hi. Sorry, I— your brother called me, he said it was an emergency, and I was worried, so—”

“Mingyu!” your brother yells excitedly, running out of the kitchen before throwing his arms around Mingyu’s torso. “You’re here! Thank God, Y/N was ruining the cake—”

You scoff loudly. “What the fuck, Daeshim? You’re the one who put in salt instead of sugar—"

“Get in, get in!” Daeshim says cheerily, throwing you a glare. You narrow your eyes in return, ignoring how Mingyu’s hands brush against yours when he makes his way towards the kitchen after toeing off his shoes. Daeshim pokes you. “I’m telling Mom you swore.”

“What are you, five?”

Daeshim sticks his tongue out. “Add some money in the swear jar.”

“I hate you,” you deadpan. Your eyes flicker to the white sneakers neatly placed by the other footwear, worn from years of use. “Why did you ask him to come here?”

Your brother shrugs. “He usually stops by, anyway, to help for Mom’s birthday.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically, gesturing for you to move so he can shut the front door. “Are you sure you guys broke up? Cause when you didn’t come home for the summer, he would still check up on us and stuff, and he’d always ask about you. It was so weird. It felt like I was a child of divorce.”

You smack him on the head. “Can you not say that about my relationship?”

“Well, it’s not a relationship anymore,” he quips.

You tense, crossing your arms so you don’t give Daeshim the delight of seeing your clenched fists. “You know what I meant.”

“If you don’t want to stay, then go. But he’s not going anywhere until Mom’s cake is done.”

“Why not? We were doing just fine without him.”

“Are you serious? You know he’s better at baking than you ever will be.”

“Okay, rude.”

“It’s true—”

“Uh, guys?” Both of your heads snap to wear Mingyu peeks around the corner, his amusement thinly veiled behind his distress. “Your kitchen’s a mess.”

Daeshim grins, pointing his finger at you. “Y/N’s fault!” he exclaims before heading to the kitchen.

You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance, watching your sibling nonchalantly disappear from your line of sight before you focus on Mingyu. He’s leaning against the wall now, hands shoved in his sweatpants and his head tilted to the side. He looks at you like he’s studying you, trying to find a sign of any kind that he needs to leave.

He must’ve found nothing because he stays.

You clear your throat, straightening your posture. “It was not my fault.”

His lips quirk up. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He disappears before you can retort.

(He’s always been good at that — leaving before you have a chance to fight).

When you finally join them in the kitchen, there’s a familiar baby pink apron around Mingyu’s neck, already splattered with cake batter as he whisks something in a steel bowl. Daeshim is crouched in front of the fridge, putting containers of leftovers on the floor in search of something. You kick his leg with your foot, throwing him off balance, and you both give each other matching scowls.

“Don’t put the Tupperware on the floor.”

He rolls his eyes but picks them up without argument, placing them on the empty counter by the fridge. You don’t understand why he couldn’t have done that in the first place, but Daeshim is notorious for making terrible decisions.

You don’t miss the way Mingyu’s eyes soften when he sees you. “You’re gonna help?”

“I came with the intention to supervise Daeshim and make sure he doesn’t accidentally set something on fire, but…” you shrug, “I could help, yeah.”

“Perfect,” Mingyu grins. “Can you get the baking pan?”

You do as he asks, handing it over to him over the kitchen island. “You’re gonna put it in the oven already? Daeshim was complaining about the batter so much he almost convinced me there was no saving it.”

Mingyu snorts as he cautiously pours the mixture into the pan. “He was just being overdramatic—”

Daeshim snaps from his spot near the fridge. “Are you guys just gonna talk about me as if I’m not here?”

“—it was only a little runny,” he assures, making sure not a drop of batter ends up on the floor or the countertop. Once he’s done, he brushes his hands on the apron and wipes his forehead with his arm. “Can you put it in the oven? You guys preheated it, right?”

You hum in confirmation, carefully placing the tin in the oven as Mingyu steps over Daeshim to try and get to the sink. You frown at your brother, who’s been scouring for something since you walked in. “What the hell are you even looking for?”

“Strawberry milk.”

“I drank it all.”

Daeshim huffs. “Of course you did.” He stands, slamming the fridge door with a dramatic flick of his wrist before hastily making his way out of the kitchen and towards the exit. “I’m gonna go to the convenience store to get some.”

“Wha— No, you have to help clean—”

“Can’t hear you!”

There’s a few more footsteps and the sound of Daeshim struggling to put his shoes on before the door inevitably slams shut.

You don’t let the shock of your brother’s irritating audacity bother you for too long. The way your fingers swipe through your phone to find his contact is lightning quick, but the first call is sent to voicemail and before you can even try his cell a second time, you find that you’re blocked.

Prick.

Mingyu’s humming catches your attention. You look up from your phone to find him with his back against the sink. “Voicemail?”

“Blocked.”

Mingyu snorts. “Of course.”

You send him an awkward smile before turning away so you don’t have to face him. You and Mingyu haven’t spoken since last week on that trip out of town; after the two of you slipped back inside, no words were exchanged except for an apprehensive goodnight when Seokmin dropped you off at home.

With friends as nosy as your own, privacy is hard to come by, but now, in their absence, there’s nothing more you want than a buffer. The tension’s become more palpable without a third party, and your palms are getting clammy at just the thought of searching for an excuse to kick Mingyu out of the house without hurting his feelings.

(Why do you care? He hurt you first, didn’t he?)

“Hey,” Mingyu calls out tentatively. “Do you want me to help clean up? It’s a mess in here.” When you don’t reply, he adds, “I don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

You take a look at the kitchen around you and decide that you don’t want him to leave, either.

“Okay.”

Mingyu grins. “Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find a system that’s not messy or chaotic or involves stepping into the other’s path — you and Mingyu have always been like that, like a cohesive unit. The feeling that shoots through your veins at the realization that you still are is nothing short of euphoric.

Before you know it, the kitchen is clean. The surface sparkles as Mingyu swipes a finger at it to see if there’s anything he’s missed, looking up at you with fleeting disappointment.

You think he’s about to announce that it’s time for him to go, but he surprises you when what comes out of his mouth is a question instead.

“Can I ask you something?”

You press yourself against the counter, thankful for the kitchen island acting as a barrier between you both. “Sure.”

“If we…” he pauses. Regret already begins to fester in his skin, pulled down by the weight of his frown and the pinch in his eyebrows. “Uh, never mind.”

Your heart lurches in your ribcage. “Mingyu—”

“It’s fine,” he assures but his smile is tight, and his tone says otherwise, “I should probably head back. I’ll — uh — I’ll see you?”

You gnaw at your bottom lip. “Yeah,” you say, ignoring the way your heart begins to crack as Mingyu unties the apron and slips it over his head. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

A worrying cloud has attached itself to you, nibbling on every last bit of your sanity like a parasite. Because something is wrong, you’re sure of it, even if everyone around you acts otherwise. Seokmin still laughs and makes bad jokes, Minghao still scolds you for not bundling up more when it’s so cold outside, and Mingyu still attracts attention and reaches for your hand and pokes your cheek whenever you’re not paying enough attention to him.

Everything is normal.

(But…)

“Does this look stupid?” Mingyu asks, staring at the banner he’s hung up.

Minghao grabs a macaroon from the table and rearranges the assortment, so it looks like he never laid a finger on it. “Yes.”

Mingyu huffs before turning to you. “Is it really?”

“It’s a little crooked,” you say, taking your eyes off him for a moment when Minghao presses the macaroon into your palm after making a face to suggest he doesn’t like it.

As Mingyu assesses the best way to fix the Happy Birthday! banner, Minghao starts poking at the pile of presents. You frown, kicking his ankle with your foot in an attempt to get him to stop. He only flicks your shoulder in response.

“Don’t touch those,” you hiss.

“I’m just trying to guess what other people got him,” Minghao retorts.

You deadpan, “You’re sizing up the competition.”

“Yes,” he confirms, “I need to make sure my present is better than all of these.”

“You got him a gift card to Party City. I didn’t even know they had those.”

“He can use it for Halloween!”

“Halloween is nine months away.”

“Oh, whatever,” Minghao grumbles. “Seungkwan will find some sort of use for it. All that matters is that my present isn’t the worst one.” He turns to you, jabbing a finger at your shoulder. “Hey, wait, what did you get him?”

You push his wrist as a scowl takes over your previous amused expression. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re a horrible gift-giver.”

“That’s not true!” you object, immediately turning to walk over to Mingyu, who’s staring at the banner in distress. “Gyu! I need to ask you something—”

“Nuh-uh, you can’t ask him, he’ll agree with you!”

You mockingly pout at Minghao before tugging Mingyu’s sleeve. “Hey, babe, question.”

Mingyu’s more than happy to have his attention on something else, letting his hands that were previously taping up the banner fall onto your shoulders. “What’s up?”

“I’m a good gift-giver, right?”

A moment passes. You scoff. Minghao cackles.

“Listen—”

“What the hell?”

“I love you and everything,” Mingyu begins, “but you really aren’t.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says quickly. “You love me. Even though you gave me a terrible birthday present last year.”

“You said you liked that apron!”

Minghao pipes up, “There’s a reason why he leaves it at your house, Y/N.”

You gasp, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend’s chest. Before you have a chance to defend your honour, Seokmin comes barrelling into the rented community centre, carrying two boxes of used decorations.

“Hey, guys,” he exhales, out of breath, dropping the large containers on the floor with a relieved huff. “So, the guests are coming in, like, twenty minutes, and Chan’s getting Seungkwan here in forty-five, so that should give us enough time to finish decorating… Mingyu, I thought I told you to deal with the banner?”

“It’s not cooperating with me,” your boyfriend whines.

Seokmin rolls his eyes before stomping over to the wall to fix the banner himself. Mingyu follows, grabbing the tape on his way so he can help. They don’t talk, at least not at a volume that allows you to hear what they’re saying — it’s only heated whispers that are exchanged, and you catch a glimpse of Mingyu’s nervous expression before it disappears completely.

He looks over his shoulder and flashes you a smile and it’s the same one you’ve seen him give everyone else. It’s a mask.

This isn’t something you should be on the receiving end of.

You open your mouth to say something — to say what, exactly, you aren’t sure — but Minghao tugs at your wrists and holds up a packet of balloons.

“We should start doing something before Seokmin gets mad,” he says before dragging you out of Seokmin and Mingyu’s earshot.

It’ll be okay, you think. This will pass over and your friend group will still be as close as you can be once university comes and you and Mingyu pack your bags, leaving this small town behind.

(But your worries refuse to let go; they’ve seeped into your bones, and you think their weight may crush you until you’re broken beyond repair. But ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always said to yourself. And you’ve never needed to worry about something like this, whatever it is, before).

Everything will be fine.

Everything will not be fine, and you aren’t sure why Minghao thought it would be, but he was unbelievably wrong.

A rainy day has caused a picnic in the park to turn into a board game night at Seokmin’s house, and a homicidal game of Monopoly (a skit between Chan and Seokmin had been the last straw before Minghao flipped the board over) quickly transformed into a homicidal game of Twister. Before you is a jungle of limbs, and you’re glad that you were fast enough to volunteer to spin the wheel so you wouldn’t be caught in the inevitable crossfire.

“Left hand, red.”

Chan’s complaints come immediately.

“Chan,” Seungkwan warns, “I will kill you if you try to push me off.”

“I haven’t even moved yet.”

Seungkwan mocks his words with a high-pitched tone that barely resembles Chan’s voice before Minghao scolds them to cut it out and hurry up. Chan scoffs indignantly before moving his hand to a free red circle, struggling to find his balance.

“Are you good?” you ask blankly.

“Fine,” he grits out, “Just go so it gets to my turn faster.”

“Go slower!” Vernon exclaims from beside you, the first to be eliminated with his phone in one hand and a handful of popcorn in the other.

“Fuck you, Vernon!”

You spin the wheel. “Hao, right foot, green.”

Minghao huffs, but his new position, although uncomfortable, has given him the perfect opportunity to sabotage Seokmin. Almost as if they can sense your thoughts, your friends look at each other, one mischievous and the other in warning, before Minghao fakes a move, successfully luring Seokmin into his trap when the latter flinches and flails like a fish out of water before landing on his side.

Seokmin groans, sitting up and rubbing his ribcage as everyone laughs. He looks to you, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that always manage to worm him out of any undesirable situation he’s ever found himself in, but you only shrug helplessly in response. Seokmin sighs, flicking Minghao’s forehead, before making he settles beside you in all his pouty, wronged glory.

“It’s okay,” Vernon says from your other side, phone speaker pressed against his ear as a video of what just occurred plays on the phone. The sound of Seokmin’s yelp of surprise from 30 seconds ago causes your lips to twitch upwards. “You’ll get them next time!”

Seokmin leans into your shoulder. “Y/N! He’s making fun of me!”

You pat him reassuringly. “You’ll survive, don’t worry.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan interrupts. “Spin the wheel! It’s my turn.”

“Okay, okay! Right foot, blue.”

Much to your surprise, the rest of the game goes by smoothly with Seungkwan as the victor. Chan is beside himself, grumbling with his arms crossed as Seungkwan mimics the fall that led to his demise. When Chan opens his mouth to snap back, Minghao reaches over Vernon’s lap for the remote to increase the volume of the TV.

Once their argument has died down, Chan suggests, “Does anyone want to play Cards Against Humanity?”

“Lame, absolutely not,” Seokmin replies instantly. “I’m hungry.”

Seungkwan makes himself comfortable on the armchair. “Pizza should be coming soon. Who ordered it, anyway?” Mingyu raises his hand. “What did you get?”

“One cheese, one pepperoni.”

Chan boos, making a comment about the mediocre order which Mingyu skillfully brushes off, immune to his friends’ instigations after years of receiving them.

Minghao pokes Mingyu with his foot. “Can you check to see what time it’ll get here?”

Mingyu unlocks his phone while Vernon begins complaining about having to register for classes first thing tomorrow morning. His whines are halted, however, when Mingyu sharply inhales a breath and clears his throat sheepishly.

You raise an eyebrow. Everyone in the room knows what that means.

“Oh, what did you do now?”

“Seungkwan! What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Mingyu shakes his head before turning his phone so the screen is facing all of you. The screen says the order’s been good to go for the past five minutes, but— “I accidentally ordered for pick-up, not delivery.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Then go pick it up.”

“What?”

“Well, it says the order’s ready, right? Go pick it up.”

“But I’m so comfortable here.”

“And we’re hungry.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“Whose fault is it that the pizza guy isn’t on Seokmin’s doorstep right now?”

Mingyu huffs, clearly having run out of retorts. He’s quick to admit defeat, pushing himself off the couch and adjusting the hoodie that’s ridden up his torso. You watch his every move, ignoring Minghao’s gaze.

Just as he begins searching for his car keys, Minghao pipes up, “You shouldn’t go alone, though.”

Mingyu frowns. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because you’re clumsy and you’ll drop something.”

“Can’t you guys put some faith in me—?”

“Y/N could go with you.”

Mingyu closes his mouth, trapping any more complaints behind his teeth. You stare at Minghao like a deer caught in headlights.

Vernon is the first to protest, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I don’t—”

“Mingyu’s clumsy and he’ll drop something,” Minghao repeats impatiently. He shares a glance with Seokmin, who seems to understand Minghao’s intentions in milliseconds.

“Yeah, and we can’t let Y/N go by themselves because the last time they drove they ran over my mailbox.”

You squawk in protest. “That was when I was sixteen, I—”

“And I’ve feared you every time you’ve gotten behind a wheel ever since,” Seokmin says. He swiftly dodges Seungkwan’s questioning nudge and Chan’s panic, giving you the biggest smile he can muster before letting his eyes land back on Minghao.

Minghao looks at you, apologetic and stern all at once. “The ride will only be, like, ten minutes. Five minutes there and back,” he shrugs, turning away to face the TV. “You’re both adults, you’ll be fine.”

You think you might strangle them.

“Okay,” Mingyu says from behind you. You look at him, he stares back. “We’ll be okay. Right?”

He’s offering you one last final chance to back out. Your fingers twitch at your side before you gulp, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”

You’re shoved out the door before you can even blink, wearing Seokmin’s old Crocs instead of the sneakers you had arrived with (“These are faster to put on, make haste, make haste! Get out of here, I want my pizza!”). You sink further and further into the passenger seat as Mingyu pulls out of the driveway, trying your best to focus on anything besides him.

But it proves to be impossible. The air freshener is the same as it was all those years ago, the same cheap dog bobblehead is on the dashboard, the pack of gum he’s left in the cupholder is the same one he used to buy in bulk at the supermarket. Nothing in here has changed, as if the vehicle is stuck in time, refusing to move forward despite all the years that have passed.

Mingyu must’ve noticed you staring at the gum because he picks it up and hands it to you in silent offering. You shake your head, and he puts it down.

The awkwardness might as well eat you whole.

The radio does nothing to ease the tension when the next song that plays is about heartbreak and being left behind while everyone moves on. Your sanity is hanging on by a thread that might snap if you’re in this car any longer.

In the corner of your eye, Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but he decides against it when the pizza parlour comes into view. He swiftly parks by the front entrance, and once you get out, you notice that the car is centred perfectly between the lines.

You suppose he’s gotten better at driving over the years. The last time you were here, he’d parked so crookedly your stomach hurt from laughing.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, staring at you quizzically. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, slipping past him when he holds the door open for you. “Thanks.”

He walks up to the counter, saying his order number to the employee and nodding understandingly when she explains that one of the pizzas had been dropped on the floor and they’ve gone to remake the order. He returns to you — beside you, as if it has always been his rightful place — hands tucked into his pockets as he sways on the balls of his feet.

This must be some form of torture, you think. Minghao and Seokmin have done this in retaliation for every bad thing you’ve ever done to them.

(“Seokmin and I love you both,” Minghao confesses over the phone, face blurry due to your unpredictable wi-fi, “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“And we really think you should talk to each other,” he says, and even though you’re not looking at your phone, you can tell he’s staring at you in that analytical way of his while you try to finish an assignment. “Maybe it’ll do you some good.”

You sigh. “Hao—”

“It’s been three months. Let him explain.”

“I did,” you hiss. “He was the one that left.”

Silence. You rub your temples.

When you finally look at Minghao, he’s remorseful. “Sorry,” he murmurs, flopping onto his bed and letting his camera pan up to the ceiling. You can no longer see his face, but you can hear the despair in his voice. “It’s just hard, being in the middle of this.”

“I’m not asking you to pick sides.”

“I know that,” he argues softly. “I just want everything to go back to normal.”)

You dig your nails into your skin as Mingyu begins humming to a song playing over the speakers. It’s one that they’ve been playing for years, a pop song that will have to be pried out of a radio host’s dead, cold hands.

It’s a song Mingyu despises.

(It’s so catchy, though, he used to tell you, ashamed. You need to save me from it).

When Daeshim had called you at the end of the semester, the first thing out of his lips was a question about your return. You had agreed with reluctance, and he said something about how long it’s been, how time heals all wounds, that nothing should hurt anymore.

But three years cannot erase a lifetime.

You foolishly thought it could. When you arrived, you pretended you didn’t see an old photo of him taped on your closet door. When you first saw him at the supermarket, you ignored the way his hand twitched to reach over to you. When he talked to you outside of that nightclub, you evaded the familiarity of his warmth like it was a virus.

You foolishly thought it was enough. You built a wall of indifference around yourself, but it had begun to chip away just as quickly as you constructed it. It was never foolproof. It was never made of stone, but of cards.

One glance from Mingyu and it all comes tumbling down.

“Minghao told me a few days ago that you wanted to talk,” Mingyu says once the song has ended.

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well,” he says, taking a step towards the counter when the employee calls out his order number, “whenever you’re ready to, I’m here.”

“Something’s wrong.”

He understands what you mean. You’re not referring to the TV that won’t play the movie or the takeout that tastes a little off. You look at him nervously, afraid to break the flimsy spell of calm he’s enchanted on everything he touches.

“Yeah,” he replies, gripping the armrest tightly.

You blink at him, waiting for something he won’t offer. For a moment, he thinks you might push, but you have never been one to do so; you have always believed that doing something like that only throws you down a road of hurt.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised when you eventually nod in defeat.

“Well,” you say with a smile reserved for strangers you can only pretend to care about, “if you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Four friends occupy a small corner of the skatepark. One of them is on the ramps, appearing in the air to do a trick before disappearing from sight. Another is rolling down the concrete, hands stretched out to maintain balance.

Two sit in the shade, watching.

“Do you think they’ll talk soon?” one of them asks, a taller boy with light brown hair and a beauty mark near the apple of his cheek.

The other, dressed in all black despite the sweltering heat, runs a hand through his mullet. “I don’t know, Seokmin. Probably. Hopefully.”

“Do you think they’re mad at us for forcing them to get the pizza?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin snorts, but his amusement is short-lived. He continues to observe his friends as they stray further and further from each other. He catches the way they glance over their shoulders in concern.

“They’re stupid, aren’t they, Minghao?” he finally says. The boy beside him hums in agreement. “Were they always like this in high school?”

“I don’t think so,” Minghao replies. “If they were, I don’t know how I managed to survive.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Hypocrite.”

Seokmin sticks his tongue out. Then, quietly, as if the other two friends will hear, he says, “Well, they need to hurry up and talk. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he grumbles. “Maybe if I just told Y/N about it sooner, or pushed Mingyu—”

“Probably,” Minghao interrupts before Seokmin can concoct any more what-ifs from his brain. His stomach churns at the numerous possibilities he will never see. “But there’s nothing we can do it about it now.”

“Maybe things would be better if we did things differently.”

“Yeah, but the past is the past. Besides,” he sighs, watching one friend trip on his way towards them and the other struggle to stop themselves on the board, “this isn’t our problem to fix. I don’t think it ever was. We’ll just leave it to them.”

“You really think they’ll work it out?”

“God. I really hope so. It would put all of us out of our misery.”

Spring has long since bled into winter when you find yourself at the skatepark, wearing a sweater that was never yours with your heart dangling from its sleeve. It’s chilly at this hour of the morning when the world is quiet and your denial is prominent, and it gets even colder when your name falls from Mingyu’s lips and his touch is uncharacteristically icy against your skin.

You rip your wrist from his grasp and hurt flashes across his face before he takes a step back.

“I—” he gulps, “you shouldn’t run out like that.”

He purses his lips, and you notice how chapped they’ve gotten over the past few days. Everything about him has roughened up — it goes farther than his dry hands and the unruly state of his hair; he’s grown distant. He looks at you with a mixture of emotions you can’t explain, his words have are clipped, and you aren’t sure how long this behaviour would’ve gone on for if you hadn’t caught him signing up for classes at a university he never told you he was going to attend.

“You lied to me.”

He exhales shakily. “I know. I’m sorry, I—” he rubs a hand over his face because he doesn’t know what to say. Mingyu isn’t like this. People would kill to own even a sliver of his charisma; it’s so easy for him to talk himself out of things, but the words have died in his mouth before they even reached the tip of his tongue.

“You—You should’ve told me,” you stammer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mingyu has never felt this moronic before, standing before you and stretching his hand in your direction only to watch how, every time without fail, you take a step back as if any contact from him will result in third-degree burns.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “But you were already so worried about all of us growing apart after graduation, and I didn’t want to add onto that stress. So I kept putting it off, and I shouldn’t have, I know that, I just—” his face falls, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

It takes everything in him not to flinch when your anger flares. Your resolve is rotting away to dissolve into the morning air; he thinks, offhandedly, that the molecules of your decaying calm have collided once again and found purchase over his head. A cloud to loom over him, made up of your melancholy and his guilt.

“You didn’t want to hurt me,” you say incredulously, in a tone so hurt that Mingyu’s heart drops. “Well, look where we are now, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t like the position he’s put the both of you in. He doesn’t like how this conversation is tainting every happy memory he ever had at this skatepark. He wonders if he’ll see your hurt expression every time he closes his eyes.

This could’ve been avoided, he’s aware of that. Seokmin made sure to voice his disapproval every time they crossed paths, Minghao’s veil of indifference was slowly crumbling with each passing day, and Seungkwan — who made the mistake of being around when Mingyu let it slip that his post-graduation plans didn’t match yours — grew more nervous than all of them combined.

For as long as he can remember, everyone he knows has never done well with secrets. He’s always been a firm believer that they’re parasitic, the reason behind every downfall he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. But that was before he had a secret worth keeping.

(It does not matter if it’s worth it or not. At the end of the day, he was right all along. They are infectious, deadly little things).

Soon after he was born, it was common belief amongst townsfolk that he would change the world. It did not matter how; they would support him regardless. He thinks his entire being may as well have been made from diamonds with how he was created to be the star of something he never asked to be part of.

It’s exhausting.

The university you two had chosen at fifteen-years-old was perfect for you. When you took the virtual tours and exchanged messages with its students, you looked like you had stepped right out of a fairy tale. But it was two hours away from this town, so far yet so close to the very thing that’s been draining him of energy, and he quickly came to realize last summer that your dream school was the last thing he wanted.

But you would’ve followed him anywhere. If it weren’t for his, Minghao, and Seokmin’s insistence, you would’ve chosen to stay at home, because you never liked the idea of leaving everything behind.

That’s where you and he differ.

And he couldn’t take that from you.

Because you and him were always believed to be cut from the same cloth — model students, the perfect fit — but everything he touched tarnished and everything you touched turned to gold dust. He’s hidden behind an illusion all his life, but he knows for a fact that you’re meant to go above and beyond every expectation that’s ever been set for you.

Who is he to get in the way of that?

(He’s sure the only thing that’s setting you back is him. It has always been him. It’s only a matter of time before you realize it, too).

“I love you,” he confesses suddenly, startling you to your core. “And I’m so sorry.”

You look at him warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I fucked up,” he says.

“Yeah, you did.”

“But…” he trails off. When your eyes meet, something ignites inside of you.

(You have always known him better than any of them ever could).

“Mingyu—”

“Maybe it’s for the best if we—”

“Mingyu.”

He closes his eyes and hopes it’s enough to push the tears back. “I love you,” he says again, but his lips are quivering, and a sob threatens to escape the confines of his throat. “I love you so much that it physically hurt to do that to you, but it was for the better—”

Disbelief engulfs you in an instant, and you take a spontaneous step towards him in your surprise. “You’re not making a lot of sense right now,” you say, frantic, “I’m still really fucking mad at you, but we can talk this out, because I have no idea what you’re—”

“Just listen to me, Y/N, I don’t think—”

“You listen to me, because—”

“You deserve so much better than this, don’t you know that?” he snaps, shrinking into himself seconds later. His voice shakes with frustration. This hurts him beyond your imagination, but he’d do anything for you, even if it ends with him sporting wounds that will never heal. “And I’m holding you back, and I— I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

A sob melts into your words before you can stop it. “So you think the best way to fix that is to move across the country?”

“There were better ways to go about it,” he admits. “Ways that wouldn’t have ended like this, but I stand by what I said, Y/N.”

“Don’t do this, Mingyu. You don’t get to—” you stutter, inhaling hastily to regain your composure before looking him through your teary vision, “—you don’t get to break up with me over something as stupid as this.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says it like a mantra, like it’s engraved into his brain and there’s no use trying to rid him of it.

“You don’t get to decide that!” you exclaim. “And even if that was true, it doesn’t matter to me. We love each other, Mingyu, isn’t that enough?”

You go to cup his face. This time, it’s he who takes a step back, and his heart screeches in pain at the sight of your crestfallen face.

“Maybe if I—” he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the strands, forcing himself to continue, “Maybe if I loved you less, I’d let myself be selfish. But that’s not the case. That’s never been the case.”

That day you do not leave the skatepark with a scrape on your knee or a new bruise on your shins. But you don’t leave unscathed, either.

Your heart has been ripped from your chest, and Kim Mingyu carries the remnants of it with him.

Mingyu always liked people-watching.

He’d tell you it was nice to be on the other side of the microscope; to observe, not be observed. On the trips out of town, he’d sit anywhere that was bustling with people and make up stories about anyone who caught his eye: he’s cheating on his wife with his high school sweetheart, or she’s talking to her estranged cousin and she’s threatening to get a restraining order, or that little boy was meant to be a twin but he ate his sibling in the womb.

“That guy’s still in love with his ex-girlfriend even though they broke up a decade ago,” Mingyu says, subtly nodding towards a man supervising his child on the ramps.

The snort that escapes you dents the discomfort hanging in the air. “He reached out to her on Facebook, and it turns out she’s coming to visit.”

“They’re going to meet in the city. He told his wife he has work stuff.”

“His wife’s suspicious. She’s definitely hiring a PI.”

“But the PI sucks, he’s a fake and a scammer. He ends up tailing the wrong guy.”

“And the wife spent good money on him, too.”

“But she doesn’t really care since she paid the investigator using her husband’s money.”

“Good for her! It’s what he deserves for cheating.”

You smile, pressing your legs against your chest as you watch the kid soar through the park on her rollerskates. Her laughter’s loud, and you allow it to ring in your ears to momentarily distract yourself from Mingyu.

It’s overwhelming being here next to him. You’ve been here multiple times since you’ve come home, but the nostalgia and ache of watching him from afar does not compare to what you feel now that he’s by your side, sitting stiff on the park bench with his hands clasped in his lap. The dull throb in your chest becomes more prominent when he glances and catches your eye, hiding his yearning beneath a thin veil of indifference.

You turn away, and that’s enough for him to adorn the last bit of confidence he has. “Why’d you call me here?”

Resting your cheek against your knee, you murmur, “You know why I called you here.”

It does not matter that he’s known you almost as long as you’ve been alive — a room full of newborns would realize that he’s here because you want an explanation.

Closure really would be nice.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Ask me anything.”

When you slipped out of your house this morning, full of anticipation, you thought that it’d be hard for you to find the words. But you’ve stuffed the curiosity down your throat long enough. For years, all you could feel was a weight on your esophagus; the air you’ve been inhaling and expelling is nothing if not tainted with heartbreak, and you crave the feeling of fresh air again — something that’s free from the insecurities and the anguish and everything in between.

“Back then, did you tell Minghao we fought?” you ask. “Because he seems to think that we did. Every time he called me that’s all he would ask. Have you and Mingyu stopped fighting?”

He tilts his head. “Would you not say that was a fight?”

“Well, no,” you reply. “You just ended it, and I was trying to get you not to.”

Mingyu flinches but he’s quick to recover. “Nothing could’ve changed my mind back then.”

“Why?” you demand, unable to hide your despair.

Mingyu finally looks at you without tearing his gaze away. He’s exhausted, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of how early it is or if he’s just as drained from all of this as you are. The limbo between forgiveness and disdain was never made for the weak.

“Listen, I—”

“You told me you didn’t deserve me,” you say, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I thought I could’ve been enough for you — I tried to be. But you always had everything planned out and I didn’t, I was living with a façade and you weren’t, and I— I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Clenching your jaw, you say, “So, you moved.”

“I loved you,” he says quickly before you have the chance to ask him otherwise. “That was never the problem. I was scared. I guess part of me wanted to let go while you still thought I was worth it.”

“Don’t say that, Mingyu.”

“I know, I know,” he replies. “I’m working on the self-worth. It’s hard to come by.”

It hits you then, like you’re standing in the ocean as a large wave of water looms over your figure. You used to watch as everyone fawned over Mingyu as if he was untouchable, a divinity amongst men. You used to watch and lust for the days where you would turn out to be exactly the person he deserved to love.

But while Mingyu ached to be the person everyone made him out to be, you saw past your own desires and those who desired him. Through all that was carefully crafted, you saw him for who he truly was.

And you loved every inch of him. So much so that you’re convinced you’ll never be able to feel this way for anybody else.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “back then, you were it for me. I would’ve loved you regardless.”

His gaze softens and, for a moment, sitting next to you is the same boy from all those years ago, who accepted your proposal for a date, who asked you to prom, who tattooed eight letters into your skin before slumber took you over.

“If we…” he begins carefully, “If I did things differently, do you think we could’ve made it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d like to think that we would’ve,” you nudge his shoulder in hopes that being playful will lighten the mood. “But none of that matters. We’re here now, and we talked.”

“We talked,” he nods. “We used to be terrible at that.”

“Not the best at communication, sure,” you smile softly. “But at least we fixed it. Better late than never.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop his own smile from growing any larger. “Better late than never.”

The sun envelopes you in a warm hug the moment you sit down, a companion in the serene summer’s day. Sand sticks to your skin, adhered to it by the sweat, clinging to you as if you’re its last hope to live.

The tranquility is interrupted by a screech, and you bet with closed eyes that it’s either Mingyu, who left a while back to get some ice cream and probably dropped it, or Chan, who decided to build a sandcastle close to the ocean despite the various protests he received in response.

You crack an eye open just as the water retreats from the shore. Chan stands before his unfinished monstrosity, staring in distress, while Vernon gives him a look as if to say I told you so.

From where he lies beside you, Seokmin announces, “If it makes you feel any better, it was a little ugly.”

“You said five minutes ago that it was good!”

“I was lying to you.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees, toeing the area where the castle once resided. “The moat was fucked up, too.”

“It was a moat.”

“And yet you fucked it up.”

Chan gives them an unsavoury gesture before instructing both Vernon and Seungkwan to help him make another. Reluctant but compliant, they take the pails you’d bought last minute at the dollar store and settle themselves farther away from the shore.

Seokmin salutes them for good luck before glancing at his phone. “Is Mingyu still at the boardwalk?"

Minghao hums. “Yeah, the line for ice cream’s probably long.”

“Okay, good,” Seokmin says before poking your shoulder aggressively, ignoring your complaints about how easily you bruise. “Gives me time to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate me?” you ask incredulously. “About what?”

He raises his hand, and you prepare yourself for the worst. It’s over for you the moment Seokmin begins listing things off his fingers. “You willingly sat in the backseat with Mingyu on the way here, you willingly talked to him for the entire car ride, and you willingly offered to go with him to get ice cream.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over,” he mimics. “Don’t be ridiculous. Are you guys dating again?”

“What?”

“Ah. Have you two eloped?”

Minghao snorts as he opens the cap to his sunscreen. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just engaged.”

Seokmin places a hand on his chest. “Oh, thank goodness—”

“Are you guys insane?” you shriek, briefly scanning the beach in hopes nobody heard your friends’ remarks. “We just talked yesterday.”

“Oh,” Minghao muses, throwing the sunscreen over your head for Seokmin to catch. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” you confirm. “What else would there be?”

Minghao shrugs as he rubs the cream onto his arms. “Nothing, I guess.”

A noise escapes Seokmin’s throat, something akin to disagreement. You whip your head to face him as he raises his hands up in defence. “What is it?” you ask him.

“I just…” he waves his hand in the air with a small pout on his lips. “I’m confused, I guess. Everything’s resolved now? Just like that? We’re all friends again?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” you huff. “I don’t know what we are, either. But we have the rest of the summer to figure that out, so why the rush?”

Seokmin leans back on his elbows. “Well, whatever the two of you are, I’m glad you two talked, it was long overdue.”

Minghao nods in agreement.

From a few feet away, Seungkwan’s voice is loud amongst the waves crashing onto shore, the families relaxing under beach umbrellas, and the seagulls soaring through the sky. “Mingyu!” he exclaims in disbelief. “You didn’t drop any!”

You can’t catch a good glimpse of him without craning your neck, but his voice alone is enough to quicken your heartbeat. “Yeah, I know,” you hear him say, “I told you guys I’m not completely hopeless. Seven Drumsticks, all in perfect condition. Vernon, did you want the original flavour?”

It only takes a couple moments before he’s in your line of sight, standing in front of you with the sun’s blinding rays crowning his head like a halo. He grins, letting his sunglasses slip down his nose so you can see his eyes, and hands you a cone.

“Thanks,” you say.

His grin widens, just a little. “Don’t mention it. Hao, which one do you want?”

Once everyone’s finished their ice cream (and after a long debate that occurred due to Chan innocently asking for advice on what to do about his roommates back at his on-campus apartment), Seungkwan manages to find a beach volleyball court that’s unoccupied and persuades everyone to participate.

One set to ten points turns into the best out of three, and when your team begins to buckle under the pressure, Seungkwan suggests something with a sinister grin. “Losing team has to get buried under the sand and stay there for fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Seokmin negotiates.

“Twelve.”

“Five.”

Seungkwan squints. “You can’t go lower, that’s not how a negotiation works.”

“One person from the losing team gets buried under the sand for ten minutes and has to pay for dinner,” Chan says.

Seungkwan snaps his fingers before pointing to him. “Deal.”

It all ends, as expected, with Seungkwan’s team victorious. The three boys on the other side of the net exchange high-fives before returning to you and your sullen teammates with cocky grins. Minghao urges all of you to play a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide the true loser of today, and though you feigned indifference when you fumbled the last ball, the mask speedily cracks when the last two people left is you and Mingyu.

(“A duel between lovers,” Chan sighs dramatically. Minghao pinches his side).

Your eyes meet his, and something flickers in his expression. Gone too quick for you to decipher, but something in the back of your mind tells you that you should know exactly what he’s about to do.

Seokmin booms, “Rock, paper, scissors!”

You ball your hand into a fist and Mingyu curls his fingers into his palm except for two.

“Scissors beats rock,” Vernon slaps him on the back sympathetically before pointing at the ground. “Get comfortable, dude.”

With the amount of eagerness your friends exhibit, Mingyu is buried in minutes, stiff under the copious warm dust he’s under. Seokmin, with sand sticking to his hands, ruffles Mingyu’s hair and laughs when the latter crinkles his nose in disgust. Taking his sunglasses from his bag, you place them on the bridge of nose and brush off anything that got on his face.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” you echo. “I’m sure you’ll have fun here.”

He kisses his teeth in annoyance. “Oh, I bet. Once I get out of here, I’m gonna have tan lines on my collarbone.”

You smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can stay here with you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You’re here for ten minutes by yourself and the reason we lost is because of me,” you say, wincing at the memory of Seokmin and Chan shouting for you to retrieve the ball despite it being too far away for you to save. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Since I let you win rock, paper, scissors.”

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You always choose rock.”

“What? Then why’d you choose scissors?”

Mingyu attempts to shrug and scowls when he can’t.

You flick his forehead. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Of course,” you snicker. “And how are you finding it underneath all that sand?”

He doesn’t even bother to pretend to be nonchalant. “Oh, it’s the worst. It’s slightly better with you here, though.”

You turn to look at the sea. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he pouts. “I thought we were going to tell each other stuff from now on. You know, communicate better.”

“Well, still.”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking!”

��You’re ridiculous.”

He laughs, loud and boisterous and it heals something in your very being. There’s a mirth in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time, and you yearn to hear it again. Mingyu has always been beautiful, but he’s even more so when he’s happy, a boy so golden he could rival the sun and the stars in its beauty.

And he would win, you think.

(What you don’t know is that Mingyu thinks the same of you. Many things have changed, but one thing that never will is how much you shine. The sky and all its confidants, try as they might, would never rid you of your luster. To him, they’ll never prevail).

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

He smiles. “No reason.”

Considering the fact that you spent a good part of your childhood running around the mall and giving into the urge of buying things you’ll never need, it’s a surprise that you forgot just how busy it gets during the summer.

(“Wow,” Mingyu had said. “You avoid me and this town for three years and suddenly you forget everything about it?”)

(He, along with everyone you’ve grown up with, will never let you live this down).

It’s a miracle the four of you even found somewhere to sit in the food court — a booth, no less. Part of you wonders if Seokmin sweet-talked a family into giving up this table for him, and you feel only a sliver of pity for whoever has to eat in an area that’s affected by the vibrant rays of the sun.

Once Minghao and Seokmin have returned from buying their food, they send you and Mingyu off to get your lunch with the promise that they’ll wait for you both before they start eating. Mingyu walks ahead, careful not to trip over anyone as he observes the signs of each food joint you pass, and glances over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t gotten lost in the crowd amid his indecision.

“What are you getting?” he asks once the two of you can hear each other above the many mallgoers.

“Don’t know. Pad Thai, maybe.”

“Nice. I was thinking getting a burger at Burger King, but…” he gestures towards the long line and winces. “I don’t have the patience for that.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“What are you going to eat then?”

“Oh,” Mingyu frowns before shrugging nonchalantly. “Pad Thai it is, then. I think that has the shortest line.”

“Really? When we passed by KFC it didn’t look too bad—”

Mingyu turns, pointing to the Thai place across from you. “Pad Thai! Let’s go before the line gets any longer,” he proclaims, wrapping a hand around your elbow and gently tugging you towards the smell of stir-fry.

It’s easy to fall back into rhythm with Mingyu — so much so that it scares you, just a little. While you assumed it wouldn’t have been too weird once the barrier of the old relationship was removed, you hadn’t thought it would’ve been this comfortable. You assumed everything would be stilted for a short period before the puzzle pieces returned to their places, but this was unpredictable. This is familiar (everything with Mingyu always is); more familiar than riding a bike, or the scar on your knee, or your mom’s tendency to hover over you now that you’ve returned.

His skin against yours all while offering to lend you his jacket and pay for your food could be seen as simple acts of friendship — and if it were anybody else, you would agree, but your ties with each other, since the beginning of time, have regularly toed the line of romantic. It is a fact you cannot deny, and trying to do so would be like saying the sky is green or oxygen isn’t a requirement for survival.

The void in your chest used to be in the shape of him — freshly eighteen and brought down by his expectations along with everybody else’s — and you have tried other remedies to heal it: avoidance, sinking into other people’s sheets, tossing every physical memory you have of him in a box that you never ended up donating.

Who knew that the void would be filled by the same boy who caused it? Only this time, he’s standing in front of you, a little taller, sporting a different haircut, and learning how to live on his own terms.

“Fuck,” he says as he digs through his wallet. “I think I don’t have any cash to pay with. Man, I really didn’t want to use my credit card today.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’ll pay. You already gave me your jacket even though I said you didn’t have to.”

“You were cold,” he argues. “If you didn’t want me to give it to you, then maybe don’t get cold next time.”

You scoff. “Well, tell whoever’s managing the A/C to turn it down. It’s like stepping into a freezer in here.”

Mingyu mutters — something along the lines of so dramatic — before he shifts the position of his open wallet in his hands and continues digging for bills that aren’t there. What is there, however, is a photo all too familiar.

You place a hand on his wrist to stop him from moving. “Hey, is that a picture of me?”

Mingyu freezes. Then, he pulls away from your grip. “No.”

“Okay. Then who was it?”

You stare at each other for a beat too long, interrupted by someone asking if you can move up the line, and it’s only then that Mingyu turns away, bashful, and murmuring, “Okay, fine. It’s you.”

You try not to let the giddiness get to you. “And why, exactly, do you have a picture of me in there?”

“It’s not just you,” he lies. “Minghao and Seokmin are also in there.”

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply matter-of-factly. “I got a good glimpse, and I think it was just me.”

He tuts. “Believe what you want to believe.”

“I’m choosing to believe the truth.”

He sulks, taking another step towards the register. “You’re finding this too funny for my liking.”

“I’m not! I think it’s cute,” you object. “Why is it in there in the first place?”

“Maybe I just wanted to put it in there, it’s a good photo!”

“Of course.”

“You’re photogenic,” he adds. “Besides, what’s wrong with keeping a photo of my friend in my wallet?”

The question escapes you before you can think twice. “Is that what we are?”

Mingyu quietens, uncertain. Then, after rapidly fighting an internal battle, he says, “Before everything else, you’re my best friend.”

You nod because that’s the case for you, too. “But?”

His digs his teeth into his bottom lip before he opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“I—”

“Next, please!”

Mingyu flinches, but it only takes a glance at the long line behind him before he’s grabbing his credit card. “C’mon,” he interlocks his pinky with yours. “Order what you want, it’s on me.”

“Mingyu—”

He gives you a smile. “It’s fine,” he assures quietly. “I want to.”

(In his wallet is a candid polaroid — a person on the beach, laughing at a joke made by someone who hasn’t been photographed. The picture has no crinkles, either because it’s deeply cherished or because it’s new — maybe both is the case.

It replaces an older photo, one that’s years old, taken while he was in high school of the same person. Still candid, still radiant, still laughing. He’s treasured it for years, but he decides it’s time to relocate it. Maybe when he gets back to his apartment, he’ll put it on his fridge. It was looking a little empty, anyway).

Mingyu doesn’t particularly like it here. It brings up old feelings he’s working to retire as well as a medley of insecurities and unease.

But he would be lying if he said that the bad was the only thing this town has to offer.

The skatepark brings comfort, a corner of the world where freedom comes from touching the sky in the seconds his board lifts from the ground, a playground of cement and ramps and splintered benches found under trees that have been alive far longer than he has. It comes from his friends’ homes; Seungkwan’s spacious backyard and Seokmin’s living room where drink rings litter the coffee table as a consequence of never using the coasters.

It comes from the people. It comes from his family, who hugs him tight and listens to every concern he has under the sun. It comes from his friends, a group of rambunctious people who he has too many inside jokes with, and who drag him into shenanigans he has no option of backing out of.

It comes from you. Comfort always comes from you.

From where he stands in the corner, he watches you scour the karaoke song book, protesting all of Chan’s suggestions before entering a number onto the TV. Then you squint at the lyrics on the screen before you begin singing.

The others in the living room are in awe, captivated despite your inability to hold a note. Your gleeful smile makes up for what you lack in the singing department, and Mingyu supposes he’s no different than everybody else when you meet his eyes in the crowd and his palms begin to sweat. You hold his gaze for far too long, causing you to lose your spot in the song, and you sheepishly turn away before trying to make up for your mistakes.

He stays until the end, the loudest to clap despite your score being nothing exciting (it’s exciting to him, and that’s all that matters), and raises his hand in greeting with a silent promise to see you later when you’re pulled into a conversation with someone you used to play badminton with.

He ducks into the kitchen before he’s forced to engage in more small talk with another person. His footsteps quicken along with his growing desire to grab another beer, hidden behind the soda cans Seungkwan shoved inside for the party.

(Mingyu doesn’t entirely know what or who this party is for. He only recalls the texts between him and Minghao three days prior:

hao 👨‍🎨 > party at seungkwan’s on saturday

mingyu > not coming

hao 👨‍🎨 > 😐 ok ur loss > y/n is tho

mingyu > … i’ll bring my mom’s brownies).

Mingyu opens the can the moment it’s in his hands, relishing in the temporary sound of fizzing before taking a sip. The only straggler in the kitchen is him; everyone gathered in the living room the moment Seungkwan turned the karaoke machine on. He situates himself so he can see just through the threshold, keeping an eye out for the moment you’re free so he can pull you aside to talk.

About what, he doesn’t know. Winging it has always been his thing.

“Yo, Mingyu,” Seokmin greets as he makes his way to the fridge. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hiding.”

“It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed,” Seokmin quips, digging through the variety of drinks, “you’re still a loser.”

“You love me.”

“Oh, of course, that was never in question. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Sprite for me, beer for Vernon.” He stands to his full height and cranes his neck to look at Mingyu around the fridge door. “Was that the last of it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Seokmin doesn’t look that defeated when he grabs two cans of Sprite. “Maybe that’s for the best. He’s drunk enough as it is.” Off Mingyu’s confusion, Seokmin adds, “I know, he never gets wasted, but he’s on the waitlist for a screenwriting class, so he’s upset beyond repair.”

“And he’s always saying everyone else is more dramatic than he is.”

“Right? He’s only second on the waitlist, too.”

Mingyu laughs but his eyes involuntarily flicker back to the door to see if you’re still talking to other people. He frowns when he notices you’ve disappeared from where he spotted you last, and he debates taking out his phone and texting you to ask where you are.

Seokmin kisses his teeth. “Are you sure you want to stay in here by yourself? Y/N probably wants to talk to you.”

“They’re talking to other people. I’m fine waiting it out.”

Seokmin looks like he’s going to oppose Mingyu’s decisions, but he opts for shrugging instead. “Alright, if you say so. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“I won’t,” Mingyu promises. Seokmin begins his trek back to the living room, one soda dangling from each hand, when Mingyu suddenly calls out, “Hey, wait.”

Seokmin falters awkwardly in his step before turning around with furrowed eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” Mingyu rubs his neck, wincing. “I don’t think I ever apologized.”

The confusion on Seokmin’s face is wiped away to be replaced with triumph. He points an accusatory finger at his friend while his voice echoes in the four walls of the Boo kitchen. “I knew it! You did steal my beanie, you liar, the next time I visit you, I’m taking it back, and it better be in good condition! I can’t believe you took it with you across the country, that’s so fucked up—”

“Huh? No, what?” Mingyu says in disbelief. “For the last time, I didn’t steal your beanie—”

“Okay, sure, then who was it, then?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then what are you apologizing for?”

“For not listening to you!” Mingyu exclaims. “Back then, you told me to tell Y/N the truth and I didn’t listen when I should have. If I did, you and Hao wouldn’t have been put in the middle of everything.”

“Oh,” Seokmin makes a face and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“You made a mistake. A stupid one, yeah, and I’m probably never going to let you live it down, but,” he smiles gently, “we’re okay now. Just focus on what you’ll do about… you know.”

“…What?”

“You know,” Seokmin parrots. “Y/N. I mean, you still love them, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, Mingyu responds, “Well, no fucking shit.”

Seokmin makes a noise of satisfaction before turning on his heel. Over his shoulder, he singsongs, “Don’t fuck anything up!”

Mingyu scoffs. “I won’t!”

With each passing minute, the night gets livelier, and Mingyu ends up re-entering the living room and talking to other people despite his internal insistence not to. It keeps him busy, momentarily distracting him from the way his heartrate spikes at the thought of speaking to you tonight.

In the middle of his conversation with a former basketball teammate, a microphone ends up in his hands, and before he can blink, he’s pushed in front of the TV. It takes him a moment too long before he realizes that he’s been forced to sing a duet with you.

(Behind the couch, Minghao snorts at Seokmin’s devilish grin.

“I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

“I am!” Seokmin says, “I’m only giving them a slight push in the right direction!”)

The timer begins counting down.

Five.

“Just so you know,” you begin, “Seungkwan and Chan are going after us. We have to score as high as possible.”

Four.

“I don’t think we can manage that, to be honest.”

Three.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re great at singing, so you can make up for how bad I am.”

Two.

“I don’t—”

One.

“Believe in yourself, Mingyu.”

You bring the microphone up to your lips and begin to sing, and he can only follow your movements.

It takes an unfathomable amount of willpower to stop himself from staring at you for the song’s entirety. He clenches his fist as he recites the lyrics, but when it gets to the bridge and it’s your turn to take the reins, Mingyu lets his guard down, his hand falling limply to his side as you laugh through your part.

He has never been an expert in love — few of the decisions he’s made in the name of it have seldom ended well — and when he was younger, the only thing he ever knew regarding it was you. Before, he thought that wouldn’t have been enough, that in order to be the person you deserved, he had to know more.

However, he’s older now, and things change with time.

You glance at him and the butterfly in his stomach rapidly flaps its wings.

(Other things don’t).

He doesn’t even know the song’s ended until arms wrap around his neck. He stumbles backwards before he forces himself to find his footing so he can properly return your excited hug. Mingyu pays no mind to the score flashing onscreen, nor the claps coming from everyone else; all he can smell is your shampoo, he feels your breath on his skin, and that is much more important than a karaoke score ever will be.

Seungkwan says, “That’s not even a good score.”

You loosen your grip around Mingyu so you can look at Seungkwan, and he immediately yearns for more. “Be quiet, this is the best I’ve gotten all night,” you retort. You turn to face Mingyu again, shaking him by the shoulders. “We did good! I told you to believe in yourself!”

Before he can reply, you’re pulled apart by Chan, who’s itching to take his turn. He rips the mics from his and your hands, and you slip from Mingyu’s fingers once again when Vernon asks you if you can help him look for another can of beer.

He exhales in defeat, accepts Chan shooing him away with grace, and slips outside.

He leans over the porch railing, staring at the watercolour sky, a mixture of pink and orange and yellow.

Mingyu hangs his head, wondering just how many more times you’ll get whisked away before he even has a chance to utter a word. He prefers smaller gatherings, because at least then he’d be able to talk to you with ease.

He’s not quite sure how many more times he’ll be able to stand by and watch you go before he loses his mind.

Behind him, the door slides open, and he assumes it’s Seokmin telling him to get a move on. But the footsteps sound different than his friend’s, and he immediately perks up when a familiar scent reaches his nose.

“Hey.”

Your frame enters his periphery, your university jacket hanging on your shoulders with the sleeves covering your hands.

Mingyu straightens. “Hi.”

You settle beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and Mingyu immediately relaxes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, “what makes you think I’m not?”

“You’ve been hiding from everyone since the night began,” you answer. “You don’t wanna be here, huh?”

“Of course I want to be here.” You raise an eyebrow at his lie. “Okay, fine, I don’t really want to be here.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“…I thought it would’ve been fun.”

“Really?” you snort. “Do you even know what this party is for?”

“Well… no.”

He expects you to roll your eyes, but instead you sigh in relief. “Okay, that makes me feel better, because I don’t either.”

“Well, I only came because Minghao told me you’d be coming,” he confesses.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I only came because Seokmin told me you’d be coming.”

He furrows his eyebrows and spares a glance through the glass doors at his friends. “…Huh.”

You huff, following his gaze. “I swear they always have their nose in our business.”

Mingyu looks back at you. “You have to admit, though, they’re pretty good at luring us into parties we don’t want to attend,” he smirks good-naturedly. “Who knew you still had a soft spot for me?”

Turning away from him, flustered, you grumble, “Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t come here because you wanted to see me.”

“I’m not!” he proclaims. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I make it pretty obvious that I like seeing you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you.”

You lightly punch his arm when the laughs that escape his lips grow louder. “I thought I told you that you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he hums. “I mean what I say, Y/N.”

“I’m not saying you don’t, it’s just…” you place your arms on the railing, leaning forward to avoid eye contact, “It’s confusing, that’s all.”

Mingyu faces you while you face away, watches how you stare at the setting sun instead of him, and his heart clenches. When you went your separate ways, he craved to be near you again, but even next to him, you still feel so far away.

(In hindsight, maybe he should’ve planned out how to go about this beforehand).

“You used to say stuff like that all the time,” you explain. “You know, before, uh—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

A million scenarios flash through his mind; different results depending on what he says next. He’s typically so good at saying the right thing — his words got him out of trouble and charmed his neighbours — but he’s found that his voice fails him whenever he needs it the most. When he tried to muster the courage to tell you about everything, he was never able to, and he gave into the false reassurances his mind offered that all would be alright in the end.

But none of that matters, you had said. We’re here now.

“You know what I never understood?” you ask.

“What?”

“You don’t like it here. Not a lot, anyway,” you start, “so why did you keep coming back?”

“Well, my family’s here, you know. So are our friends,” he gulps. “And I thought you would be, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He nudges your elbow. “Can I ask you something?”

You chance a glance at him. “Sure, yeah.”

“What you said the other day,” he murmurs, unblinking, “about how I would’ve been it for you, has that changed?”

“Why are you asking?”

He bites the inside of his cheek as his cheeks begin to redden. “Do you really need me to say it?”

You frown. “Say what—?”

“I love you,” he blurts out. “And I know that might be kind of weird, since a lot’s changed since we last saw each other, but that’s the one thing I haven’t been able to shake. Not that— not that I ever wanted to— I just… I think it’s a part of me. Like I was born with it.”

You look at him, eyes glassy, unable to speak.

“But y’know what’s weirder?” he adds. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never get sick of it.”

It’s his turn to face away, turning towards the sun as you stare at the side of his face. The silence drenches the backyard like sudden, thunderous rainfall. For him, it’s unwelcome, and his eardrums echo with his confession.

He tries his best to hide his lovesickness, but the intensity of his longing prevents him from doing so. For the entire summer — perhaps for years, really — he’s been pushing it all down. He’s tired of it all. Of hiding, of pretending, of brushing off his esurient desire for you.

“It’s not weird,” you say, finally, saving him from his misery.

“Sorry?”

“You said it’s weird that you still love me,” you muse. “But I don’t think it is. It wouldn’t be fair of me to.”

His lips part. “What do you—?”

“Of course you’re it for me, Mingyu,” you tell him frustratedly. “You have been since the beginning of time. I don’t want you to go a day without believing it. I know what it’s like to live with you and to live without you, and I really prefer the first option.”

Mingyu’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits.

With quick movements, he inches closer to you, eyes flickering down to your lips before he asks, “Really?”

“What do you mean, really? Why would I—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupts, slowly moving his hands closer to your face. “Please?”

He’s sure the longing in your eyes is wild enough to rival his.

(What an odd turn of events, is it not? Despite being on opposite sides of the country, you used to believe there weren’t enough miles between you and Mingyu for you to heal properly. But now, with his lips hovering over yours, you’re beginning to think that he is not close enough).

You take his face into your hands, and you kiss him.

Mingyu stumbles, surprised by your fervor, but matches it with ease. His hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he moves to have his back against the railing. Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he surprises himself with a moan at just how much he’s missed it — your hands pulling at his locks, his lips against yours.

He used to pray for this.

When you pull away to catch your breath, he chases you, too dazed to acknowledge your amused mien. You go to peck his lips to soothe him, but he makes sure to hold you against him, his hunger far from satiated.

He stops himself for a moment, breath hot on your skin. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You smile against his mouth. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”

“I feel like you’ve been faking it.”

“I have not.”

“You definitely have. Skateboarding isn’t that hard.”

Mingyu throws his arm around you in defence. “Hey, give them a break, Minghao.”

“Yeah!” Seokmin pipes up, “Y/N was just terrible at it because they can’t balance at all.”

“You know,” you grunt, crossing your arms, “I thought you guys would be proud of me for finally managing to skate across the park without actually falling.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mingyu says, pecking the side of your head. “And I think that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, I can always count on you having my back,” you say, leaning further into him and pointedly glaring at the other two boys in front of you.

Seokmin waves you off. “Hey, I think this might be the first time ever you didn’t get injured at the skatepark.”

You go to protest before frowning. “…I think you’re right, actually. That’s so weird.”

Minghao snorts. “Maybe we should teach you some tricks then.”

You glance at Mingyu, and he seems to really be considering it. “Oh, absolutely not. Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’ll teach you the easy ones!” Mingyu begins, standing in front of you so he’s all you see. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes them in reassurance. “You’re already a pro at just skating around, so this should be a piece of cake!”

“Mingyu,” you whine.

“Please,” he matches your tone. “I like teaching you stuff! It’ll be fun!” he lets go of your shoulders and rolls the board so it’s by your feet and offers you his hand as if you’ll need help getting on. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Your wariness is squashed the moment he flashes you a soothing smile.

You sigh. “You promise?”

He crosses his heart. “With everything that I have.”

Without a second thought, you place your hand in his.

He squeezes it immediately in a silent vow:

I’ll be here to catch you if you fall.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or copy my works.

[rrxnjun]

hi im the liebestraum anon!!💕💕thank u so much for answering my question!! i completely understand why u didn't continue it/finish it(?) so thank u for telling me💕💖💗 and don't be sorry about not finishing the full thing and only putting out a teaser, i would never want u to feel like u have to finish writing something in your free time that u don't enjoy!! also tbh i only realized it was a teaser because i went to look if it had a part 2 to it, since somehow my brain just didn't process that it was a teaser xd i totally thought it was like a full fic so i'm just glad i could even read that cuz i really loved it!!! (and also i wouldn't have found ur other writings that i really really reaaaallllyyy like so im very thankful that i ended up stumbling upon it🥹)

I'm also really excited for ur other fics that u are working on/planning to write but tbh i feel like anything u write i'm really excited for since i just really love ur storylines (and what i already said in my question thing🥹)like u could literally write a whole book and i would read it xd💕💕 so yeah thank u for answering again and i hope u have a great day as well!!💗💖💘💕💖💘💗

HI HI!!!! thank you so much for being so understanding with me it actually means a lot 🥺🥺 id love to write it one day, but i genuinely dont know if ill be able to 😭 also the fic was supposed to be like,, really heavy angst and idk if im in the mood for that in the near future AHAHA since i kind of ended up hating my other heavy angst fics (with the exception of the renjun ones ofc but thats mainly bc theyre too personal lmao). I am happy to hear that the teaser led you to my other work, tho, and im more than happy to hear that u enjoyed them sm💕💕

AWH this is so nice of u i hope i dont disappoint with my future work!!! 🤍 exams are almost over so i can finally focus on writing more hhh so something should be going up soon?? also a fun fact (literally not even fun) but i did write a 40k svt vernon fic once so that kind of counts for a novella 🤠 (this is me screaming for help. i am insane.) Thank u for sending an ask,, i hope u have an amazing day!!! xx

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

mutual gainer stucky where theyre both fattening themselves and each other up, but one of them is suddenly relegated to desk work due to an injury and no longer having to walk around or exercise so much (not to mention snacks always being in easy reach) makes them completely blow up, far outpacing their previous gains. maybe the now significantly-less-fat one teases the other about just how huge theyve gotten in comparison, how they practically look /slim/ next to the absolute whale their partner has become as they continue to stuff their enormous belly even further.

bonus points if there's teasing about just how close to immobility the fatter one is getting with how little they need to walk around, the slimmer one having to help them up onto their feet whenever they sit down and watching them struggle to even waddle ^^

I seem to be going on a spree with everyone’s prompts reminding me of stucky chubby kink fics that I can recommend buuuut I’m going to do it again anyway lol, sorry if it’s annoying:

This gives me “Hot Dish” by superstringtheory vibes 👀

Not because the story is super similar or anything but in that fic, Bucky is just starting to get chubby because he breaks his hip accidentally and Steve attempts to make him feel better by cooking him dish after dish of comfort food, hence the weight gain from not moving and being fed rich foods. Which… is vaguely like your prompt of one half of stucky being forced to do desk work due to an injury, so it’s where my brain went lol.

I do very much appreciate the idea of stucky already gaining when that happens 😏 because the world can always use a little more chub if you ask me

Unbeta'd stucky below the cut. Warning for belly kink, consensual fat shaming and humiliation, name-calling (whale + pig), weight gain, stuffing, immobility, sexting, etc.

Maybe this is another modern without powers alternate universe? Like, Steve and Bucky both work regular jobs and I’m personally picturing pre-war Steve and Bucky, so, Bucky already has the weight and height advantage on Steve when he gets hurt in an accident (car crash, skiing, hiking, I don’t have a specific incident in mind, imagine whatever you want) at which point he piles on a shit ton of weight, very, very fast, making him look that much bigger in comparison to little Steve.

Steve practically looks stick thin next to Bucky’s heavy rolls and all his sinful excess, panting just sitting on the couch, too busy massaging his burbling gut to actually get any of his work done on his laptop (which… where is he supposed to put that laptop anyway? There’s no lap left. Bucky’s obscenely swollen gut takes up all of the space on top of his jiggly, thick thighs 😳).

Pre-accident though…

They both have hefty, impressive pot-bellies going on. Every little bit of chub seems to go to Steve’s belly, so he rounds out more than Bucky in the front. Always round and solid. But Bucky has gained everywhere as well as in his gut- his thighs and ass and chest and shoulders and face have all chunked out some too.

They like to compare, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, belly to belly, faces turned to the side to get their fill of their reflection as they pinch rolls and soft fat and new stretch marks. Exploring their lover's growing bodies together; obsessed with how good it is to grow together.

It’s not that comparing matters all that much though, it’s not a race. They compare for fun… fun that usually ends up with their guts pressing hard into each other, shuffling in close to make out until one or both of them break and they land heavily on the bed. The slats already beginning to creak under their increasing weight.

And pre-accident when they’re both stuffed - spending the day cooking for, pampering, and feeding each other - they both look pregnant. Not, like, realistically pregnant though. No. They look like kids that are playing pregnant by stuffing pillows up under their shirts; bellies just as full at the top as they are at the bottom from this stuffing but also from all the other stuffings they’ve gotten up to before. It’s so hard to not stuff yourself once you pull the trigger on it, y’know? Being full is just that fucking good.

Addictively good.

After though… after the accident (and it’s not extremely serious, just enough to tweak and fracture something in Bucky’s leg so he’s on doctor’s orders to not walk until further notice) Bucky’s gains lap Steve’s. The secret to how quickly the weight explodes out is that he’s not moving. He’s eating the same as when he was mobile though. He’s eating the same and maybe even more because Steve gets a kick out of buying more snacks than they even needed before and leaving all the non-perishable items out on the coffee table (along with Bucky’s lunch for when Steve is gone) within Bucky’s reach, knowing that he will plow through them all thoughtlessly. The only time he thinks about how much he’s packing into himself is when his belly hurts. Groaning and panting. Usually, it’s at that point in the day when his tummy hurts (because it happens every day, let's be real) that he texts Steve a string of pathetic emojis 🥺🥺🥴😮‍💨 plus a few pics of his stomach, bloated large enough that it looks like he’s sticking out all his fat on purpose. He’s not. He’s just that fucking full. Full without any ability to burn even a fraction of the calories off. All of them are gonna turn into fat. Fuck yes.

After receiving his texts, Steve always sneaks away into the bathroom of his work to squeeze his dick through his slacks but also to send Bucky a half whispered, half growled voice memo of “poor baby, lookit you, Buck-! Tsk tsk. I know you’re not allowed to move right now but if you were allowed to… I don’t think you could. Grab that big tummy for me and think about it- do you think you could get yourself to your feet if you tried? I don’t think so. I think you’d be stuck regardless of your leg being okay or not.”

Steve stops recording to breathe. Reminding himself that it is not a good idea to jerk off in your employer's bathroom. He sends that first recording and then starts another...

“I have to go back to work but you should take a break, who’s gonna know? You’re working from home. Take a rest and rub that tummy, you’re a growing boy after all. And you’ll need more room for when I get home to make dinner and dessert anyway.”

He sends that one too.

Then waits for Bucky’s response, heart thudding in his chest.

His response is simply an elegant key smash-

adjkdghlasd;gj

And then-

but u’ll get snacks from the breakroom 2 eat @ ur desk right?!1 🥺

Steve intentionally leaves Bucky hanging until he gets back to his desk, in his little cubical. He’s stolen a soda, a massive filled donut, and as many brownies as he could take without it being suspicious. He smashes a brownie into his face, suppressing his trained instinct to moan at the rich, decadent food. He’s not at home right now. None of his coworkers need to know that he gets off on stuffing his face. Either way, Steve sneakily snaps a photo of his mouth crumbs from the first treat still around his lips. He takes a picture of the small feast he’s brought back too. Captioning it one down…

Bucky will be able to fill in the rest. One down and many more to go.

Hnnnnnggg Bucky’s response vibrates his phone in his hand.

Steve smirks, scarfing his treats down by eating them as fast as he can, eyes sliding shut, pleased, at the way it makes him feel so full so suddenly. Also, he chugs his single-liter bottle of soda. Then, when he’s still breathing heavily while trying to not make too much noise, he takes another photo-

This one is of his belly straining the buttons of his dress shirt, his white undershirt can be seen through the gaps. Under the round dome of his gut, it feels like the waistband of his slacks is trying to cut him in half. He can’t believe he needs to size up again. It hasn’t been, what, even a month since he last upgraded his wardrobe. Goddamn.

Bucky sends him a photo of his face. Eyes dark, mouth open and wet. Wanting.

Now we’ll both have to make room for dinner Steve types, smirking.

f u c k Bucky responds.

After that, Steve pops his slacks open and tries very hard to ignore his bubbling stomach otherwise. He’ll button his pants up again when it’s time to leave. Leave the office and go home to Bucky… his big fat glutton, sitting on the couch all the time.

Eating all the time.

Growing all the time.

…

Steve decided that rather than cooking for them both tonight, he wanted to get takeout. So he orders from their favorite Thai place, getting way more than he thinks they can eat. He kind of hopes they surprise him though… maybe. He won’t expect it.

Bucky doesn’t even say hello when he walks through the door first. He moans first. Thrilled by the scent and asking, “Thai?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Steve answers, closing the door behind him with his fatty hip, hands full with too many things to do otherwise. Steve sweeps the wrappers of the junk food he left out for Bucky on the coffee table to the end of the table, he’ll get them later, right now he just needs to set all this heavy, heavy food down. Not all of the bags and boxes fit on the table. So Steve sets some of them on the floor- they clean and it’s not like they have pets, so it’s fine.

“Not that you should care what I brought home,” Steve purrs, now free of take-out and his work bag and everything, he saddles up to Bucky, throwing one of his thick thighs over Bucky’s thicker (non-injured) thigh. Pressing himself as close to Bucky’s fat as he can. His bloated belly looks like nothing but a little starter pudge next to Bucky’s massive, round buddha statue like belly. As he shifts, sitting on his heavier partner, Steve hears some of his clothes stitching creak. More proof he needs to size up. “It’s not like you need more food. Weren’t you just telling me your stomach hurt?” Helplessly though, Steve starts to rub his belly. Shit. Steve shudders just upon feeling the thick layer of fat over his full stomach.

Bucky’s round cheeks color pink even as his hands conversely come up to grab Steve’s plush ass through his slacks. Pressing their soft, fat bodies together even more. “Yeah…” he whispers.

“Mmm-hmm, I thought so,” he grinds a little against Bucky, unable to not after the sexting session they had this afternoon, “so do you think you really need more food if your belly was just hurting? You really think you need to get bigger? Hon, if you get any bigger when the doctor says you can walk again you won’t be able to. You won’t even be able to waddle around, this heavy belly swaying and jiggling in front of you. Nah. You won’t be able to feel that because it’ll all be pinning you down on your fat ass. Too fat.”

Bucky is breathing heavier now, trying and failing to jerk up into Steve’s hands, already pinned. Wanting more than a belly rub.

“Did you even get any work done today? Or did you just stuff your face?”

Bucky whimpers, eyes dark and so so wanting as he stares up at Steve. He shakes his head slowly as if he’s shy. It’s adorable.

“I didn’t think you did, fatty,” he says, loving every minute of this, “I don’t know why I care though-” he jiggles Bucky’s heavy tummy, blood lighting up hotter at the way he moans “-the bigger you get, the better I look.” Bucky whines. “The bigger and fatter you are next to me, the fewer people pay attention to the growing problem I got myself-” Steve grabs one of Bucky’s pudgy wrists in his fingers, guiding his boyfriend’s hand to his own struggling belly. Steve can’t decide if he’s going to take his dress shirt off the second he peels himself away from Bucky or if he wants to savor the tightness and pop every damn button off as he gluts himself over dinner, sitting on the couch right next to his bigger, heavier boyfriend. “Yeah,” he smirks at the purely undone face and sound Bucky makes, touching him there, where he’s grown the most, “I doubt any of my co-workers would care about all the free snacks disappearing in the break room or the constant sounds of chewing and drinking coming from my cubical if you were in the picture. They’d just see you. You whale. They wouldn’t pay attention to little Stevie- the pig they work with. Nah, they’d only look at you. You would make me look soooo good. You’re so big. Such a whale that a pig like me is nothing in comparison.”

Bucky moans, “Steve-”

The desperation in his voice spurs Steve on, “anyone and everyone would look at you and think about how you must just fucking crush me. Your little, overweight boyfriend. How does Steve breathe with a whale in the bed next to him at night? Oh, is Steve gaining weight? I didn’t notice. Hell, I didn’t even see Steve next to the whale that his boyfriend makes. But now that you mention it… I guess Steve is kind of a pig. I hope he doesn’t get as big as his boyfriend though, that’d be a shame. Wouldn’t it, Buck? Mmfft. It’d be a shame if we both blew up into whales. If I got as big as you. But we both know if I grew to your size you wouldn’t be able to stop while I stuffed myself and gained. You’d keep growing too. And by the time I reach the weight you are now, you’d still be… hmm, what do you think? Are you double or triple my weight? Maybe even bigger than that, huh? What do you say? You'd still be double my weight by the time I reach the size you are now?”

“God! Steve-!” Bucky whines, struggling for breath. He squirms under Steve. If his belly weren’t in the way, Steve knows he’d be able to see how hard his cock is. He loves this. They both love this.

“You wanna keep getting bigger, baby?”

“Yes!”

“You wanna keep being bigger than me even when I’m bigger than almost anyone around? Always rounder and heavier than your little boyfriend, even when I’m just a big, fat, blimp.”

“Yesyesyes! Please, Steve,” Bucky whimpers, tears in his pale eyes.

“Please what?”

“Please fucking touch me, I wanna come! Wanna always be bigger than you!”

“Oh, does the whale wanna come but he can’t get to his cock under all his fucking blubber?” Steve smacks his tummy, feeling intoxicated on the way it makes his whole body ripple, tearing a whiiine out of the much fatter man.

“Yes! Yes! I wanna come. I wanna come. Wanna be fat. So fat. Pleasemakemecome!”

“I can’t fucking wait until we’re both too big to reach our dicks,” Steve murmurs as he hefts Bucky’s huge fucking belly out of the way, searching for his dick. Steve knows he can finish them both off quick enough after the foreplay they’ve had all day that dinner will still be warm by the end. And, shit, he can’t wait to dig in to all the food he bought 🤤🤤 feeding each other and getting fatter might even be better than coming after all

[actualbird]

n/s//f///w text and crossposted from a long thread i made on twitter this morning HAHA

i think vyn should be a size queen also i made up a full plot for vyn/artem smut but artem is the one fucking vyn cuz god, why havent i seen that iteration in vyntem fic yet, understndable but listen listen

wc: 948

ok so the nxx team go on team building grp vacay at a (pax owned ofc) beach resort, dont think about it too much, i just want a beach setting. and vyn just so happened to learn that artem wing is hung as fuck.

tho How is smthng im still on the fence with. but funniest route in my brain is that marius accidentally walked in on artem changing and was like "yo, huge dick, dude! //thumbs up" and artem screams and throws him out and marius proceeds to tell the rest of the team "yo, artem has a huge dick! //thumbs up" which piques vyn's interest.

and vyn is Not a shallow person, thank you very much. he just enjoys indulgence. he indulges in the not-so-simple pleasures of life like french pastries and getting railed to the high heavens.

this + the fact that his an artem's relationship is Certainly Hurtling Towards Something (theyre not yet dating, not even in the GENERAL SPHERE OF ANYWHERE NEAR THAT, their snappy tension at each other is just getting way more heated. like a plot, every interaction thickens like a soup. a sexy soup) results in vyn making the decision to embark on a Seduction.

and he makes a Plan. he Planned this. he is gonna be subtle and coy and it's very strategic, u see. in typical vyn fashion, he is going about this with the goal of having the upper hand the entire time by orchestrating many scenes that Just so happen to have vyn lounging around Wet in the general proximity of artem who has eyes.

and for all that artem is a dolt when it comes to reading the room or reading between the lines, vyn employs that Clear Forwardness thats still skirting the edges, the BECKONING VIBES OF IT ALL.

tho unlike how he does that w mc, vyn is still, deep down, an asshole towards artem. mutual asshole-ry. that doesnt magically change cuz vyn wants artem's kickstand dick.

itll be like

"artem, whatever are you standing around there for lost in thought? too uptight to enjoy urself, heh?"

or "artem, make urself useful for once, i cannot reach this part between my shoulders to apply sunscreen" with a well placed soft moan when artem presses down on the skin there

aka flirting thats just this bizarre mix of LOOK IM SO FUCKABLE and also I STILL DONT LIKE U.

vyn is going to examine this later w his audio recorder to unpack the contradiction of his desire and supposed dislike, but feelings later, fucking NOW.

(meanwhile, a few feet away on the beach where vyn and artem are doing whatever the hell this is, 3 ppl watch...

luke: this...is excruciating

marius: it's takinG FOREVER

mc: HUSH, let em do their intricate rituals)

anyway, vyn expects all this to percolate with artem stiffly and shyly approaching him eventually. and then vyn can work his magic of "oh if you are so high strung lately, i ~suppose~ there is a solution that helps both of us" and artem gets to fuck away all the tension vyn has been purposefully stoking, and vyn gets to enjoy seeing and feeling however goddamn huge artem's cock is.

a perfect plan, everything carefully built up to have an inevitable conclusion

but vyn miscalculated just how much he had affected artem

vyn was banking on artem's repression shtick making him desperate yet easy to handle. that is not what happens. artem does Not shyly approach vyn, he loudly knocks on the door of vyn's hotel room to confront vyn about What The Fuck All This Is and vyn opens the door is only in a towel cuz hes committing to the bit

and artem just snaps.

the bedrock of animosity of their general relationship combined with vyn OBVIOUSLY playing around with him this whole week combined with a dash Maybe Actually Feelings That Means Artem Is Into Vyn As Well, More Than Just Attracted To Him But Also Truly Into Him As A Person (artem is confounded about this, make no mistake about that) heightening everything means that artem, for all his inexperience driven hesitation, just

throws vyn onto the bed

vyn, alarmed and SO turned on but trying to get ahold of the situation again: well, seems i was right. all it took were a handful of tame displays you probably saw as obscene, this was all according to my plan---

artem, on top of vyn: Stop. Talking.

vyn, feeling artem's erection pressed against him and Wow, That's A Huge Fucking Dick: //stops talking

(meanwhile, in the neighboring room while thuds against the wall from vyntem room start happening, mcmarluke plays bingo

marius: eyy ticked off "headboard hitting the wall"

luke: none of us have a square for artem growing a spine tho, didnt expect that

mc: sounds like vyn didnt either)

anyhoo, vyn gets railed. eventually, his front of All This Going According To Plan shatters cuz while artem is going at this for the first time, big dick still goes a long way (literally, like, it reaches deep and vyn loves it) and then maybe some feelings talk happens during afterglow and a soft armistice on hating each other is drawn, which then can lead into a date maybe with some semblance of romance

the end <3

[cheolkanojo]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKSJDKSJDKSDIKSDJSK (yes hello i am back with my keyboard smash and crying emojis u cant stop me)

oh god bambi i love love love this series so much. like i said this series gave me sth to look forward to every weekend. every chapter keeps giving me more and more surprises and excitement. oh god i love pretty please so so much 🥹💞💞

I AM STILL IN DENIAL THAT THIS SERIES HAS COME TO AN END… BUT AAAAHHH YOU WROTE THIS LAST CHAPTER SO BEAUTIFULLY LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO 😭😭😭♥️♥️♥️♥️

now, as usual, lemme scream abt this chapter!!!!

oh god seeing cherry so nervous is cute. IM SORRY but she’s just usually so cool and confident it’s sweet to see another side of her 😭😭 mingyu is such a sweetheart with her too aaaaaaa!!!! it’s sweet knowing her friends and family are there for her. especially seoah and her dad, I CRY EVERY TIME I REMEMBER WHAT THEY WENT THROUGH UNTIL THEY REACH THIS POINT 😭😭😭

WHEN CHEOL BRINGS HER FLOWERS… i kinda sobbed,,, their interaction here is so sweet even tho it kinda hurts bcs they haven’t completely talked it out hajdhsjdhd IT’S THE FRUSTRATION THAT I JUST WANT THEM TO BE TOGETHER???? YKNOW?????

(not to mention cherry almost called him “cheol” again… and “will you text me when you get home too?” AAAAAAKDHSKD 😭😭😭)

oh man WHEN THEY TALK ABT THE DRESS CHEOL WAS SUPPOSED TO GIVE HER AAAAAAAA i cried (99) idk i cry a lot reading this chapter im so weak 😭😭

their talk is so ,,, (BIG SIGH) ALL I CAN SAY IS YOU WROTE IT SO WELL?!?! like i said their conflict is so REAL (and i can somewhat understand cheol’s point of view hahah esp when ppl keep saying bros before hoes am i rite) im really glad they resolved it 🥺🥺

oh!!! i loved it when cheol sternly said he’s not talking to hajun anymore!!! (bitch deserved it LMAO) AND OH MY GODDDD THE PART WHERE CHEOL LOOKS AT HER WITH ADORATION IN HIS EYES (“it’s the same look he had when he was watching both of your friends at the restaurant.”) SKFHSKFJS I REMEMBER CHERRY WANTING SO BAD TO SEE THAT LOOK DIRECTED AT HER AND YOU REFERENCED THAT CHAPTER IM RLY CRYING 😭😭😭

THEIR CONFESSION AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i swear this part got me screaming so MUCH into my pillow!!!!1!1!1 😭😭😭😭😭 IM JUST SO?? HAPPY??? TO SEE CHERRY TALKING ABT HER FEELINGS AND FEELING THEM SO FREELY?!?!? seeing her always seeming like she’s restricting her own feelings makes this part so so heartwarming AAAAAAAAAAA

lmao when they banter about “i can like you but not kiss u” is so so cute THEYRE SO CUTE seungcheol is sulking!!!! YOU KNOW EVERYTHING IS OKAY WHEN CHEOL SULKS LMAO aaaaaaaaa theyre so in love your honor im so HAPPYYY 😭😭😭😭😭 (these are tears of joy)

ALSO AAAAAAAA THE SMUT WAS SO SWEET AND SOFT (but you just had to keep messy cheol didnt you 😁 I SAW IT ALL) it’s so hot yet so full of love 😭😭♥️♥️♥️

(ah yes i forgot to comment abt this bcs i was too absorbed w/ their “talk” BUT THE WAY CHERRY IS SCARED OF DOGS LMAO WKSHDKSHDSK THAT WAS SO FUNNY 😭😭😭 wow… another side of her that i didn’t expect to see at all… 🥹 she’s so cute HAHAH and the way cheol adores her sm yet also teases her a lot abt her fear of dogs is sooooo adorable!!!)

also gurl became clingy after they’re official AWWW she’s so cute. THEY’RE SO CUTE. 😭😭😭😭😭🫵🏻🫵🏻🫵🏻🫵🏻

I LOVEEEEE the ending. it’s so sweet, so warm, so lovely, and just perfect 😭😭 IM SO HAPPY TO SEE THEM HAPPY AND IN LOVEEEE OH MY GOD AKDHSMDDHSK 🥹🥹🥹🥹 it’s truly a sweet closure ♥️♥️

…welp? another longass comment, pls do forgive me 😅😅 (I HOPE YOU’RE NOT BOTHERED BY IT THO AKDHSKDH)

anw, i’ve said this before, but thank you (again!!!) so so much for writing this fic. lemme appreciate your hard work along with ur beta readers 🫶🏻✨ it’s truly a journey, watching cherry’s development as a character as well as seeing her relationship with cheol grow. it’s a wonderful experience. im glad i found this fic 🥹🥹💕💕

i can’t wait to see more of them if you decide to write cheolcherry again one day!! ♥️ they truly have a special place in my heart (and so does this fic)

have a great weekend, bambi! take care, and as usual, cheol loves you so so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 6 (m)

“After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol’s obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?”

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (afab)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst, smut; Unrequited enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: General tws + the big talk 🫣, mentions of slut-shaming and degradation (not in bed) -> plz lmk if im missing any! | [Smut warnings] protected sex, oral (f.), multiple orgasms, fingering, cum play, cum swallowing

🍒 WC: 12.6k

🍒 Betas: Sarah, Indi, Kelly, Freya 😻

🍒 Author’s Note: It's always so exciting and saddening when a series ends! It's been over a month since this series started! Special appreciation and thanks to those who have given me feedback and/or were here from the beginning! I really enjoy reading your reactions and analysis!

As I said before, this is the longest fic I've ever written, so this fic holds a special place in my heart for that reason alone. Anyway, thank you again (no this won't be the last time I say it!). Please enjoy the last chapter of "pretty please (stay with me)" 🥹❣️

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ pretty please masterpost // the end

You haven’t stood still in the past hour—buzzing around to everyone in the dressing room to make sure everything is being executed correctly. From last-minute wardrobe alterations to doing makeup and hair touches, you’ve been moving non-stop. Overseeing a fashion show is not easy, or maybe you’re just overthinking the tiniest details.

You aren’t getting a second chance at this, so you want to reduce the possibility of mistakes.

“Everything looks great; take a rest,” Mingyu tells you gently.

You glance up from your clipboard, having printed your to-do list and notes prior. Mingyu stands next to you with a kind smile. Your eyes scan him briefly. You reach forward to fix his outfit for the nth time, but he carefully grabs your wrists.

“It looks fine,” he chuckles.

“Exactly. It looks fine. I need it to be perfect,” you huff.

“You have twenty minutes before the show starts. Let’s go get some fresh air,” he says.

Despite your several headshakes, Mingyu pulls you out of the dressing room and toward the lobby.

“…doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my text or calls. I’d figure you’d be here.”

“We should talk another time.”

You strain your hearing when the voices register in your head. Mingyu glances at you and slows in his steps. From how clear their voices are, you figure Hajun and Seungcheol are around the corner.

“Let’s go out the other way,” Mingyu says, stepping in the other direction. You put a hand on his arm to stop him. You’re too curious to not eavesdrop.

“I’ll be quick,” you hear Hajun say.

Seungcheol sighs. “I already told you over the phone that I didn’t want to be around you when you’re being disrespectful.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I’m sorry I said all those things to her. I just…I just wanted to look out for you.”

You have no doubt who she’s talking about. If she wants to apologize, she should apologize to you.

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine. She’s fine. She’s not as bad as you think,” Seungcheol replies.

“I think you’re just too kind, Cheollie,” she says. “She’s not very nice. She’s not been a good influence on you.”

“That grade wasn’t because of her,” he reasons as if he knows what she’s referring to.

Your eyebrows scrunch at that. What is he talking about? What grade?

“No? Then why have you been so distracted in class? Or why do you show up exhausted?” 

“Those have all been my choices, though,” Seungcheol argues.

“Perhaps, but does she know the world doesn’t revolve around her? She should be considerate and stop being so clingy,” Hajun explains. 

Maybe if you viewed her neutrally, you would think she genuinely has his best interest at heart. But with how she’s treated you, it’s difficult to believe that. 

Mingyu tugs on your arm gently.

“You have ten minutes until showtime,” he whispers in your ear.

You close your eyes, listening to Hajun give more reasons for why you aren’t fit for Seungcheol. You want to stay and hear it all. You want to know if he will keep defending you. However, you’re not about to let all your hard work go to waste.

You nod, tearing yourself away and striding back to the room. You roll your shoulders back, head held high as you channel your attention on doing another round of adjustments.

When it’s three minutes until the show, you discreetly peep your head around the curtains. The theatre is packed, mostly with faces you don’t know. Though on one side, you can see your dad and sister. On the other side, are your new friends. Though the one person you are hoping to see isn’t there.

Seungcheol’s seat is empty.

You know he’s here. You hate how your mind starts forming negative thoughts. Perhaps Hajun has succeeded in making him hate you. Maybe he left with her.

You move away from the curtains and stare at the floor. There’s a tightening in your chest that’s a painful discomfort. After the argument, you were prepared not to see him here. Yet after the brief conversation and learning he had still gotten tickets, hope had risen. Even if it was just a sliver, you wanted to believe you could go back to where you were. Part of you even wished you were blissfully ignorant of his assumptions of you—even though they’re wrong and a “joke” to him.

You have the sudden urge to stand him up tomorrow. You don’t want to see him knowing he was here for you but left with her. However, you need to stop running away. You know you will be happier in the future if you have closure.

Before you can take another glance at the audience, Dr. Lim’s voice sounds.

“Alright, everyone, you’ve all been working hard this semester, and I’m very proud of you all,” he starts, “Remember, you’ll all give a quick introduction of your collection, and then once all your models have walked, you’ll give a final statement.”

You feel a hand on your arm. You turn to see Dae beside you. She’s smiling at you, wiggling your arm as if to say, “We did it!”

You offer a small one, trying to focus on the show again. Too much is going through your mind, and you need to narrow it down.

“You look nervous,” Dae whispers in your ear while Dr. Lim keeps speaking.

“I am, a little,” you answer.

“Don’t worry, I am too. At least we’re done, though. Well, we will be in a few hours,” she giggles.

“Okay, everyone is free to watch from anywhere backstage except for the person on deck. If you’re next, you must be here and ready to go. Everyone ready?”

You nod along with the rest of your class.

“Great, George, you’re first. Siwon, you’re on deck. Don’t forget your order, everyone!”

With that, people start moving. Dae guides you to a corner backstage that has a decent view. It’s angled so you can see your family more than your friends. You crane your neck to check the seats again. This time, two seats are missing. Jeonghan isn’t there anymore. Odd.

“Good evening, all,” Dr. Lim greets as he walks onto the stage. There’s faint music playing in the background, and your heart starts to race knowing there’s no going back now.

“Thank you for coming to support our designers. I am eager to show you the student’s work. Please keep in mind that each student was in charge of their theme, hair, makeup, music, lighting, promotion, and of course, their clothes,” he explains. 

“There won’t be an intermission as the show is rather short, so if you need to go, please exit quietly. With that, also please turn off your cellular devices. Now that I’ve rambled long enough, let’s get started!”

The audience claps as the lights dim. You and Dae watch your peers conduct their shows, both commenting on them quietly every so often. The themes range from specific colors, to movies, to holidays. Although you don’t like most of your classmates, it’s nice to see the variety of art being presented. Soon, it’s yours and Dae’s turn. You wish each other good luck before tending to your models.

You’re on deck, going down the line of your models as you listen to Dae’s introduction. 

“Hello everyone, I’m Dae, and my collection is titled, ‘Limitless’.”

You smile when you hear a few familiar hollers. You’re glad she befriended all your new friends too.

“My theme is space as I want to learn and grow endlessly. Although our space is dark, I want to be one of the stars that shine.”

Dae’s voice fades out as you continue your inspection.

“Take deep breaths,” Mingyu says when you approach him. You reach up and shift a few pieces of his outfit. He stands still as you do so.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “No funny business out there, okay?”

Mingyu smiles. “Of course. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Good, because I know where you live,” you threaten. It’s meant to be told jokingly, but you both know you’re serious.

“Always so charming,” he laughs.

“So I’ve been told,” you smile and pat his chest. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, Mingyu.”

“I could never say no to showing off my handsome features,” he replies, tilting his chin up with confidence.

“Maybe I should have asked Jeonghan instead,” you tease.

Mingyu scoffs playfully, opening his mouth to reply but stops when Dr. Lim appears.

“Yn, ready?”

You face him and nod. “I’m good to go.”

“Excellent,” he pauses, “It was nice having you in class again. I’m wishing you a bright future. You have talent, and I’m excited to see what you do with it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lim,” you reply. He gives you a grin before leaving again.

Mingyu’s thumbs raise in encouragement when you glance at him. The small smile you offer fails to hide your nervousness.

“People are going to love your designs,” Mingyu reassures. “Now, go get yourself ready.”

“R-right,” you say.

You make your way to the front of your model’s line as you hear Dae give her ending speech. You want to listen to what she’s saying, but you’re too anxious. You glance at yourself in the mirror that is situated backstage, quickly adjusting the outfit you made yourself.

It’s all red—not because of Seungcheol, you tell yourself, but because you needed to match the fabric Jeonghan had bought you—with the top being covered in rhinestones and fading out. The dress hugs your torso and then flares into a flowy bottom with a slit. Over your neck and shoulder blades is red lace that is attached to the fabric Jeonghan got you, giving you a cape that pools on the floor a little. The space between your dress and the cape shows enough skin to be sexy but not overly so to be inappropriate for a school event. 

Although the fabric was meant to be used for one of your model’s outfits, it wasn’t the blue you wanted, and you had already switched your design after Tori took the original from you. You had already planned to make your own dress for the event but hadn’t decided on the design. Since you didn’t want Jeonghan’s fabric to go to waste, you created a design based on it—using your original idea meant for the blue fabric but tweaking it.

Applause erupts, cueing you that you are next. Although you aren’t able to watch Dae’s show, you know Seoah is recording, upon your request, so you can watch it later.

Dae walks backstage as Dr. Lim goes to introduce you.

Dae is beaming, eyes crinkling and mouth open in utter happiness. She goes to you and wraps her arms around you.

“What a rush! That was so fun,” she gushes. “You’re going to do great.”

You return the hug quickly. Her energy bleeds into yours, and your heart races with nervousness. After years of being a spectator of the show, it’s finally your turn to be a participant. You feel all your years at the university have led to this moment. 

“Please welcome Yn,” Dr. Lim says.

Dae gives you an encouraging pat on the back before she steps away. You take a moment to inhale a deep breath, rolling back your shoulders and stepping out onto the stage.

The stage lights are blinding, making it difficult to see out into the entire crowd. You take the mic from your professor and curl your fingers around the object a little tighter than you should. Your eyes dart across unfamiliar faces as your eyes try to adjust to the lights.

“Good evening. My name is Yn, and my collection is titled, ‘Pinwheel’,” you start, voice wavering to show how anxious you are. As you take a quick second to recollect yourself, your eyes snag on a face you’re keen to see.

Seungcheol.

He didn’t leave.

Normally, you would question why he took so long to be seated, but you’re too jittery with the show. You don’t have the energy. Rather you focus on his eyes. They watch you fondly. His hair is pushed from his face like he put some product in it. You feel honored he dressed up for you.

He tilts his head and stretches his lips into a reassuring smile. Although it makes your heart pump quicker, it also gives you the push you need to continue.

“You’ll see an array of colors and designs that represent the four elements—air, water, earth, and fire. I wanted to try different styles that still coordinated together in some way. I hope you all enjoy,” you continue.

The crowd applauds, and amongst the noise, you can make out a few hollers from your friends. It eases your nervousness as you walk off stage. The lights adjust, and the track Jihoon created begins to play.

You motion for the first model to begin walking. You stay in the same spot as your volunteers ascend the runway. You fall into a rhythm as you time your models. When it comes to Mingyu, you expect him to sneak in a joke. However, his face is set in stone and is serious. You smile softly and lightly touch his arm to signal him. 

You glance beyond the curtain to watch him for a second. As Mingyu promised, he doesn’t do anything to ruin your show. If you didn’t know he was a photography major, you would suspect he was an actual model. A goofy part of your brain wonders if he practiced his walk in his apartment.

Two models left and then everyone will do one more walk. That’s all you have left. Despite the already short time of your portion of the show, it feels a lot shorter. Everything has been going well so far. No models slip, your outfits stay intact, and there aren't any technical difficulties.

You appear in front of the audience again as your models finish their last trip around the stage. Your models stay on the stage, allowing the audience to associate the designs with the designer.

“As you’ve heard many times tonight, thank you for coming. This project was challenging, but the reward was worth it. If you have any questions about my collection, please don’t hesitate to ask me after the show. Thank you,” you conclude, giving a bow.

Each clap from the audience chips away at the weight on your shoulders. You can breathe easier knowing that that is it. The project you’ve been waiting to do since before your freshman year has finally come and gone. And gone well nonetheless.

You watch as your friends and family stand, big smiles on all their faces. Although they all mean a lot to you, you can’t help but look for Seungcheol out of all of them.

He stands tall, hands clapping together, with a huge grin on his handsome face. His eyes shine with pride, and you can feel that familiar warmth spreading across your chest again. It feels like you’ve just given your first fashion show as a big-name designer, but in reality, it’s simply a senior project. Seungcheol makes it feel more than it is. And that makes you feel all the more confident.

There are only three more students after you. You and Dae go back to you where you were originally seated, this time accompanied by Mingyu—now dressed in his own clothes. As the show ends, all the students file onto the stage.

“It was a joy to witness the progression of the student’s works. Thank you for another successful show. Seniors, you should all be proud of your work,” Dr. Lim pauses to glance at you all. “Please enjoy the refreshments in the lobby. You’re welcome to mingle and network for at least another hour. Now, please give another round of applause for our talented students.”

The sound fills your chest with a bittersweet feeling as you take your final bow.

“Your designs were gorgeous!” Seoah exclaims when she finds you in the lobby. She runs into you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. Your father comes next, joining in a three-way embrace.

“You did amazing, sweetheart,” he compliments. Your heart is swelling from their kind words. They have seen some of your past designs, but this is different. Even though it’s a school production, it’s still the biggest fashion show you’ve ever been a part of.

“I need you to make me that green one! The one that looked like it was made of leaves and vines. That was my favorite. You get to keep your clothes, right?” Seoah speaks quickly in excitement.

You laugh softly, nodding. “I’m afraid family relations only grant you a five-percent discount.”

“What?” she huffs. “I should get it for free for being the best sister.”

“You’re my only sister,” you argue.

“Which makes me more special!”

“Alright, girls. We can arrange a business deal at home. I’m going to take Seoah to get some ice cream. We’ll see you later,” your father says. You give them each a last hug before waving them goodbye.

You don’t even get a minute break before you feel arms wrap around you.

“I told you you would do great!”

Soonyoung’s loud voice rings in your ear, causing you to flinch. He tears himself from you with a big smile. Your friends gather around in a semicircle, all showering you with praises and words of encouragement. However, like before, one face is missing from the crowd.

“Even though I just met you this semester, I’m proud of you,” Yejun says. You thank him before watching as he leaves to go to Dae. He’s more her friend than yours, but you’re still grateful for his words.

“Does Mingyu get to keep his outfit?” Vernon questions.

You shake your head.

“Good,” Seungkwan chimes in. “He doesn’t deserve such nice clothes.”

“Hey!” Mingyu gasps, offended.

“Excuse me?” an unfamiliar voice interrupts your crowd. All heads turn to see an older woman, dressed professionally. “Yn, right?”

You turn away from your friends to greet the stranger. “Yes, hello.”

“My name’s Park Quinn. I work for a local agency and wanted to give you my contact information. I loved your collection,” she says.

Your eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be great.”

You take the card she gives you.

“I don’t want to take time away from your friends, so please contact me whenever you can. We can try to arrange something if you’re interested.”

You nod, trying not to seem too enthusiastic and eager at the proposal.

“Of course. Thank you, Ms. Park.”

She smiles and then turns away. Before you can dive back into your friend’s bickering, which you can hear faintly in the background, more people come up to greet you. Many of whom you don’t know. Some are prospective students; others are more recruiters.

You’re talking to different people for what feels like ages before the crowd finally slows down. Your friends left a few minutes ago, telling you they’ll arrange a time you can all hang out. 

You’re backstage to gather your belongings and clothes when there’s a soft knock on the open door.

“I’m almost done,” you announce, figuring it’s Dr. Lim coming to tell you to hurry so he can lock the theatre.

“Take your time, Cherry.”

Your hands pause in reaching for a garment bag, gaze whizzing to see the person.

Seungcheol stands in the doorway with a small bouquet of flowers. They’re a mix of reds, pinks, and greens. It’s beautiful. 

Too nervous about the show earlier, you finally take in his attire. He’s wearing an all-black suit, the undershirt being a turtleneck. You saw his new hairstyle while on stage, but it still surprises you to see it up close. 

He looks stunning.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, a little shocked to see him.

He smiles, walking farther into the room. “I wanted to give you these.”

He holds out the bouquet. You stare at it a little too long because Seungcheol starts to chuckle.

“Not the ones you like?” he teases. He begins to set them down on a nearby table, but you stop him. You take it in your free hand, the other occupied with other items.

“They’re pretty,” you reassure. “Thank you.”

He grins when you finally accept them. In exchange, he grabs your belongings from you. You tilt the flowers to your face, breathing in their fresh smell and grinning slightly.

“Your collection was incredible,” he says.

“You think so?” you hum, eyes glancing at the clothes which are hanging in bags. 

“The best out there.”

You smile. “You sound a little biased, Seungcheol.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Silence fills the room as you both stare at each other. His eyes drift to your body. You feel a little shy, and the need to fill the silence grows. You want to ask what took him so long to come into the theatre, but that would mean you were actively looking for him. It would also mean Hajun would most likely be mentioned if he decided to go into detail. That topic could wait until tomorrow. You’re enjoying being able to talk to him like you used to, albeit a little more consciously.

“D-do you like it?” you ask in lieu.

Seungcheol’s eyes move back to yours.

“You made this?” he asks, gesturing to your dress.

You nod.

“You’re very talented,” he praises. “Though that was evident earlier… You look beautiful, Yn.”

Something about hearing your real name from his mouth has the compliment’s meaning more impactful.

“I do?” you ask, shifting your weight.

“I’ve never heard you so doubtful before,” he observes with a gentle grin. “First about your designs, and now about your looks.”

He reaches out to you, and for a split second, you think he’s going to caress your face. Instead, he grazes his fingers over the cape’s fabric.

“You do look pretty,” he hums. His eyes scan the material, gaze softening as if recalling something bittersweet.

“Jeonghan bought it for me,” you state. You’re not sure why you disclose that information. Why does it matter to Seungcheol if Jeonghan gifted the fabric to you? He probably doesn’t care. The air just felt too suffocating to stay silent. 

“That’s nice of him,” he mutters before pulling away. Maybe you’re imagining it, but he sounds more monotone than before.

“Y-yeah.”

Another pause.

“Actually, I should probably change out of it. Do you mind?” you ask. You expect him to make a joke of “having seen it all already,” but he doesn’t.

“Oh, yeah. Of c-course,” he answers, turning around.

You wait a few seconds to ensure he isn’t going to peek before finding your bag with your spare clothes. The dress you don is too long to wear outside. You don’t want it to get snagged on anything; plus, you’ll probably get your foot tangled in the fabric in the car later.

You quickly change into a simple dress and sneakers, stuffing your red dress in another garment bag.

“Okay, I’m done,” you announce.

Seungcheol turns slowly. He takes in your new outfit, and if you didn’t squirm and look away, you would’ve spotted the little smile on his lips.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” he asks, glancing around the room. It’s mostly empty. You just need to carry the clothes back to your car.

“You don’t have to stay. Thank you for the flowers,” you say.

“Well, I’m not letting you walk to your car alone,” he replies.

“I’ll be fine. The campus is well-lit.”

Seungcheol eyes you, mouth pursing to tell you he doesn’t care.

You sigh and hold out the bouquet, knowing he isn’t going to leave. “Hold these.”

He does so and watches as you drape the garment bags over a table. You start to dissemble the clothing rack.

“I could’ve done that,” Seungcheol says.

“I’m sure you’re capable, but it’s quicker if I do it. I know how to take it apart,” you reason. You place the pieces in the bag they came in, zipping it and placing the strap on your shoulder.

“Let me,” Seungcheol offers.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, stepping away. “You look awfully pretty holding those flowers.”

And he does. 

His dark clothes and hair contrasting with the bright colors of the flowers, create a pleasing sight. 

Upon hearing your teasing tone, he grins. “You look prettier with them, so take them.”

He holds out the object, but you shake your head. You hang the clothes over your arms despite his second protest.

“I need a good view on our walk to my car,” you explain and start to move to the door. He follows reluctantly.

Somehow along the journey, you end up swapping items anyway. You now hold the bouquet, unable to stop taking several whiffs. You can’t remember if you’ve ever gotten flowers before. Maybe one or two, but never a whole bouquet.

Seungcheol packs your car carefully, ensuring he doesn’t accidentally destroy any of your outfits. They’re all protected in bags, but that doesn’t make them invincible.

“Are we still meeting tomorrow?” he asks when you’re seated in your car; your window is rolled down to talk to him. He has one hand resting on the roof of your car as he peers in.

“If you’re still willing to,” you reply.

“I am,” he answers.

“Okay.”

A pause.

“Will you text me when you get home?” he asks.

“You don’t need—”

“Or I can tail you. It’s your choice, Cherry.”

You exhale audibly.

“I’ll text you,” you decide.

He smiles. “I thought so.”

He stands up to leave, telling you a goodbye you barely register as you debate something in your head.

“Wait, Ch-Seungcheol,” you call and peek your head out.

He pauses in his steps to look back.

“Will you… text me when you get home, too?” you ask hesitantly. The question shouldn’t make you nervous, but it does. Maybe because it’s a hint that you still care about him. 

The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth rises, a gentle chuckle escaping into the night.

“Yes.”

The simple word has you reflecting your own grin, giving him a final wave as he walks to his car, which is easily visible due to the nearly-empty lot. You wait for him to get into his vehicle before you leave.

You [10:48 PM]: Home.

Choi Seungcheol [10:56 PM]: good

You [10:57 PM]: Are you texting and driving, or are you home as well?

Choi Seungcheol [10:57 PM]: home (:

You [10:58 PM]: Did you forget to tell me?

Choi Seungcheol [10:59 PM]: no i just got home

You [10:59 PM]: Okay.

You [10: 59 PM]: Thank you for coming and for the flowers.

Choi Seungcheol [11:00 PM]: u dont need to thank me. i enjoyed it

You [11:01 PM]: Still… Goodnight, Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol [11:01 PM]: sweet dreams cherry

The trek to Seungcheol’s apartment door is grave.

As much as you try to push away the last memories you had here, they’re difficult to ignore. Each step makes the feelings resurface. You just wish this visit won’t end in the same way. His words from that day still sting, but you’re tired of staying in the past. The short interaction with him last night reminds you of how nice it is to be around him when you aren’t fending off his business friends. It spurs the hope you once felt that you could somehow make it work with him.

Seungcheol had messaged you earlier that something had come up and asked to meet at his apartment instead of the café. You were hesitant at first, but he reassured you he wasn’t going to offer a ride. It’s a bit silly that the decision is based on whether he is driving you, but you feel more comfortable knowing you don’t have to rely on him if things go awry.

Seungcheol opens the door with a kind smile.

“Come in,” he greets, stepping to the side.

You move past him and take off your shoes while he shuts and locks the door.

“I’m sorry about the change in plans, I—”

Your scream has him halting.

You hastily push yourself behind Seungcheol, shoving your back against the wall and clutching his shirt roughly. 

The abrupt yank on his clothes has Seungcheol stumbling backward. His hands come up to steady himself on the wall, trying not to crush you. 

You hold him close to your body as a shield.

“Get it away! Please, Cheol! Make it leave!” you yelp frantically.

“W-what? What’s wrong?!” Seungcheol asks, completely startled by your sudden outburst. He tries to turn to face you, but your strong grip on his shirt limits his range of motion. “It’s only… Oh.”

Seungcheol laughs.

A chorus of “ha’s” that has you hitting his back in frustration.

“Cheol!” you whine when a loud woof sounds in the room.

“I didn’t know you were scared of dogs,” he muses.

In front of Seungcheol is a big, furry dog. The breed is unknown to you, but that’s the least of your worries. You truly don’t give a fuck. You just need it gone.

“Well, I am, so make it go away!” you cry and give his muscular back another thud. 

“Okay, okay. Let go, Cherry,” he chuckles. You slowly release him, keeping your body one with the wall.

“Come on, Cho, let’s give Cherry some space,” he says cheerfully to the dog; the pitch is higher than before. Why does the beast get to hear that tone from him?

“It’s staring at me,” you huff, eyes on the animal carefully.

“He’s just interested in you,” Seungcheol chuckles, hand rubbing the dog’s head. He moves away and tries to call the dog to him, but it doesn't listen.

Another yelp comes from your lips when it starts to walk toward you again. Seungcheol kneels down and holds onto its chest instead, almost as if he’s hugging it.

“Go to my bedroom; I’ll be there in a second,” he instructs kindly.

“It’s going to chase me,” you say.

He laughs softly. “I’m holding onto him. You’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” you ask cautiously.

“Yes. Go on,” he smiles encouragingly, nodding in the direction of his room.

Slowly, you push away from the wall. You stay a good distance from the beast in Seungcheol’s arms. As if it wants to tease you, it barks at you. That lights a fire under your ass that makes you break out into a sprint.

You shut his door in a hurry.

You step away from the entry in case the dog decides to knock it down. As you unwind, your eyes scan his room. Nothing has really changed—not that it should’ve. While his bathroom door is ajar, his closet is on full display. You don’t think anything of it, but then your eyes catch on to something red. He has red in his closet, so the color isn’t what intrigues you. What catches your attention is that it’s a dress.

A red dress in Seungcheol’s closet.

You shouldn’t be touching his stuff without his permission, but your hand reaches out on its own. You carefully graze your fingers over the material. The silk is smooth under your touch. It feels good against your skin.

There’s a bag hanging off the hanger. You should stop while you can—snooping never ends well for anyone. Yet, that doesn’t halt your hands from removing the bag and peering inside. It’s empty except for a receipt.

You figure it’s for the dress; however, the name of the place at the top isn’t a clothing store.

It’s a fabric store.

Seungcheol’s door suddenly opens, jolting you from your spot, paper still in hand.

“Are you okay? I would’ve put him in another room if I had known you were scar—”

His eyes fall onto your hand. They grow slightly, and he stands still.

You take the moment to look back at it, scanning the item to try to figure out what it’s for. Before you can examine it for long, it’s pulled from your grasp.

“What’s that for?” you ask as he stuffs it in the pocket of his jeans.

“Nothing. Why are you looking through my stuff?” he questions back. His tone isn’t unkind, but it’s not as cordial as it was before.

You can lie about it, but it was in a bag you deliberately opened. Unless he forgot where he put it, he would know the truth.

“I was curious,” you answer truthfully.

“It’s not polite to look through people’s things,” he scolds and walks to his closet door. He starts to shut it, but you can’t move past the mysterious dress.

“Are you seeing someone?” you wonder. There’s something sharp prodding your heart at the possibility. Perhaps it shouldn’t matter. Maybe you’re just here to mend a broken platonic friendship rather than a romantic one. You were never his to begin with, but something breaks in your chest at the idea of the opportunity being taken from you.

Suddenly, “Are you dating Hajun?”

All those times you pushed him away… Were you pushing him into her arms instead? Is that why he never let go of her? But he didn’t sound like her boyfriend in the theatre’s lobby.

Seungcheol finishes shutting his closet door before he focuses on you. His eyes dance across your face for a moment. You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“What makes you think that?” he asks. He moves to sit on the bed, patting the space beside him, but you shake your head. You don’t want to be close to him right now.

“The dress,” you trail off, “in your closet.”

He releases a dispirited exhale.

“It’s not hers,” he says.

The grip around your heart loosens an inch but still holds on tightly.

“Hana’s?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Let’s resolve our other issues before we get into another, okay?” he suggests.

Your eyebrows furrow. “So, the dress would cause another issue?”

“Hasn’t it already?” he sighs. “You weren’t meant to see that.”

You scoff, arms crossing. “I would’ve never guessed.”

Seungcheol frowns at your sarcasm.

“We can talk about it later.”

“Why dance around the topic? Just tell me if you’re seeing someone,” you argue.

“Why?” he replies, eyebrow quirking.

“Because—” I want to know if there’s a chance for us. “—that would explain the dress.”

“Just dro—”

“What’s the big deal?”

“It’s—”

“Just tell me.”

“Cherry,” Seungcheol groans.

“Yes or no. It’s simple.”

“No.”

“No, you’re not dating, or no, you don’t want to answer me?”

“No, I’m not dating anyone.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Some relief floods in your chest, but there’s still something odd about the wardrobe addition.

“Then—”

“It’s yours,” he finally huffs out, irritation laced in his tone.

That shuts you up successfully.

“It’s for you,” he sighs, voice softer, and stands up. “Or, it was for you.”

He pulls open his closet and takes the garment off its hanger. He grabs one of your hands and places the item in it. Before you can get a proper grip on it, Seungcheol lets go which forces you to clutch it quickly. 

“Wha-What do you mean? I-I didn’t leave this here. I’ve never worn this. I—”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s new. I got it before… before our fight. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”

Your eyes drift to the dress in your hands, lifting it up to see it better. It’s nothing too flashy, but it’s still beautiful with its simplicity.

That pang in your heart comes back but for a different reason.

“You’re not just saying this as an excuse, right?” you ask, the thought bubbling in your mind.

He gently takes the dress from you, laying it out on one side of the bed while guiding you to the other. He sits you down.

“No,” he answers. “I’m telling you the truth. It’s yours if you want it—no strings attached. If not, I can donate it.”

Your eyes move back to the clothing item.

“Why did you get it for me?” you ask and look at him.

Seungcheol rakes a hand through his hair, ears turning a light pink. “I was going to ask you on a date.”

“Y-you were?” you stammer, eyes wide. You’ve always wondered if what he told you while you were crying in his arms was true or if it was all just said in the heat of the moment. Your heart races knowing he meant them. He really did like you then.

“And I was going to ask you to wear this,” he explains, eyes moving from yours.

You continue to stare at him, flabbergasted. His plan was sweet, and part of you feels bad for having ruined it. Though, that wasn’t entirely your fault.

You’re not sure how to respond. You feel utterly honored that he got you a dress for your potential first date with him. However, you don’t know where you stand right now. Unresolved issues still hang in the air.

“Let’s talk about something else, then get back to this, alright?” he tries again.

This time, you nod.

“I know I already apologized, but I truly am sorry for what I said here last time,” he begins.

“Were you really just joking?” you wonder.

“It was a mix, honestly. I was a little shocked at the thought of you never having sex before.”

You frown but try to keep your emotions in control. “Why?”

“Because I’ve heard you’ve gotten around.” He winces as the words come out. You glance in your lap for a second, grabbing the hem of your skirt to play with it.

“From who?”

You aren’t too surprised to hear this information. You have plenty of “enemies” on campus. One of them was bound to start rumors. Hell, you have a few exes that go to the university, so they could’ve spread false information too.

“Several people,” he speaks softly so he doesn’t hurt your feelings. “I actually knew about you before we met at Jeonghan’s.”

“Really?” you question and look at him again. 

“Yeah, but I heard about you a lot more when Hajun and Hana realized who you were,” he explains. “I guess their words stuck without me knowing.”

Your lips dip down. “Did you believe them?”

You hold your breath as you wait for his reply. You already have a feeling Hajun and Hana have talked enough shit about you to fill two whole toilets, but their opinion of you isn’t the one that matters.

Seungcheol sighs, gaze drifting from you and then away.

“I’ve never seen you act the way they described, so not completely,” he answers.

“Not completely?” you repeat.

“There was always that thought in the back of my head… Wondering if you just wanted to sleep with me.”

A scoff. “You thought that even when I kept pushing you away at the start?”

“Maybe you were playing hard to get,” he attempts to reason.

“No, I was genuinely annoyed,” you say.

“Ouch,” he frowns.

“Also, need I remind you that you were the one that kept approaching me?” you add.

Seungcheol leans back on one hand, the other running through his hair again.

“I know,” he says. “I think I just heard Hajun and Hana talk so much that the thought was just always there because of them. I never saw the person I heard about… Well, you weren’t always nice, which I also heard.”

You roll your eyes, not truly irritated at his last comment since it isn’t entirely false. “I’m not one to play along if I don’t like you.”

“I’m aware,” he answers, a small smile on his lips.

“Why did you stay friends with them when they said bad things about me?” you question next.

“Like I said that day, I had known them a long time, and we were in a project together.”

You recall his reasoning, but you still want to ask. “That’s it?”

“Why do you think I did it?”

“Because you agreed with their views on me,” then you mutter, “or maybe because you liked Hajun.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows angle downward. “I’ve never felt anything romantic toward Hajun, and I didn’t believe them.”

“Did it not bother you when they said that stuff?” you ask.

“It did. I really did tell them to stop when you weren’t around,” he answers. “It’s not easy to let go of people you’ve known for years.”

“I beg to differ,” you huff.

“Would you ditch Dae if she spoke badly about me constantly?” he questions.

You tilt your head. “That would mean I have to care about you a lot.”

“Don’t you?” he teases lightly, leaning toward you.

You smile small. “More than her? No.”

“Breaking my heart, Cherry,” he chuckles and pulls away. He inhales deeply and then continues. “I was hoping something would change, and you would all get along.”

“I told you it would never have worked out,” you reply.

“Wishful thinking,” he shrugs.

You nod, moving your gaze again. An important question lingers in your mind. You want to ask, but you’re truly nervous about his answer. At one point, you would’ve found a way for it to work, but now, you don’t know if you can.

“Ask me,” Seungcheol coaxes softly. You glance at him, wondering how he knows you have a question for him.

He chuckles. “I know there’s more running in that pretty head of yours.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod.

“Are you still talking to them?”

He was just talking to Hajun yesterday, so you aren’t going to be surprised if he says yes.

“No, I’m not,” he answers sternly.

That shocks you more.

“Y-you’re not?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I realized I care about you more than I do them,” he says, echoing your earlier words. “I choose you. I’ve always chosen you in the end—even if it didn’t feel like it.“

You’re on the edge of inwardly celebrating. It’s relieving to finally hear he has cut ties with the people who made your life miserable.

“I-I saw you… I mean, I heard you yesterday with Hajun at the theatre,” you confess.

It’s his turn for his eyes to open bigger. “Nothing happened between us.”

“What was she talking about with your grades?” you ask, recalling how she used that against you.

Seungcheol rubs his temples. “I just got a low test score. It really isn’t a big deal.”

“Because of me?” You frown.

“No,” he’s quick to reassure, “it had nothing to do with you.”

“But Hajun said—”

“She was just finding excuses for me not to be there,” he explains. “Her words didn’t mean anything. I’ve gotten low grades before.”

“She seemed serious,” you argue.

“Because she was,” he sighs.

“Do you really think she was looking out for you?”

Seungcheol rubs at the back of his neck. “Sort of, but I also think she was exaggerating things to make you seem worse.”

“I’m sorry if I distracted you from your studies. I should’ve left you alone,” you apologize, averting your gaze.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab one of your hands. You look at him when you feel his touch.

“Even if you tried, I would’ve kept bugging you,” he replies. His words make you feel a little better, but you still feel guilty despite him saying it isn’t your fault.

“Why would you have?” you ask.

He smiles kindly, eyes softening at the thought of his reply.

“Because I liked you and wanted to get to know you more.”

Your face heats at his words, or maybe it’s because your body is tingling with his skin against yours. Regardless, you feel the butterflies awaken in your stomach.

“Do you—do you still,” you trail off, feeling anxious at the question.

“Do I what?” he presses gently. His thumb glides against the top of your hand.

You stare at his floor when you continue slowly, “Do you still like me?”

There’s a moment of silence before you feel his fingers against your chin. He guides you to look at him; he’s staring at you as if he cherishes and adores you. 

It’s the same look he had when he was watching both of your friends at the restaurant. It’s difficult to believe he’s giving that gaze to you now. 

You can’t tear your eyes from him.

“I like you very much,” he declares confidently.

Your mouth twitches as you try to suppress your smile, but it’s pointless. Your lips stretch until they hurt.

Seungcheol mimics your grin. “Do you like me?”

At one point, you would’ve profusely denied it. You’ve been pushing away those tempting thoughts for so long that you can’t do it anymore. There is something about Seungcheol that you can’t shake off.

It could be the way he always holds the door open for you. It could be that he always takes care of you—carrying you so you won’t hurt your feet, offering his home when you need it, holding your belongings so you have to lift as few fingers as possible. Or perhaps it could be the way he makes you feel like your head is in the clouds. 

You always thought you’d want a partner who you didn’t constantly argue with, but you found the light bantering between you two entertaining. Sure, it does get under your skin at times, but you never stay truly mad at him.

Seungcheol makes you feel special. He makes you feel wanted.

He makes you feel loved.

So, with the smile still etched on your face, you answer, “Yes. I like you.”

Seungcheol’s eyes go from quarter moons to waxing crescents. Small wrinkles form as his mouth widens to a gummy smile. The happiness on his face has your heart skipping.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, eyes hopeful.

You nod without hesitation. “Please.”

Seungcheol’s lips still have the same effect as before. It takes your breath away and makes you giddy.

He moves a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until you are nearly on his lap. The position doesn’t offer you much balance since you’re trying not to knee him in the jewels.

You start to pull away when you feel your body slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Wait, Cheol—” you try to warn, but it’s too late.

You tumble to the floor, dragging him with you.

You both land with a thump as you’re pulled from each other.

Seungcheol’s booming laugh echoes in his room, causing your own stomach to hurt from giggling.

“Are you okay?” he asks between breaths while sitting up. You stand from the floor, straightening out your clothes. He follows you up.

“Yeah,” you reply. “You?”

“I’m fine,” he reassures.

You jump when the dog outside barks at the noise. Seungcheol smiles at you and reaches out to give you a comforting pat.

“Relax, Cherry. Cho isn’t going to hurt you. He’s a big baby,” Seungcheol soothes.

“It didn’t look like one,” you huff, recalling the size of the animal.

Seungcheol guides you back to the bed.

“Do you have any more questions for me?” he asks, easing back into the somber conversation.

You pause as you think. When nothing comes up, you shake your head.

“Do you?” you offer.

“Three,” he answers.

You breathe slowly, preparing yourself for them. “Okay, what’s your first?”

“What else did Hajun tell you by the restroom?” he wonders.

“Oh,” you mumble, not expecting that. You go back to that memory in your head. “A-are you sure you want to know?”

Seungcheol's face grows serious, head nodding curtly.

“She said you left me because I was a slut. She told me you said I was the ‘worst fuck you’ve ever had,’ and she called me worthless,” you pause as Seungcheol’s jaw clenches and eyes narrow. If you weren’t talking about someone else, you would be worried to see such an intense stare. 

“She said you were trying to get rid of me, and the only way you could do that was to sleep with me… Since you know, I just need ‘something between my legs to be satisfied’.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Usually, it doesn’t bother you, but combined with his stare makes you shift uncomfortably.

“I didn’t say any of that. I hope you know that. She made that up,” he says, expression easing when he speaks to you. “I wasn’t even going to say anything, but she kept wondering why you weren’t around. I just told her we had a falling out, and that’s it.”

From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, you believe him.

“I believe you,” you voice aloud.

His once-tensed shoulders relax at your words. “I never wanted you to leave. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re not any of the names she called you.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Although you’ve been trying to ignore Hajun’s words the past few days, you feel better knowing Seungcheol’s true feelings.

“I’m still sorry,” he says.

“I know. I forgive you,” you respond, hand resting on his thigh.

“You don’t have to. I know what I said was disgusting and rude.”

“It was,” you concur, “but I’m willing to forgive you because I don’t think you mean what you said.”

And now he won’t have those toxic people whispering lies in his ears.

“I don’t,” he repeats. “I think people are intimidated by your confidence. You know what you want, and you know your identity, while some people don’t. It scares them, so they take it out on you. They’re jealous of you.”

“It sounds like you're buttering my biscuits, Mr. Choi,” you hum as you listen to him analyze the people who dislike you.

“I’m just being honest,” he says, a slight frown on his lips.

“I appreciate it,” you reply more earnestly. You’re grateful he confirmed he didn’t think those negative thoughts about you. You feel you can circle around the topic for hours, so you ask for the second question.

“Do you like Jeonghan?” Seungcheol asks.

That takes you by surprise. “No, why do you ask?”

You almost laugh at the idea of dating Jeonghan, but you refrain from it. You don’t want Seungcheol to think his question is stupid even if it is.

“You two just seem close,” he says.

“I tolerate him more,” you explain. “I only like you. Now, next question.”

“Wait, I want to make sure you don’t like hi—Hmph!”

Your lips meet his to stop his sentence. He melts quickly against your mouth, a hand reaching out to your waist. You pull away before it can go any further.

“I would never kiss Jeonghan like that,” you smile.

Seungcheol grimaces at the image you put in his head. “That doesn’t mean you don’t like him.”

“So, I would like that fool, but not kiss him?” you wonder. “Okay. Then I like you, but we can’t kiss anymore.”

“What?” he asks, startled.

“If I can like Jeonghan and not kiss him, then I can like you and not kiss you.”

The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth pushes down. His lips purse slightly when he speaks, “Alright, I get it. I believe you. Kiss me.”

“No,” you say defiantly.

“If you like me, then you’ll kiss me,” he explains.

“But you just said—”

“I lied. You have to kiss the people you like,” he corrects quickly, leaning toward you.

“Is that so?” you ask, a mischievous smirk forming on your lips.

Not having a good feeling with the look on your face, Seungcheol sulks, “You only like me, so that means you can only kiss me.”

You smile at hearing his dragged-out words.

“Is that the rule?” you tease.

“Yes,” he huffs.

“Then I guess I can kiss you,” you say. However, you don’t move from your spot.

Seungcheol fusses, “Now, baby.”

“Oh,” you giggle. “Fine.”

You move in closer, smiling when he meets you halfway. The kiss doesn’t last long as you pull away to ask for his third question.

His tongue darts across his bottom lip as he stares at you. His gaze is solemn, and you mentally prepare yourself for what he has to ask.

“It hurt me to know I caused you pain,” he starts slowly. “I never wanted you to think I believed the rumors about you, but I guess they had an effect on me that I wasn’t conscious of. I regretted everything I told you that day the second it came from my mouth. I was so desperate to fix my mistakes that I didn’t take the moment to think.”

You watch him intently. Each word is taken in with great care, trying to push aside the initial feelings of anger and hurt to hear him objectively.

“I know I made a mistake by keeping them my friends for so long. I just wanted things to work out, and I wanted you all to see the good in each other. I know that sounds a little cliché, but it’s true… Maybe I just didn’t want to choose between you all,” he pauses to take a breath.

“Though, most of all, I wanted to know you more. Despite not having the best first impression, I realized quickly you weren’t what people made you out to be. Along the way, I started to see you as more than a friend, but I had trouble finding the right moment to see things through. Then I fucked it up, and I didn’t think I could fix it… but you’re here now. And we’ve talked things through.”

You nod to show you understand what he’s saying.

“So, where do we stand?” he finally asks.

“I’m sure we could go around each other for days, but I’m ready to move on. I was fully prepared to never talk to you again, but I couldn’t,” you stop gradually, not sure if you want to disclose your next thoughts.

“You couldn’t talk to me?” he asks, confused.

Sighing, “No. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh,” he replies, a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t get too happy now. They weren’t all good thoughts.”

“I know,” his smile faltering, “but there were some good ones?”

“Yeah… There were good ones too,” you reply softly.

Seungcheol takes your hands in his, shuffling closer.

“What were they about?” he ponders.

You squeeze his hands. “Your smile.”

At your answer, his lips begin to lift again.

“How you held me,” you continue.

Seungcheol takes that as an invitation to push you back against his pillows. You smile, raising your arms to wrap around his neck as he presses his body against yours. One of his hands snakes under your back while the other rests on the mattress so he doesn’t squish you completely.

“How you kissed me,” you whisper.

The man above you grins wider, pecking your lips tenderly. You chase his lips, and he grants you a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“And most importantly, how you made me feel.”

Seungcheol rubs your back gently. “And how did I make you feel?”

“Like I was yours,” you murmur as your face warms at the confession.

“Will you be mine? Officially?” he asks, gaze darting back and forth between your eyes.

You wonder if he can feel your racing heart against his chest.

“Yes,” you say. “Officially.”

He chuckles, pressing his mouth on yours as if to really make it official.

Your mouths move languidly. You can feel his hair fall around your face, tickling your cheeks. Smiling, you tuck the strands behind his ears and then keep your palms cupping his cheeks.

When you adjust a leg to wrap around his lower back, he moves the hand under you to rub your bare thigh—exposed by your skirt. His hand trails up and down your skin for a moment until it goes lower. He grabs your ass, massaging it over your panties. His lips slip from yours to kiss along your jawline until he finds your neck. You have no doubt that you’ll end up having to hide a purple mark later.

Both your clothes are off in a matter of seconds. Seungcheol’s hands move across your body, exploring each bump and crevice as if it’s his first time. However, you’re no different. You feel like you’ve touched every part of him, yet you still want more.

Your soft moans fill the room when he scatters kisses down your body before latching his mouth on your clit. His hair quickly becomes tangled as you grab it. Your hips roll against his face, chest rising and falling as you get closer to your high. 

His fingers accompany his mouth, pumping and scissoring in your wet hole. His raspy voice sounds sexy as he praises you when you come, but his moans are sexier. His eyes are hooded, drinking up everything you give him until you lax on his mattress.

You don’t even realize he put away your new red dress and slipped on a condom until a dip in the bed catches your attention. Your vision is coming back to you gradually. Seeing Seungcheol with messy hair and his lower face covered in your juices has you pouncing on him. 

His laughter rings out, grabbing your face and slotting his mouth against yours while you straddle him. You don’t care that you can taste yourself on his tongue. You just need him to fill you.

You slide your dripping folds along his thick length, making sure it’s coated so he can sink into you easily. And easy it is.

Both your sighs and strangled moans permeate his room. You stare down at him, mouth open as you move your hips. His brows meet; he’s trying to control his breathing. Each drag of his cock against your walls feels heavenly. Although the pace is similar to the first time, it feels different. There’s more meaning with every circle and rock of your hips. Maybe you’re making it up all in your head, but when Seungcheol pulls you down on top of him to hold you as he begins to thrust his hips up, you know you aren’t.

The way he kisses you tells you he feels the same.

There’s less desperation in his movements now. You don’t have to worry about this being the last time. You don’t have to worry about him hooking up with another person. He isn’t available to anyone anymore. He’s loyal. He’s kind.

He’s yours.

Your legs press against his sides, a loud cry tearing from your throat as he pushes you over the edge. Your walls flutter around his cock that’s still gliding inside you.

“Just for me,” he pants. “You’re just for me.”

You nod, spewing a variation of agreements as you cling to him. Your body rubs against his while he keeps thrusting up. Mewls fall from your mouth as you start to become overstimulated.

Seungcheol coos in your ear, telling you he’s close and that you’re a good girl for letting him use you for his pleasure. His hips stutter each time you clench your walls around him.

By the time Seungcheol pulls out, you are a moaning mess. He flips you over, pulls off the condom, then comes onto your stomach and breasts. You’re sure the sight arouses Seungcheol as he fixates on your body.

His fingers run through his seed, spreading it more across your skin. His tongue darts out against your breast. You watch as he trails the wet muscle along your skin, his cum gathering on it until it’s full. Before you understand what he’s doing, he brings his mouth to yours. You open your mouth, greedily drinking what he’s giving to you. You don’t even stop to think how filthy the act is.

Even though you can tell Seungcheol is spent, he still cleans you with a damp towel before snuggling back in bed. You both fall into slumber a few minutes after.

You wake to a sudden cold breeze.

Whining in your sleep, you roll over to snuggle closer to Seungcheol; however, you’re met with empty space. You peel your eyes open reluctantly, leaning up on an elbow to see where he is.

Seungcheol sits on the edge of the bed with a sweatshirt and sweatpants over his body.

You crawl closer until he’s in arm's reach.

“Where are you going?” you murmur as you snake your arms around his wide frame.

He jolts at your abrupt touch but quickly relaxes once he realizes it’s you. He places his arms over yours, craning his neck to see you.

He pecks your lips. “I have to go walk Cho.”

“Can’t it wait?” you ask.

“He,” Seungcheol corrects, to which you roll your eyes. “And unless you want to clean his pee or poop, then no.”

He carefully pulls your arms from around him and stands, leaving you shivering as the cold air hits your bare body.

Seungcheol pauses by the bed when his eyes see your naked torso.

“You do make it hard to leave, though,” he sighs.

You smile and put a hand out for him to grab. He does, and you instantly tug him back onto the bed.

You kiss him quickly, bringing his hands to your chest, covering them so he can’t move away.

“Stay,” you say between kisses.

“Baby,” he protests while squeezing your breasts. His lips purse every time you lean in for another kiss. You grin in hopes you’re convincing him.

“I have,” a kiss, “to go,” a second kiss, “walk the dog.”

You finally stop your torrent of smooches to pout at him.

He chuckles at your expression. “You’re welcome to join.”

“I rather not get mauled,” you scoff and try to pull him closer, but he resists you this time.

“Why are you scared of them?” he wonders.

“I got attacked by one as a kid, and they never are friendly to me.”

“My poor baby,” he coos as he brushes your cheek. “Don’t worry, Cho is really sweet. Why don’t you meet him? Let him sniff you and then I’ll go walk him quickly.”

You shake your head frantically. “I don’t want it—him anywhere near me.”

“I promise you’ll be fine, but I understand. Maybe another time, okay?” he replies. 

You nod and let your arms fall when he pushes off the bed.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he informs while walking to the door.

“Okay,” you mutter and pull the covers over your body. He smiles at you before pushing open the door. Your body freezes when you see black fur at the entrance.

“Hey, sweet boy,” Seungcheol greets the animal happily. He stops the dog from coming inside the room, giving him a few pats and ruffles of the fur before easing him backward. “No, she’s not ready to say hi yet. Come on, let’s go out. You wanna go for a walk?”

Your body relaxes at hearing Seungcheol’s light voice. You’ve never heard it before, and you realize there’s still more to learn about the man.

The door shuts softly. The last thing you see is the dog jumping excitedly as he runs out of view. You hear Seungcheol laugh.

It dawns on you that you don’t know when he got the animal. He definitely wasn’t here the last time you were here. Does this mean you’ll have to stop coming to his apartment now? He spoke highly of the dog, and you trusted Seungcheol to keep you safe, but animals can be unpredictable. Still, you can tell how much Seungcheol likes him.

As instructed, Seungcheol comes back ten minutes later.

“So, how much did you miss me?” he teases while raking a hand through his hair. He takes off his sweatshirt, giving your eyes something to stare at as he walks toward you.

You stop him when he begins to climb into the bed. “Wait.”

“Did something happen while I was gone?” he questions, playfulness replaced with concern.

“No, I just,” you breathe in slowly, “I’d like to meet your dog.”

His eyes grow. “There’s no pressure to do so.”

“I don’t want to be run off by your dog anytime I come here,” you grumble. “Just a quick sniff; that’s all he gets.”

Seungcheol laughs and raises a hand to rub circles against your back. “I forgot to tell you that Cho isn’t mine. My brother had an emergency and needed me to look after him for a few days.”

“Oh,” you hum.

“So, you want to come back here?” he asks, recalling that part of your sentence.

“If you want me here,” you bashfully answer.

He leans down to kiss your forehead, easing your nerves.

“You can come over whenever you want,” he offers. “I would prefer it actually.”

“Why?”

You expect a sweet response, but instead, he just smirks and says, “Because I need someone to clean the place.”

You scoff, smacking at his chest and rolling your eyes.

“Kidding, kidding,” he laughs. He grabs your hand when you go to hit him again. He tugs you closer for a playful kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. “Do you still want to meet Cho?”

“Are you sure he won’t bite off my hand?” you ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies confidently.

Hesitantly, you nod. “Okay then.”

Seungcheol smiles and leaves you with a kiss on the cheek. Like before, the dog greets Seungcheol as soon as the door opens. His tail is wagging, and his mouth is open as he breathes.

“Cherry wants to say hello,” he tells the dog, slowly guiding the animal closer to the bed. Your body is rigid, and you clutch the sheets to your chest. You just hope this isn’t going to be your end.

“Sit,” Seungcheol commands. You watch as Cho does so.

“Okay, hold out your hand, palm down. Yes, just like that. Breathe, baby, it’s okay,” Seungcheol instructs you softly. You glance away but quickly look back. Maybe you can pull your hand away quickly enough before he chomps.

The dog leans his head close, nose wiggling as he sniffs your hand. The few seconds it takes feels like half an hour. Suddenly, the dog’s tongue sticks out. The act coats your hand in slobber, and you screech as you tug your hand to your chest hastily, thinking he bit you.

“It’s okay, Cherry. You’re okay,” Seungcheol soothes you, sitting on the bed. He puts the dog between his legs as he rubs your arm softly. You pull your hand back, sighing with relief when you see it still intact.

“Cho just licked you,” Seungcheol explains.

“S-sorry,” you say, eyes searching for the dog. He sits staring up at Seungcheol with his tail wagging. The pet isn’t lunging at Seungcheol or nibbling off his flesh.

“It’s okay. You did good, baby,” Seungcheol praises, giving you a kiss on the cheek as a reward. “I’m going to take him out, okay?”

You place a hand on his arm. “Has he ever bit you?”

Seungcheol glances at Cho and shakes his head. He gives the pup a loving head rub. “He’s just a big baby. He’s well-behaved. He’s even good with kids.”

“Has he ever bit your brother?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replies.

You peer down at Cho once more. You’re still scared of him, but seeing how much he likes being around Seungcheol, you feel a little bad kicking him out again; especially, since he doesn’t have anybody out there to keep him company.

“H-he can stay if he doesn’t come close to me,” you say cautiously.

“He’ll be fine out, it’s okay,” Seungcheol reassures.

“I trust what you say about him. He seems… okay.”

Seungcheol grins, slowly letting the dog go before climbing into bed. “He is.”

The dog stands, shakes out his fur, and then does something that has you clutching onto Seungcheol. Cho jumps on the bed.

“Oh god, he’s going to eat me,” you cry. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your body, pulling you close. He rubs your arm tenderly.

“No, he’s not,” he laughs. You watch as the dog walks around himself once before plopping down. Luckily, he’s on Seungcheol’s side. Cho rests his head on the bed, watching you both. His tail wags a little, but not as much as before.

“He just wanted to sleep up here. Is that okay?” Seungcheol asks you.

“You let him up here?” you question, knowing some people don’t like their pets on their beds.

Seungcheol shrugs. “The covers are dirty anyway. Might as well let him have a comfy place to nap. Speaking of, do you want to stay the night?”

“That’d be nice,” you smile at him.

You reach for the purse you brought when you first ran from Cho. You tap on your phone to see it’s nearly four in the evening. You didn’t realize how long it’s been since you arrived at eleven.

“Unfortunately, I’m not the best cook, so we may have to do takeout,” Seungcheol says shyly.

You giggle, sending a quick message to your sister that you won’t be home tonight.

“I can cook,” you offer.

Seungcheol looks at you sadly, hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Actually, I only have ramen. I haven’t gotten groceries yet.”

“Oh. I like ramen,” you reply and put your phone down once Seoah replies. Your phone keeps buzzing as she tries to get more information from you, but you simply put the device on Do Not Disturb and place it back in your bag.

“I wanted to treat you to something better than ramen,” Seungcheol says. There’s a faint frown on his lips.

“I don’t mind,” you reassure. “Now, can we sleep a little longer?”

You carefully guide Seungcheol down until his back hits the mattress. After pulling the covers over the both of you, you snuggle against his body.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” he chuckles as he lets you lay him down. He holds you close, eyes staring at the ceiling as he rubs your back.

“Hm.” You close your eyes, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest hypnotize you.

“Baby?” Seungcheol asks. You’re on the verge of sleep, but you hum again to let him know you heard him.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You smile, forcing your eyes open to peer at him. “Can I still wear the dress you got me?”

“You can wear whatever you want, Cherry.”

“Can I pick out an outfit for you, too?” you ask.

“While you have great fashion sense, I’m not sure—” he stops when you begin to plead with your eyes.

“Fuck,” he curses more to himself.

“Please, Cheol?” you ask, voice soft and lips pouting.

“You know I’ll eventually become immune to this, right?” he grumbles. 

The way he words it makes it seem like you’ll be around long enough for that possibility to occur. You nuzzle closer at the thought.  

“Maybe, but right now you’re not,” you smile wickedly. “What do you say?”

“Fine, alright,” he caves.

You lean up, giving him a big kiss as a thank you. He hums against your mouth. You feel his hands go south, but you quickly stop him.

“It’s sleepy time, not sexy time,” you scold light-heartedly when you pull away.

Seungcheol sighs dramatically but yields. “Hurry and sleep then.”

“You’re not going to run away, are you?” You narrow your eyes.

“Never,” Seungcheol smiles down at you.

Your gaze lingers on his eyes, quickly scanning his face. Finally, you let your mind wander freely. You let yourself indulge in how comfortable you feel around him. You don’t have to ignore those illusions you had produced, nor do you have to convince yourself that you only see him as a friend. You can fulfill those fantasies little by little. You don’t have to hide from your emotions. You already feel lighter at letting go of those conflicting thoughts.

Although Seungcheol jokes about keeping you around to clean, you wind up doing it without being asked. You suppose he knows you won’t be able to handle the clutter.

You’re picking up his discarded jeans when something flutters to the floor when you do so. You bend down to grab it.

It’s the receipt from earlier.

While Seungcheol is in the bathroom, you finally have the chance to examine it.

You notice the fabric store name, having only been there a few times since it isn’t local. Your eyes trail down to the item's name. Although it’s a shortened version of the name, you know what it is. 

That brat.

The sound of the bathroom door opening has your eyes snapping up and hand lowering to your side.

“Why did Jeonghan lie to me?” you ask him before he can take two full steps.

Seungcheol looks at you, head tilting and eyebrows knitting.

“What did he lie about?” he questions.

“He didn’t buy that fabric for me,” you scoff and hold out the receipt. “You did.”

Seungcheol’s gaze drops to the paper in your hand. He releases a small exhale.

“It’s not a big deal,” he replies.

“You always say that,” you huff. Your eyes fall back to the receipt, glancing at the price. That makes more sense as to how Jeonghan got it.

“Because it’s true,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you. He carefully takes the receipt from your hand. “I just wanted to give you something you wanted.”

“Why? How’d you even know?”

He folds the paper as he answers, “Dae mentioned it at dinner that one time and Jeonghan told me about it.”

“You didn’t answer the first part,” you call out.

He chuckles softly. “That’s because it should be obvious. It’s because I liked you… I still do.”

“You can like me without buying me expensive things,” you reason.

“I know,” he says. His eyes fall down to the sweater that you wear—it’s his. Your legs are bare and have ankle socks on. “But I still wanted to. So, deal with it, Cherry.”

He gives you a smile before walking away and into the living room. You follow, still weary of Cho and huddling against Seungcheol if he gets too close.

“Hey, wait, you didn’t tell me why Jeonghan lied to me.”

Seungcheol takes two glasses from a cabinet and then shuffles to the fridge. “I asked him to.”

“You? He didn’t steal it or something?” Although you know Jeonghan likes to con others, he isn’t one to steal. Yet, you still want to ask since the whole situation puzzles you.

He laughs, filling the cups with ice as he replies, “No, he’s not like that. I wanted you to have it before the show, but I knew you wouldn’t take it after our fight.”

“You let me think he got it for me,” you state; your lips begin to dip down as you ponder on the thought. 

You remember feeling so thankful to Jeonghan for getting it for you. There’s a pang of guilt knowing you were thanking the wrong person. You finally understand the look on Jeonghan’s face when he gifted it to you.

Seungcheol sets the glasses on the counter, grabbing your chin gently to make you look at him. His fingers are chilly, but they feel good against your warm skin.

“I’m just glad you used it, baby,” he says kindly. He lets go of your chin with a smile.

“Cheol,” you call, a hand reaching out for his bicep. He pauses in turning back to the fridge.

Once he is staring at you, you speak, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t the blue you wanted. It was out of stock, and it would’ve taken too long to ship,” he explains.

You shake your head. “It was perfect. I liked the red more.”

Seungcheol smiles, though one side is lifted as if it’s a borderline smirk.

“I did too. Red looks good on you,” he compliments. One that takes you back to that cursed poetry lounge night. It was the first time he called you Cherry, and you called him Cheol. The first time you were alone with him for longer than fifteen minutes. The first time your body reacted in ways that went beyond the line of friendship.

“So I’ve been told,” you murmur.

“Have you?” he teases. “Whoever said that must be really smart.”

“Yeah, sure—” you begin, only to jump and knock into Seungcheol when Cho unexpectedly rubs his nose against your leg. 

Seungcheol’s laugh doesn’t drown out the sound of your thudding heart in your ears, but at least it offers some (annoying) comfort. Cho is going to take some getting used to.

previous chapter \\ pretty please masterpost // the end

A/N: Although the series is over, I would love to continue writing this couple in the future! Please look forward to some bonus scenes... Perhaps from Cheol's POV? My ask box is open for any questions or comments about this series! Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭 omg *trying not to freak out that it's over* (also wattpad says this fic's read time is 6 hours and 11 minutes LOLOLOLOL... nice 😅 but if you're a slow reader like me, that time is prob way more haha. this being said, ty for ur time while reading!)

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @iammisstora, @christinewithluv, @lithelust, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @yoozuku, @lockburn-castle, @mystikhal-blog, @oncloudvii23 (cant tag :c), @cheolcherries, @mingyublues, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @comounlunar(cant tag :c), @minhui896, @doom-fics

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[cinnamonest]

pleaseee, the day someone makes a gi rapist au ill fucking ASCEND. and i dont just mean like, regular noncon fics, i mean aus in which for one reason or another theyre canonically rapists (like zhongli has definitely raped a fellow god to show his dominence and beidous probably fucked one of her crew members while they were drunk, or maybe xiao literally cant control himself due to his karmic energy around women so he just rapes them ): stuff like that). im glad we're having this convo bc it just makes me so (:

REALITY CAN BE WHATEVER I WANT

But seriously I mean I'm not the type of person to insist something is canon when it's not but I could totally see it/like to think so.

I mean Kaeya and Diluc both 1000% seem like they would have a subordinate/maid that they at least sexually harass if not full on blackmail and manipulate into sex on the regular. Diluc canonically has a lot of dudes trying to get him to marry their daughters... He's gotta at least have set his eyes on one, or perhaps ignores all those dudes bc he already has a cute lil maid he's pressuring into sex all the time and already planning how to ascend her from maid to wife status. Kaeya's canonically very flirtatious and is implied to have emotional/loneliness issues, so it makes sense he's definitely gonna latch onto the first dumb naive little thing that doesn't catch a whiff of the crazy from a mile away and allows him to get close. Also could easily get away with a male subordinate especially, because then people would be less likely to suspect harassment, and he can get away with being alone with them even more. But even a cute maid for the knights or something would work just as well. And as I've said these are our prime date rape drugging candidates, so no little darling in Teyvat isn't safe if the local handsome businessman or charming knight asks you to come get a drink with them.

Zhongli and Venti 100% you can't convince me they didn't, the archon war and all that. Godhood is brutal, sometimes cute lil gods/goddesses get fucked by superior deities and that's just how it is. Barbatos probably felt insecure over being a weaker archon and sought out some little god or goddess that was even tinier and weaker and offered them protection in exchange for servitude or the like. Morax definitely brutalized some little god/goddess that dated challenge his authority and power.

Xingqiu... Probably has an arranged marriage set up already. You know how aristocrats are and all that. He sees his future lil wife every now and then bc they have to make public appearances and have to sit with each other at social gatherings, and he always whines like the brat he is. Come on you're gonna be married eventually anyway! What are you "saving" for? Go ahead and have sex with him NOW there's no point in waiting he's a horny teen boy dammit he has NEEDS >:/ definitely whines and pressures her until she gives in and now they have... Premarital marital relations every time they see each other and he gets them to sneak away from crowded social functions to go fuck in various places around the estate.

And you're right poor bb Xiao has no self control, Razor too. You mean to tell me if either of those two find some cute girl wandering all by herself they're just gonna sit there and do nothing? Let her pass? I think the fuck not. Some poor gorl that decided to go wandering through the woods or adepti territory and just got lost, or perhaps made the mistake of stripping down to bathe in a river or the like while camping out in the wilderness. Literally like animals, just on-sight acting on impulse to fuck her there in the wilderness and then drag her home with them.

Childe too. Probably a little trainee assigned to him. He has all that authority and power and I'm supposed to believe he wouldn't abuse it to fuck and impregnate a sweet fatui soldier?? Ruin her hopes and dreams of becoming successful and tie her down with a baby instead?? Of course he has.

And considering the nature of yanderes hiding darlings away, it's not like we as the player would ever know if there is a poor lil thing locked up somewhere in the dawn winery or the dragonspine research camp or a teapot somewhere. So who knows... But yeah those are the most canonically likely imo, the rest are certainly well on their way there though. A matter of time and opportunity.

Chongyun and Bennett are being held back by morality so they probably haven't yet... They just need a qt to push them over the edge with being a cocktease until they snap. Albedo is just so asocial he hasn't had the opportunity yet, but once a sweet little qt comes along and triggers his emotions he'll get em locked away in a cute little cage somewhere. No worries, they will all become awful with time as they should be.

[smells-like-mettaton]

Perhaps #5 (Hold my Hand) with Papyton for the fic ask game if you are still doing it?

(I hope you're okay with me writing this as a sequel to one of my other papyton fics! This could still be read on its own, but it will make more sense if you read the first chapter. If you don't want to, just know that the part in italics at the beginning is from a fanfic that Alphys wrote.)

The Greatest Fanfiction of All: The Sequel

Rating: T Word Count: 1687 Read on AO3: here

---

Papyrus’s hands are warm. Of course they are. Theyre always covered in gloves. Not even Mettaton, his boyfriend of one month and thirteen days, knows what his bony phalanges look like beneath the plush red fabric.

But tonight, that's going to change.

xxx

Exactly one month and thirteen days had passed since Mettaton had read the beginning of Alphys’s “papyton” fanfiction. It also happened to be one month and thirteen days since Papyrus had agreed to be his boyfriend, sending him on a magical journey of love and romance.

That journey had given him plenty of new perspectives and discoveries. Yet the mystery of what lie under Papryus’s gloves was not one of them.

He sat next to Mettaton on their usual bench at the center of the hedge maze. The sky was dark with stormclouds, which kept any stray spectators away from the park. Papyrus was prepared, as usual; a tall MTT-Brand Umbrella leaned against his femur. Nothing and no one would ruin this moment.

Now Mettaton just needed to have the moment. Preferably without resorting to calling Alphys and Frisk again.

“METTATON? IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” Papyrus asked, his browbone furrowing in concern.

Mettaton’s fingers were already laced through his; Mettaton rubbed his thumb against the back of Papyrus’s glove.

“Well. It is a very special day, darling.” Special enough that Mettaton had worn the outfit Papyrus loved most—a cropped shirt that said COOL ROBOT and galaxy-print leggings that hugged his metallic thighs. Papyrus himself had worn a bright Tetris shirt and shorts that exposed his gleaming femurs.

“IT IS?” Papyrus blinked. “IS THERE A SALE ON RIGATONI? BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT STARTED NEXT WEEK.”

“Hm? Oh—not that I know of, but I will keep that in mind.” He imagined creating a pasta bouquet for Papyrus, and a smile graced his lips. “Today is the one month and thirteen day anniversary of our glamorous romance.”

“WOWIE! TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE DATING A HOT ROBOT!” Papyrus grinned, pressing his teeth to Mettaton’s cheek in a close approximation of a kiss. “HAPPY ONE MONTH AND THIRTEEN DAYS, METTATON! IS THERE A SPECIAL WAY YOU WANT TO CELEBRATE?”

It was perfect. Mettaton couldn’t have set it up better if he tried.

“Actually…” He turned Papyrus’s hand over, examining every seam and stitch in his crimson glove. “I was hoping to see your hands. I know they’re just as handsome as the rest of you.”

He winked, and a light blush spread across Papyrus’s cheekbones.

“MY HANDS? I’D GLOVE TO! BUT, ERM…” His fingers disentangled from Mettatons, instead fidgeting nervously with the hem of his right glove. “I DON’T KNOW THAT YOU WOULD FIND THEM AS UNBEARABLY ATTRACTIVE AS THE REST OF ME.”

Coming from Papyrus, that was practically a statement of self-loathing. Guilt bubbled in Mettaton’s soul-tank.

“Beautiful.” He grasped the top of his boyfriend’s arms and squeezed them gently. “There is not a bone in your body that I would not find attractive. Of course, I will not ask you to perform if you are suffering stage fright, but I do think you shine so much brighter in the light.”

Papyrus smiled a little, though his browbone was still turned upward with worry.

"IF YOU'RE SURE…"

"Positive as my ratings, darling."

Papyrus nodded slowly. "I TRUST YOU, METTATON."

Those words were like ambrosia to Mettaton's soul. He would do anything to remain worthy of his boyfriend's trust.

"PLEASE, JUST… DON'T BE FRIGHTENED, ALRIGHT?"

Mettaton couldn't imagine anything about Papyrus being frightening.

Then, with agonizing care, Papyrus peeled off his gloves. And Mettaton understood.

The bones of his hands were scorched an ashen gray, nearly black. Hairline cracks laced through them like spiderwebs. Mettaton was half afraid that if he touched them, they would crumble to dust.

"I'M FINE, REALLY!" Papyrus must have noticed the look on his face, no matter how quickly Mettaton had schooled his expression. "THESE BURNS ARE SO OLD, I BARELY NOTICE THEY'RE THERE!"

His grin was strained. Mettaton wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he didn't dare.

"They don't hurt?" Mettaton asked, then winced. He could've phrased that more tactfully. It was probably better than asking how on earth the injury had happened, at least.

"WELL… THEY ARE A BIT SENSITIVE WITHOUT MY GLOVES. THEY HAVE HEALING MAGIC, YOU SEE." Papyrus held out one of his red gloves, his expression turning to one of pride. "SANS DID THE SEWING, AND I DID THE ENCHANTMENT."

"No wonder you love them so much." Mettaton smiled. It was adorable how much Papyrus loved his brother. Their love had inspired Mettaton to finally patch up his relationship with Blooky and Mew Mew.

Papyrus smiled back, running a charred fingertip fondly over the fabric. "WOULD YOU… LIKE TO TRY ONE ON?"

"Me?" Mettaton blinked.

"OF COURSE! WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO EXPERIENCE THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S LEGENDARY HEALING MAGIC FIRSTHAND?"

Mettaton chuckled at the pun. "How could I possibly refuse?"

He slipped off his white gloves, revealing the unsightly bolts in his own fingers. He hardly felt self-conscious about that after seeing Papyrus's hands, though.

Papyrus's glove fit like a dream. Like holding his hand, only from the inside. Warmth seeped from the fabric into his metal joints, slipping through his cracks like sweet oil.

"This is… quite the enchantment," he breathed.

Papyrus couldn’t be in pain with that much healing magic caressing his bones. But on the other hand, even the constant healing magic had failed to permanently erase the scars. Mettaton still wasn’t too familiar with physical injuries, but surely that wasn’t normal, right?

Papyrus’s wink sounded like magical glitter."WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M VERY ENCHANTING."

He looked just as bright as ever. Just as energetic, as full of life.

Just as beautiful, inside and out.

"That you are, darling." Mettaton kissed his cheek.

Papyrus pulled his left glove back onto his hand, then twined his fingers with Mettaton's. Red on red, warmth on warmth Their hands matched perfectly.

"YOU PROBABLY HAVE SOME QUESTIONS," Papyrus said quietly.

Mettaton's eye flickered to Papyrus's bare right hand before returning to his eyesockets.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable with, darling."

Mettaton was curious of course. If this injury had been caused by another monster, they would face the wrath of a true killer robot. Knowing Papyrus, though, he had probably forgiven whoever was responsible.

"I ALWAYS FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH YOU." He smiled. "AND IT IS… NICE. TO HAVE SOMEONE BESIDES SANS KNOW THIS."

"No one else knows?" Mettaton’s eyes widened. He'd thought Undyne would have found out, whether Papyrus told her on purpose or she burned off his gloves during one of their cooking lessons.

"I AM A SKELETON OF MANY SECRETS." Papyrus winked again. This time it sounded like tinkling bells. "IT HELPS THAT NO ONE ELSE REMEMBERS THE ACCIDENT, THOUGH."

An accident. No one had hurt Papyrus on purpose.

Mettaton sighed in relief, powering down his killer robot protocols.

"I WAS HELPING MY DAD WITH HIS WORK ON THE CORE. I ALWAYS CALIBRATED THE PUZZLES WHILE HE CALIBRATED THE GEOTHERMAL POWER LEVELS."

Papyrus looked down at their tangled hands, his expression distant.

"I STILL DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. ON THE DAYS SANS REMEMBERS, HE PROMISES THAT IT WASN'T MY FAULT. THAT DAD WAS TOO CARELESS. BUT THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, AND DAD, HE… HE FELL…"

Something in Mettaton crushed as Papyrus's voice cracked.

"I WAS LUCKIER. THE BLAST ONLY GOT MY HANDS." The smile returned.

"Papyrus…"

Mettaton didn't know what to say. What could he say? Ghosts didn't have parents. His cousins were his family, but he couldn't imagine them dying, either. Blooky physically couldn't.

But this wasn't about him! It was about Papyrus, who had lost his father and scarred his hands and still counted himself lucky.

"DON'T BE SAD, METTATON. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. LONGER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE."

Papyrus looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Mettaton saw something old. Mettaton had been alive—albeit as a ghost—for nearly two centuries. Right now, though, Mettaton wondered if Papyrus was even older than that.

"I suppose so,” he reluctantly admitted. “I don't even remember an explosion at the CORE."

"OH, THAT'S NORMAL. APPARENTLY DAD WAS RATHER FORGETTABLE." His smile was sad. "EVEN SANS DOESN'T ALWAYS REMEMBER HIM. BUT I… WELL."

He closed his blackened fist.

"IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO FORGET."

Mettaton opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Papyrus was looking for a response.

“WHEW! ALL THIS HONESTY IS EXHAUSTING!!” Sweat beaded on his skull. “DO YOU WANT TO GO GET NICE CREAMS?”

“Of course, darling, but—are you sure that you’re okay?” Mettaton couldn’t help the concern in his voice. It wasn’t every day that he unlocked his boyfriend’s tragic backstory.

And here he’d been so concerned about something as trivial as holding hands. He truly was as selfish as everyone believed.

“PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME,” Papyrus said firmly. His hand gave Mettaton’s a tight squeeze. “I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID IT WAS LONG AGO. PRACTICALLY A DIFFERENT LIFETIME. I ONLY TOLD YOU SO THAT YOU WOULD KNOW HOW MUCH I TRUST YOU.”

Trust. Mettaton trusted Papyrus, too. Trusted that he didn’t need Mettaton to coddle him. Trusted that if he wanted Mettaton’s help, he would ask for it.

“I… thank you, darling.” Ghostly tears welled in his eyes. “Your trust means everything to me.”

“WELL THEN!” Papyrus’s grin turned mischievous. “I TRUST YOU TO KISS ME UNTIL I CAN’T BREATHE!”

Mettaton’s fans whirred and whirred. The sound was quickly drowned out by the raindrops that began to fall and fizzle on his shoulder pads.

“Darling, you’re a skeleton. You don’t have lungs.”

“NEITHER DO YOU.” Papyrus twirled the umbrella before popping it open, protecting Mettaton from the threat of short-circuiting.

(From the rain, at least.)

“You truly know how to give me a challenge, darling.” Mettaton cuddled closer, reaching up to brush his red-gloved hand against Papyrus’s cheekbone.

“ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’LL RISE TO IT!”

Mettaton grinned back, and that was exactly what he did.