#because admitting the truth will just shatter him

[laniidae-passerine]

There’s a very easy way to get around the fact that Assad is unable to pass for a teeenager if the show wants to adapt TVA and that’s to rely on the theme of unreliable narration. Armand begins retelling his history and according to him, he looked like he was in his early adulthood. No older than twenty four, for sure, but also not any younger than twenty. And then, just when the audience has bought it, just when this version of events has been presented as the truth for long enough, someone questions it. Asks if he really looked like that. Asks if he’s being honest with himself. And for the briefest moment, we flashback to Amadeo, the age he was when Marius first saw him. Beaten, shackled, afraid. And undeniably a child.

[aleksatia]

🧡Caleb - Five Years Later

The third in a series of stories exploring MC’s return after five years of silence. Others are coming soon — links will be added as they’re published.

Original ask that sparked this continuation.

Sylus | Rafayel | Zayne | Xavier (coming soon)

CW/TW: Grief / Loss of a loved one, Terminal illness, PTSD themes, Emotional trauma, Mentions of death / implied past death, Medical procedures / hospitals, Restraints (medical context), Panic attacks / nightmares, confinement / loss of agency, Non-consensual medical intervention, Self-worth / guilt issues, Power imbalance (emotional), Non-graphic violence, Brief medical body horror, Touch-starvation / intimacy after trauma, Bittersweet tone, heavy emotional intensity, Hope & love, but not always soft

Pairing: Caleb x former partner!you Genre: Sci-fi drama, heartbreak and healing, soul-deep devotion. Heavy on angst, soft on reunion. Enemies to… something more broken and beautiful. MC Context: You disappeared five years ago. He never forgave you. Now you’re back — with a secret that’s killing you slowly. Summary: Admiral Caleb was forged in war and tempered by loss — and you were the one wound that never healed. When fate throws you back into his orbit, neither of you are ready for what resurfaces. Letters, graves, rain-soaked rooftops, and the love that refuses to die quietly. Word Count: 8.4K — stand-alone… for now. 🥀 This story was loosely inspired by Caleb’s latest Myth. Just a touch of that vibe, y’know?

Author’s Note: Okay, full confession — I cried from the first word to the very last. Maybe it’s just me (I’ll admit, Caleb is my soft spot). Or maybe… it just hit something. Either way, I’d love to hear what you think.

The anniversary of Josephine’s death — and Caleb’s own — landed squarely on an unscheduled visit to Lincon City.

The admiral rarely returned. Not unless duty bared its teeth and dragged him back. Too painful. Too empty. The wounds too fresh, even now.

He had once been Colonel Caleb of the Farspace Fleet. Now, promoted to the soulless rank of Admiral, he moved like a ghost through corridors lined with medals and silence. But today… something clawed at him. A compulsion. A tremor from a buried place.

He bought lupines. Tall, excessive, dignified in a way grief never is. The kind you buy for someone who will never see them. And then he walked — alone — to the cemetery.

He had only been here once before. With you.

Josephine’s grave was strangely well-tended. No weeds. Edged clean. A vase of pink lilies — fresh, impossibly so — sat nestled against the stone like someone had just set them down and whispered something soft and final. Her favorite flowers. He remembered.

His first thought: the groundskeepers. Maybe the city did something for the dead on anniversaries. Some quiet bureaucratic kindness. But that didn’t explain the lilies. How would they know?

His eyes scanned the black headstone. “Josephine,” carved in solemn, obedient serif. A name, a dash, two dates, and silence. His grandmother. Gone six years.

She hadn’t died of age. The blast had taken her.

But you — you were different.

Five years. Five years since you vanished. Gone not like a candle snuffed, but like smoke ripped from the air.

He had never accepted it. Not really. Some part of him believed you were taken. That you had been forced to go.

Because the truth — the one that stared back at him in sleepless nights and shattered mirrors — was that you did leave. You walked away. No message. No farewell. Just absence.

The storm was building in the clouds above, heavy and low like judgment. Thunder sat unspoken just beyond the hills, crouching. Caleb stood still, arms at his sides, as the sky thickened.

Why?

It was a question that never left. A question with a thousand answers. Each one sharper than the last.

The scent of wet earth rose in the air. Ozone, crackling like something electric and cruel. His hand twitched toward his wristwatch. He was due back. His itinerary was brutal. The war waited for no one — not even the grieving.

He knelt, placed the bouquet down with the softness of ritual. A last gesture. A futile offering.

Then his eyes drifted. To his own gravestone.

There it was. Cold. Familiar. His name, etched beneath hers, waiting for its second date.

And something else. A white envelope.

Untouched by time. Unsullied by rain or rot. Resting gently, like it had grown there.

His breath caught.

The lilies. The letter. The impossible coincidence.

Then the first drop hit — heavy, warm — against his cheek. A second, on the envelope. Then more.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip—  Draaip.

The kind of rain that doesn’t fall, but descends. Like judgment. Like memory.

Caleb stepped forward. One foot. Then another. His boots sank slightly into the earth, as if the ground resisted.

He reached out — hands trembling, trembling — like the time he pulled an FS-90 out of a death spiral back at the Academy, nose brushing the snow-capped ridges of the mountains peaks.

He lifted the envelope. It was light. Too light. But on it — one word, scrawled in handwriting he knew too well.

Caleb.

Nothing more.

He shoved it into the inner pocket of his uniform, as though it were explosive. As though it might burn through the fabric and into his chest.

And just like that — as if spurred by some instinct he couldn't name — he turned on his heel and walked fast, too fast, back toward the car.

His heart didn’t race. It pounded.

Like thunder.

The drive to the airfield felt like a lifetime, though the roads were mercifully clear. No evening traffic, no pointless delays. The driver, attuned to the admiral’s mood, pressed hard on the accelerator, but still — Caleb tapped his fingers against the armrest with restless urgency, the motion sharp and impatient.

The envelope continued to burn in his chest.

Rain traced thick, winding rivers down the window, a slow, rhythmic descent like tears he never shed for you. When you left, it wasn’t just his heart that broke. It was his soul, his body, his being. Everything cracked and caved inward — except his eyes. Those remained stubbornly dry.

Now, though… he was close. And that made him angry.

Furious, even.

It infuriated him that just as he had begun to stitch some version of his life back together — a life without you, without your voice, your touch, your name — you reappeared. Like a ghost. Too close to ignore, too far to hold.

If you had wanted to return, you would have come back. Not like this. Not through riddles and shadows and silence. You would’ve stood at his door, or on a tarmac, or behind him in some briefing room like the world hadn’t ended. And he — damn him — he would have forgiven you. Instantly. Because that’s who he was. That’s what you had always counted on.

And that was what made him want to scream.

He didn’t want to forgive. He didn’t want to read your damned letter, to parse your reasons, your pleas, your desperate little words asking to be understood.

He didn’t want to analyze your cruelty. He didn’t want to empathize with it.

For the first time in five years, Caleb felt like he could finally, truly erase you. Not forget — never forget — but cut you out like rot. And live with the absence.

The letter pressed against his chest like a bullet. He placed his palm over it, broad and unsteady, as though trying to keep it from puncturing skin. As if it hadn’t already pierced him, deep and final.

The only sane choice would be to throw it out the window. Let the wind take it, let the rain dissolve it, let the world carry it into the dark.

Maybe you hadn’t even meant for him to find it. Maybe this was a confession to no one. A whisper into the void. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him at all — just for yourself.

To ease the weight.

To breathe again.

Selfish.

Selfish to write it. Selfish to hope for release, when he was still walking in agony, flesh and blood wrapped around something broken.

He didn’t want you to breathe.

He didn’t want you to be free of the pain, not when he was still wearing it — every day, every night, every silence between heartbeats.

How dare you write to him?

It was beneath an admiral to take the controls.

But today, Caleb didn’t care.

Protocol could burn. Chain of command, procedure, rank — all of it. He needed to feel the illusion of control again, even if it came in the form of a military jet barely older than some of the crew still stationed on the tarmac.

He didn’t ask the pilots to stand down. He ordered them. One glance at his face, and none of them argued.

The rain was steady now, carving grooves into the tarmac like old scars. The cockpit smelled of steel, vinyl, and cold systems spinning up to life.

Caleb slid into the pilot’s seat. No ceremony. No reverence. Just quiet, deliberate motion. The envelope — that stupid, unbearable envelope — landed in the co-pilot’s seat like a stone slab. Heavy enough, he thought, to drag the aircraft down with him.

And maybe that would’ve been for the best.

He ran the preflight checks by muscle memory.

Fuel quantity. Sufficient. Confirmed crossfeed valve closed.

Hydraulic pressure. Green. Full.

Flight controls. Surfaces free and correct — elevator, rudder, ailerons.

Navigation systems. Online. INS aligned. No drift.

Avionics. Check.

Oxygen. Flow normal, regulators armed.

Engine start. Ignition armed. Starter sequence began. One engine, then the second — turbines spun up with that low whine that sounded too much like a scream if you listened the wrong way.

He couldn’t breathe. But he was going through the motions.

Flight clearance received. Tower approved for immediate departure.

The jet eased down the taxiway, engines rumbling like restrained violence beneath him. His hands on the throttle were steady. Too steady.

Takeoff checklist. Flaps set. Trim neutral. Brakes released.

He pushed the throttles forward.

The aircraft responded like it wanted to run. Acceleration pressed him back into the seat. Rain lashed the windscreen. The moment the wheels left the tarmac, the ache in his chest twisted tighter.

There. He was airborne.

And it didn’t help. Not like it used to.

Altitude climbed. Ten thousand. Twenty. Forty. Cruising.

He stabilized at 37,000 feet and did something he almost never allowed himself: he engaged the autopilot.

The moment the system took over, he tore off the harness with a sharp, frustrated motion. The metal buckle clattered against the seat.

His hand reached for the envelope.

It was still warm from being pressed to his chest. He turned it over in his fingers, letting the edge bite into his skin. He very nearly tore it in half.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he broke the seal, carefully, precisely — like disarming a mine.

And there it was. That handwriting. Your handwriting.

Messy. Crooked. Rushed. Impatient. Every letter a little too hard, as though you’d nearly punctured the page. You had always gripped your pen like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world. You hadn’t changed.

For a long moment, Caleb didn’t read. He just stared at the shapes of the words. The loops and slants. Like he was watching you from the other side of interrogation glass — close enough to touch, unreachable all the same.

And then he started.

Once. Again. A third time.

Each pass scraped deeper, like reading the report of his own autopsy.

His hand trembled. He didn’t even realize he was breathing too fast until the cockpit hissed a low-pressure warning. He ignored it.

He slammed the harness back across his chest and keyed the comms.

“Control, this is Delta-Two-Alpha requesting vector for immediate return.”

There was a pause.

“…Confirm that, Delta-Two-Alpha. Reason for return?”

He took the yoke again, flicked autopilot disengage with a sharp tap. The jet jerked slightly, now fully under his hand.

“Command directive,” he said flatly.

Another pause.

“Understood. Return approved. You’re clear for turn on heading zero-one-five.”

Caleb didn’t wait. He threw the aircraft into a steep bank, cutting through the clouds like a blade.

He knew where to find you. He had known before he stepped into the cockpit. He had known standing at the grave, the envelope still untouched.

But he hadn’t wanted to find you then.

Now?

Now he didn’t have a choice.

The viewing deck of the Linkon TV Tower was nearly empty.

Closing time was drawing near, but the rain had chased away what few tourists and visitors remained. You stood at the railing in a long lavender raincoat, hood pulled deep over your head. The fabric clung to your arms and back, soaked through. Your sneakers were long past wet, the chill of the concrete seeping into your bones. But you didn’t move. Didn’t shift. As if the weather had pinned you here in time, or maybe memory had.

The city below had disappeared — swallowed by fog, by stormclouds, by everything that refused to be seen. No headlights, no stars. Just the endless roar of rain and the cold sting of being the last one left.

Your fingers rested lightly on the metal bar. Your eyes were turned upward, into the vast nothing. Watching clouds drift across an invisible sky. You might have stood there till morning, if not for the footsteps behind you.

Slow. Measured. Not security. Too quiet.

“I would give a lot to know what you’re thinking right now,” said a voice too worn to belong to the man you once loved.

You turned slowly.

Caleb stood a few paces away, still in uniform. The rain hadn’t spared him. His hair was damp, the shoulders of his coat dark with water. But he stood like the storm couldn’t touch him. Like it wouldn’t dare.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you said.

“I almost didn’t.”

You smiled — not from joy, but from pain that needed a face.

“I thought maybe you’d moved on by now,” you said. “Married. Found peace.”

“I’m not built for peace,” he said flatly.

“No,” you murmured, “you weren’t. But I hoped... maybe you’d become someone who was.”

He took a step forward, his boots clicking against the wet metal. “You hoped I’d forget you.”

“I hoped you’d survive me.”

The words hit. You saw it — the smallest shift in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. But his voice stayed calm.

“You knew I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I wrote the letter because I needed to say it. Not because I thought you'd ever read it.”

“You didn’t want me to.”

You hesitated. “No.”

“Then why leave it where I’d find it?”

Another silence. Then: “Because I wanted to believe you wouldn’t come.”

Caleb’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened. The air between you grew tighter, like a pressure drop before impact.

“I read it,” he said.

Your breath caught. “I know.”

“I know everything now.”

You nodded.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t accuse. But his voice was a blade dragged slowly across flesh.

“You could’ve told me. You could’ve stayed.”

“I couldn’t breathe, Caleb.” You didn’t mean to say it out loud — but the truth had a weight of its own. “You loved me like I was something to guard. Not someone to hold.”

“I was trying to keep you safe.”

“And I was trying to live.”

His lips parted, as if to argue — but nothing came. Because you both knew: you were right. And so was he.

You took a step closer, rain dripping from your sleeves.

“I didn’t want you to be there when it started. I didn’t want you to watch me fade.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s too late.”

Caleb looked at you like you were a puzzle he used to know how to solve. Like something once sacred that had rewritten itself in a language he couldn’t read.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you said.

“Good.”

Your breath hitched — not from the cruelty of it, but from the honesty.

“I just wanted to see you again,” you whispered. “Once. Before...”

You didn’t finish. You didn’t need to.

He stepped closer. This time, the space between you nearly vanished. But he didn’t reach out.

“You always ran when it got quiet,” he said.

“And you never let anything rest.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I hated you,” he said, voice rough. “For five years, I hated you for leaving. For taking my soul with you and vanishing into nothing.”

You closed your eyes.

“And now?”

He hesitated.

Then: “Now I just hate that there’s nothing left to save.”

The rain didn’t stop. Neither of you moved.

But something broke, quietly — not between you, but inside you both.

And maybe that was the beginning. 

Or the end.

He stepped closer. Not to you — no. To the railing.

Leaning casually, almost carelessly, over the edge, he stared down into the city’s abyss. The lights below were blurred by fog, rain, and altitude — a slow-motion fall into nothingness. Even resting like that, shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly as he looked down, Caleb seemed impossibly distant. Removed.

Admiral.

Not just a rank anymore. Not a role. It had consumed him — the strictness, the cold efficiency, the discipline etched into every movement. He was the title now. All calculation, no softness. All control, no warmth. A man weaponized by grief, then sanctified by command.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” you asked quietly, your voice fragile, almost drowned out by the rain.

He didn’t answer at first.

You studied his face — the years had been merciful to him in the way they only are to men shaped by war. Just over thirty. A trace of silver at the temples. Skin clean-shaven, jaw locked, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

He looked like marble come alive. Cold, perfect, untouchable.

You wanted to reach out. Just to touch his face. To feel warmth. To remind yourself he was still made of skin, not armor.

“We saved a lot of people that day,” you added, almost to fill the silence. “From Wanderer.”

“I remember,” he said, his voice low. “On the train ride here, you fell asleep on my shoulder. There was some romantic song playing on loop — too sweet to ever be real.”

You smiled, barely. It hurt. “Caleb… would you still do it now? Jump like that? Into the void. As if death is something you can bargain with. Something you can command to pause.”

He tilted his head, still watching the city below.

“I can stop a fall. I can control flight paths. Bend gravity to my will. But not death. If I could…” He paused. His voice dropped lower, quieter. “I wouldn’t be here.”

When he turned to you, the change was surgical. A full turn of his body, attention locked on yours. His eyes scanned your face with precision, not feeling.

He looked at you like he was trying to remember.

Like five years had burned away not just the love, but the memory of it.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you think I’ll be able to save you this time?”

The question landed like a shard of ice in your spine. You flinched — not visibly, but inside, where it counted.

There was something wrong in his voice. Not anger. Not desperation. Just… wrong. Like he was rehearsing something he didn’t understand.

“I’m not asking you to save me,” you said. “I never wanted that. I never wanted to be your project. Your fragile rose behind glass — something that, if shattered, would take your whole world with it.”

He didn’t reply. But he looked away. Not down. Not up. Just… away.

And then — a sound behind you.

A door creaked. Footsteps, hesitant. The voice of someone too young, too aware.

“I— I’m sorry— sir— admiral— I didn’t— The tower’s closed, I—” The poor security guard stumbled over every word as he recognized the face that had appeared in military reports, field briefings, and news feeds. The ghost in the sky. The man who never fell.

Caleb turned slightly toward him, not quite sighing — more like resetting. 

“Where are you staying?”

You blinked. “Caleb—”

He raised a hand, not unkindly, but final.

“Where.”

You swallowed. “The Midland Motel. Down by the shuttle terminal.”

He said nothing, just nodded once and began walking. You followed.

You knew you shouldn’t. But you were too tired to argue. Too wet, too cold, too broken.

He didn’t offer his coat. Didn’t say a word. Just pressed the call button for the lift and waited in silence.

The car ride was quiet. The city blurred past in gray, streaked neon. His vehicle — black, sleek, military grade but dressed as civilian — moved like a shadow through the storm.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak.

You kept your arms wrapped around yourself in the damp raincoat, your soaked sleeves sticking to your skin.

He brought you to a hotel you didn’t recognize. Modern, expensive, silent. The kind of place that smells like clean money and consequence.

At the front desk, he handed over a card — no hesitation — and said, “One bedroom suite. Highest floor. Immediate check-in.”

No questions asked.

The elevator ride was wordless. The carpet muffled your wet shoes.

He opened the door. The lights came on softly. Beige walls, minimalist decor, glass and brushed steel. Tasteful. Lifeless.

He handed you a folded robe from the closet. “Bathroom’s through there,” he said. “Go shower. I’ll order food.”

You took the robe with slow hands, staring at it for a moment too long.

Then, wordlessly, you turned and walked into the bathroom. The door closed with a quiet click behind you.

Warmth. Dry tile. A mirror.

And, for just a moment — silence.The kind that wraps around you like grief you haven’t cried yet.

The robe was too large. Too soft. Too warm.

You could have wrapped it around yourself three times and still gotten lost in it.

On the small round table near the panoramic window, a meal waited. Caleb hadn’t bothered to order anything you used to love. He remembered, of course — that was never the issue. He simply hadn’t tried. The selection was closer to a field ration than a dinner: high protein, complex carbs, dense fats. Efficient. Precise.

You weren’t hungry. You hadn’t been for a long time.

He’d removed the jacket of his uniform, now down to a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. And still, something in the room made it feel wrong to sit without permission. He didn’t even look at you — just gave a practiced gesture toward the chair.

You sat on the very edge of it.

Your gaze lingered on the veins in his forearms, raised and defined — marks of control, of command. Of power. Hands that once cradled you through entire nights, hands that had trembled against your skin as if you were the only thing in the world keeping him human.

Now, all of it felt like a dream.

You broke off a piece of warm bread. Turned toward the rain outside. Watched the world bleed behind the glass.

“Did you see a doctor?” he asked.

Not worry. Not fear. Just curiosity. Clinical, detached. A data point to confirm.

You shrugged slowly. “Yeah. Dr. Zane was the first. Then came the rest.”

“And he didn’t tell me anything?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” you said. “I asked him not to.”

“So I wasn’t worthy of the truth?”

You exhaled — sharp and stung, like you’d been slapped. “Caleb… do I really have to explain this? I was trying to spare you the pain.”

He laughed. Cold. Harsh. Suffocating.

The room, already dim, felt darker suddenly. As though the lights had dimmed in reverence to his bitterness.

“Spare me? Oh, brilliant. You really did a hell of a job. I didn’t suffer at all. You disappeared and I just breathed a sigh of relief, right? Out of sight, out of mind — that’s what you think?”

“It’s not the same.”

He slammed a fist down on the table. Plates jumped. Glass cracked under his hand.

“If you had died in my arms, at least I would’ve known. I would’ve known you didn’t leave because I wasn’t enough. Because I loved you too hard, too deep, too much. I would’ve known you had no choice.”

“You wouldn’t have let me die in peace!” you shot back, voice rising. “You would’ve torn the damn planet apart looking for a cure. You would’ve ripped through every system, Farspace tunnel, shouting that it’s almost over, that we’re so close, just hold on—”

He stared at you. Unblinking. Breathing slow.

The storm inside him didn’t explode. It collapsed, inward — contained by the vice grip of discipline. Of rank.

“If loving you with everything I had — completely, recklessly, overwhelmingly — was a crime…” His voice was low now. Not soft. Deadly. “Then yes. I’m guilty. You pronounced the sentence without a trial, Pip-squeak. And I served it. Five years, no parole.”

He stood, pushing away the untouched plate. The chair didn’t scrape. It moved like a blade being sheathed.

“But let me tell you something.” He turned his gaze on you like ice hardening in place. “Love, when betrayed and ground into dust, doesn’t always fade. Sometimes… it turns into contempt.”

The word hit like a slap across the soul.

You couldn’t speak. Your breath stalled in your throat.

“Eat something,” he said. “And get some rest.”

“And you—?”

“I have too much work to babysit you.”

“I don’t want to stay here!”

He paused by the door. Turned half toward you — not enough to be kind.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he said. “Because I do. Sorry, sweetheart, but tonight? You don’t get a choice. I may be, as you so astutely pointed out, a cold-hearted bastard — but even now, I can’t let you wander the streets in wet clothes, racing to meet your own end.”

With that, he slid back into his uniform jacket in one fluid, dismissive motion and stepped out.

The door closed behind him with mechanical precision. The lock flashed red. Like a warning.

Your only way out now was through the window.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

Most likely, you just shut down — the body giving out where the soul had already emptied. There were no tears. No breakdown. Just the vast, aching silence of being done. As if the last thread tethering you to this world had snapped soundlessly in the night.

Caleb had been the only family you ever had. He didn’t want to be your partner anymore — that, at least, made sense. But now he didn’t even want to be your brother. Not your anchor. Not your history.

He had become a stranger. And you had made him that.

You had no one to blame. No one to curse. The damage had your fingerprints all over it — deliberate, cruel, irreversible.

You regretted it. You knew it was a mistake.

But what could you do now?

Five years ago, you walked away — selfishly, completely — leaving him alone with the bleeding wreckage of his own love. And you hadn't spared yourself either. You’d just taken the pain and buried it, hoping time would do what courage couldn’t.

And now, with the same selfish silence, you had come back. Uninvited. Unexplained. Unhealed. You didn’t know what you’d hoped for — redemption, maybe. A flicker of warmth. Or just… recognition.

But instead, you lit the same fuse all over again.

You knew, even before boarding the train, that he’d find you. Even if he wasn’t looking. Even if he didn’t want to.

And still — you came.

The knock at the door startled you. You shot up, heart hammering in your throat.

Room service? Caleb? No. Caleb wouldn’t knock.

A second later, the door’s lock blinked with coded lights, and a young man in a tailored aide’s uniform stepped in. He was polite enough to knock. But not enough to wait for a response.

Not Liam. Someone much younger.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said with crisp formality, almost saluting before catching himself.

He tried — really tried — to keep his gaze level, but you could see the questions in his eyes. He didn’t know who you were, why you were important, or why the Admiral had seen fit to personally house you in a suite normally reserved for political dignitaries.

“I was ordered to bring you a change of clothes and arrange breakfast,” he said. “Admiral Caleb instructed me to return in thirty minutes and escort you to the hospital.”

You blinked. “Tell the Admiral that’s unnecessary.”

The aide offered a tight, apologetic smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “He also told me to inform you that, if you refuse to come voluntarily, I’m authorized to use force.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed, fighting the wave of humiliation. Of course he would go this far. You shouldn’t be surprised. And yet, it burned.

“I see,” you said quietly. “Then I’ll just have coffee.”

The aide hesitated. “Ma’am—”

“You’re not going to shove breakfast down my throat, are you?” you snapped, sharper than intended. “Fine. For the sake of compromise — coffee. And a yogurt. That’s it, Lieutenant.”

He nodded with practiced obedience. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then he left, leaving you alone with your rage and your helplessness.

The coffee tasted bitter. The yogurt was sour. Your taste buds had changed — everything had. Food had stopped being pleasure long ago. It was fuel now, nothing more. You absorbed calories. Not flavor.

Another memory — gone.  Another joy stripped from a life grown colorless. Another piece of yourself you hadn’t noticed was missing… until Caleb reminded you it was never coming back.

Some part of you expected they'd take you to Akso Hospital.

It would’ve made sense. Zayne knew your case better than anyone — your body, your history, the long and winding ruins of your health. But Caleb didn’t trust him anymore. Not enough to put your life in his hands.

Zayne had already failed him once — by keeping your secret.

Instead, they brought you to an unfamiliar place. Private, sterile, quiet. Too many white walls. Too much controlled light.

Caleb was already there, standing in the center of a vast conference room surrounded by doctors in crisp lab coats.

Even without a word, he commanded the space. In uniform, he looked taller than any of them. Broader. More permanent. Even the chief physician seemed to defer to him instinctively, as though gravity itself bent slightly in his direction.

You paused in the doorway, watching the way their attention latched to him — every word, every breath, every small flick of his hand. He wasn’t just giving orders. He was delivering truth.

And it made your blood boil.

With silent, focused fury, you crossed the room. Stopped too close. Closer than decorum allowed. Closer than memory permitted.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

“You’re doing exactly what I was afraid of,” you hissed, voice low and sharp, aimed straight at his throat. “I’m not a lab rat. I’m not your property. You don’t get to manage me. I have a right to my own choices.”

He looked you over slowly, without shame or apology — from your scuffed shoes to the oversized hoodie and jeans that hung loose on your frame. He’d remembered your size, but even so, they fit like clothes left behind by a body that used to be stronger.

“Fine,” he said simply. “You can leave.”

You blinked. Taken aback. Then pivoted sharply. “And I will.”

“Just know,” he said, his voice still maddeningly calm, “if you stay — I’ll stay too. If you stop running, you’ll have the chance… to live what time you have left not alone. Not in silence.”

You froze.

One breath. Another.

Your shoulders sagged. The sharpness in your spine dulled. And slowly, you turned back to him.

His face hadn’t changed. That same cold mask. Not unkind — just unreadable.

“You’d stay?” you asked, barely audible.

He exhaled, finally. A quiet thing. His fingers brushed the edge of a metallic button on his uniform — a nervous tic, barely there.

“We were family once,” he said softly. “No one should die alone.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to answer — but no words came.

There was no sentiment in his voice. No drama. No heartbreak. Just a statement of fact.

Death wasn’t something that scared him. It was a language he knew fluently — one he had spoken too many times, in too many places, across too many battlefields. He’d seen it. Worn it. Come back from it.

Even now, he didn’t flinch from yours.

It was just another ending. Another line of code. A final set of coordinates.

No pleading. No shaking. No denial.

And somehow — that was exactly what you needed. Not mercy. Not hope. Just someone to stay.

For once, it didn’t matter what you deserved. It mattered that you weren’t alone in this room. Not anymore.

The carousel of tests spun you until nightfall.

Scanners, probes, bloodwork, neurological assessments — round after round until your skin felt bruised from inside out. You were growing irritable, frayed at the seams, more from the dread than the procedures themselves.

They weren’t just gathering data. They were preparing to keep you here. Not for a night. Not even for a week. You could feel it — that low hum of administrative inevitability, ready to steal your time in the name of preservation.

You hadn’t even tied the hospital robe back around your chest when the door hissed open again.

“Oh, do come in. Why not take a piece of my liver while you’re at it?” you snapped, not bothering to turn.

“Your liver’s fine,” came the reply.

Of course. Caleb.

You turned too fast — too defensively — forgetting the robe was still gaping open. Not exposing skin, no. That wasn’t the issue.

It was the mark.

A thick, black web, raised and pulsing, spidered across your chest, the origin rooted deep in the center — where the Aethor Core was housed. Where power should have blossomed. Where your strength was supposed to live.

But it didn’t pulse with life. It cracked. You were coming apart, slowly, precisely, down the middle. Left from right. Light from shadow. Every beat of your heart was a fracture.

You covered your chest too late. He had seen.

He approached, unhurried. Unstoppable. The kind of step he used when nothing in the world could change his mind.

He pulled off one glove with a smooth, practiced motion and pressed his palm to the place where the damage burned hottest.

Right over your heart. Where it splintered loudest.

You closed your eyes. Pain hit like a detonator — sharp, white-hot, cellular. Like a memory of impact. A blade. A bomb. A scream that had never been given voice.

“At any moment,�� you whispered, answering the question he hadn’t asked.

He nodded. No surprise. He already knew.

He knew what the Evol had become. That your body couldn’t carry what it was never designed to hold. That the Core — meant to empower — was now the source of slow, elegant devastation.

He knew you were made of chaos. Born to fracture. Destined to burn.

You, who had broken him. And so many others in your wake. Your love had never healed. It had only bled slower.

He didn’t flinch.

He pulled away from your chest, reached for the t-shirt folded over the back of the chair, and helped you slip into it. His touch was clinical. Gentle. Resigned.

Not cold. Not warm. Just necessary.

You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat. It didn’t move.

“Come on,” he said, voice suddenly softer. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “More tests?”

“No. There's a fair. In our old district. Crowds, noise. Bad music. Terrible food.”

You snorted — just once — but held back the gallows humor itching to spill from your lips. Too early for jokes about death-day parades.

“All right,” you murmured. Pulled your hoodie over your head. Slipped on your sneakers.

You bent to tie the laces, but before your fingers reached them, Caleb was already kneeling before you.

Kneeling.

Your breath hitched.

Just like back then. Just like a lifetime ago.

You shifted your weight awkwardly, as if the floor had gone uneven beneath your feet. The moment was too intimate. Too real.

“An Admiral tying shoelaces,” you said with a weak smirk. “Now that’s more paradoxical than the Colonel ever was.”

He looked up at you. Fingers tightening the knot. A ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth — brief, boyish, and so devastatingly familiar it made your chest ache.

“Let’s agree I outrank your dignity today,” he murmured. “Don’t make me invoke protocol Alpha-Pip-Squeak.”

At some point, it started to feel like time had folded in on itself.

The sounds, the smells, the fireworks, the shrieking laughter of children, the curling smoke from endless food stalls — it all swirled into a surreal kaleidoscope of celebration. A world too alive.

 Too bright.

It felt wrong. Your heart was failing, slowly betraying you, yet the world kept spinning, singing, dancing without hesitation.

At first, it stung. The unfairness of it. The cruelty.

You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to vanish into memory.

You had dreamt of children — your children — running through crowds with cotton candy bigger than their faces, covered in chocolate and ice cream. You used to see your future so clearly: a wide house with a garden and a swingset, and somewhere up in the attic, a claw machine you’d insisted on installing, turning the whole floor into a chaotic arcade.

Your eyes filled with tears.

You blinked them away, catching Caleb watching you. You smiled.

“Smoke,” you murmured. “Got in my eyes.”

He nodded. Didn’t believe you, but let you have it.

He wasn’t wearing his Admiral’s uniform anymore. Jeans. A T-shirt with a stupid graphic. A jacket. A cap. He looked familiar. Almost close. Almost yours.

You walked slowly, shoulders brushing occasionally, hands near but never touching. Neither of you tried to bridge the gap. It would’ve felt dishonest. And you were grateful for that honesty. Even if it hurt.

You took a few shots at the game booths. Your hands still remembered. When you won an oversized plush flamingo, you handed it to a girl with bright red ribbons in her pigtails. She couldn’t have been more than six.

You asked her name. Rolled it around on your tongue. You could’ve named a daughter that.

Caleb noticed when your steps started to falter. Without a word, he led you toward an empty table at the edge of the crowd.

While he went for food, you let yourself sink back into the chair, exhaustion tugging hard at your spine. Your eyelids fluttered, but you refused to let sleep steal this. This might not be happiness, but it wasn’t pain.

And that was enough.

He came back with a platter full of street food. You wouldn’t taste much of it. But you remembered. You knew. And for now, that was enough, too.

“It’s a clear night,” he said. “Wanna ride the Ferris wheel?”

You nodded. You’d say yes to anything that would delay the return to sterile rooms, to IV drips and ticking clocks.

The cabin swayed gently as it rose. Wind cooled your cheeks, carrying away the stubborn tears that kept threatening to fall. But you wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t let grief ruin this night.

“Are you still angry?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you still… hate me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His gaze drifted over the glowing chaos below, where lights bled together into a gold-and-rainbow puddle of motion and life.

“No,” he said at last. “And I never did.”

He turned toward you, reached up, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I said it in anger. I was too furious to mean it.”

“I deserved it.”

“You deserved my anger,” he agreed. “But not this. Not a slow, painful fade. Not the kind of desperation that makes you choose impossible things.”

“Caleb…” your voice cracked. “Please… don’t say goodbye yet. It’s not time.”

“I’m trying to be honest,” he murmured. His eyes dropped to your hands, folded like a small prayer in your lap. He looked like he wanted to reach for them — but didn’t. “I’ve learned what hiding the truth from the people you love can cost.”

You swallowed. “I’m… still someone you love?”

He nodded, steady. “There’s no one closer.”

“Then promise me—”

“No.” The word was sharp. Too fast. Too raw.

“No,” he repeated. “I won’t even try.”

“But you could be happy again. If you let yourself open up—”

“Could you?” he cut in. “Could you promise that if I go first, you’ll find someone else? That you’ll love another man? Hold his hand, kiss him, like I never existed?”

Your answer was immediate.

“No.”

Too quick. Too honest.

And he knew. You both did.

Whatever tied you together was deeper than flesh, deeper than time. You could peel away the skin, erase the past, burn the memories— but your soul would still reach for his in the dark.

And his would still be holding on. Waiting.

Until the next life.

He didn’t take you back to the hospital.

By now, he knew what you had understood five years ago. It was pointless. There was no cure.

You lowered yourself carefully onto the bed, curled up on your side. You looked at him — just a silhouette in the dark, and still somehow larger than life.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slipped off his jacket, climbed in beside you. Didn’t touch. Just lay there — facing you.

You stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. Until they closed on their own. Until sleep claimed you.

And the nightmare followed.

The same one, always the same — your body splitting apart, bones breaking under pressure, your chest tearing open as the Core rejected you, gave birth to a creature that looked almost like you. But not you.

Black. Cold. Merciless.

Your body left behind, hollow — a deflated skin, a costume discarded.

You screamed. But you didn’t wake.

You thrashed, fighting against the blanket, clawing at your chest, trying to force the monster back inside, back into the dark where it belonged.

Hands. Strong, steady, familiar.

They caught you. Held you. Rocked you.

Lips brushed your temple. Words — soft, foreign — spoken in a language your heart remembered even if your ears couldn’t make them out.

“No… please…”

Caleb held you like a child, pressing your face against his chest.

Tears — hot, fast — fell onto your cheeks. Not yours.

His.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You hear me? You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m not leaving. I swear to God, I’m not letting go. Come back to me. Please, come back…”

“Caleb…”

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” His arms tightened, anchoring you in place.

“I’m so scared,” you whispered, fragile.

“I know, Pip. I know.”  His voice cracked — raw, guttural. “I’ll take it all. All the pain. I’ll kill every monster in your path. I’ll tear down the night itself. Just say the word, and I’ll burn this world to the ground to bring you peace.”

“I love you…” The words came with sobs now, spilling out, no longer held back.

His lips kissed your forehead. Your temple. Your cheeks.

“And I love you. My girl. My sunshine. My joy. My… Pip-Squeak.”

“I’m sorry I stole this time from us.”

He shook his head, still holding you like you might slip through his fingers.

“I forgave you a long time ago. How could I not forgive you? God, how could I ever stay mad at you? I’ll be here, right here, until your very last breath.”

He kept whispering. Murmuring softness into your hair. As if the five years of agony had never happened.

 As if you’d never left.

And slowly, gently, you drifted back into sleep. Held in his arms. Wrapped in his warmth. In his love.

With one thought cradling your soul: If the universe is kind — let me go like this. Let me go in his arms. Let me go loved.

All morning, Caleb didn’t let go of you.

Like he was making up for every moment of distance, he kept touching you — a fleeting kiss, a gentle brush of fingers, little gestures wrapped in warmth and care that tore your heart in half.

You didn’t want to let go of him either.

And when you loved each other, it wasn’t just love — it was desperation.

Through trembling limbs, through broken breath and quiet cries, the pain poured out. The guilt. The fear.

It wasn’t sex. It was absolution.

Then he drove again.

Said he wanted to show you something. You didn’t look out the window. You looked at him. Held his hand. Silence said more than words ever could.

You only grew uneasy when the car pulled up in front of a building — far too official to be anything like a park or a gallery.

“Where are we?”

“It’s… a military lab,” he said, with a small, apologetic smile. Then he kissed you again. “Just need to drop in. Work.”

You followed him inside.

A narrow, impersonal room. Cold lighting. The air too clean.

Caleb gestured to a chair. You sat. He knelt next to you. Kissed you again — too gently. Too long. Something about it felt… wrong.

“I’m sorry, Pips,” he whispered. “I just… I can’t do nothing.”

“Caleb? What are you doing—?”

You saw the glint of metal. Just before the needle plunged into your artery.

“CALEB!”

“Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I have to try. You have to live, baby.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to run —  but your limbs turned to jelly.

You slumped into his arms. And everything went dark.

The lab was silent.

Sterile.

Lifeless.

Two rooms. One pane of glass between them — just wide enough for you not to miss a single second of the show.

You were strapped to a hospital bed. Wires trailing from your arms and chest. Your head throbbed.

Across the glass — Caleb.

“No. No, Caleb, stop! This is insane!”

 Your voice cracked, but your chest—  your chest was… light. The weight, the crushing pain — gone.

You began to thrash. The heart monitor shrieked in alarm.

You pulled at the restraints — raw, bloody skin tearing against metal cuffs.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t care.

Slippery with blood, your wrists finally slipped free — it felt like peeling flesh from bone.

You tore off the tubes. Fell from the bed.

Your legs wouldn’t hold you. So you crawled.

Crawled to the glass.

“CALEB!”

You slammed your fists against it, over and over again.

He lay on the other side — restrained. But the straps couldn’t hold the violent spasms. And the glass couldn’t muffle the sound of his screaming.

“CALEB! YOU PROMISED!”

You forced yourself upright, pounded your fists until your knuckles split open.

“You promised… you said you’d stay… you said you’d be there until my last breath— CALEB— !”

Your voice disintegrated into a scream.

You kept hammering. Like a moth caught in a jar, helplessly throwing itself against the cruel, unyielding glass.

Kept crying.

The door hissed open behind you. A man in a lab coat.

You lunged at him — knocked him flat. Ran.

Another body in the hallway — you shoved them aside.

You found the next door. Slammed your palm to the entry panel.

It opened.

“CALEB—!”

You collapsed onto him, draping your entire body over his, as if your weight alone could stop the process.

Black veins had begun to trace up his neck. The same pattern that once bloomed across your chest.

“How could you…?” Your voice broke into pieces. “You can’t leave me… you promised…”

For a moment, his eyes found yours. His hand twitched. Reached.

You seized it. Gripped tight.

Tried to unbuckle the straps.They didn’t give.

Hands grabbed you from behind. Dragged you.

You fought like a wild thing. Thrashed. Kicked. One of them fell — you crawled back to him.

Then two more came. You were screaming. Your throat raw.

“No! Don’t take him! DON’T TAKE HIM FROM ME!”

And just before you could lunge forward again—

Another needle.

Your body gave out. Everything dimmed. Collapsed.

But even in that final, spiraling moment—

You whispered one last time: “Caleb…  please… don’t leave me…”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Your heart hadn’t beaten this steady in years.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It would’ve been better if it had stopped.

You didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t ask where you were. You knew.

You were in a world where he was gone.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You used to live with physical pain — you knew how to endure it. You knew how to die with it. You’d pictured your grave more than once — just beside the one marked “Josephine.”

The one where, for a time, they’d already carved “Caleb.”  Now they’d just correct the second date. As if it had all been a clerical error.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shut up,” you muttered, ripping the sensor from your finger.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The monitor whined in protest.

You clamped your hands over your ears, buried your head under the pillow.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What the hell?!”

Another monitor?

You pulled the pillow away. Opened your eyes.

On the second cot, just a few feet away— Caleb.

Alive. Awake.

His monitor was singing the same rhythm. And on his lips — the hint of a smile.

“You bastard!”

You flung the pillow at him. He caught it.

“Did you mourn me?”

“That’s still pending! You—YOU!!! You took my Aethor Core?!”

You looked around for something else to throw. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Easy, Pip-Squeak. I didn’t take anything. Your precious Core is right where it belongs — in that merciless, vengeful little heart of yours.”

“I’m merciless? You made me believe you were—!”

You stopped.

Because you knew. God, you knew you would’ve done the same.

You slid off the cot carefully, clutching the IV stand for balance. Crossed the short distance to his bedside, testing each step. Sat down on the edge. 

You reached for his hand. Fingers trembling, unsure. But the moment you touched him — he was warm.

Not fading. Not cold. Not gone.

Warm, alive, present.

And it shattered something inside you.

“You weren’t dying because of the Core itself,” he said gently. “It was the energy feedback loop. The Core stopped syncing with your biopattern. Basically, your system crashed, and the power cell started pulling directly from your heart to survive. Which, you know, kinda fatal.”

“So what… you swapped our batteries?”

“In layman’s terms — yes.”

“And that doesn’t kill you?”

“My protocore’s a lazy old tank,” he grinned. “It got a nice boost from yours. Just enough to last me, I think.”

“You swear that’s the truth?” you arched a skeptical brow.

“I do.” He reached up, hesitantly, brushing your cheek.

You didn’t pull away.

“I told you I’d take your pain.”

“And you also promised you’d stay with me till my last breath,” you whispered, lips nearly brushing his.

“And I intend to keep that promise,” he said, pulling you close and kissing you. “And if you try to run again, just so you know — I’ve got a year’s supply of those sedative syringes.”

You let out a small laugh, nudged him gently, then climbed onto his cot, curling into his side, head on his shoulder.

“I’ll keep that in mind in case you pull another stunt like that. Admiral.”

His arm slipped around your waist. His grin widened — softer, familiar. Like the old days. Like he was just your Caleb again.

“Well,” he said, “those are consequences I’m willing to accept.”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

His heart beat stronger.  And yours — yours found his rhythm. Matched it.

Perfectly. Just like always.

Because the truth was simple.

You couldn’t exist in a world where one of you was missing.

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT

જ⁀➴ Toji took a silly joke to heart which caused a fight to break out between the two of you. However, Toji would never apologize with words, he still uses his mouth to make sure that you know he's sorry though.

ﾉ including: Toji

ﾉ cw: fem!reader, couple fight, accusing Toji of cheating, oral (reader receiving), fingering, make up sex/oral, reader jokingly getting called "bunny" once

ﾉ wordcount: 1.7k

ﾉ info: request by the lovely @pricesprincess thank you again so much for this. I had a blast daydreaming about and writing this ♥️ | requests are open

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED (share your thoughts!)

At this point you deeply regretted making a petty joke while getting ready for your date with Toji, since it turned into a huge, unnecessary fight between the two of you. It really was a joke, all you said was that he should keep his eyes off of other women while he's out with you - not that he ever entertained any of them, but the both of you did look if a beautiful person walked past, simply because they were pretty, nothing more. Toji however, got defensive, as if you doubted his loyalty. At first you thought he meant it jokingly too, but the lack of a smirk or chuckle led you to believe otherwise. 

"I can stare at them all I want as long as I keep my hands to myself, what more do you want?" Those were the exact words he used while angrily pulling a fresh shirt over his head. 

Now you were sitting at the restaurant with him and you both were fed up with the other, while Toji made sure to look obnoxiously at every woman walking past the two of you in hopes of pissing you off to confirm your statement to live up to being the bad guy that was ruining it all.

If he wasn't busy ogling other women, you both simply glared at one another with anger and unspoken words. His jaw was tense and his teeth almost shattered under the pressure, while your gaze would explode him if it could. Neither of you wanted to admit you were in the wrong and Toji was old enough to see that he was sabotaging himself by trying to prove that he wasn't a good partner - which you didn't want to imply, simply because it was far from the truth. A harmless joke, that's all it was, but it must have struck a nerve.

The moment both your plates were empty, Toji called over the waiter to pay the bills, not bothering to ask if you wanted something to drink or a dessert perhaps - He was done with this dinner and by the looks of it, you wanted to leave too.

"What the fuck is your problem, Fushiguro?" You ask in a whispered hiss once the cool evening air hit you. 

"What the fuck my problem is?" Toji whipped around to look at you, full of anger, his sudden movement almost knocking you over. "I hate how fucking little you trust me," he continued and the way you used his last name to build some sort of distance struck yet another nerve.

"I don't even know what you want from me. I'm loyal. Fuck- I never even thought of another ever since you’re mine. Do you expect me to go through life with blinders? What is your deal?" He didn't mean to raise his voice, especially not in public, but he just couldn't hold it in anymore. 

A sigh escaped his lips when he turned around to walk towards the car, the last thing he wanted was to make a scene now in front of your favorite restaurant. It took you a few seconds to follow after him, fast and angry steps hunting his quick strut. 

"It was meant as a simple joke... Since when are you that fragile?" Your question sounded more accusatory than you meant it to and Toji laughed bitterly at your words. 

Yes, he was sleeping around  - fuck, you were also just a one night stand at some point, but one night turned into two and suddenly you had things in his apartment and eventually he couldn't imagine sleeping a single night without you in his arms. He knew that he wasn't necessarily loyal at the beginning of your... escapades, but you weren't a couple, never talked about going exclusive. That you were using this against him just hurt something deep down, because you made him the happiest he's been in quite some years. 

Silence fell between you both once again and the radio was playing softly in the back, occasionally interrupted by a commercial or the talking of the host. Your gaze fell out of the window, not looking at anything in particular as trees passed in a blur, your mind was racing with thoughts until the world outside came to a halt, slow at first and suddenly nothing moved anymore.

"Why are we stopping?" Your voice sounded meek when you were ripped out of your thoughts by the stop, surely he wouldn't kick you out of the car to let you walk home, right? Your foolish fear deepened however when he walked around the car to open your door.

"Stop it! I'm not getting out in the middle of nowhere! Toji-" You protested when Toji leaned into the car to unbuckle your seatbelt.

"You're ridiculous! You're a fucking-" Your sentence got interrupted when you bit yourself on the tongue by the sudden movement of the seat getting pushed all the way back, immediately followed by the backrest of the passenger seat dropping onto the backseat. Toji didn't care much about your protests, his expression staying cold and no explanation came from his mouth.

"TOJI...WHAT ARE YOU-" You raised your voice when he pushed you back onto the seat as he climbed into the front as well, the smallest smirk slowly forming on his lips before he leaned down to kiss you - gently at first, to test the waters. The kiss grew passionate the moment you kissed back, out of resignation or because you wanted to - he didn't care. 

"Making up. Apologizing, if you will," he mumbled against your lips when his huge frame slowly settled into the cramped foot space of the passenger seat.

His big hands slowly inched their way up on your exposed thighs, screw your past self for wearing a dress, you thought and stopped both of his hands once they traveled too far. You knew very well that Toji wasn't a guy for big apologies, rarely ever verbally apologizing, and you didn't want him to believe that this would do - at least not this fast. 

"No! You can't just... Toji, no!" You protested and you could feel how he immediately stopped pushing his hands further, respecting your protest, but the smirk on his face told you that he was far from done with this. 

His hands gently squeezed the flesh of your inner thighs, chuckling when he felt your muscles clench and tighten. He had you right where he wanted you - wrapped around his finger. 

"So you're telling me that I can't eat out my pretty little bunny?" You internally cringe at the nickname he had given you a long time ago solely because you two were fucking like bunnies, unable to keep your hands to yourself. 

"No. I mean, yes... fuck," you groan at the wetness that has formed between your thighs from just thinking about his talented mouth latched to your cunt. 

"Okay, yes... but I'm still mad at you." You give him the green light and Toji wastes no time pushing your legs up onto the passenger seat before running his fingers over your panties until he could feel a wet patch forming.

"Guess I'll have to fuck that anger out of you then, hm?" He muses and doesn't even bother to take off your underwear, simply pushing them to the side to gain access to your sweet cunt. 

The man between your thighs was appreciating the view for a moment before his fingers gently spread your folds so his tongue could flick your clit ever so gently. The small contact had you spreading your legs wider for him, a silent invitation to devour you in a way you so carnally craved. Toji ran his flat tongue through your folds before licking up from your entrance to your clit in a zigzag motion. Once he reached your clit, he gently suckled on it while his tongue flicked over it relentlessly, at first in circles, but soon he was spelling his full name onto your cunt - a desperate attempt to remind you just who exactly can make you feel this good, whose name you should be moaning, who you should forgive for being a grade A asshole. 

Toji ate you out so messily, the lewd sounds drowning out the radio that was still playing in the back and his groans grew louder each time he fucked his tongue into your cunt to have more of your essence melt on his tongue, tasting all of you. The louder your moans grew, the messier he got until he latched onto your clit while two of his fingers plunged knuckle deep inside your heat, the pads curling against your sweet spot over and over again.

Toji's free hand wrapped around your left thigh to keep you close to him, pulling your cunt against his face so you couldn't get away from the pleasure he provided. Your clit started to twitch and your walls clamped down on his fingers - a telltale sign that your orgasm was close, but Toji didn't let up, wanting you to come undone on his fingers and his tongue, needing you to make a mess for him. Just as you wanted to warn him, it was too late. Your hips rolled against his face in a wave of ecstasy as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave and wrecked you in its wake.

"Toji... don't stop," You managed to whine out between the sinful moans of his name, but you didn't need to beg. Toji wanted you to forget how angry you were with him, even if he had to spend hours between your thighs to fuck you stupid to the point you forgot your own name.

When your orgasm subsided, he looked up at you with a wolfish grin, his entire chin glistening with your juices and you knew exactly that he was far from done with you. The moment his tongue started to circle your bundle of nerves again, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed him closer to your sopping wet cunt, not letting him go any time soon - perhaps if he made you cum enough times, you'd allow him to blow off some steam too. But for now you were perfectly content with him knee deep in the passenger seat, just eating you out until you were seeing stars.

[maxtermind]

absolutely loved ‘baby, would i still be your lover’, everyone single one got me in my feels! i was wondering would you consider doing a part 2? whether it ends in angst or fluff

I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

★ : summary :: when he accidentally insults you during an argument- aftermath ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort, hints of angst ★ : word count :: 4.3k ★ : a/n :: thank you so much for the love on part 1 💓 some of these have open ending so you can pick whether you'd like to forgive them or not as a reader!! feedback is appreciated :)

( part 1 )

Max Verstappen

You sighed as you sat down to have your morning tea as usual, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. As if you hadn't spent all night long getting your phone spammed with calls that you were ignoring.

After mindlessly roaming around for a bit, you eventually decided to crash at your best friend’s place. You lazily waved at her as she frantically got ready to leave for work. However, you were on your tiptoe as soon as the door opened.

A body that was possibly sleeping while leaning against the door fell inside and you heard curses that you were quite too familiar with. Your heart clenched at the sight of your boyfriend - or perhaps now, your ex-boyfriend - on his knees, nursing the wound on his head. The ache of seeing him in pain reignited the anguish you thought you had left behind.

“Okay,” you heard your friend murmur. “I'm gonna let you guys get to it.” She was out the door a second later.

You looked at the closed door instead of the man who was desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“How long have you…” You trailed off before deciding that you didn't want to know.

“As soon as you turned your phone off, Y/N! I've been here since last night.” "Why?" you choked out, the words barely escaping your lips as tears threatened to overflow. His brows furrowed before he ran his hands over his face and got up to sit right next to you. You saw his hand itching toward yours and instinctively pulled it towards your body. "Because I needed to see you in person, to talk." He took another deep breath and you later realized that he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I realize I messed up, baby. I.. I never should have let you walk out.” But his attempt to mend the shattered pieces of your relationship only served to reopen the wounds, your walls instinctively rising in defense,"Talk? You think a talk is going to fix everything?" Max's eyes were filled with a mix of regret and desperation as he reached out for your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "No, I don't think a talk will magically fix everything," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

"But it's a start. I need you to know that I'm truly sorry for what happened. I hate myself for hurting you, for making you doubt how much you mean to me."

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, the pain of the previous night still too fresh in your mind.

“How can I trust you again, Max? How can I be sure that this won't happen again?" Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with the ache of betrayal.

Max's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I've messed up, Y/N. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. I'll work on my temper, I’ll be better to you, I'll do anything you ask of me. I just need you to give me another chance." “You know you’ve always been the best to me, right? I just can’t believe that instead of talking it out yesterday, you straight up skipped to breaking up wit-” Fresh tears started falling down your cheeks. Max immediately leaned forward to hold you in his arms and you let him because you needed him. But how could you trust him again? How could you be sure that history wouldn't repeat itself? That he won’t throw away your whole relationship just because the anger got a hold of him? As Max held you close, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to scream and shout at him for causing you so much pain. But another part of you craved his warmth, his touch, his presence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I messed up, and I hate myself for it. I never meant to hurt you, I swear."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears soaking through his shirt as you struggled to make sense of your feelings.

“I just don't know if I can do this anymore, Max," you admitted, your voice muffled against him. Max tightened his embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I understand," he murmured, his voice gentle. His admission eased your thumping heart a bit, you were glad to have him back. The storm within you finding a momentary calm.

"I made you feel like our relationship was disposable, like breaking up was no big deal. But that couldn't be further from the truth. You're the most important person in my life, baby and the thought of losing you terrifies me. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to show you just how much you mean to me. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust if you still want me."

Lewis Hamilton

The weight of Lewis's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as you retreated into the sanctuary of your bedroom. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, your heart aching with a pain you couldn't quite comprehend. How had a day that started with such a promise turned into this? You buried your face in your hands, the sting of Lewis's words feeling like acid running through your veins.

Outside the door, the silence was deafening, broken only by the muffled sound of your sobs. Lewis stood frozen in place, his mind racing as he replayed the exchange in his head.

He couldn't believe the words that had escaped his lips, couldn't fathom how he had allowed his frustration to morph into such hurtful remarks.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Lewis grappled with the weight of his actions, the gravity of his words settling like a lead weight in his chest.

He wanted to reach out to you, to apologize and make things right, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the magnitude of his mistake.

Inside the bedroom, you were consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, betrayal - they all swirled together into an ugly monster, threatening to engulf you whole.

How could the man you loved, the man who had always been your rock, turn on you with such venom?

But beneath the anger and hurt, there was a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that maybe Lewis's words held a grain of truth. Maybe you were too insecure, too needy, too demanding. Maybe you were asking for too much, expecting him to be there for you when he had his own priorities and responsibilities. Maybe-

The sound of a soft knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Lewis standing there, his expression wrought with regret and guilt. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken apology hanging heavy in the air. Looking at him distraught made your chest feel worse. How could he make you feel ten fold worse than this and not feel a thing? 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean what I said. I was out of line, and I know I hurt you. Please, let me make it right." He rushed through the words.

His words pierced through the haze of your pain, and you felt a bit of heaviness leaving your body. He crossed the room in a few strides, dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion before your boyfriend took your hand away from your face and kissed your cheeks. "I was so caught up in my own frustrations that I lashed out at you, and I hate myself for it. You don't deserve to be treated that way, especially not by me."

You studied his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was genuine remorse and regret. And despite the pain still raw in your chest, you couldn't deny the love you felt for him, the longing to mend what had been broken between you. “You hurt me,” you whispered but didn’t push him away as he laid down with you, holding you close to his chest. Some of your resolve wavering when you felt his fast heartbeat. “I wanted you there so much.” He nodded as he shushed you, his own eyes dropping tears. “I’m so so sorry, baby. I can't even begin to express how deeply I regret the way I acted the whole day, I know you deserve so much more but-” You shifted slightly, knowing all that you wanted right now was comfort, you didn't want to forgive him or minimize the weight of his actions. "I don't know if I can right now," you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions.

Lewis's eyes brimmed with tears as he whispered, "Please don't shut me out. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

You felt a pang of guilt at the pain evident in his voice. "I just need some time to process everything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand," Lewis replied, his tone filled with sorrow. "But please know that I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

You nodded, silently acknowledging his words as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting embrace. 

"I promise to make it up to you," Lewis vowed earnestly, his voice laced with determination. "I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust."

"I want to believe you," you admitted quietly, your heart heavy with uncertainty. Everything was a little too raw right now and your emotions were all over the place.

"I'll spend every moment proving it to you," Lewis declared, his eyes locking with yours in a silent vow.

“I was thoughtless and cruel today, and I never should have let those words leave my lips. You are not insecure, you are strong and resilient, baby. You deserve so much better than the hurtful words I spoke. Please know that I can’t lose you, Y/N. I will work tirelessly to regain your trust and rebuild what I have so carelessly shattered. You mean the world to me, and I will spend every moment striving to be worthy of your love.”

Carlos Sainz

As you sat nervously in your childhood home, the familiar sights and sounds providing little comfort, your mind raced with thoughts of disappointment and hurt.

For the third time, Carlos had failed to join you in meeting your parents, leaving you to face their questioning looks and unspoken concerns alone. You had rehearsed what you would say to them, how you would explain his absence, but each time, the words caught in your throat, choked by a mixture of frustration and sadness. For the past few days since you walked out of your apartment, you had been ignoring Carlos’ attempts to reconcile with you. The calls and texts he spammed you with were ignored and curses left your mouth as soon as your mind went back to the day of the argument, bringing unwanted tears to your eyes.

In the passing, you saw a Ferrari conference being conducted and as much as you wanted to reach out and talk it out with him, your heart did flips that you were sure you should have visited a doctor for.

Your parents, ever perceptive, noticed your unease as you fidgeted with the napkin in your lap, casting worried glances in your direction. You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil within you.

How could you explain to them that the man you loved couldn't find the time to meet them, despite his promises and assurances? "What's wrong, sweetie?" your mom asked, concern evident in her voice.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying, "It's Carlos... He like…"

Your dad's brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, he said that he got caught up with work. You know how busy he is with his racing and all..." Your dad’s brows furrowed when you trailed off, about to ask you what exactly you meant but just as you were steeling yourself to broach the subject, the doorbell rang, startling you from your thoughts.

Your heart sank as you realized it was likely a neighbor stopping by to meet you since you don’t visit that often, you stood up to go greet them. But then, to your disbelief, you heard his voice drifting through the door, before you saw your boyfriend standing right behind it. Your head titled in confusion and you drew a breath that took most of the stress from the previous days away from your body.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his tone apologetic yet determined. Carlos took your hand and kissed it lightly,"Traffic was a nightmare." “What about the conference that you-” “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N.” He cut you off before pulling you in and walking to the dining room that was in his vision. As if that was the answer to your question.

You turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope. There he was, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably earnest, his gaze that locked on yours was as if it was seeking forgiveness. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret etched in the lines of his face.

Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Carlos standing before them. 

Despite their reservations about his repeated absences, they couldn't deny the genuine affection that Carlos held in his eyes when he looked at you.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos took a step forward, his hand reaching out tentatively. "I'm really sorry, both of you," he said, addressing your parents directly.

"I know how important this is to you, and I should have made more of an effort to be here on time."

His words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of his shortcomings and a pledge to do better. You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a glimmer of renewed faith in your relationship. "Well, we're just glad you could make it," your dad said, offering Carlos a handshake.

"Thank you for coming, Carlos," your mother said, her voice warm yet cautious. "We understand that life gets busy, but it's important to make time for the people who matter most."

Carlos nodded, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "I couldn't agree more. Family means putting in effort, I promise to make it up to all of you."

As you sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was tinged with a sense of reconciliation and hope. Your hand still intertwined with his as you saw him charm your family. Despite the rocky start, Carlos's presence brought a newfound sense of unity and understanding to the table. And as you shared stories and laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to mend what had seemed irreparably broken.

In that moment, you realized that love wasn't just about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was about the everyday moments of connection and compromise, the willingness to forgive and grow together.

And as you looked at Carlos, his eyes filled with determination and affection, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

Charles Leclerc

Charles had apologized right after he had said those words and though you had both fallen back into routine, the underlying bitterness and resentment was still present. You weren’t the one initiating any kind of affection from your side and every time Charles was initiating anything, you half assed your way out of it. Was it childish? Probably. But you were still not comfortable with how easily you had forgiven Charles, burying your hurt just to avoid conflict once again despite knowing deep down that he has hurt you probably more than anyone else ever has. These thoughts were running through your head as you sat beside Charles, your heart still heavy with the weight, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Especially because Charles seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with thoughts, that you couldn't help but wonder what exactly they were. Why had he even asked to go on a date today? To break up with you? Suddenly, Pippa appeared, her presence causing the knot to form in your stomach to get tighter. She approached with a confident stride, a charming smile gracing her lips as she greeted Charles with a hug.

"Hey, Charlie!" Pippa exclaimed, her eyes flickering briefly in your direction before returning to Charles. "Long time no see!"

Charles returned her hug, though his embrace seemed somewhat forced. "Hey, Pippa. Yeah, it's been a while." 

You observed their interaction closely, your unease growing with each passing moment. Pippa's presence always seemed to unsettle you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their friendship than met the eye. Was he gonna break up with you in public and confess his years long feelings for Pippa? Charles glanced at you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I was just out with Y/N today."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at his actions, his affectionate gesture soothing some of the tension that had been building between you.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Pippa said, offering you a friendly smile. "Sorry I didn’t see you next to Charlie."

You returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes and managed to reply without gagging. "Nice to meet you, Pippa." Charles tightened his grip on your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence and support. "We were just grabbing a coffee," he explained, his gaze flickering between you and Pippa. "Care to join us?"

Pippa hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at you before turning back to Charles. "Actually, I was hoping we could catch up alone, if that's okay."

You felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach. Despite your reservations, you nodded, forcing a smile as you released Charles's hand. It was better to walk away yourself than to have Charles dismiss you.

"Of course," you said, though your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. "I'll wait for you outside."

Charles shot you an alarmed look as you stood up,”I’ll see you in a few.” Charles�� hand lingered on yours for a moment longer before you reluctantly let go and made your way to the door.

You leaned against your car and enjoyed the wind for a second. You couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the exchange between your boyfriend and his best friend sitting inside.

You were half scared to find them kissing or something but, instead a sense of confusion washed over you as you watched the way Pippa was angrily point a finger at Charles and scream at him.

It was a second later when she stormed out before making her way towards you.

"Is he doing this because of you?!" Pippa's accusatory tone sent a shiver down your spine, her words hitting too close to home.

Before you could even process what was happening, Charles emerged from the cafe, his expression determined as he approached you and Pippa.

"Go home, Pippa," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he intertwined his hand with yours.

Pippa's eyes blazed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Charles. "You will regret this, Charles!" she spat before storming off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Once Pippa was out of sight, you turned to Charles, your heart pounding in your chest. "What was that all about?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Y/N. Pippa has been... difficult lately."

You frowned, your mind reeling with confusion and frustration. "Difficult how?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "She's been pushing boundaries, trying to come between us. But I won't let her." 

"Hey," he continued, taking your hand in his. "I told Pippa that I wouldn't be spending time with her alone anymore. If she can't accept you, then it's better for us to not be friends at all."

You blinked in surprise, a rush of gratitude flooding through you at his words. "Really?"

Charles nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "Really. You're the most important person in my life, and I won't let anyone come between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Thank you, Charles. I appreciate you standing up for us."

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I'll always stand up for us, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you threw your arms around him, holding him close. Despite the lingering bitterness and resentment, you couldn't deny the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment.

Lando Norris

As you stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air enveloped you, offering a moment of respite from the whirlwind of emotions that had engulfed you throughout the evening.

Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of Lando's hurtful words, but beneath the pain, a numbness resided- knowing deep down that you might’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.

Before you could take another step, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, you saw Lando rushing towards you, his eyes filled with remorse and his expression wrought with sorrow. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"Y/N, please wait," he called out, his voice pleading as he reached your side, breathless from his haste.

You pulled your face to meet his eyes, uncertainty and wariness etched into your features as you met his gaze. Part of you yearned to turn away, to shield yourself from the pain of his words, but another part couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere in his apology.

"Lando," you said softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and apprehension. You wanted to say more but the damn ball in your throat stopped you doing so.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he searched for the right words to express the depth of his regret. "I know I messed up, Y/N. I hurt you, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for that."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, offering a sliver of comfort. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of the hurt that lingered in your heart.

"I should have been there for you tonight, supporting you and showing you how much you mean to me," Lando continued, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "Instead, I let my own selfishness and insecurities get in the way, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice echoing the ache in your own heart. You were sure you’ll regret letting go of this amazing relationship without at least attempting to work on it.

Despite the pain he had caused you, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right away, Y/N," Lando said softly, his hands shaking and showcasing the intensity of his vulnerability.

"I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust and your love. But please, just give me a chance to make things right. I promise to do whatever it takes to show you how much you mean to me, every single day for the rest of my life."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and remorse, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto the pain of the past and the hope for a brighter future. As you gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity or deceit, all you found was raw honesty and unwavering devotion.

With a heavy heart and a flicker of hope, you reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you just yet, Lando," you whispered, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Lando takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. "I'll spend every moment proving I'm worthy of your love, Y/N. Let me show you how much you mean to me, starting from this moment. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, even if it means giving you the space you need. Just know that I'm here for you, whenever you're ready."

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

I think a huge factor in people not being able to understand this game is that the game as a whole relies on understanding Solas’ character as written, and people are refusing to understand it

Solas is, and has been since his first appearance, an egotistical, hubristic, racist, manipulative, abusive and condescending asshole who regularly commits atrocities and pretends that being sad about them is enough penance. He is a terrible person who insists he’s actually the hero of the story. He is a liar and a manipulator, and he lies to himself as well. He uses other people like chess pieces and sacrifices them for his cause without much of a thought, and without them even knowing they are being used.

This is who he is. This is who he was always written to be. And veilguard is almost entirely about deconstructing that. Every member of the veilguard is a foil to solas. They are all who he pretends he is, and his false hero fantasy falls apart when you put them next to him.

Every single companion storyline is about that character successfully doing something that Solas is incapable of, but would be capable of if he wasn’t such a terrible person. And they all face a dark reflection of themselves and come out the other side mostly unscathed by that, aware that this dark reflection is not them because they are not actually like that.

Solas faces many of the same challenges the companions do, and fails each and every one of them, because, unlike them, he is not actually a hero. He is not a good person. He does not learn to accept that just because something is broken doesn’t mean there aren’t parts of it worth saving. He does not learn to accept the harsh truths and move forward. He does not accept that he is responsible for his own actions, even if someone else orders them. He fails every time.

Solas faces not one but two dark reflections of himself, Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, the prideful god who always thinks he’s right no matter the consequences, and the servant and lover of another god whose atrocities are not justified by having been pushed by their lover and mistress, but does not come out the other side unscathed because it turns out he IS actually like them. His reflections are accurate, they’re real parts of himself that he pretends don’t exist, not just twisted versions of their fears like they are for the companions. At the end of the game he even admits that yes, he is very similar to Elgar’nan.

Pretty much the entirety of veilguard is a very careful and deliberate deconstruction of Solas’ character and self image. We go through, in elaborate detail, all of his crimes, all of his mistakes, all of the reasons why he is wrong, why his actions are unjustifiable, why his regret doesn’t absolve him of responsibility, how he thinks it does anyway.

We completely tear down every single aspect of the image he has constructed for himself. We destroy every single excuse with clear examples showing that that was not how things had to go. Every justification. Every insistence it’s okay because he’s sorry. Every time he insists he knows best and we should leave him to it. Every single illusion that he is a good person is shattered. By the end of it there is absolutely nothing left, and his repeated attempts to keep up the facade come off as pathetic and ridiculous. In all his banters with companions he tries to use his usual tricks, pretty excuses, belittling comments, fake niceties and every time he’s completely shut down.

He tries to imply Davrin has a biased view of him from stories about the dread wolf, Davrin responds with evidence the truth is even worse. He tries to apologise to Harding, she comes back with a list of all the terrible things he’s done that an apology can’t cover. He tries to appeal to spite, spite points out he hurt Rook so why should he trust him. He comes up with excuses for killing Varric and Neve points out that there’s no pretty excuse for using blood magic on Rook in such a cruel way afterwards. The illusion is shattered. That’s what the entire game has been building up to. And it makes his last attempt at betrayal seem embarrassing, because we now see through the facade and know that he was too obsessed with himself to even consider we’d see it coming.

But the thing is a lot of people refuse to see this. This is where his characters been heading since the beginning. This is who he’s always been. But a lot of people ignore any and every negative thing about him, and then complain the game doesn’t make sense. Of course it doesn’t make sense. You’ve ignored every single theme, plot point, and piece of characterisation to make up a version of Solas in your head and that’s not the Solas the game is about. It makes complete sense when you see Solas as he truly is, as he was written to be. It’s such a good bit of writing when you actually let yourself experience it as it is and allow yourself to be open to the idea that the guy who is trying to commit his second genocide might be a bad person.

[kingkonoha]

After what happened to you and your son, Satoru can’t stop drinking . . .

content: drinking, mentions of wanting to die, death, blood.

His tongue was numb from the burning alcohol that slipped down his throat in questionable amounts. The bartender had started to grow concerned, discreetly raising one of his eyebrows at the white-haired man.

“Here,” the bartender poured Satoru’s poison into another shot glass and sat it down in front of him with a gentle clank. “This one’s on the house. Do I need to call a cab for you, sir? Or do you have a ride?”

The young bartender was met with glassy, bloodshot eyes. The windows of Satoru’s soul were shattered, reflecting nothing except brokenness and a lack of sobriety.

Satoru didn’t answer. He only blinked at the bartender. It was a slow, mechanical click of the lids as if he had to remind himself to blink.

Blink, blink, blink.

He preferred not to do so, because every time he closed his eyes — even for the second it took to keep his blue orbs from drying out — he saw it.

It, being the reason why he was at the dead, boring bar that smelt of old wood and faint musk in the first place.

He was here almost every night because of you.

Because of what happened to you.

Satoru wrapped his unsteady hand around the shot glass, downing the drink as he tried to drown his sorrows.

He sat the fourth small glass down next to the other ones. He needed more. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t drunk enough. There wasn’t enough alcohol in his belly to wash away the sickness he felt swirling around in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about you.

“Another one,” Satoru’s voice was unrecognizable to his own ears. “Another one . . . Please.”

The bartender hesitated, wiping his hands off on the white towel across his shoulder.

The bar needed money. The other three customers who were lingering around were mainly there for the pool table, and bought a glass of beer just to sip on it while they played.

The family-owned business was at risk of shutting down thanks to the brand new club in the next town over, packed with young adults who were not only drinking, but dancing underneath neon lights and loud music as well.

This old bar could only afford to have the same old country songs on repeat, playing lowly in the background.

Even so, the bartender didn’t want money badly enough to contribute to this man’s horrific habit.

Someone like Satoru should have been at the club in the other town. He appeared to be much too young to drink his life away.

“Sir?” The bartender tilted his head, speaking softly to the depressed man. “I’m not supposed to ask customers why they’re drinking, but you’re a regular here, and . . . I’d love to know why.”

The question didn’t bother Satoru, truth be told. After all, everyone often asked him that, or a variety of similar questions.

“All you do is drink now, Gojo. That won’t solve anything. Why are you being so useless?”

“Why did you quit being a sorcerer? The world needs you! You were the strongest!”

“You don’t smile or laugh anymore. What happened to the old goofball we all love?”

Satoru sadly smiled at the bartender.

“My entire family is dead . . . ‘cause of me.”

The bartender’s eyes widened. He immediately poured Satoru another shot, and one for himself as well.

“I had a-a job. Dangerous one, but I was the best at it. I was a teacher too, and with the kinda work I did, I watched people die more often than I’d like to admit. My . . . My wife. She wanted me to quit. The world was getting more and more dangerous, and she didn’t want me to die. But I was a cocky son-of-a-bitch . . . I was thinking, ‘I’m Satoru Gojo! Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m the strongest!’”

Satoru paused, gulping down another shot. A tear ran down his cheek. “One day, I was out on a mission. My wife didn't want me to go. Typical. When I came home a few days later, I walked through the front door, and . . . her and my three-year-old son. He was three years old.”

“What happened to them?” The bartender asked softly.

“What happened is that I didn’t listen. When you’re the strongest, you make plenty of enemies. And if your enemies are smart, they know that they can’t hurt you directly. They wouldn’t win. So,” Gojo ran his shaky hand across his pale face, “they go after your loved ones. The enemies I had to put up with were heartless. There was so much blood, I couldn’t . . . they killed my-my wife . . . They killed my wife and my boy . . . my baby boy.”

Satoru clenched his fists hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Hot tears fell from his reddened waterline.

“I quit my job after that. Left my students behind.”

“I would’ve quit too,” the bartender said, swallowing down his shot. “I’m sorry that happened to you, sir.”

Gojo nodded, as he was sorry it happened as well.

He didn’t tell the bartender everything, though.

The lump in his throat that formed from choking back a sob wouldn’t allow for any more words to be spoken.

He failed to mention that the blood was fresh, still bright and liquidity, meaning that your death had occurred only moments before he arrived home.

And he didn’t get home fast enough.

He didn’t mention that the blood had soaked his hands, and he nearly burned his skin off trying to boil the red stains off of him.

He didn’t mention the fact that he had lost his mind. He went on a killing spree around the country, murdering every curse and curse user he came across, paying no mind to any innocent civilians who might have gotten caught in the crossfire.

He didn’t mention how badly he wanted to die too, but he was holding on because he couldn’t kill the demon that murdered his family, but he wouldn’t rest until he found a way.

However, there was one thing he would always keep to himself — one thing he wouldn’t dare mention.

It was the fact that your bodies were never found.

Perhaps, if he wasn’t drunk nearly every second of every day — and he visited other places in town aside from the bar — he would have noticed that the kind coffee shop owner who owned a business right down the street looked incredibly identical to you.

And the boy who helped run the shop on the weekends had the same head of white hair as him.

— FIND PART II HERE —

[edenesth]

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[jjennuine]

BUS STOP ────── confronting your best friend for avoiding you ends in an unexpected way ..

엔하이펜 니키 x fem reader / non idol au ────fluff . angst . best friends to lovers . high school au ♡ skinship . swearing . bickering 734WC ｡｡ ARCHIVE ( ˶ˆ3ˆ˵ )

- ai’s love note 💌 this is not proof read sorry ^^

“You’re avoiding me.” Riki stops in his tracks when he hears the slight crack in your voice, hesitation filling his mind. Sighing, he slowly turns to face you, an anxious expression on his face.

“I don't know what you’re talking about” You raise an eyebrow in suspicion, and Riki seems to notice. His behavior becomes cautious because he knows you can read him like an open book.

You let out a sigh, “Did I do anything wrong?” The tall male gulps and scratches the back of his neck. "N-no," he mutters. You know he’s lying — you've known him since you were five.

Whenever you try to greet him in the halls, he avoids your gaze and walks away, during lunchtime he seems to disappear from your sight, and he won’t talk to you unless you force him to. So here you are, confronting him at a bus stop.

“Tell me the truth, I don't like you avoiding me” He sighs as he knows he has to give up his facade, but instead decides to ramble out excuses and dumb reasons so he doesn't have to admit the embarrassing truth.

You scoff at his stupid excuses, determined to know the truth — you shove him onto the bench, trying to appear intimidating even though he’s still taller than you sitting down. The height difference causes a flush of red to spread across your cheeks, making you flustered.

Thoughts race through your mind as you overthink why he has been avoiding you. Is he tired of you? Is he embarrassed to be your friend? Or does he simply hate you now? Your heart aches at the possibility that it might be true.

Riki noticed your sad expression, and it felt like his heart shattered into a million pieces. The last thing he wanted was to see you upset. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at the adorable pout on your lips — it was as if you had cast a spell on him.

“Listen.. It’s not that I don't want to be friends with you anymore, it's just-” You hated all of the possible reasons he might have had, so you cut him off. “Then why? Just tell me the truth.”

Riki’s eyes widened, and he felt like he could melt from embarrassment. He was hesitant to admit the reason behind his feelings. You rambled about him probably being embarrassed to be your friend and his brows furrowed to see you think he could ever feel that way. “I know it! You hate me don’t you-” But then you hear a deep voice snap, and you freeze in place.

“I like you!”

Your eyes widened, and the world seemed to stop. Riki looked down in shame, and you were still in disbelief. “You like me..?” Riki nodded, flustered as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“I'm sorry.. I know we’re just friends but-” Riki flinched in surprise when he felt you tug on his hoodie and kiss his lips, his heart thumping in his chest. His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

After a few moments, he felt himself close his eyes and kiss you back. His hands gently explored the skin of your waist while you played with his hair. When you finally let go to catch your breath, Riki wore a pout on his lips, clearly not wanting you to stop. In Riki's eyes, it was as if you had stars shining within your eyes, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

He was in a love-struck trance, his mind was only on you. But then he felt a light slap on his cheek. Plap! “That’s for being stupid! We could have been dating right now if you weren't so dumb!”Typical of you, he thought. He let out a laugh at your offended look and pulled you in for a second kiss, making you the flustered one.

But what you two didn't know was that Sunoo and Jungwon were watching with binoculars, gasping at the two of you.

“Hah! Pay up, Jungwon” Jungwon rolled his eyes, knowing he had to pay Sunoo twenty bucks because he lost the bet. There was no way that Riki was smart enough to confess, but he had misjudged him.

Jungwon scoffed as he reached for his school bag and reluctantly handed the money to Sunoo, making Sunoo giggle, knowing he was right.

[norristrii]

FAULT LINE.

“So stay for the night, it’ll bury the crime.” — Your relationship ended, but neither of you seem to let go. It took you multiple nights to realize what’s it all about.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. angst, hurt/no comfort, mention of sexual activities, unhealthy ex relationship, Lando being dickhead and fuckboy, mention of cheating.

music. Siren Sounds by Tate Mcrae.

FROM THE START, you knew deep down that your relationship with Lando Norris was something of a modern tragedy, destined to unravel in chaos. There was an inevitability to it—a feeling you couldn't shake, no matter how many times you convinced yourself otherwise. Something about the two of you felt doomed, as if the universe itself had conspired to keep you apart.

How could he date someone like you? That question lingered in your mind more than you cared to admit, sowing tiny seeds of doubt that threatened to grow.

Everyone told you he was wrong for you. His party demeanor, his carefree lifestyle—none of it aligned with yours. You heard the whispers, the warnings, the concerned looks that came with every mention of his name. He wasn’t the type to settle down, they said. He wasn’t the type to treat you the way you deserved. But you didn’t want to believe them. You couldn’t, because to believe them would mean letting go of the image you had built of him in your mind.

For a while, you held onto hope, believing that perhaps your connection was different, special. You thought you saw sides of him that others didn’t, glimpses of vulnerability that he only showed to you. Maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to change him.

But hope has its limits, and reality eventually makes its way through even the most determined denial. At least you found out the truth—he cheated. The realization hit like a blow to the chest, knocking the wind out of you. You had seen the signs, of course. The late-night texts, the moments when he seemed distant, distracted. But you ignored them, telling yourself it was nothing, that he cared for you more than he let on.

When the truth came out, it shattered the fragile illusion you had been holding onto. You didn’t scream or cry, at least not in front of him. Instead, you stood there, numb, as he fumbled for excuses that you didn’t want to hear. The betrayal burned, the realization that you had ignored the warnings, pushed aside the doubts, only to end up here, heartbroken and questioning everything.

You knew from the beginning that it was destined to be a disaster. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

For the first time in your life, you had done something purely for yourself. You had walked away from the chaos, from the heartbreak, from Lando Norris. It was liberating, empowering even. You told yourself you were done, that you were moving on, that you deserved better. But then, as if he could sense your newfound strength, Lando started to pull you back in.

It began with the texts—short, simple messages that carried far more weight than they should have. “I miss you,” he’d write, and you’d stare at the screen, torn between deleting the message and replying. Then came the calls, his voice on the other end of the line, soft and familiar, stirring emotions you thought you had buried. Sometimes, those calls ended with him at your doorstep, his presence filling the space you had tried so hard to make your own.

Even though you told yourself you were far from over him, the truth was undeniable. You loved him. Part of you hated him, too, for the pain he had caused, for the betrayal that had shattered your trust. But you couldn’t let him go. No matter how much you tried, no matter how many times you told yourself it was over, he had a hold on you that you couldn’t break.

If he wanted to be a casual fling, a “fuckbuddy,” as you bitterly called it in your mind, you’d let him. Because the thought of losing him again was unbearable. You’d rather have him in fragments than not at all. It was a tragic compromise, one that left you feeling hollow and conflicted, but it was the only way you knew how to keep him in your life.

Every time he came over, you told yourself it would be the last. You’d let him in, share a moment of intimacy, and then promise yourself you’d end it. But when he looked at you with those unforgettable eyes, when he smiled that devastating smile, all your resolve crumbled. He was your weakness, your addiction, and no matter how much you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t walk away.

“I have to go,” Lando said abruptly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. He was already moving, quickly getting up from the bed and gathering his clothes from the floor in a hurried, almost frantic manner. You lay there, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling as you watched him. The sight was all too familiar—him leaving, always leaving.

“Like always,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes as you sat up and began to pull on your clothes. The words were laced with bitterness, but you didn’t bother to hide it. Why should you? This wasn’t the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. He was always in a rush, always somewhere else to be, someone else to see.

There was no aftercare, no lingering moments of tenderness, no asking how you were doing. Nothing. It was as if the sex you just had evaporated the moment he decided it was time to leave. The bed still carried the warmth of his presence, but the room already felt colder, emptier.

You glanced at him as he pulled his shirt over his head, his movements quick and efficient, like he was checking off a task on a to-do list. He didn’t even look at you, didn’t notice the way your expression hardened, the way your hands trembled slightly as you buttoned your shirt.

This was the pattern, the routine you had come to expect. And yet, every time it happened, it stung just as much as the first. You told yourself you were fine with it, that you didn’t need more from him, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. You wanted more—more than hurried goodbyes and empty promises, more than being just another pitstop on his endless journey.

You followed him to the kitchen, your feet moving before your mind could decide why. There he was, standing by the counter, tossing his keys in his hand as if he couldn’t wait to leave. “See you later. I love you,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every word of that sentence landed like a question in your head. See you later? Absolutely not. And I love you? Did he even mean it, or was it just something he said out of habit? It made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite put into words.

“Yeah, of course,” you snapped, cutting him off mid-departure. The edge in your voice was unmistakable, sharp enough to make him stop in his tracks. His hand froze on the doorknob, and he turned to face you, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer, his voice softer now.

You crossed your arms, the tension in your body rising with every step he took toward you. Oh, so now he cares? you thought bitterly. It was ironic, really. When he was cold, distant, disappearing without a second thought, it was fine. He didn’t ask how you felt, didn’t stay long enough to notice. But now, when you mirrored that same detachment, it wasn’t okay. Now, he wanted answers.

“Nothing,” you shrugged casually, your tone as indifferent as you could muster. Right, nothing was wrong. Why was he even asking that? The question felt hollow, almost laughable, given the circumstances. You turned away slightly, avoiding his gaze, as if the act of looking at him might unravel the fragile composure you were clinging to.

“You know I love you,” he said, his voice soft but insistent, as though repeating the words would make them true. But for you, they were far from the truth. You didn’t know it. How could you? Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like a constant tug-of-war between hope and heartbreak, between wanting more and settling for less.

“You say that only because we fuck,” you reminded him, your voice sharp and cutting. The words hung heavy in the air, a brutal truth you couldn’t hold back any longer. You knew why he said those words, why he threw them out so casually. They weren’t rooted in love; they were a reflex, a way to keep you tethered to him. And you hated that you let them work.

He looked confused, his brows furrowing as he tried to process your accusation. “That’s not true,” he started, but his voice faltered, lacking conviction. You could see the cracks in his confidence, the way your words had shaken him. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback, didn’t know how to charm his way out of the situation.

“That is true, Lando,” you said, your laugh tinged with sarcasm, the bitterness slipping through despite your best efforts to mask it. You wished—no, you longed—for his visits to be driven by love, by something deeper, something real. But you knew better. You knew why he was here, and it wasn’t for the reasons you wanted.

“You’re here only because you’re horny,” you sighed, the words heavy with resignation. You crossed your arms, trying to steady yourself, to stand your ground even as your heart wavered. The truth was out now, hanging in the air between you like a storm cloud. You watched his expression shift, the faint flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“And if you don’t remember,” you added, your voice firmer now, “we are broken up.” The words felt like a shield, a reminder to yourself as much as to him. You weren’t supposed to be doing this, letting him back into your life, into your bed, into your heart. But here you were, caught in the same cycle, trying desperately to break free.

Lando paused, his hand still resting on the edge of the counter. His brows furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to process what you had just said. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone defensive, almost incredulous. It was as though the idea of his intentions being questioned had never even crossed his mind.

You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less resolute. “You come here, you say the things you think I want to hear, and then you leave. It’s always the same.”

For some reason, he was quiet now. Maybe because, for once, you were telling the truth he couldn’t deny. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, and it only fueled your frustration. “Oh my god, Lando!” you shouted, your voice breaking the stillness as you threw your hands in the air. “Why don’t you even try to defend yourself a bit?” Your words came out sharp and raw, laced with the bitterness of all the times he had made you feel small, unseen.

He flinched at your outburst, his gaze dropping to the floor, but his lips remained sealed for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke. “I love you, Y/n, but it’s just not that simple.” His voice was low, almost pleading, as though he expected those words to be enough to fix the shattered pieces between you.

But they weren’t. Not anymore. You were done being nice, done bending over backward in desperation to keep something alive that was slowly killing you inside. You were done clinging to empty words and hollow promises. “Can you stop lying, Lando?” you shot back, your tone venomous, toxic in its delivery. “Can you stop lying for at least a second in your damn life?”

His head snapped up, his expression shifting between confusion and hurt. “I’m not lying,” he said quietly, but you didn’t believe him. Not a single word. His declarations of love felt cheap, as fleeting as the visits where he left you feeling more broken than before.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you were about to say. The words came unfiltered, raw, and unrestrained. “I’m done,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “I’m done with this shit. I’m done with you.” The weight of your declaration hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, you felt a sense of clarity, as though the fog of confusion and heartbreak had finally lifted.

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. It was almost comical, the way he looked at you now, as if he didn’t understand English anymore. His confusion only fueled your anger, the fire burning hotter with every second he stood there, pretending not to know.

“Get off of my fucking eyes, that’s what I mean,” you snapped, your voice sharp and cutting. You wouldn’t beg again, wouldn’t plead for him to stay or try to fix what was already broken beyond repair. You were done being the one who cared more, who tried harder, who sacrificed everything for someone who gave so little in return. “You ruined everything,” you added, the words spilling out like a final blow.

“But I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his tone soft, almost pleading. No way. Was he joking now? The audacity of his words made your blood boil. How could he stand there, after everything he had done, and say something so utterly meaningless?

“You should have thought of that before you cheated, asshole,” you shot back, your voice dripping with venom. The truth was out now, and there was no taking it back. You weren’t holding anything in anymore, weren’t sugarcoating your pain to make him feel better. He deserved to hear it, every word, every ounce of anger and betrayal you had bottled up for far too long.

“Get out,” you said, your voice firm and steady as you pointed at the door. The finality in your tone echoed in the room, leaving no space for negotiation. Lando froze, his hand still resting by his side, as his eyes locked onto yours one last time. Those green eyes—piercing, unforgettable, the ones that had once undone you every time—met your gaze, pleading silently for a chance. But this time, you felt none of the pull that had always kept you tethered to him. This time, you resisted.

“No, just let me explain—” he began, his voice desperate, his words rushed as if he could fix everything if he only spoke fast enough. But you wouldn’t let him. You wouldn’t let him use his excuses or empty promises to worm his way back into your life.

“Get out before I call the police,” you interrupted, your voice cutting through his plea like a knife. Your words carried an unmistakable edge, final and unyielding, daring him to challenge you. You stood your ground, your hand still pointing toward the door, your expression resolute. You weren’t going to beg anymore, nor would you let yourself fall for his attempts to salvage what was already irreparably broken.

Lando hesitated, his expression shifting from desperation to something unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as though he might protest, try one more time to explain, to reason with you. But the weight of your command—the realization that you wouldn’t bend this time—settled over him, and he finally relented. Without another word, he turned away, his movements stiff and mechanical, like he was forcing himself to leave.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the room, marking his departure with a harsh finality. You stood still for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, your chest tight with a mixture of relief and lingering pain. You had done it—made him leave, chosen yourself for once. But the victory felt bittersweet, as if closing this chapter had come at a cost you weren’t yet ready to fully comprehend.

The room was quiet now, but the silence felt different. It wasn’t suffocating, wasn’t filled with the tension of unspoken words. It was lighter, freer, and for the first time, you felt like you could breathe. You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of him, of everything he had put you through, begin to slip away.

You were alone now, but it didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like the start of something new—something that was yours, something that didn’t revolve around him anymore.

[helioooss]

hard times, part two

synopsis: years after you closed the door on mina, you find each other again.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: very emotional, mentions of death, read at your own risk. i actually cried???

a/n: long wait is over! i won’t be posting for awhile after this. i appreciate all your little messages and i promise i am reading them. <3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

four years since the scandal that blew up across every headline, the breakup that shattered you from the inside out, and the decision to walk away from your old life in seoul. you had been a music producer once, someone who had built a career alongside some of the biggest names in the industry. that was where you met mina. where you fell in love.

that was another lifetime ago.

now, your days are quieter — simpler. the sound of waves crashing against the shore is a far cry from the constant hum of seoul’s streets, and the steady rhythm of stacking books at the small shop you work at is comforting in a way that music never was after everything fell apart.

in australia, you found solace in routine, in the ordinary. you surf in the mornings and work at the bookstore in the afternoons.

you glance out the window of the shop as the afternoon sun paints golden streaks across the pavement. it’s peaceful here, far from the noise, the cameras, the attention. this life you’ve built for yourself is so far removed from the person you used to be that sometimes it feels like a dream — or perhaps, a carefully constructed escape.

but no matter how far you run, some ghosts never leave.

mina was that ghost.

there isn’t a day that goes by when you don’t think about her, even if it’s just in the smallest, quietest moments. the way she used to hold you close, her smile when it was just the two of you, and how she used to look at you like you were her entire world.

it had been that way for years; you always thought nothing could ever shake it.

then came jeno; a rising star. someone famous and adored, somebody from her world. it was supposed to be a fake relationship — the kind idols are pushed into for publicity, but somewhere along the way, lines blurred. you watched as the person you loved slipped away, piece by piece, until the truth came crashing down.

she fell in love with him. you weren’t enough. that’s what your mind always circled back to in the darkest hours. she chose fame, chose him, over you.

the only option left for you was to leave. not just her, but the entire world that reminded you of her; of what you had and what you lost.

it really wasn’t until a few weeks ago that the past began creeping back into your life. after years of silence, you finally posted a picture on instagram — just a shot of the ocean and a surfboard, nothing significant. you weren’t thinking about who might see it, or what it might stir up. yet somehow, some way, it reached your old friends…the ones you had blocked and unblocked every now and then.

one by one, they knocked on your walls. small at first. jeongyeon commenting on the post using her private account, a simple “living the life i see” followed by a string of heart emojis. then sana, a message asking if you were still in australia and which city. dahyun, always the most straightforward, just sent, it’s been too long. let’s catch up.

uncertainty filled your mind, you weren’t sure how to respond. after all, you cut them off when you left. not because you didn’t care about them, but because staying in touch with anyone from that part of your life hurt too much.

there was something in their messages, something familiar and warm that made you hesitate. four years was a long time, and you missed them. maybe more than you wanted to admit.

so you replied, one by one.

a wine bar somewhere in fitzroy, just a few days before their concert at rod laver arena. they flew you out of brisbane and you almost backed out at the last second, nerves twisting in your stomach as you stood outside hope street radio.

what if things weren’t the same?

after heaving out a sigh, you decided to get it over and done with. however, the moment you stepped inside and saw them all sitting around the table, all your worries evaporated. jeongyeon waved you over, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way she almost knocked over her coffee in her excitement.

you felt like a kid again.

“y/n!” sana’s voice rang out, bright and cheerful, pulling you into a tight hug the moment you reached the table. “it’s been so long!”

you laughed, hugging her back as tzuyu slid over to make room for you. “i know. sorry about that.”

“don’t be,” nayeon said, her voice softer than usual but still carrying that familiar edge of mischief. “we miss you, that’s all.”

a moment of silence settled over the table, the weight of unspoken words filling the air. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a heaviness to it. they all knew what happened, even if you never spoke about it in detail. you didn’t have to. they had been there, watching as everything crumbled.

“so,” jihyo broke the silence with a grin, “what’s australia like? other than the killer spiders and, you know, surfing every day by the looks of you?”

“just make sure you don’t let the barking spiders and drop bears get to you,” you nudged at chaeyoung and she did the same; as if the years hadn’t created mountains between you all.

you chuckled, the tension breaking as you launched into a lighthearted conversation about your new life.

“how did you even get to surfing, like, what?” dahyun asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice. “i’ve never even seen you jump in a pool!”

“ahh, well, it started when my roommates decided to take me beach camping with. we drove around the country just to surf. i eventually picked up the hobby and —“

“the sharks, y/n!” momo chimed in, face frightened and all.

this made you laugh as you shook your head. “honestly, they’re not that bad. we get alerts for them all the time and some are even tagged so we can track them ourselves.”

“what are drop bears?”

the smile on your face disappeared. “they’re the worst, never ever look up when you’re hiking through gumtrees…they spy on their prey real good.”

“there goes my dream of hiking under fifty degree heat in australia,” jeongyeon rolled her eyes. “not.”

the jokes started rolling in, and soon enough, it felt like no time had passed at all. you talked about your friends, your quiet life at the bookstore, the peacefulness of the ocean. they talked about their tour, the chaos of their schedules, the craziness of being in the western spotlight.

but there was one name that none of you mentioned.

mina.

as the hours passed, you found yourself relaxing, giggling with them like you used to, the bond between you all still strong despite the years apart. it was bittersweet, yes, but it was also healing in a way you didn’t expect.

“you should come to the concert,” momo suggested at one point, her eyes bright with excitement. “it’s in two days and we’d love to see you there.”

you hesitated, a frown etched on your face. “i don’t think that’d be a good idea, she will be there.”

“she doesn’t have to know,” sana cut in quickly. “she won’t even notice. she’s been…in her own world lately.”

you glanced between them, the unspoken understanding passing between you all. you weren’t sure if you were ready to face mina again. not after everything. but you missed them. missed the connection you had with them, missed being a part of something bigger than yourself.

“pretty please, y/n?”

“okay,” you finally agreed, earning a round of cheers and laughter from the girls.

it felt right, but underneath it all, there was still that pain, the part that wasn’t sure how you’d handle seeing her again after so long.

meanwhile, not too far away from you, mina sat alone in her hotel room; staring mindlessly at her phone. the girls had all gone out for dinner but she stayed back like she has done for years now — harbouring herself away from everyone day by day.

she had tried so many times to reach out to you. after you left, after everything fell apart, she had tried. your friends and family — they shut her out. they still loved her, they told her as much, but they respected your decision to move on, to start over without her. she couldn’t blame them.

after all, she was the one who ruined everything.

jeno had been a mistake from the start. what was supposed to be a fake relationship, something for the cameras, turned into something that crossed lines mina didn’t even realise she had crossed until it was too late. she thought she could handle both. thought she could keep you and the life she had in the public eye, but it had all fallen apart in her hands.

she had lost you — the only person who ever truly mattered.

and for what? a fleeting moment of fame? a shallow relationship that meant nothing?

she regretted it every day.

the past four years without you had been a blur of schedules and stages, but none of it felt real anymore. without you, she was lost. fame wasn’t worth it without you by her side. none of it was.

and now, as she stared at her phone, scrolling through old messages she never sent, she wondered if you ever thought about her the way she thought about you. probably not. you had moved on, hadn’t you? you were probably happy now, living a life she could never be a part of.

then, a message popped up on her screen. it was from jihyo in their group chat.

and it was about you.

mina’s heart skipped a beat as she read the messages popping up one by one, the words sinking in slowly.

jihyo: we all just met up with y/n…and we all decided you deserved to know that she is okay.

tzuyu: yeah she’s looking real good 😊

momo: extremely good looking and even funnier too minari. aged like fine wine

mina frowned, remembering how her members used to tease her in the same way, any chance they got. she wasn’t annoyed at them, no, she missed it.

you were in australia. you had been here, all this time. and now, you were going to be at the concert.

she dropped her phone, panic setting in. she hadn’t seen you in years. what would she say? how would she even face you after what she did?

her mind raced, and for the first time in years, she felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her own decisions. you were so close, and yet so far away.

before she knew it, her thumb clicked on the call button in their group chat. it rang twice…and nayeon’s voice came out of the other line.

“how?” was the first thing that came out of mina’s lips, equal yelling and trembling at. “why didn’t you tell me? otherwise i would’ve come to dinner!”

“mina, please be calmer,” nayeon sighed. “we’re on our way back to the hotel now.”

mina’s fingers shook, anxiety rushing through every vein in her body. “where…where is she?”

“she’s staying at a hotel not too far from the city, we had to fly her out from the gold coast where she actually lives.”

“does she hate me still? does she know i’ve been looking for her everywhere?”

there was stunned silence from the other end, each of the girls not knowing what to say to mina.

“i…” jihyo began, but paused. “we will come to your room in a few minutes, okay? and y/n bought tim tams for you and thinks you might like it.”

mina smiled, her chest feeling warm. at least you remembered, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face the consequences of what she had done.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the night of the concert arrived, and you stood at the edge of the crowd with one of your friends, taylor, by your side. the energy in the arena was electric, fans cheering and chanting as the lights dimmed and the music began. some even recognised you from back in the days.

taylor nudged you, a grin on her face as she said, “didn’t realise they were this popular.”

you laughed, but it was strained. “trust me, it can get worst than this.”

“and you used to produce for and are friends with these girls?” taylor raised an eyebrow. “who would’ve fucking thought, hey?”

“yep,” you responded, dragging the ‘p’. “eventually, you’re going to find out things about me, so be prepared.”

she said something else, but your thoughts were elsewhere. you scanned the stage, searching for familiar faces, but part of you hoped you wouldn’t see her.

and then, the lights hit the stage, and there she was.

mina.

your breath caught in your throat as you saw her for the first time in four years. she looked different, yet the same. her hair was longer, her expression more guarded; the only thing left was that same spark in her eyes. the one you used to know so well.

when her eyes swept over the crowd, there was a flicker of panic. like she was searching for something — or someone.

you hadn’t prepared yourself to feel all of this again — the rush of memories, the hurt, the betrayal, and something deeper that you thought had disappeared over time.

seeing mina in person, after all these years, was like reopening a wound you thought had healed.

taylor watched you from the corner of her eye, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t say anything. she didn’t know the whole story, and you weren’t sure you could tell her even if you tried.

on stage, mina moved like she always had —graceful, confident, yet something was off. she kept glancing into the crowd, her eyes scanning over the fans with an almost frantic energy. it was like she was looking for someone. you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay still, but your heart was racing in your chest.

and then, for just a split second, her eyes landed on you.

she froze.

you saw the way her expression changed, how her face paled as if she had seen a ghost. it was like time stopped for both of you. the cheers of the crowd faded into the background, and all you could focus on was the look of shock — and something else in her eyes; regret?

you didn’t know what to feel. a part of you wanted to turn around and leave, to run from the confrontation you knew was coming. but another part of you, the part that still remembered how it felt to love her, couldn’t look away.

before you could make a decision, the other girls must have noticed.

jeongyeon and sana exchanged glances, and you saw them subtly maneuvering mina away from the edge of the stage, trying to shield her from the crowd — and from you. they knew. they knew this was too much for her, that seeing you after all this time was breaking her composure.

you felt a pang of guilt. you hadn’t come here to make her uncomfortable. you came to see your old friends, to support them, not to stir up old wounds. but mina…mina was unraveling right in front of you.

taylor leaned in closer, her voice low so as not to disturb the people around you. “is everything okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost and that pretty girl does too.”

you forced a smile, shaking your head. “i’m fine. just…memories…she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

she didn’t press further, and you were grateful for that. but the tension in your body didn’t ease as the concert went on. every time mina moved, you could feel her glancing in your direction, her discomfort radiating across the stage.

“she must be in love with you still, huh?” taylor nudged your arm gently, trying to lighten up the mood.

“maybe.”

she was barely performing anymore, just going through the motions as her eyes searched for you in the sea of faces. every time she found you, her expression tightened.

it was the weight of four years without closure crashing down on her.

by the end of the concert, you felt emotionally drained. you hadn’t expected it to hit you this hard. as the final song “move” played and the lights dimmed, you considered slipping out before anyone had a chance to come, to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

before you could move, their managers, the ones that were always friendly with you, were suddenly at your side; ushering you towards the back entrance with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

taylor shot you a questioning look, but you just waved her off. “i’ll explain later,” you mumbled. “this is complicated.”

she shrugged, clearly confused, but didn’t ask any more questions. “i’d rather meet you outside, at a pub, then. take your time, i don’t wanna impose.”

“are you sure you don’t wanna join me?”

“i’m sure, mate,” she smiled, giving you a thumbs up. “too big for my little world, y’know?”

you nodded, your heart racing, and followed them without protest.

as you were led backstage, the weight of everything you’d been avoiding for four years pressed down on you. this used to be your world, ran these shows like a maniac. you hadn’t wanted to come back to this, not after what she did.

yet now that you were here, you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that threatened to drown you.

the hallway backstage was buzzing with activity —managers and staff moving around in a whirlwind of post-concert chaos. all of that blurred into the background as tzuyu appeared out of a room and guided you to a quieter area, away from the noise with only just her.

“she saw you,” tzuyu said quietly once you were alone, her eyes full of concern. “she hasn’t been the same all night.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the guilt gnaw at you again. “i didn’t mean for this to happen. i didn’t even know if i should come.”

tzuyu sighed softly. “you know how much you mean to her, right? even after everything?”

you looked away, the ache in your chest growing. “then why did she hurt me?”

“it was a mistake,” tzuyu said, her voice gentle but firm. “a stupid, terrible mistake. but it wasn’t because she didn’t love you.”

you didn’t know how to respond to that. for so long, you had convinced yourself that mina had chosen jeno because you weren’t enough. that you, the quiet producer working behind the scenes, could never compete with someone famous, someone who could give her everything.

it had been the root of your insecurity, the thing that haunted you long after you left.

before you could say anything else, the door to the room opened, and there she was.

mina — she sitting on the couch with her head down her palms, surrounded by all the other girls.

she looked fragile, more so than you had ever seen her. the confidence she usually carried on stage was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sadness. the moment she looked up at you, her bloodshot eyes were wide, it was like she couldn’t breathe.

“y/n,” her voice was barely a whisper, but it sent a jolt through you. hearing her say your name in the tone after all these years felt like a punch to the gut.

you stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. all the anger, the hurt, the longing — it all surged up at once, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

mina took a tentative step forward, her eyes pleading you to say something, anything.

and you couldn’t.

you could feel the other girls staring, their presence a quiet reminder that this moment was fragile. the air between you and mina was thick with everything unsaid.

“i…i didn’t know you would be here,” mina stammered, her voice shaking. “i didn’t think i’d ever see you again.”

“i didn’t plan on it,” you finally managed to say, your voice hoarse. “i came to see them. not you.”

mina flinched, but she didn’t back away. instead, she took another step forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “i’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “for everything, for hurting you, for…for losing you like that.”

you shook your head, trying to keep your emotions in check. “it’s been four years, mina. four years since you left me for someone else. what more could you want from me?”

“i know,” mina chocked out, hands trembling. “i know. and i hate myself for it every day.”

“that mistake cost me everything,” you said, your voice hardening — cold and detached. “i loved you all those years and i still wasn’t enough for you.”

“no,” mina said quickly, her eyes wide with desperation. “you were always enough. more than enough. i got caught up in the fame, in everything i thought i needed and now i know none of it mattered. we had dreams of our future together, y/n, i worked hard so we could achieve it…and i messed up real bad, blinded.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and raw. you wanted to believe her. god, you wanted to believe her, but the hurt was still there. and painful.

“you have no idea what these past four years have been like for me,” your voice trembled, only noticing that you were both alone together. “i rebuilt my life from nothing. i tried to forget you. but every time i think i’ve moved on, something reminds me of you.”

mina’s face crumpled, and she took another step closer, until she was right in front of you. “please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “please don’t shut me out again. i know i don’t deserve it, but i want to make things right. i need you, y/n. i’ve always needed you.”

you looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in years, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes. she wasn’t the mina on stage, the idol who commanded the attention of millions. she was just the girl you fell in love with all those years ago, the one who used to hold your hand and share secrets and breathless kisses in the dark.

but could you trust her again?

before you could answer, jihyo stepped into the room, gently placing a hand on mina’s shoulder. “let’s give it some time,” she said softly. “y/n’s been through a lot. this isn’t something that can be fixed overnight.

mina nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as she took a step back. “i understand,” she whispered. “but i won’t give up. not on you.”

with that, she turned and left the room, leaving you standing there with the rest of the girls, your heart heavy with everything that had just happened.

you didn’t know what the future held. you didn’t know if you could ever forgive mina for what she did.

as you stood there, watching the door close behind her, you learned that a part of you, no matter how small, wanted to try.

the following months were a blur. after that night at the concert, mina tried reaching out to you in every way possible — texts, calls, even showing up at the bookstore where you worked. you ignored her, still unsure if you were ready to let her back into your life. every time you saw her name flash on your phone, your heart clenched, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

eventually, mina’s messages became less frequent, though you knew from the other twice members that she was struggling, bad. they told you about her anxiety, how she was barely able to perform anymore, how the weight of losing you was crushing her. part of you felt guilty, but another part of you knew that she needed to face the consequences of her actions.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it wasn’t until mina made a public announcement that everything changed.

you were stunned.

the day of mina’s public press conference arrived like a storm, unexpected and impossible to ignore. you hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even heard rumours about it until you stumbled upon a news headline on your phone while you were on a break at the bookstore.

“mina myoui of twice speaks out in emotional press conference: ‘i lost the love of my life because of my own mistakes.’”

your heart dropped. your hands shook as you clicked the link, the video starting almost instantly.

there she was, standing behind a podium, dressed simply in black, her face pale and drawn. cameras flashed incessantly, the noise of the reporters’ murmurs filled the room as she stood there, clearly struggling to keep her composure.

you hadn’t seen her like this before — not in all the years you were together, not in the countless press events she’d attended as an idol. this was different. this was raw.

as you watched, you could almost feel the vulnerability radiating off of her, like she was standing there with her heart in her hands, baring it for the rest of the world to see.

“thank you all for being here,” mina began, her voice shaky but resolute. she clutched the edges of the podium as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “there is something i need to say. something i’ve needed to say for a long time.”

she took a deep breath, and in that moment, you could see the weight of everything she had carried for years. all the pain, the regret, the guilt; it was written on her face, in the way her shoulders slumped, in the tremble of her voice.

“i’ve made many mistakes in my life, and the biggest one of all was losing someone i loved more than anything. i’ve stayed silent about it for a long time, out of respect for them, and because…because i didn’t know how to face the truth.”

the room fell silent. even the reporters, always hungry for a story, seemed to sense the gravity of what she was about to say.

“i was in a relationship,” mina continued, her voice cracking slightly. “a relationship that i cherished more than anything in this world. you all would have known her as y/n.”

your breath caught in your throat as you listened, the words cutting deep. this wasn’t the mina the world was used to seeing. this wasn’t the idol, the face on billboards — this was the real mina: vulnerable, scared and desperate to make amends.

“my y/n,” she said softly, the name falling from her lips like a confession. “she was everything to me, she loved me when i was just mina, not an idol, not a public figure, just me. we were just kids.”

there was a collective gasp from the room, the reporters scribbling furiously in their notebooks, but mina didn’t stop. her eyes were red, tears shimmering at the edges, but she pressed on.

“i hurt her bad,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper now, but it was clear, unflinching. “it was a stupid, selfish mistake, and i’ve regretted it every single day since.”

the cameras zoomed in on her face, capturing every tear that slipped down her cheeks. you could see the pain etched into every line, the desperation in her eyes as she looked directly into the camera, as if she were speaking to you and only you.

“but i let the pressures of this industry, the expectations, get to me. i thought i needed to be someone else to survive in this world, and in the process, i lost the one person who truly mattered.”

you felt your chest tighten as you watched her fall apart in front of the world. it wasn’t just an apology; it was a public plea, a desperate attempt to reach you, wherever you were. and it was working. despite everything, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion that crashed over you as you listened to her words.

she paused, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming.

“i need you to know that i haven’t stopped thinking about you. i haven’t stopped loving you. not for a single day. and if i could go back and change everything, i would. if i could give up this life, this fame, this career, to have you back, i would do it in a heartbeat.”

the silence in the room was deafening. even the reporters seemed to be holding their breath, captivated by the rawness of her confession.

mina took a shaky breath and looked down at her hands, her voice breaking completely as she spoke the next words. “i’ve been lost without you but i don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said, her voice barely audible now. “i don’t expect you to even want to see me again. but i had to say this. i had to let the world know what i did, and how much i regret it. because you deserve to know how much i loved you. how much i still love you.”

there was a long pause, and for a moment, it seemed like she was going to break down completely. then she straightened up, her eyes red and swollen, but resolute.

“i’m taking a break from everything,” she added quietly. “i need time to reflect, to heal, and to figure out who i am without all of this. i’ve been relieved all of my duties from twice, i need to find myself again and i hope you can all understand.”

the room was still. no one dared speak. no one dared interrupt the moment.

mina glanced down at the podium, her hands shaking slightly as she folded the piece of paper in front of her, though she hadn’t read from it once. then she looked back up at the camera, her expression full of sorrow, but also a kind of hope.

“y/n,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, “if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, i’ll be waiting.”

and with that, she stepped away from the podium, leaving the room in stunned silence. the cameras continued to flash, the reporters murmured amongst themselves, but mina didn’t look back. she walked out of the room, her shoulders slumped, her heart laid bare for the world to see.

“what the fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, messages from everyone slowly flooding in.

years were spent building a life away from her, convincing yourself that you were over it, but now, after hearing her speak, after seeing the depth of her pain, you weren’t so sure.

you had loved her. and a part of you still did.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

over the next few days, the media exploded with the news of mina’s press conference. it was everywhere: on social media, in magazines, in every corner of the internet.

and amidst all the chaos, amidst all the noise, you found yourself replaying her words in your head over and over again.

she was stepping away. from everything.

because of you.

you hadn’t responded to her messages, her calls, or her letters for so long. you had kept her at arm’s length, refusing to let her back in after the way she hurt you. now, after seeing her like that; vulnerable, so broken — you wondered if you had been holding on to your anger for too long.

could you really spend the rest of your life shutting her out?

one day, as you sat in the bookstore, staring blankly at the stack of books in front of you, taylor came up to you with a hesitant look on her face.

“you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle. “you’ve been… kind of out of it since that whole press thing with, uh, you know…her.”

you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “i don’t know, taylor. i really don’t know.”

taylor paused, then handed you another envelope. “this came for you today. from japan again.”

it was from mina. you didn’t even need to open it to know. she had been sending them regularly now, each one more heartfelt than the last, each one filled with the same desperation and regret you had seen at the press conference.

you knew what she was asking for. forgiveness. a second chance.

but could you give it to her?

you hesitated for a long moment, then finally tore open the envelope, your hands shaking slightly as you unfolded the letter.

it was long, full of apologies and regrets, but it was also full of memories. mina wrote about the life she had imagined for the two of you, the life she had lost because of her mistakes. she wrote about how she was living in a small cabin in kyoto, trying to find herself again, and how she wished you could see the beauty of the place with her.

she had changed. she wasn’t the same person who had broken your heart all those years ago.

for weeks, the letters kept coming, each one more heartfelt than the last. mina poured her heart out on paper, describing her days in kyoto, the simple life she had built for herself away from the spotlight. she wrote about how much she had grown, how she had learned from her mistakes, and how much she still loved you.

“do you think you could forgive her?” taylor asked one day, her feet up on the register and fingers greased with butter from the fairy bread in her hand. “like i don’t know man, she seems pretty genuine about all this.”

“she has changed,” you mumbled, folding the piece of paper gently into a box filled with her letters.

and just maybe, you weren’t the same person either. by the time you finished reading her last letter. your decision was made.

you stared down at the blank paper in front of you, the pen heavy in your hand. for a long time, you just sat there, unsure of how to even begin. every time you thought of mina, it was like two opposing forces collided within you: one pulling you toward her, remembering the love you had, and the other pulling you away, reminding you of the pain she had caused.

and yet, despite the weight of it all, you found your hand moving almost on its own, words spilling onto the page.

dear mina,

i’m not sure where to start. i don’t even know if i should be writing this. it’s been four years and i thought i had moved on. but then you went and did something like that, something i never expected.

you paused, biting your lip as you stared at the words. it felt like you were pouring your heart out onto the page, but it also felt vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in a long time.

you continued writing, the words coming easier now.

i watched your press conference. i saw you standing there, telling the world about us. you have no idea how hard that was for me, hearing you talk about what we had, what we lost. for a long time, i thought i’d never be able to forgive you for what you did. when you cheated, it broke something in me that i didn’t think could ever be fixed.

now, after seeing you like that, after reading your letters…i don’t know, minari. i don’t know what to think anymore.

you sat back for a moment, rereading what you had written. it was honest, raw, and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to confront the emotions you had buried.

i can see that you’ve changed. i can see that you regret what happened. and maybe i’ve changed too. maybe i’m finally ready to let go of the anger.

you hesitated, your pen hovering over the paper. maybe. the word felt heavy, unsure. but wasn’t that the truth? you didn’t know if you were ready to forgive her completely, however, you were ready to start, and that was something.

i don’t know if i’m ready to forgive you, not completely, you wrote, the words feeling like a relief as they left the tip of your pen. but i’m willing to talk. i’m willing to hear you out, to see if there’s something left between us. i think we both owe it to ourselves to figure that out.

you paused again, your heart pounding as you realized what you were about to do. this was the first real step toward letting her back into your life, and it scared you.

so, if you’re serious about this — about us — then i’m willing to try again.

sincerely, y/n.

you stared at the letter for a long time after you finished writing, the words on the page blurring as you thought about everything that had led you to this moment. you had spent years running from your feelings, building walls to protect yourself, but maybe it was time to stop running. maybe it was time to face the love you had lost and see if it could be rebuilt.

the next day, you mailed the letter.

weeks passed after you sent the letter, and for a while, there was nothing but silence. part of you had expected that — after all, mina had disappeared from the public eye, taking a hiatus to heal, just like she said she would. you wondered if she had received your letter, if she was still in that cabin in kyoto, waiting for your response.

“how are things with mina?” your dad casually brought her up over the phone, the air filling with tension.

“uh, yeah, i don’t really know,” you spun your fork around. “we’re sort of talking.”

“that girl loves you with all her life,” he sighed. “it was a shame to see her go.”

“i know.”

“forgive her, y/n!” your mum’s voice rung from the line, albeit a bit distant. she must’ve been in the kitchen. “love is all about hurting, if it finds its way back to you, don’t close your door to it.”

then, one day, you received a letter back.

your heart pounded as you opened it, mina’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the page. you sat down at your small kitchen table, hands trembling slightly as you began to read.

dear y/n,

thank you. thank you for writing back, and thank you for giving me a chance, even if it’s just to talk. when i received your letter, i couldn’t stop crying. i know that i don’t deserve your forgiveness, and i wasn’t sure if you would ever want to speak to me again, but knowing that you’re willing to at least try…it means everything to me.

i understand that you’re not ready to forgive me yet, and i don’t expect you to be. i know i hurt you deeply, and it’s going to take time. but i promise, y/n, i’m not the same person i was back then. i’ve had a lot of time to reflect on who i am, on what i want out of life, and more than anything, i want to be the person you fell in love with again.

i’m still in kyoto, living a quiet life in the cabin. it’s peaceful here, in a way i’ve never experienced before. sometimes, i walk through the cherry blossom trees, and i think about what it would be like if you were here with me, seeing the beauty of this place.

i know i have a long way to go to prove myself to you, but i’m willing to do whatever it takes. i’ve been thinking about the life we could have together — the one we dreamed of. i want us to have a future again.

but i also know that i have to earn it. so, i’ll wait. as long as it takes, i’ll wait.

with all my love, mina.

her letter rest in your lap, it smelt just like her. they all do. your mind was swirling with thoughts and emotions. it felt surreal, hearing from her again, reading her words, feeling the sincerity behind them.

and in that fleeting moment, you realised something. you wanted that future too.

over the next few months, you and mina exchanged letters regularly. they were long, filled with memories, apologies, and hopes for the future.

she wrote about her days in kyoto, about the small joys she found in the quiet life she was leading, about how she was rediscovering who she was outside of the idol world. you wrote back, telling her about your life in australia, about taylor, about the bookstore and the ocean that had become your refuge.

slowly, the walls between you began to crumble.

and then, one day, you made a decision.

you booked a flight to kyoto.

the air in kyoto was crisp and cool as you stepped off the plane, the cherry blossoms in full bloom as you made your way through the city. it had been years since you had been in japan, and the familiarity of it felt strange, almost foreign after the life you had built in australia. there was something comforting about it too, something that made your heart beat faster as you thought about what was waiting for you.

mina.

you hadn’t told her you were coming. you wanted it to be a surprise, and you weren’t even sure what you were going to say when you saw her. after months of letters, after all the words and apologies and hopes shared between the two of you, you knew one thing for sure:

you had to see her.

you followed the directions she had given you in one of her letters, winding through narrow streets and past beautiful gardens until you reached a small cabin nestled at the edge of a quiet grove of cherry trees. the sight of it took your breath away.

simple, unassuming, but surrounded by a beauty that seemed almost unreal.

for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the cabin, your heart pounding in your chest. this was it.

you took a deep breath, then walked up to the door and knocked.

there was a long pause, and for a minute, you wondered if she was even home. then, the door opened, and there she was.

she looked different, yet the same. her hair was longer, pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was dressed simply in a cream sweater and black joggers. but it was her eyes that caught you—the same eyes you had fallen in love with all those years ago, filled with shock, hope, and something else…something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“y/n?” her voice was soft, disbelieving, as if she couldn’t believe you were standing there in front of her.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing as you looked at her, taking in every detail. “hi, mina.”

for a long moment, neither of you moved. you just stood there, staring at each other, the weight of everything that had happened hanging in the air between you. and then, before you could say anything else, mina stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight, desperate embrace.

you hesitated for a second, your body stiff with the shock of it all, but then you melted into her embrace, your arms wrapping around her in return.

like coming home after being lost for so long.

“i’m sorry,” mina whispered against your shoulder, her voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you closed your eyes, holding her tighter. “i know.”

you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other as the cherry blossoms fell gently around you, the weight of the past slowly lifting.

you were ready to find your way back to each other.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

over the next few years, you and mina rebuilt what had been broken. it wasn’t easy — there were still moments of hurt, moments when the past threatened to resurface, but you both worked through it.

you travelled together, exploring the places you had always dreamed of visiting. you laughed and cried together, and found joy in the simple moments of life.

one day, in a quiet moment under the cherry blossom trees, mina got down on one knee and asked you to marry her.

you said yes.

the wedding was small, private, just the two of you and a handful of close friends. it wasn’t the grand, public affair that mina’s life had once been filled with: it was quiet, intimate, and full of love.

“mrs and mrs myoi!” all your friends cheered, the ones who have been there throughout your journey, throwing petals of flowers at you.

“i can’t believe you’re actually married,” rosé cries alongside jennie, them pushing each other playfully in the crowd. “i hope i’m not next.”

you laughed and as you stood there, hand in hand with the woman you had once thought you had lost forever, you realised that you had both found your way back to where you belonged.

together.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the soft glow of the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm haze over the room. you sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion etched into every part of your body, but there was an undeniable peace that had settled over you. next to you, mina lay with her head against the pillow, her hair tousled, eyes soft as they gazed at the tiny bundle in your arms.

in your lap, wrapped in a light blue blanket, was your son.

he was small, delicate, his tiny fingers curled around your thumb as he slept soundly, oblivious to the world around him. his dark hair, still wispy, stuck out at odd angles, and you couldn’t stop staring at him.

mina shifted beside you, reaching out to gently stroke his cheek with the pad of her finger, her eyes filled with wonder and something deeper. “he’s so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. “i think he’s going to have those striking eyes of yours.”

you smiled, feeling a swell of pride and love in your chest. “yeah, he really is.”

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, just taking in the sight of your son, feeling the enormity of the moment settle over you. it had been a long journey to get here, but now, sitting here with the love of your life and your first child, it all felt worth it.

mina leaned her head against your shoulder, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “what should we call him?”

you had talked about names for months, tossing ideas back and forth, but now that he was here, the name you both loved most seemed to fit perfectly. even the girls had their input, but you put a halt to it when jeongyeon suggested bob.

“yuto,” you said softly, the name feeling right on your tongue. “what do you think?”

mina smiled, her eyes shining with tears. “yuto,” she repeated, testing it out. “it’s perfect.”

yuto stirred in your arms, his tiny face scrunching up for a moment before he settled back into sleep. you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the overwhelming love you had for him already.

mina wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer, and the two of you sat there in the quiet of the morning, holding the newest member of your family. yuto was yours — yours and mina’s — a symbol of everything you had been through, of the love you had fought so hard to rebuild.

“welcome to the world, yuto,” mina whispered softly, her voice full of love.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the house in australia was quiet, except for the gentle rustling of leaves outside and the occasional sound of the ocean in the distance. it had been their home for decades, a place filled with laughter, love, and memories that spanned a lifetime. the walls were lined with photos, capturing every stage of their journey together —the wedding, the birth of their children, and moments spent with friends who had become family.

yuto, their eldest, a kind and thoughtful person who had followed in your footsteps, becoming a producer in his own right, though he chose to stay out of the limelight. he had his mother’s calm demeanor, often the one to bring peace during any family chaos.

their second child, a daughter named haruka, was full of fire and creativity. she had her own art gallery in melbourne and was known for her bold, expressive paintings that often captured the vibrant landscapes of australia. haruka was fierce, protective, and carried the weight of being a middle child with grace, always looking out for her siblings.

next came their son akira, who had inherited your grace and sense of purpose. akira was a dancer, like his mother once was and he traveled the world performing in renowned dance companies. he had a quiet intensity about him, thoughtful and introspective, yet he was always the first to call when something important happened, making sure the family stayed connected despite the miles between them.

the youngest, hana, was the baby of the family. she was gentle and soft-spoken, often the quiet observer in a room, but her empathy and kindness shone through in everything she did. hana worked as a therapist, helping children and families navigate difficult moments, and she was adored by her nieces and nephews for her gentle, nurturing nature.

you and mina had watched your children grow into adults with pride, and though the years had weathered your bodies, the love you shared remained as strong as ever. you were in your early 80s now, both of you moving slower than you used to, but still finding joy in the simple moments; like the quiet sunday mornings where you’d sit together, sipping tea and watching the world wake up.

it was during one of those mornings, the sun just starting to filter through the curtains, that you and mina found yourselves reminiscing about the old days.

“do you ever think about the girls?” mina asked softly, her hand resting on yours, her touch still as warm as ever.

you nodded, your thoughts drifting back to the early days of your life together, back when twice had been at the height of their fame. “i do,” you said, your voice quiet with the weight of memories. “it feels like a lifetime ago.”

she sighed, her gaze distant as she thought of her old friends. “chaeyoung and dahyun…” she trailed off, her voice breaking slightly.

they had passed years ago, both gone too soon. chaeyoung’s death had hit the hardest —unexpected and sudden, a loss that none of you had been prepared for. dahyun had followed a few years later, her health declining steadily after a battle with illness. the grief had been heavy, but the bond between the remaining members of twice had only grown stronger with time, even as life took them in different directions.

“and tzuyu,” you added, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. tzuyu had lived a long, full life, but her passing had left a hole in all of you. “she was the last to go, wasn’t she?”

mina nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “and nayeon,” she said quietly. “she’s not doing well. i’m afraid she won’t make it next christmas.”

you knew. nayeon had been in and out of the hospital for years now, her health fragile, and though you both tried to stay in touch, it was difficult. the distance, both physical and emotional, had grown over the years.

but the love was still there, a bond that time couldn’t break

“we had a good life,” mina whispered, leaning her head against your shoulder. “didn’t we?”

you smiled, your heart full. “the best,” you agreed. “we’ve been through so much, but we made it through together. and our children and grandchildren, minari, they are beautiful.”

she smiled, her eyes closing as she let out a contented sigh. “i love you forever, y/n, in every lifetime, i’m certain i’m yours.”

“i love you too, my darling,” you whispered, your voice filled with all the love you had carried for her over the decades.

the two of you sat there for a while longer, the silence between you comfortable, the weight of the years resting gently on your shoulders.

when you woke up the next morning, the room was still.

mina didn’t wake.

you stared at her peaceful face, your heart breaking as you realised she left in her sleep. she looked so serene, as if she had simply drifted away, leaving behind nothing but the memory of her warmth.

the tears came before you could stop them, your chest tightening with grief so profound it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

your children came quickly, each of them devastated by the loss of their mother. yuto, always the calm one, held you close, his own grief hidden behind the mask of strength he wore for the rest of the family. haruka sobbed openly, her fiery nature unable to be contained in the face of such a loss. akira was silent, his face pale and drawn, while hana cried quietly, her hand clasped tightly in yours as you all tried to process the reality of a world without mina.

the remaining members of twice arrived shortly after, their faces etched with the same grief you felt. nayeon, despite her frail health, had insisted on being there, leaning heavily on jeongyeon for support. jeongyeon’s face was a mask of sorrow, her strong shoulders carrying not only her grief but that of those around her. momo remained quiet, she had always been close to mina, her hands were clasped and her lips trembled as she tried to hold back her tears. sana leaned against momo, her arms wrapped around her in comfort, and yet her own grief threatened to overwhelm her. and lastly…jihyo, the one who had organised the funeral and made sure it would be perfect for your wife, her usual composure cracking from the weight of losing mina.

they held a small, private funeral for mina, just family and her closest friends. it was simple, just like she would have wanted. the ceremony was filled with bittersweet memories, with stories of her laughter, her grace, her kindness. everyone spoke of how beautiful she was, inside and out, and how deeply she had touched their lives.

as you sat there, listening to the stories being shared, the grief felt overwhelming. it wasn’t just that you had lost your partner, your soulmate.

it was that an era had ended. the life you had built together, the memories you had shared, felt so fragile now.

“she was everything to me,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke to those gathered around you. “i don’t know how to live without her.”

but the truth was, you didn’t have to.

because not even a week after mina’s passing, you went to bed one night and never woke up.

when your children found you, there was no shock, no surprise. there was only peace. they knew, as did the remaining members of twice, that you and mina were always meant to be together, in life and in death.

your passing was marked by another quiet funeral, this time with even more tears but also a sense of comfort. your children, yuto, haruka, akira, and hana, stood together, knowing that the love you and mina shared would live on in them. the twice members gathered again, this time to say goodbye to both of you, their tears mingling with soft laughter as they shared stories of the lives you had lived.

“they were always together,” nayeon uttered, her voice hoarse from crying. “it’s only fitting that they left together too.”

jeongyeon nodded, wiping at her eyes. “they lived a beautiful life. they were happy.”

“they had each other,” sana added softly, her voice filled with emotion.

and in the end, that was all that mattered.

you and mina, after decades of love, pain, joy, and sorrow, had found your way back to each other in the most permanent way possible.

and now, in whatever came next, you were together once again.

because that’s how it had always been, and that’s how it always would be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end

[f1daydreamer]

A Foolish Bet | part 2

Warnings: angst and angst

Part 1 Part 3

------

The silence in the room was deafening. Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat, realizing the slip of his tongue had shattered the evening’s lighthearted atmosphere. Charles cleared his throat, exchanging a look with the others.

“Uh, maybe we should leave,” Charles muttered, standing up. “Give you two some space.”

The group nodded quickly, their laughter and easy camaraderie forgotten as they filed out, offering awkward goodbyes. Max lingered for a moment, looking guilty, but Lando shot him a sharp glare that sent him scurrying after the others.

Once the door clicked shut, it was just the two of you. The air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension.

You turned to Lando, tilting your head slightly, a look of innocent curiosity on your face. “What was the bet about?”

Lando froze. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath catching in his throat.

You frowned, noticing his sudden discomfort. “Lando?” you prompted softly, stepping closer to him. “What was the bet? It’s not a big deal, is it?”

“It’s… It’s nothing, love,” he said quickly, his voice tight, trying to dismiss it.

Your brows furrowed. “It didn’t sound like nothing. Max said you won. What did you win?”

He couldn’t lie to you. Not anymore. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his curls, his mind racing for the right words. “It’s complicated,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

“How complicated can it be?” you asked, your tone still gentle, but there was a flicker of doubt in your eyes now.

Lando felt his chest tighten. He knew this was his chance to come clean, but the thought of losing you paralyzed him. “Sweetheart, can we just… Can we talk about this later?”

“Why later?” you asked, your voice firmer now. “Why can’t you tell me right now? Lando, what aren’t you saying?”

He hesitated, and in that moment, your patience cracked.

“Lando,” you said again, your voice trembling now. “What was the bet?”

He looked at you, and the pain in his eyes made your stomach twist.

“It was about you,” he admitted finally, his voice breaking.

You blinked, confused. “Me? What about me?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Max and Charles bet me… They bet me I couldn’t make you fall for me.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your mouth fell open slightly as you tried to process what he’d just said.

“A bet,” you repeated, the weight of the revelation slowly sinking in. “You made me fall in love with you because of a bet?”

“No, love, it’s not like that,” Lando said quickly, his voice desperate now. He stepped closer, but you took a step back, shaking your head. “It started as a bet, yes, but it changed. I fell for you—really, truly fell for you. This isn’t a game to me, I swear.”

Your hands trembled as you crossed your arms, your mind spinning. “So… all those times you talked to me, all those ‘coincidental’ meetings at the café… That was all part of some plan?”

“At first, yes,” he admitted, his voice small. “But it wasn’t long before it stopped being about the bet. I love you. I love you, more than anything. You have to believe me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. “How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

“Because I’m telling you the truth,” Lando pleaded, his voice cracking. “You’re my everything, my world. Please don’t let this ruin us.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “I need… I need some air.”

“Wait,” Lando said, reaching for you, but you stepped away. “Please, don’t go. Let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. Without another word, you grabbed your coat and left, the door shutting softly behind you.

---

Reader POV

The chill of the night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but it did little to cool the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Betrayal, anger, confusion—they all vied for dominance, leaving you feeling hollow.

Your feet carried you on autopilot to your best friend’s apartment. By the time you arrived, your heart was heavy, and tears were threatening to spill over.

Your friend opened the door, immediately sensing something was wrong. “What happened?” she asked, pulling you into a hug.

The moment her arms wrapped around you, the dam broke. You sobbed against her shoulder, the weight of Lando’s betrayal crashing down on you.

“He made me fall in love with him because of a bet,” you choked out between sobs.

Your friend’s grip tightened, and she guided you to the couch, letting you cry it out as she stroked your hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You sat there for hours, replaying everything in your mind. Every laugh, every kiss, every whispered promise—it all felt tainted now. How could something that had felt so real be built on a lie?

And yet, there was a part of you—a small, fragile part—that wanted to believe him. To believe that his feelings had been real, that he wasn’t the same boy who had taken that bet months ago.

But you weren’t sure if you could.

---

Author’s Note:

The story doesn’t end here. Part 3 will explore what happens next, but whether forgiveness is possible remains to be seen. Stay tuned😘🫣

[breezyblossoms]

Note: Sorry for another long one! An idea came to mind and I just rolled with it, not even sure if it makes sense. Hope y’all understand and enjoy it!! 🫶🏼

SPOILERS

The first time Xaden saw Y/N, she was standing at the edge of the sparring ring, wiping blood from her split lip with the back of her hand. She wasn’t like the other cadets—wasn’t afraid to meet his gaze, wasn’t afraid to fight like hell for what was hers.And gods, did she fight.

It started as rivalry.

Turned into something more.

She was reckless. Hot-headed. Stubborn as hell.

Xaden was all sharp edges, all carefully controlled chaos, and Y/N—she was wildfire.

They pushed each other. Trained until their bodies ached, until their dragons—his Sagyel, her’s fierce, dark-scaled beast named Zephra—growled their impatience.

And maybe it was inevitable, the way it happened—the stolen glances across the battlefield, the way his name sounded like something different when she said it, the tension that sparked between them like a storm waiting to break.

But they were young, and they were cadets, and neither of them was willing to admit that what they had was something worth losing for.

So they didn’t. Not yet.

By the time they were third-years, Xaden was already a leader. Already carrying the weight of a rebellion, a war, a world that demanded too much. Y/N was right there beside him.

Until, suddenly, she wasn’t.

She had been sent out on a mission—a classified task that even Xaden hadn’t been given the details of.

Weeks passed.

Then months.

And when she finally returned, something about her was different. She didn’t meet his gaze like she used to. Didn’t challenge him with that sharp tongue of hers. And when he reached for her—she flinched.

It drove him insane.

She was his—had always been his, whether she knew it or not. And yet, when he saw her standing in the training yard one night, her arms crossed tight around herself, eyes distant—he realized he wasn’t sure if he even had her anymore.

So he did what he always did. He pushed.

“Talk to me.” Y/N exhaled, shaking her head “There’s nothing to say.” Xaden clenched his jaw. “That’s bullshit.” She laughed, but it was hollow. “Is it?” He stepped closer, voice low. “Tell me what happened.”

For a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then—“What’s the point, Xaden?” Her voice cracked, and it shattered something in him. “The point,” he murmured, stepping closer, “is that you don’t get to shut me out. Not after everything.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “And what if I’m not the same?” Xaden’s chest ached, but he didn’t waver. “I don’t care,” he said softly.

Y/N’s breath hitched. He reached for her then—slowly, carefully, giving her the space to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, when his fingers brushed her cheek, she closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.

And Xaden—gods, he wanted to tell her that no matter what war had taken from her, she was still his. That she had always been his. And he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. Because she was his, and he was hers, and that was the only truth that had ever mattered.

Xaden didn’t know what scared him more—the war they were fighting outside, or the one happening inside of her.

Y/N had always been fire. Uncontrollable, unpredictable, untouchable.

Now, she was smoke. Fading. Slipping through his fingers. And he was tired of chasing something he already knew belonged to him.

She was on Zephra when he found her.

The flight field was quiet, save for the rustling of wings and the occasional huff from the dragons. Xaden leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his dark gaze locked onto her.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” Y/N froze, her hands stilling against Zephra. “I wasn’t leaving,” she muttered, though even she didn’t sound convinced. Xaden arched a brow. “Really? Because it sure as hell looks like you were about to disappear again.”

She didn’t answer. Because they both knew the truth. She had thought about it. Leaving. Running. Escaping whatever this thing was between them before it destroyed them both. But she should have known better.

Xaden Riorson never let go of what was his.

He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Tell me why, Y/N.” She let out a shaky breath, fingers gripping Zephra like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “Because I don’t know how to be here anymore.” His throat tightened. “Bullshit.”

Her eyes snapped to his, anger flickering beneath the surface. “You think this is easy for me? Xaden’s jaw clenched. “I think you’re making it harder than it has to be.”

She scoffed. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand more than you think.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I understand that you’ve been gone for months. That you came back looking like a ghost of the girl I knew. That I’ve spent every damn day trying to figure out how to bring you back, and all you’ve done is push me away.”

Her breath hitched. He took another step. “So tell me, Y/N—what the hell happened out there?”

Silence.

Then, finally—“I was captured.”

The words hit him like a blade to the gut. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just waited.

Y/N swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t remember all of it. Just flashes. Pain. Screaming. And then…I got out. Somehow.”

Xaden’s fists clenched. “You should have told me.” She let out a broken laugh. “And what would you have done, Xaden? Killed them all? Started a war we can’t win?”

“Yes.”

The word was a vow. A promise. Because he would have burned the world down for her. And she knew it.

She looked up at him then, searching his face like she was trying to decide if she could still trust him. If she could still trust herself.

“You scare me,” she admitted.

His chest ached. “Why?”

“Because,” she whispered, “you make me want to stay.”

Xaden exhaled, stepping close enough that their bodies nearly touched. “Then stay.” Y/N swallowed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how.”

He reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Then let me show you.” She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. And when she opened them, something in her had softened. Something in her had decided.

And Xaden—for the first time in months—felt like he could finally breathe.

Something was wrong with her. She felt it in the quiet moments—when the world stilled and all she had left was the pulse of something unfamiliar inside her veins.

A hunger. A power that shouldn’t exist. And worst of all—a connection to something she couldn’t name.

It happened the night after Xaden convinced her to stay. She woke up in a cold sweat, her body trembling, her breath ragged. Zephra stirred from her spot outside, a low growl rumbling through their bond. Something’s wrong.

Y/N’s hands curled into fists as she swung her legs over the bed, trying to steady herself. But the moment her bare feet touched the stone floor, she felt it—the pull. It was like something was calling to her, whispering from the shadows.

She stumbled forward, gripping the edge of the table for balance. Her reflection in the small mirror above it caught her eye, and her stomach twisted.

Her irises—normally deep, rich, full of fire—were red.

She blinked, shaking her head. No. No, it had to be a trick of the light. Had to be. But the unease slithered down her spine, sinking deep into her bones. Something was changing inside her. And she didn’t know how to stop it.

Xaden was the only person she trusted to help her. Even if she hated that fact. So when she found him the next morning, standing near the cliffs with his arms crossed, staring out at the horizon, she didn’t hesitate.

“I need to talk to you.”

Xaden turned, his dark gaze sweeping over her. “You look like shit.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “Feel like it too.” He studied her for a moment before nodding. “Come on.”

They walked in silence, moving through the twisting pathways of Basgiath until they reached a secluded part of the training grounds—far from anyone who could overhear.

Y/N didn’t know how to say it. So she just—showed him.

With a deep breath, she focused, summoning the strange energy that had been lurking inside her.

And just like that—the shadows twisted at her fingertips, writhing like living things.

Xaden went still. His eyes flicked from the darkness curling around her hands to her face. To her eyes.

And something inside him—something primal, something hidden—reacted.

Not with fear. Not with anger. But recognition.

Her stomach dropped.

“Xaden,” she whispered, stepping closer. “You knew.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because the moment his own power flared—dark, consuming, ancient—she knew the truth. He was just like her.

And he had been all along.

Y/N’s breath hitched as the realization settled over her. Xaden wasn’t just keeping secrets.

He was one.

The shadows at his fingertips flickered, twisting around his wrists like living ink before dissipating into the air. He exhaled slowly, watching her carefully, as if waiting for her to run.

But she didn’t.

Because even with the sharp ache of betrayal curling in her chest, even with the war waging in her mind—she didn’t fear him. No. She feared what it meant that he had hidden this from her.

“How long?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but Xaden flinched like she had struck him. “How long have you been like this?” His jaw clenched. “For a couple of months now.”

The words shouldn’t have surprised her. But they did. Because it meant that all this time—all the nights they spent together, all the battles they fought side by side—he had been carrying this secret. Carrying this curse. And never once had he told her.

Her stomach twisted. “You lied to me.”

“I protected you.”

She laughed, but it was hollow. “From what? From you?”

Silence. And that was answer enough.

Y/N took a shaky step back, suddenly needing distance. Xaden’s gaze darkened. “Don’t.” She ignored him. “You knew this whole time, and you said nothing?” Her hands trembled as she dragged them through her hair. “Gods, Xaden—I thought I was losing my mind.”

His expression hardened. “You think I wanted this for you?” “I think you didn’t give me a choice.”

That shut him up. Because they both knew it was true. He had let her walk blindly with this, knowing what she had become, knowing what it was cost her. And still, he had said nothing.

She let out a sharp breath, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

“I can’t do this.”

Xaden stiffened. “Y/N—” She turned away. “I need time.”

But they both knew the truth. Time wasn’t going to fix this. And when she walked away, Xaden didn’t try to stop her. Because for the first time in his life—he didn’t know if he had the right to.

Y/N didn’t stop walking until she was as far from him as she could get. Until the air felt lighter. Until she could breathe again without the weight of his lies pressing down on her chest. But no matter how far she went, she couldn’t outrun the truth.

She was changing. Becoming something she didn’t understand. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. And Xaden had known. Had watched her unravel, watched her break, and let her think she was losing herself—when in reality, she had only ever been finding him.

Zephra stirred as Y/N approached, sensing the storm raging inside her.

Talk to me, the dragon murmured through their bond. Y/N swallowed hard. “I don’t even know where to start.”

The wind howled through the training yard, the sky darkening as storm clouds gathered above. It felt fitting. Because everything inside her was a storm too. Fury. Fear. The aching, unbearable grief of a truth she couldn’t take back.

He didn’t tell you. It wasn’t a question.

Y/N huffed out a bitter laugh, resting her forehead against Zephra’s warm scales. “No. He didn’t.”

The dragon exhaled, a deep, rumbling sound. And yet, you still care. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. That was the worst part. Because even now, even after everything, some part of her still ached for him. Some part of her still wanted to run back and demand answers, to demand why. But she wouldn’t. Because she had already spent too long being someone’s afterthought. She wasn’t going to let herself be his secret too.

Xaden found her first. Of course he did. She felt him before she saw him—the shift in the air, the faint whisper of his power curling at the edges of her senses.

She should have ignored him. Should have turned away, forced him to let her go. But when she turned, the words died in her throat. Because he looked—wrecked.

Dark circles lined his eyes, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. Like the weight of his secrets had finally become too much to bear.

“I know you hate me,” he said.

Y/N stiffened. “I don’t hate you.”

Xaden exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. Because I don’t know who I’m looking at anymore. But she didn’t say that.

Instead, she just shook her head. “I can’t do this, Xaden.” His expression twisted, something raw flashing across his face. “So that’s it? You’re just walking away?” Y/N let out a breathless laugh, but there was nothing funny about it.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she murmured. “That’s what you did to me.” Xaden flinched. Good. She wanted him to feel this. Wanted him to feel what she felt—like the ground had been ripped out from under her. Like everything she thought she knew had been a lie.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “I was trying to protect you.” Y/N’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t get to decide what I need protecting from.”

Silence stretched between them. A thousand things unsaid. A thousand wounds that couldn’t be undone. But then Xaden stepped closer, his voice quieter now. “I should have told you.” Y/N swallowed hard. Because he meant it. But that didn’t erase what he had done. What he had kept from her.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this,” she admitted. Xaden’s jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for her. Like he wanted to pull her close and never let go. “I’ll wait,” he said softly.

And gods help her—she almost believed him.

Xaden was waiting for her. And that was the problem. Because every time Y/N closed her eyes, she saw the shadows curling at his fingertips. Every time she took a breath, she felt the same darkness stirring in her own veins.

She couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t escape him. And maybe that was the cruelest part of all—because even now, after everything, some deep, broken part of her still wanted to run back to him. Still wanted to believe he hadn’t destroyed everything between them. But belief wouldn’t change the truth. And truth was the one thing he had never given her.

She avoided him for days. It wasn’t easy—not when their dragons were restless, not when every part of her was still attuned to his presence. Not when she could feel him watching her. He didn’t push. Didn’t corner her like she half-expected him to. Instead, he gave her space. Which only made it worse. Because it meant he was waiting. Waiting for her to come back to him.But she wasn’t sure if she could.Wasn’t sure if she knew how.

It happened during training. She had been pushing herself too hard—sparring for hours, forcing herself to exhaustion so she wouldn’t have to think. So she wouldn’t have to feel.

She had been losing control for days. It started as a whisper beneath her skin, a slow-burning ache in her bones that never faded.

Then it became more.

A pulse of power that surged at the worst moments, her vision darkening at the edges, her body thrumming with something dangerous. Something she couldn’t contain.

And now, standing in the middle of the training field, her knees threatening to buckle, she knew she was out of time. The energy surged without warning. A violent, untamed force.

Her hands trembled as darkness curled around her fingers, thick and suffocating. The air crackled, the ground beneath her feet trembling as the power built higher—too much, too fast, too uncontrollable. Her veins burned.

And then—

Pain.

Sharp, excruciating pain lancing through her skull, down her spine.

Y/N gasped, clawing at her arms, at her chest—anywhere she could feel the inferno spreading. Her head snapped up, and that was when she saw them.

Bodhi. Garrick. Imogen.

All staring at her. All horrified. Because they could see it now. The deep, black veins that crawled across her skin, spreading like rot.

And when her vision blurred, when she blinked and her reflection caught on the blade of a discarded dagger—

She saw the red in her eyes.

“Venin,” Bodhi whispered, stepping back.

Y/N’s stomach lurched. No. No, this couldn’t be happening.

But she could feel it. The power still thrummed beneath her skin, pulling, dragging, demanding. A force she couldn’t control.

Garrick cursed, his sword already drawn. “We have to put her down.”

“Wait—” Y/N gasped, reaching out—

But that was a mistake. Because her power responded to the desperation, surging forward like a flood. A wall of black shadows, alive and ravenous.

Bodhi moved first. His blade swung toward her throat. Y/N braced for impact—

But the strike never came.

Because Xaden was there.

His body crashed into hers, knocking her to the ground just as the blade swiped through empty air where her head had been.

Her breath left her in a sharp gasp, her vision swimming. But when she looked up—

She saw fury.

Xaden stood over her, his shadows curling violently at his feet, his expression unreadable.

But his voice—gods, his voice was something else entirely.

“Touch her again, and I will end you.”

Silence. The kind that choked. Bodhi and Garrick didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. Because they knew. Everyone knew.

Xaden never made empty threats.

Y/N’s heart pounded, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. But Xaden didn’t look at her. He didn’t dare. Because the moment he did, he would break. And gods help him—he had never been more afraid.

Because this wasn’t just losing her. This was watching her become something else entirely. Something that wasn’t her. And yet, even now—

She was still his.

Always had been. And he would burn the world before he let them take her from him.

Violet wasn’t supposed to hear. She had been passing through the courtyard when she caught the hushed, frantic voices of Bodhi and Garrick, their usual sharp tones strained with unease. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the way they spoke—urgent, low, like the words were too dangerous to say out loud—made her stop.

“…Her eyes, Garrick.” Bodhi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “They turned red.”

Violet froze. She didn’t know who they were talking about. Didn’t want to believe what they were talking about. But the moment Garrick cursed under his breath, running a tense hand through his hair, her stomach twisted.

“Xaden almost lost his damn mind,” he muttered. “He jumped in front of my blade for her. Protected her.” Violet’s breath caught.

“No,” Bodhi corrected, voice grim. “Chose her.”

She found Xaden in his quarters. She didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate. Because she needed answers. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear them.

Xaden was sitting at his desk, hunched over a map, but the moment she entered, his shoulders tensed.

“Violet,” he greeted, his voice controlled. Careful. Too careful. She knew that tone. Knew when he was keeping something from her. So she didn’t waste time.

“I heard Bodhi and Garrick,” she said. “About Y/N.” Xaden stilled. His fingers twitched, barely perceptible—but she saw it.

“Did you?” His voice was unreadable.

Violet nodded, stepping closer. “They said her eyes turned red.” Silence.

Then—

“That’s ridiculous.” His words were smooth, practiced. “You know how they are. Exaggerating shit, making everything sound worse than it is.”

It should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. Because Xaden didn’t lie to her. He omitted, he deflected, but he never outright lied.

Until now.

Violet narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?” Xaden met her gaze without flinching. “Yes.” But his shadows curled tighter at his feet. And Violet suddenly wasn’t sure what scared her more—

The lie itself.

Or the way he looked when he said it.

Y/N had learned to read Xaden Riorson in ways few could. She knew when he was angry, even when his expression was calm. Knew when he was planning something reckless, when his mind was already three steps ahead of everyone else. And she knew when he was hiding something.

He had been tense ever since the training yard. Silent. Distant. But when she stepped into his room that night, his back to her, shoulders hunched—

She knew.

Knew that whatever was going through his mind was about her.

“Xaden,” she said cautiously. He didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge her right away.

Then—“You should be resting.”

She huffed a bitter laugh. “Not when my own damn friends nearly killed me today.” Xaden flinched. It was small—barely noticeable. But she saw it. And she knew.

“You told them not to say anything, didn’t you?” Her voice was quieter now. “You made them keep it from Violet.” His jaw clenched. She took a step closer. “Why?”

Xaden finally turned to face her then, his expression guarded. But his eyes—gods, his eyes were burning. Because this wasn’t just about protecting her. This was about choosing her. And suddenly, Y/N understood why he hadn’t let them kill her. Why he had stepped between her and Garrick’s blade. Because no matter how much he tried to fight it, no matter how many times he let his shadows pull him away—

He was hers.

And he always had been.

Xaden had never been afraid of war. Never been afraid of blood, of battle, of the weight of a blade in his hands.

But this? This terrified him. Because Y/N was changing. Because he was losing her. And the worst part? She knew it, too.

Y/N stared at him, waiting. Waiting for him to admit it. Waiting for him to say what they both knew to be true.

But he didn’t. Because saying it would make it real. And if it was real—then there was no turning back.

“You’re lying to her,” she said finally. “To Violet.” Xaden exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m protecting you.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself?” His gaze snapped to hers.

And for the first time in a long time, she saw it. Not just the frustration. Not just the guilt. But fear.

For her.

For what she was becoming. For what he’d do to protect her. Even if it meant lying to everyone else.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said quietly. She swallowed hard. “Don’t I?”

Violet wasn’t blind. She had seen the way Xaden reacted when Y/N was around. The way his shadows curled tighter, the way his body tensed—not with irritation, not with anger.

But with something else. Something she wasn’t supposed to notice. And yet, here she was. Noticing. Dreading. Wondering just how deep this ran. She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. Because if she did—if she confronted it— She might not like the answer.

But gods, she had to know. Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if Xaden’s loyalty belonged to her. And that? That was more terrifying than anything else.

Xaden had made a mistake. He had been careful. Had kept Y/N at arm’s length, had buried everything beneath layers of responsibility and war and duty. But Violet saw it anyway.

And when she finally confronted him, her voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. It was quiet. Dangerous.

“Tell me the truth, Xaden.” Her voice was steady, but barely. Xaden exhaled slowly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “There is no truth to tell.”

A lie.

A blatant, unforgivable lie. And from the way Violet’s lips pressed together, she knew it.

“You think I don’t notice how you are with her?” she asked, tilting her head. “How you look at her? How your shadows react to her?”

Xaden stayed silent. Because what was he supposed to say? That she was right? That no matter how much he fought it, no matter how much he tried to bury it beneath duty and war—he had never been able to let Y/N go? That, even now, when he was supposed to be standing beside Violet, leading a rebellion, protecting everything they’d fought for—

His first instinct had still been to save her?

Violet’s throat bobbed. “You chose her, didn’t you?” Xaden’s heart slammed against his ribs. Because he wanted to deny it. Wanted to say that wasn’t true. That Violet was the only one who mattered. But the problem was—

He couldn’t. Not anymore. Because they both knew the answer. And that? That was the real betrayal.

Y/N should have left. Should have disappeared before this got worse. But she hadn’t. Because no matter how much she told herself she didn’t care, that she had no claim over Xaden, that he had chosen Violet—

She still couldn’t walk away. And that? That was her greatest mistake. Because now she was here.

Standing outside Xaden’s room, her back pressed against the wall, listening as everything fell apart.

And it was because of her. Because she had come back. Because she had let him save her. Because she had let herself believe—even if only for a moment—that she still mattered to him.

Her fists clenched at her sides. This was a mistake. She was a mistake. And gods, she wasn’t going to make it worse. So she turned— And walked away. Because Xaden might not have been able to make a choice. But she could. And she would. Even if it destroyed her in the process.

Xaden felt her leave. Felt it. Like a shadow ripped from his soul. Like an ache he had no right to feel, but felt anyway.

Violet was still in front of him, waiting, watching. But he wasn’t there anymore. His mind was already chasing Y/N, his shadows screaming at him to go after her, to not let her go, to do anything but stand here like a coward. But what choice did he have? Because if he followed—if he ran after her, if he let himself do what every part of him demanded—

It would mean everything Violet had feared was true. That no matter how much he had tried to fight it— No matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise— Y/N had never been just another person in his life. She had been the person.

And he had spent years lying to himself about it. But not anymore. Not when she was walking away. Not when he knew, deep down, that if he let her go now—

He would never get her back.

Xaden had spent years hiding what he was. Years pretending his power was just shadows. That he had control. That he was not like them. That he could keep it buried. That he could keep her safe.

But the moment Y/N walked away—

The moment he felt that unbearable loss tear through him—

That was the moment he lost control. Because if she was gone? If she was truly leaving him? Then what the fuck was the point of pretending anymore?

Y/N moved quickly, forcing herself to keep walking, to keep her heart locked up in her chest before it could shatter completely. She should have known better. She should have never let herself believe.

Because this was who Xaden was.

A leader. A liar. A man who carried too much on his shoulders to ever truly belong to someone else.

He had never been hers. And gods, maybe he never would be. The air shifted. The shadows around her twisted, darkening, curling in unnatural ways. A shiver ran down her spine. She knew those shadows.

She knew him.

But this—this was different.The air felt heavy, suffocating. Like something was wrong. And then she heard it.

His voice.

Low. Broken.

“Don’t go.”

Y/N turned. And what she saw stole the breath from her lungs. Because Xaden Riorson was standing at the edge of the hall, his entire body tense—but it wasn’t just him. It was his power. Unleashed. His shadows weren’t just moving. They were alive. Dark veins climbed up his forearms, pulsing like they were filled with something more than blood. His normally sharp eyes were too dark, too hungry, too wrong. And she knew.

Oh gods, she knew.

“Xaden,” she whispered, her heart hammering. He took a step forward. She took a step back. His jaw clenched.

“Please.” His voice cracked. “Don’t do this.” But Y/N couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Because this was the truth, wasn’t it? The secret buried beneath all of Xaden’s carefully constructed lies. The reason he had always known exactly what she was becoming.

Because he had become it, too.

Because Xaden Riorson— The leader of the rebellion. The man who stood against everything the kingdom feared. The man she had loved and lost and tried to let go—

He was Venin.

And he had been hiding it all along.

Xaden saw the way she looked at him. Saw the fear. The betrayal. And it fucking gutted him. Because this—this was why he had never told her. Not because he didn’t trust her. But because he couldn’t bear to lose her. Because once she knew, once she saw what he truly was—

She would never look at him the same way again. And now? Now she knew.

“Say something,” he rasped. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

And then—she ran.

Xaden didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

He chased.

Because if she left, if she walked away from him now— He wouldn’t just lose her. He would lose himself. And gods help him, but he wasn’t ready for that.

She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—her body just moved. Because this wasn’t him. This wasn’t the Xaden she had known, the Xaden she had loved. This was something else. Something darker. Something wrong. And every instinct inside her screamed run.

But Xaden was faster.

Shadows lashed out, coiling around the hallway, sealing off escape routes before she could reach them.

Her heart pounded. She wasn’t stupid—she knew she wouldn’t outrun him. Not when his power was unleashed. Not when he was hunting her. And gods, that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

A hunt.

“Y/N.” His voice—low, rough, desperate. She clenched her jaw, refusing to turn around. She wouldn’t stop. Not until she was far, far away from him.

But the moment she turned a corner, he was there. Standing in her path. His chest was rising and falling like he’d been running, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t needed to. Because Xaden Riorson was a predator. And she was trapped.

“Let me go,” Y/N demanded, forcing steel into her voice. Xaden’s dark eyes flashed. “No.” Her hands curled into fists.

“Xaden, I swear to the gods—” “What?” he cut her off, voice sharp. “You’ll fight me? You’ll run?” He took a step closer. “We both know you won’t win.”

Her throat tightened. He was right. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. Because what other choice did she have? She couldn’t trust him. Not anymore. But then—then he broke.

The shadows around him flickered, his entire body collapsing in on itself like he was caving under the weight of what he was. Like he was breaking before her eyes.

“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t do this.” Y/N’s breath caught. Because it wasn’t just pleading. It was desperation. Raw, aching, ruined desperation. Like if she walked away now—she wouldn’t be the only one who was lost. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand tall.

“I can’t—” her voice cracked, but she forced it out. “I can’t be around you like this, Xaden.”

His jaw clenched.

“I know.” And fuck, that was the worst part, wasn’t it? That he knew exactly why she couldn’t stay. And yet—

He still wouldn’t let her go.

“Tell me why,” Xaden whispered. Y/N blinked. “Why what?” His shadows curled around his fingers, twisting, moving like they were alive. “Why you’re running.” She let out a bitter laugh.

“Are you serious? Xaden, you’re—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” Xaden flinched.

Because he had. He had spent months pretending he wasn’t this. That he wasn’t the very thing they were supposed to be fighting against.

And yet—

He had still chosen her. He had still let himself want her, love her, break for her. Even when he knew he shouldn’t.

And now? Now, when she was standing there, looking at him, like he was something unrecognizable? He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not to this.

So Xaden did the only thing he could. He let the shadows pull back. Let his magic dull. Let himself be just a man again. A man who had lost everything. And was about to lose the only thing that mattered.

“Please,” he whispered, voice barely audible. But Y/N’s expression didn’t change. And then—she turned. She turned, and she walked away.

And Xaden? Xaden let her. Even though it ruined him.

Y/N’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She barely made it outside before her knees buckled beneath her. Her breathing was too fast, her heart pounding as though it was trying to break free from her ribs.

She pressed her hands against the stone wall of the courtyard, willing herself to stay upright, to push away the image of him. Of Xaden. Of his shadows—his power—unleashed and raw and so terribly familiar. Because she knew what it meant. Because she wasn’t stupid. Because she had spent months trying to ignore the truth—her own truth. That she was no better. That she was becoming the same thing she feared.

Venin.

So why had she run? Why had she looked at Xaden like he was something else, something terrible, something to be feared—when she was no different?

Because she had spent every moment since the first time her veins had turned black convincing herself it wasn’t real. That she could fight it. That she wasn’t like them. That she was still Y/N. Still the girl who had bled for her people. Still the girl who had dreamed of something more than war. Still the girl who had looked at Xaden Riorson and thought—maybe, just maybe, he could love her back.

But if he was Venin?

Then everything unraveled. Then she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Then she had to face the truth— That maybe she had never been fighting her own darkness. Maybe she had just been delaying the inevitable.

Xaden stood where she had left him. Still. Silent. His hands clenched at his sides, his entire body shaking with the weight of it all. She had looked at him like he was a monster. Like he was beyond saving. And maybe he was. Maybe he had always been. But not to her. Never to her. Until now. Until she ran. Until she made him feel like everything between them had been a lie. And gods, he couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t take knowing that she thought she was any better. That she believed she had the right to judge him when her own veins had turned black, too.

When she was fighting the same damn thing he had been fighting for months. Xaden turned sharply, shadows slamming into the walls as he stormed out of the hall. He needed to find her. Because if she thought she could just walk away from him? She was dead fucking wrong.

Y/N had barely pulled herself together when the air shifted. The shadows moved—his shadows. And then—

He was there. Xaden. Standing only a few feet away, his dark eyes burning with something dangerous. Something unforgiving. And this time, she didn’t run. This time, she forced herself to meet his gaze. Because maybe she had been lying to herself.

Maybe she had been denying everything. But she wouldn’t anymore. Not when he was looking at her like that.Not when he knew. And fuck—he knew.

His voice was low, rough, and edged with something that sounded like betrayal. “You’re afraid of me?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “Xaden—” “No,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to look at me like I’m the monster when you and I both know—” He broke off, his throat bobbing. And then, softer—more shattered.

“You and I both know it’s already inside you, too.” The words were a punch to the chest. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t deny it. Because he was right.

And Xaden? Xaden looked at her like he had been waiting for this moment. Like he had been waiting for her to finally see it. To see him.

“Say it,” he demanded. Y/N clenched her jaw.

“Say it, Y/N.” His voice cracked. “Say that you’re just as fucked as I am.” Her heart pounded. She wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell him he was wrong. Wanted to pretend for just a little longer that she wasn’t this. But she couldn’t.

So she whispered it instead.

“I’m just as fucked as you are.”

Xaden let out a shaky breath, his entire body sagging as if he had been holding himself together by sheer force of will. His eyes closed. And when they opened again, the fight had left them. Because now—there was no fight left at all. There was only them. Only this. Only what they had become. And gods help them—

They were Venin.

And there was no turning back.

[greengoblinswifey]

i loved "Shattered" although i would have loved for her to keep the baby and have the same success as in the original ending, would you consider writing something like that? as an alternative ending

Alternative Ending to Shattered— Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

warnings— cheating, mature language, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of abortion, happy ending, mentions of birth.

Shattered

When Nicholas told you to get an abortion, you felt a flash of anger surge through you. “No,”you said firmly. “You can’t force me to do that.” Nicholas looked shocked, then furious. “I have a girlfriend, and a kid on the way to raise,” he argued, voice hard and unyielding.

A surge of pain mixed with rage bubbled up in you. “I’m your girlfriend, Nicholas,”you shouted back. “And this is your child. You should be here for us, helping raise them, not running off to hide.”

Without another word, Nicholas stormed out, leaving you sitting there, heart pounding as you clutched your stomach protectively. You weren't showing yet, but the weight of the choice before you felt heavy. “Screw Nicholas”, you thought, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’ll raise this baby on my own if I have to.”

That night, you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind spiraling as you weighed your options. If you kept the baby, everything would change. Your career, just beginning to gain traction, would be stalled indefinitely. You’d be a single mother, left alone to care for a child Nicholas had already written off. And as a man, he’d be fine. Even with two babies on the way, he wouldn’t be the one carrying or caring for them.

On the other hand, if you didn’t keep it, you weren’t even sure if you’d get another chance. The thought tore at you, but you knew what the world would say. They’d call you a homewrecker, maybe even try to destroy your reputation, and all without knowing the truth. It would be you, bearing the weight of his lies.

Finally, with a heavy but hopeful heart, you decided that you were going to keep the life growing inside you. Thoughts raced through your mind, layering one worry after another. How would your career hold up with a pregnancy? The industry wasn’t always kind to young actresses, especially not ones who suddenly had a child in the picture. You imagined the directors and producers who’d invested in your rising stardom questioning your ability to maintain the same dedication once you had a baby to care for. The idea of managing both a career and motherhood alone felt overwhelming.

Filming the rest of the season with Nicholas suddenly seemed like an impossible task. Every scene together would remind you of how easily he had turned his back on you both, his other life casting a shadow over every word he’d said to you. But you’d have to keep it together, remain professional, pretending there wasn’t a storm beneath the surface whenever you shared the screen with him.

And then, there was the question you dreaded most: Who’s the baby’s father? Interviews, press conferences, appearances, the media would demand answers eventually. How could you admit the truth? How could you tell the world that you’d trusted him, fallen for him, fucked your co-star raw, and now were left to handle the responsibility alone because he had a life, another girlfriend and another baby, in his hometown? The thought of admitting you’d opened your heart and legs to your co-star, only for him to abandon you, made your stomach twist. You couldn’t bear to let the world see that vulnerable side of you.

But despite it all, you rested your hand on your stomach and felt a strange sense of resolve. This baby was a part of you, forget being a part of him, and you knew you’d find a way to raise them, no matter how many obstacles lay in your path.

The next day on set, you were barely holding it together, trying to keep the morning’s nausea from spilling over into the day's work. Nicholas approached you quietly before filming began, his expression tense.

“So, did you take care of it?” he asked, his voice cold.

You looked him right in the eyes. “No, Nicholas. I’m keeping this baby. That’s final.” You could see the frustration in his face, the way he clenched his jaw, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded, his gaze shifting away.

Soon, you were called onto set to film a scene, and as you moved into the frame, you felt the weight of your reality pressing down. The scene called for a romantic kiss, but as you leaned in, all you could think was, How could he do this to us? Every touch felt hollow, each moment of pretend affection a painful reminder of his betrayal.

Still, you held it together for the rest of the day, determined to protect yourself and, more importantly, the little life growing inside you. You’d give them all the love they need, you thought, so they wouldn’t feel the absence of their father.

As days turned into weeks, filming continued then the season wrapped, and you noticed subtle changes, how your clothes fit a bit more snugly, the quiet flutter in your stomach that grew stronger with time. You poured your focus into auditions for roles scheduled to film after the baby’s birth, crafting a new life plan that prioritized their future as much as your own.

Finally, when you went to the doctor alone, you learned you were having a baby girl. The news was bittersweet. Part of you ached for the weight of responsibility, raising a girl, teaching her strength and self-worth under such circumstances. Yet, you held onto a fierce determination to make the most of it, to show her resilience and love, no matter what lay ahead.

The night of the premiere, you walked onto the red carpet in a breathtaking gown that hugged your figure, showing off a noticeable baby bump. As you made your way through the crowd, congratulations poured in from all directions, and you felt a mixture of pride and nerves. Then you spotted Nicholas, standing nearby with his girlfriend, who was visibly pregnant as well. For a moment, his eyes met yours, and he did a double-take, clearly taken aback by how radiant you looked with your growing belly.

His girlfriend approached you, offering her congratulations with a polite smile, and you returned the sentiment, fully aware of the irony, that you both carried a piece of him, each in your own way. Nicholas lingered close by, watching intently, as if afraid you might reveal something.

As you spoke to the press, questions about your pregnancy inevitably came up. When asked about the father, you simply smiled, deflecting with comments about your happiness and excitement for what lay ahead, both as a mother and in your career. You radiated confidence, making it clear that your future was only beginning.

Later, you received the incredible news that you’d been cast in a new movie, and the production team was willing to accommodate your new role as a mother. Filming was set to begin after you'd had time with your baby, and they even offered a nanny and daycare on set. Knowing this support was there, you accepted the role, feeling your career blossom alongside your journey into motherhood.

When the day finally arrived, you gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl, the spitting image of you. Holding her for the first time, you felt an overwhelming relief that she looked nothing like Nicholas—she was purely yours. Your sister stood by, sharing in the joy, and as you looked down at your daughter, you felt stronger and more certain than ever.

Motherhood suited you well, and as the months passed, so did the fascination with your personal life. Though speculation about the baby’s father lingered, it eventually faded. Fans and the public were captivated by your story, a young mom balancing stardom with raising her baby girl. As offers poured in, it was clear that your future was bright, your daughter by your side as you continued to captivate the world.

Meanwhile, Nicholas seemed to fade from the spotlight, mostly at home with his girlfriend, waiting for their baby. Until, finally, karma came for him, an article revealed that the child he thought was his was actually someone else’s, belonging to a rockstar his girlfriend had left him for. You couldn’t help the satisfaction that spread through you. He’d reaped exactly what he’d sown, and you hadn’t lifted a finger.

The night of the Oscars was monumental. Walking the red carpet, you held your baby girl close, basking in the awe and admiration from all around. When the ceremony began, you took your seat, unaware that Nicholas was there, too, until he approached you during a break, nervously glancing at your daughter.

“She looks just like you,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft.

You looked at him coldly, replying, “Yeah, and I'm fucking grateful for that”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m so sorry for everything. I miss you, I really do. I was an idiot. Please, give me another chance.”

You took a steadying breath, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Nicholas, we’re done. The moment you cheated, lied and then told me to abort my child, you lost any future with me.” You glanced down at your daughter who was playing with your hair not sparing her father a glance, feeling the strength in your decision. “If you want to be in her life, that’s up to you. I’d prefer it if you weren’t near us, but I won’t deny you the right.”

He hesitated, his eyes darting away. It was clear he hadn’t come to build a relationship with his daughter, he was more interested in your newfound fame.

“That's what I thought,” you said, voice sharp. “Stay out of our lives. Don’t speak to me again.”

With that, you walked away, feeling lighter than ever. When your name was called for Best Actress, you took the stage, holding the Oscar with pride as the crowd erupted in applause. This was your night, a celebration of everything you’d fought for, a testament to your resilience and talent, with your daughter’s future in your hands.

[joemama-2]

the sound of you | ch. 1 new face, new race

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing : gojo x fem reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ synopsis: what happens when a man who uses intimacy to numb his pain collides with a woman who sees vulnerability as her greatest weakness? a storm of desire, denial, and shattered hearts. you never imagined someone like him—magnetic, self-assured, and emotionally closed off—would enter your life. worse, you never expected to crave him in return. but fate has a cruel way of stitching together souls that should never meet, dragging you both into a spiral of unspoken truths, unresolved wounds, and a connection that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags/warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, sexual content, mentions of trauma, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, blood, miscommunication, alcohol, drugs, opposites attract, manipulation, mentions of bullying, death, smut, insecurity galore, selective mutism, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, modern au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ wc: 12.5k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ status: ongoing

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ series masterlist < next chapter

Sometimes, you feel like you’ve been taxidermied.

It’s a sort of here and there thought, but one you have quite frequently in the past few months. As a joke, you entertain the idea that you’ve been stuffed with some really soft pink stuffing, on display for your murderer (aka: your taxidermist) to look at in awe whenever he passes by. You’re probably placed on the highest shelf, behind tough glass and labeled “My Most Prized Possession”. Your murderer most likely stops and stands for minutes—maybe even hours on end just admiring his beautiful work.

Being admired from afar feels more comforting than being murdered and stuffed to live an eternity of still motion.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re not dead. You’re not even still. You’re here, breathing, blinking, existing. Living. If that’s what you’d even call this state of being—where silence becomes your only companion and time stretches on in sharp, endless intervals. You wonder sometimes if he thinks about you—your murderer. Does he imagine you now, a neat and quiet version of yourself, perfectly preserved and tucked away where no one else can reach? Did he know, even then, how deeply he’d leave his mark? How thoroughly he’d hollow you out, leaving you more object than person? Of course he did.

It’s easier to imagine it that way, isn’t it? Easier to think of yourself as someone turned to glass, smoothed over and sealed shut, rather than acknowledge the fractures your murderer left behind. Easier to believe the silence is yours, not his. That it’s you who has taken up residence behind that invisible barrier, rather than admitting that someone else built it for you.

Sometimes, you wonder if he’s still proud of his handiwork.

Your therapist once told you that silence isn’t the absence of sound—it’s a choice, an act of power. But it doesn’t feel powerful when you’re here, sitting alone with the weight of your thoughts pressing into your chest, nursing your usual morning cup of tea. It doesn’t feel like a choice when the words twist themselves into knots inside you, stuck behind walls you’ve never been able to climb. It feels, instead, like a kind of stillness you can’t escape.

It wasn’t always like this. You remember a time when your voice felt whole, unbroken, like the summer wind passing through your window. Back then, you used to laugh with abandon, a sound so natural it felt like breathing. You remember because it’s impossible to forget what was taken from you.

Your murderer took that from you. Not all at once, of course—he wasn’t that kind. He dismantled you piece by piece, word by word, until you were something new. Something smaller. Something that fit in the palm of his hand, ready to be admired and forgotten at his convenience.

You close your eyes against the memory, swallowing the bitter ache that always follows it. You think you might be okay with being admired, so long as you never have to see him again.

You should probably stop thinking. You have to leave for work in fifteen minutes. A teacher assistant position at the nearby kindergarten. If you had asked your high school what you would be doing in the future, a teacher would be the last on the list. Of course, you cherish children. Their little laughs and curious questions bring you a warmth and joy that’s hard to find nowadays. The head teacher, Emi Inoue, is a wonderful older lady.

You love your job. Sure you’d like it if it paid more, but it’s better than any retail position.

Besides, working with children has given you a better sense of empathy, compassion, and patience. Something you desperately need in child care.

The crispy air flies past your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Wearing a long, but modest skirt. Paired with a simple long sleeved shirt, your lanyard hanging around your neck, covering your shivering body with the only coat that offers you enough warmth. You should probably go shopping sometime soon again.

The train station isn’t far, luckily. A soft song playing from the buds lodged in your ears, hands stuffed in your pockets as you and other working civilians of Shibuya. Within ten minutes, the train makes its stop. The doors slide open and you make your way inside. Most of the interior is stuffed, presumably so considering its rush hour and people need to get to work. Luckily, you manage to find a tiny clearing—standing the entirety of the forty minute ride.

You keep a tight hold on the silver bar, forcing your body to stay in place and not jolt around as the train continues on. The vibrations of the train hum beneath your feet, a rhythmic reminder of your path forward. The soft song in your ears competes with the muffled chatter and occasional announcements over the intercom. Your grip on the silver bar is firm, fingers chilled despite the warmth of your coat. Around you, people shuffle in and out at each stop, their movements mechanical, heads bowed over phones or staring blankly at nothing in particular.

The man beside you adjusts his briefcase, brushing against your arm, and you instinctively shrink further into yourself. You’re not a fan of the close quarters, but it’s unavoidable during rush hour. You remind yourself this ride is temporary, that the crowded carriage is just a bridge between here and there. That doesn’t stop you from moving a few inches away.

Outside the window, the city blurs into a wash of concrete, neon signs, and fleeting glimpses of people starting their day. A quiet sigh escapes you as you press your shoulder closer to the cold pole, grounding yourself against the lurching movements of the train. Forty minutes feels like an eternity when you’re standing still, surrounded but untouchable. The song in your earbuds shifts, a gentler melody now, one that tugs at memories you’ve tried to push away. You shake your head slightly, trying to focus on the present—the sway of the train, the weight of your bag, the familiar tightness in your chest that you’ve learned to ignore.

At least no one asks questions when you’re quiet. Silence is an art form here, unspoken but deeply understood. It wraps around you, offering a small comfort in the chaos of a city that never seems to stop moving. The train jerks to a stop again, this time more abruptly, and the woman in front of you stumbles. You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing hers as you steady her. She mutters a quick “thank you” without meeting your eyes, and you offer a slight nod in return before retreating.

The moments bleed into each other, a series of starts and stops, until the train finally announces your destination. You weave through the crowd as the doors slide open, stepping onto the platform and into the crisp air again. It bites at your cheeks, but you welcome it. The world outside feels a little freer, even if it isn’t really.

As you make your way toward the stairs, your gaze falls on the station clock. Still on time, at least. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, tugging your coat closer to your body as you join the river of people flowing upward. Another day, another destination, another silent step forward. You can do this.

A buzz vibrates in your coat pocket. Picking out your phone and turning it on, the name Ieiri is posted, followed by a message. A small smile forms on your lips as you unlock your phone and go to your messages.

Ieiri:

Breakfast.

And it’s a picture of a lot cigarette between her two fingers, a plate of white rice to the side.

You sigh, eyes rolling lightheartedly as you type back a response:

You:

Not healthy, do u have groceries?

Ieiri:

Nope

You:

Then we’ll go together

Ieiri:

Lol it’s fine, Y/N

You shake your head, stepping out the way of an older man who seems to not care about watching where he’s going.

You:

We’ll go

Is what you end with, locking your phone again and putting it back in your pocket as you enter the gates of the school. The staff and teachers politely greet you. With a wave and smile back, you walk to the familiar room of Room 132. The children aren’t here yet, Mrs. Inoue and you using this time to set up the room for the upcoming day.

The classroom smells faintly of chalk and the citrus cleaner the janitors must have used the night before. Room 132 has always been a small but cozy space, its walls decorated with colorful posters, crayon drawings, and motivational quotes in blocky fonts. You glance around, taking in the comforting familiarity of it all.

Mrs. Inoue is already there, humming softly to herself as she arranges supplies on one of the low tables. She’s always been the early bird between the two of you, her energy a steady constant in the whirlwind of your mornings. “Oh, good morning!” she greets cheerfully, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I was wondering when you’d get here. It’s chilly out, isn’t it?”

You nod with a small smile, shrugging off your coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. The warmth of the classroom is a welcome reprieve from the biting air outside, and you take a moment to savor it before moving to help her.

“We’re going to need extra paper for the art project today,” Mrs. Inoue continues, gesturing to a nearby shelf. “And maybe an extra set of paints too. You know how much they love to mix all the colors together into one big muddy mess.”

The corner of your mouth twitches upward at that. It’s true—your students have a way of turning even the most structured activity into pure chaos. But it’s the kind of chaos you don’t mind. You grab the supplies she mentioned, setting them out on the tables in neat, colorful rows. The work feels methodical, soothing even, as the room slowly comes to life with the promise of the day ahead. “Do you have the attendance chart?” Mrs. Inoue asks, her voice breaking your focus. You hum, retrieving it from your bag and handing it to her. “Thanks! I’ll get started on marking the seating arrangements.” She pauses, glancing at you over her shoulder. “By the way, are you feeling okay? You seemed a little out of it yesterday.”

You hesitate, the question catching you off guard. But Mrs. Inoue doesn’t push; she never does. Her tone is light, her expression warm, like she’s offering you an out if you need it.

“I’m fine,” you say finally, your voice soft but steady. She nods, accepting your answer without prying further. The silence that follows is comfortable, punctuated only by the faint sound of the heating system kicking on. Soon, the time will come where the students start trickling in, and the room will fill with laughter, chatter, and tiny voices calling your name.

For now, though, it’s just you, Mrs. Inoue, and the quiet promise of a new day.

Before you know it, there’s the tiny patter of feet against the floor, followed by excited screams of “Good morning, Mrs. Inoue! Good Morning, Ms. L/N!”

The noise floods the room like a wave, and for a moment, you're almost taken aback by the sudden shift. It’s always like this—the children bounding in with that infectious energy, their little faces lighting up with excitement. Their voices blend together in a sweet chorus of greetings as they run to their seats, eager to start the day. You smile softly, the weight of their energy lifting something inside you. “Good morning, everyone,” you reply, your voice silky but clear enough to be heard over the commotion. A few of them pause mid-stride, turning to beam at you as if their morning isn’t complete without that small exchange. It’s a ritual, a moment you’ve come to cherish despite everything else.

One of the kids, Ayumi, shyly tugs on your sleeve as she passes by. "Ms. L/N, I drew something for you!" Her small, crinkled drawing of a smiley sun and a big flower is presented with a proud grin. You bend down to meet her, taking the drawing gently and nodding in appreciation.

"Thank you, Ayumi," you say with sincerity, tucking it into the pocket of your apron for safekeeping. She beams, pleased by your reaction. The other children are settling into their seats now, the others still hanging up their tiny backpacks. The noise slowly dying down as Mrs. Inoue begins to go over the day’s schedule. You move to your desk, organizing your own materials for the upcoming lessons.

There's something comforting about this routine, about how predictable and grounded the children's excitement makes the world feel. Even if you don't speak much, even if the silence weighs heavily on you some days, in this room, with these kids, you feel like you belong.

The chatter resumes as they prepare for the first activity, but you don't mind. In this space, you're safe. The world outside might be noisy, chaotic, even isolating—but here, in Room 132, it’s just a quiet promise of another day.

The kids here, they’ve accepted that. Sometimes they ask the blatant question like why are you so quiet or if you don’t like talking. Each time, you regard them with a low chuckle, carefully explaining that you talk when you have to.

“But don’t we always have to talk, Ms. L/N?” One of your students had asked, head tilting in confusion.

Your lips upturn warmly, the question never getting easier to answer, but you’ve grown used to it. The innocence in their voices, their genuine curiosity, makes it harder to simply brush it off. You leaned down to meet the little one’s gaze, the child’s wide eyes watching you intently.

“Well,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “sometimes, I don’t need to talk to show that I’m listening, or that I’m here with you." You paused for a moment, glancing around at the other children who are now focused on the conversation. "Talking isn’t always the only way to communicate, is it?"

Some of them nod slowly, processing the idea, while others remain puzzled, unsure of how to make sense of the concept. It’s a delicate thing, explaining the layers of silence to young minds who are still learning the value of words.

"I still listen to you," you continue, pointing to your ears, "and I still care about what you say. But sometimes, I choose other ways to show that." You then tap your heart lightly, a gesture that seems to make sense to them, one that they can latch onto without needing to understand the deeper complexities.

The student who asked the question, Haruto, looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs. “Oh, okay! So you don’t always need to talk. You just…know?”

You nod, offering him an encouraging smile. "Exactly. Sometimes, knowing is enough."

They all seemed content with that answer, the conversation naturally shifting as they returned to their work. But you can’t shake the feeling that the question lingered in the air long after the words had left their mouths. It’s a reminder that, even in a room full of children, the silence you carry is still something to be questioned, to be examined.

But for now, you’ve found your peace in their acceptance, in their unspoken understanding. And that, you think, is enough.

It’s around seven in the evening now. Shoko and you walk into the grocery store, side by side as she pushes a small cart. You’ve gotten on your friend multiple times now about her less than savory eating habits. She’s a smoker, so you try to give her enough leeway.

But still. She tends to neglect herself at times, and being the good friend you are, you’re there to correct that when you see it happen. Of course she helps you out too for your own situations.

The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead as you and Shoko make your way through the aisles. The store isn’t too crowded, the hum of casual chatter and the occasional squeak of shopping carts filling the air. She lazily steers the cart, her free hand stuffed into the pocket of her jacket. “You know, I could just order takeout for the week and call it a day,” she says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

“You could,” you reply with a knowing look, “but then I’d have to come over and lecture you about how your fridge only ever has beer and instant noodles.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“I have to be. Someone has to keep you alive,” you frown, reaching out to grab a bundle of fresh vegetables from the shelf. You toss it into the cart, earning a groan from Shoko.

“Do I look like someone who knows what to do with broccoli?” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to her words.

You sigh softly, grabbing another item and placing it beside the broccoli. “You don’t have to know. That’s what recipes are for.”

She pauses, leaning against the handle of the cart as you pick out a loaf of bread. “You’re too good to me, you know,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now.

You glance at her, raising a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?��

She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, you’re the only one who cares enough to do stuff like this. Dragging me to the store, making sure I don’t waste away on convenience store snacks…”

“That’s what friends are for,” you reply simply, grabbing a pack of her favorite tea and dropping it into the cart.

She huffs a quiet laugh, pushing the cart forward again. “Yeah, well, remind me to return the favor next time you’re in a rut.”

You don’t say anything, but the smile on your face speaks volumes. The two of you continue down the aisles, the easy rhythm of your friendship filling the spaces between the mundane task of grocery shopping. It’s a small moment, but one that feels steady, grounding. By the time you reach the checkout line, Shoko’s cart is filled with a mix of healthy staples and a few indulgent snacks she managed to sneak in when you weren’t looking. She leans against the counter as you both wait, glancing at you again. “Thanks, really,” she says quietly, her tone carrying more sincerity than before.

You offer her a small nod, your way of saying anytime.

Shoko was the first person you met when starting to work in Tokyo. It was by random, on a sunny Saturday morning while completing your usual coffee run. The memory of that first meeting still lingers vividly in your mind, even after all this time. Shoko had been standing at the counter, her hair slightly messy, dressed in scrubs under an oversized hoodie, clearly on a break or just off a shift. She had glanced over at you while waiting for her coffee, and for some reason, she struck up a conversation—a mix of casual observations and dry humor that somehow coaxed a rare chuckle out of you. And honestly, you weren’t used to people like her—confident but not overbearing, witty without being cruel. She wasn’t trying to force you into anything, just filling the space in a way that felt oddly reassuring.

It became a regular thing after that, running into her at the same coffee shop every Saturday morning. Slowly but surely, the encounters turned into an unspoken tradition. She’d do most of the talking, and you’d offer her your quiet company, which she came to appreciate more than she’d admit. Though most of the conversations were spent with her own voice filling the air, you would still find it in you to acknowledge her. At first, she was put off. She’s not exactly the loudest and most extroverted person, either. But with you, she realized the silence was nice. Comfortable even. Like a break of fresh air after a busy, busy day of an OBGYN.

As of now, she’s the only one you find yourself spending time with outside of work and home. You like the simplicity. Now, years later, the dynamic hasn’t changed much. Shoko remains your anchor in Tokyo, a constant presence who understands your silences better than most. It’s not perfect—she has her moments of self-destruction, and you have your walls—but it works.

It took a while for you to open up to her, and once you did, she welcomed every incident, every emotion, every hesitation with open arms. She’s the kind of friend who knows when to push you to eat something or when to leave you be, when to crack open a beer (even though you don’t drink, making your own virgin margarita) with you in silence or pull you out of your shell for a late-night convenience store run.

In a way, she’s your best friend. You haven’t said that part out loud yet, even if you two have been friends for about three, almost four years now. But you think she knows, she has to. Neither of you really like the labels, and you’re fine with just being Shoko and Y/N. Neither of you needs to put a name to it, this friendship. It exists in the spaces between words, in the easy routine of your grocery trips, the casual texts about nothing in particular, and the quiet understanding that you’ve got each other’s backs.

As the two of you leave the store, the plastic bags swinging from Shoko’s hands, she glances over at you, smirking. “So, what’s the verdict? Did I pass the responsible adult grocery list test?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Barely.”

She nudges you with her elbow, her grin widening. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

You help her out the bags into the trunk of her black Mazda CX-5. Once that’s complete, you head into the passenger seat, her the driver's seat. She starts the engine and pulls off the curb, driving the route back to your apartment. The music of her playlist plays for a few minutes, the two of you speaking no words. At the third red light, she clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “Hey, so I’m meeting up with some friends this Saturday night at Speakeasy. I was wondering if you wanted to come. You don’t have to, but it’s just an offer if you’re not busy.”

You glance out the window, watching the city lights flicker past as her words hang in the air. Speakeasy—a bar with dim lighting, soft music, and a reputation for being both lively and intimate. It’s not the kind of place you frequent, but you know Shoko wouldn’t ask unless she thought it might be good for you. Still, the idea of stepping into a crowded room full of strangers makes your chest tighten slightly. You turn your head to look at her, the faint glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows across her face. "Who’s going to be there?" you ask, your voice barely louder than the music playing from her speakers.

“Just a few people I went to med school and high school with,” she replies casually, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Nothing too crazy. You’d like them, I think. They’re not the obnoxious kind, well maybe only one of them. But I don’t know if he’ll be there.”

You hum in acknowledgment, weighing the decision. You know Shoko wouldn’t push if you said no—she never does. But there’s a part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to try something new. To let her world blend into yours for an evening. “I’ll think about it,” you say finally, giving her a small smile.

Shoko glances at you briefly before focusing back on the road, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s not a no. I’ll take it.”

The light turns green, and the car lurches forward. By the time she pulls up in front of your apartment, the decision still lingers in the back of your mind. Shoko leans against the steering wheel, her eyes glancing over at you as you gather your things. “Don’t stress about it,” she says softly, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But, you know… it could be fun.”

You nod before stepping out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. Eat well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she calls after you as you close the door.

As you head inside, you can’t help but replay her words in your mind. The thought of going out, of meeting new people—it feels daunting, but not entirely impossible. For now, though, you’ll leave it as something to consider.

“Wakey, wakey.”

The sound of a woman sleepily groaning sounds throughout the room, to which Satoru is internally celebrating because he won’t have to resort to other methods (hitting her with a pillow or snatching the—his—blanket off her body, or if he really wanted to be obnoxious, playing a loud sound of an alarm clock in her ear). Her eyes blearily open, seeing his lower half initially, but they travel up to his face. He’s already staring down at her with a smile that’s all too cheery for…..eight in the morning.

“W–wha–”

“Guess what it’s time for. Any guesses?” He uses his fist as a fake microphone, humming with his eyes pointed to the ceiling in faux thought. A second of silence passes before he continues. “Ah, nothing? Well, I’ll give you a hint. What starts with an ‘L’ and ends with a ‘E’?”

Seriously, this is not what she was expecting first thing in the morning. “I—huh….?”

“Errr, 500 for time to leave?” Satoru lowers his pitch of voice, mimicking another person speaking. “Correct!” He returns back to his own tone, but once he sees the woman is still laying down in the same position on his bed with that confused expression that’s starting to get a little on his nerves, he rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs. “Get up.”

She gasps as he lifts her up by her arms, not too rough but still enough to jostle the sleepiness away from her senses. “Ah! Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” Satoru is practically dragging her out to his room and to the front door. He’s tempted to yank his shirt off her body, but then she’d be left naked. And Satoru isn’t that much of an asshole. With his free hand, he rips the door open and practically pushes her out. She stumbles and turns around to face him.

“Had a good night and all, but sorry, I don’t like visitors. Get home safe, yeah?”

He closes and locks the door in her face just as she opens her mouth. He can faintly hear her complaining on the other side, to which he rolls his eyes again and mumbles a small “dramatic” under his breath, before stalking over to the kitchen with a hum to make his breakfast.

And so, he moves in relative calmness, seemingly already pushing the situation out his mind for room for his delicious pancakes topped with copious amounts of syrup and sliced strawberries. Oh, but don’t forget the powdered sugar he layers as the final topping, served with a glass of cool orange juice. His mouth is practically watering as he sits down at his table with the plate in front of him, begging him eat me, eat me. Satoru has never had good self control, so he gives into the silent pleading and instantly devours at a speed that should honestly be concerning for him.

The rest of his house is empty and quiet, save for his slobbering. But it’s always silent. After all, he is the only occupant, savoring his alone time. It’s why he kicked out that woman. Sasha? Or maybe Sarah? He forgot already. This is what most of his mornings consist of, anyway. So yes, in conclusion, he’s very used to this little routine he has going on.

The list goes like this. First, make stupid decisions and come back with a woman around your arm. Fuck her good, wake up the next morning and not regret it, but rather remove any traces of the mistake as soon as possible. Once that’s over, eat breakfast, head to your in-home gym to do his routine workout. Clean up and see which one of your friends you can bother. Oh but how could he forget work. Right, so work while you’re bothering people. Sleep and repeat. Luckily, he doesn’t have a lecture until 11:30.

He doesn’t always bring a woman home, but if he had to say how many times a week he does, he would only say three. Which really isn’t that much, he tells himself. Because there’s times where he doesn’t even sleep with them. Either he suddenly gets a weird pre-nut clarity, the sex isn’t good just only one minute in, or they start drunkenly crying to him about whatever mid-life crisis they’re going through.

To which he scoffs and rolls his eyes and promptly kicks them out.

Some would—do—call his lifestyle bad. Unhealthy. Whatever, he thinks. He’s a grown man, he could literally do whatever the hell he wanted. He’s clean and gets tested regularly, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? His friends try to get him to stop this stupid and reckless path he’s going down, but it almost always ends in him shrugging them off and continuing anyway.

Satoru likes the freedom, the ability to do what he wants without some bitch in his ear complaining about how ‘you need to stop this’. He has money, a good house, looks, smarts, everything. Really, he’s the full package. Satoru is a fairly happy-going person, he likes control. But when other people try to take that away from him, it almost sends him into a state of anger. Even if it’s out of love or whatever they say it’s for, still. He likes having control over himself and his life. So, who do these people think they are trying to tell him otherwise? They’re just lucky he’s smart enough to walk away before he says or does something he’ll more than likely forget. He doesn’t regret much, but one thing he does and always will regret is hurting those he holds close.

You could say that’s part of the reason he engages in so many of these little hookups and flings. No strings, no emotional attachment, nothing. He doesn’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing because he’ll never see them again after this. They’ll be gone first thing in the morning, then he’ll have the rest of the day to himself.

What doesn’t sound better than that?

He spends the next hour in his gym, trying to rush a bit so he still has time to freshen up before his lecture.

The ringing of his phone cuts him off just as he’s in the middle of his third set of pull ups. He almost doesn’t answer, but with a stolen glance at the screen of his phone with the name and contact photo plastered on it, he sighs, but continues on with his pull ups. “Alexa, answer the phone.”

“Accepting a call from ‘sugurupoo’.” Alexa replies back in her usual monotone voice, it almost makes Satoru laugh at the stupid name he set years ago.

“Satoru, where are you right now?”

“Why?” he grunts out, laughing. “You lookin’ for me?”

Suguru sighs. “I thought we were having a quick bite before our lectures.”

“Ah,” Satoru hums, setting his feet down onto the ground, wiping his forehead with a rag. “Right, I forgot about our little date.”

“First, it’s not a date. And second, you’re an ass. I’ve been waiting for you to show up for twenty minutes now.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound light and teasing. “Twenty minutes? Damn, I didn’t know you missed me that much.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Suguru bites back, though his irritation is softened by the familiarity of their banter. “Where are you?”

“Gym,” Satoru replies, tilting his head to glance at the clock on the wall. “Lost track of time. You know how it is��getting these gains takes commitment.”

“Unbelievable,” Suguru mutters. “You’re bailing on food to flex in front of a mirror?”

“Not just a mirror,” Satoru retorts, grinning. “There’s a crowd, actually. They love me here.”

“You mean your delusions?” Suguru deadpans.

Satoru laughs again, stretching. The sound of his joints popping audible through the phone. “Fine, fine. I’ll head out. You still at the café?”

“Yes,” Suguru says sharply. “But I’m not waiting all day for you, so hurry up.”

“Relax, I’m on my way,” Satoru says, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t eat without me.”

“I’m tempted to,” Suguru mutters before hanging up.

Satoru grins to himself, heading upstairs to the main house. He’s late, sure, but it’s not like Suguru hasn’t come to expect that by now. If anything, it’s part of the charm of being friends with Satoru Gojo—or so he likes to think.

He does a quick shower, changing into a pale blue button up with black slacks to match. A pair of black shoes and his glasses and he’s out. He beeps his Porsche 911 Turbo S in blue, nonchalantly sliding into the drivers side and heading off to the meeting spot with his friend. Using his right hand on the wheel, his other rhythmically tapping against his car door to the beat of the music playing.

In just a few minutes, he parks in two spots and steps out of the car, his sunglasses glinting in the afternoon light as he locks the doors with a press of his key fob. The Porsche chirps in response, drawing a few passing glances from people walking by. He adjusts his neat button-up, tugging at the cuffs to loosen them slightly, and strides toward the café with his usual air of confidence.

The door jingles softly as he steps inside, scanning the room for Suguru. It doesn’t take long to spot him—seated near the window, his long hair tied back, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him.

“About time,” Suguru calls out as Satoru approaches, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost.”

Satoru grins, sliding into the seat across from him. “Me? Lost? Never. You’re just impatient.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re forty minutes late. I could’ve eaten and left by now.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” Satoru says, leaning back in his chair, legs outspread with a smirk. “Because deep down, you enjoy my company too much to leave.”

Suguru rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, instead pushing a menu toward Satoru. “Order something and spare me the theatrics.”

Satoru picks up the menu, glancing at it briefly before setting it down. “I’ll just get the usual. No need to overthink it.”

“The usual being half the menu?” Suguru asks dryly.

“Hey, a man’s like me gotta eat,” Satoru says with a shrug, flagging down a waiter with an easy wave.

As they place their orders and settle into the familiar rhythm of conversation, Satoru can’t help but feel a sense of ease. Despite his tendency to push boundaries—and Suguru’s patience—their friendship remains a constant, grounding him in a way few things do.

“So,” Suguru says after a moment, leaning forward slightly. “How’d last night go for you?”

Satoru laughs, shaking his head. “How do you think?” Pointing to a faint hickey hidden under the collar of his shirt.

“Right,” Suguru says, sighing. “You really have no restraint, you know? You can work at eight in the morning but still stay out until three the previous night.”

“Finally, someone gets it,” Satoru replies, grinning.

Suguru exhales but can’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips. “Did you at least shower before coming here?”

Satoru flashes him another grin. “Don’t I smell delightful?”

“Like regret and bad decisions,” Suguru rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee.

Satoru laughs. “C’mon, live a little. I had a great night, and now I’m here, ready to be the best company you’ve ever had.”

Suguru watches him for a moment, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” Satoru quips, popping the piece of muffin into his mouth as soon as it’s placed in front of his best friend by the waiter.

The other man scoffs but doesn’t argue, instead pushing the plate closer to Satoru. “You’re paying for your own food, by the way.”

“You are so not a gentleman.”

“Not to men, I’m not.”

“So if I were a woman, you’d act charming and like a true man?”

“Hah, you fuckin’ wish.”

“I do,” Satoru replies easily, checking the time on his phone. An hour and a half left.

His friend ignores that remark, crossing his arms as he sets his drink down. “Hey, so are you going to the thing on Saturday?”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, head tilting. “The thing?” he echoes, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, Suguru. I get invited to a lot of things.”

Suguru exhales sharply through his nostrils, clearly unamused. “The gathering at Speakeasy. Shoko mentioned it. A bunch of us are meeting up there.”

“Ohhh, that thing,” Satoru says, dragging out the words like he just remembered. He tilts his head the other way, tapping a finger against his chin. “Depends. Who all’s gonna be there?”

“The usual crowd,” Suguru replies. “Shoko, a few people from her med school, some others I think you’ll tolerate.”

Satoru smirks. “Tolerate? You make it sound like I’m hard to please.”

“You are,” Suguru shoots back, his tone dry. “But Shoko insisted on inviting you, and for some reason, I agreed.”

“I’m honored,” Satoru says, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “Fine, I’ll come. But only because I like to make these things interesting.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” Satoru replies, flashing a mischievous grin.

Suguru shakes his head, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Just don’t embarrass us. Or yourself.”

“No promises,” Satoru says, already imagining the chaos he could stir up.

“She did say something, though.” Suguru adds on. When Satoru hums back in response, looking back down at his phone, he continues. “She said under no condition are you to flirt with her friends. She wants everyone to have fun, not stop you from making pass after pass.”

Satoru snorts, barely looking up from his phone. “Shoko said that? That’s rich, coming from someone who thinks ‘fun’ is chain-smoking on the balcony and pretending she’s in a noir film.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, taking another sip of his coffee. “Don’t deflect. She’s serious. She doesn’t want you turning her friends into your next dating pool.”

“I don’t date, Suguru,” Satoru replies with a hint of bite, finally glancing up. “I simply... entertain.”

“Exactly her point,” Suguru mutters, crossing his arms. “She knows how you are, and she doesn’t want her friends stuck in your web of ‘entertainment.’”

Satoru leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, his grin widening. “She’s scared they’ll fall for my charm, huh?”

“No,” Suguru says flatly. “She’s scared you’ll get bored, and she’ll have to deal with the aftermath.”

Satoru feigns a hurt expression, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. No faith in me at all. I’m deeply wounded.”

Suguru glares at him, unimpressed. “Just… promise you’ll behave. For once.”

Satoru waves him off with a lazy grin. “Fine, fine. I’ll be good. But you know, if someone approaches me, that’s not really on me, is it?”

Suguru groans, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Satoru says, flashing him a wink before returning to his phone.

“Starting to regret it.” Suguru mumbles under his breath, lip downturning into a frown. He analyzes the white haired man across from him for a silent moment. Watching his smile and small chuckle at something stupid on his phone. He can only hope Satoru will keep his word, truly. Suguru sighs, rubbing his temple as he leans back in his seat. "You know, Satoru, sometimes I wonder if you take anything seriously."

Satoru looks up from his phone, his grin unwavering. "Of course I do! I take having fun very seriously. It’s a full-time job, you know."

Suguru just shakes his head, huffing through his nose. "You’re exhausting."

"And yet," Satoru starts, pointing a finger at him, "you keep inviting me out. Makes you wonder who’s really at fault here, huh?"

Suguru’s frown deepens, but the faintest twitch of his lips betrays him. "I keep hoping one day you’ll surprise me. That you’ll actually act like an adult for more than five minutes."

"Hey," Satoru says, feigning offense. "I can be an adult when it matters. Just because I choose not to all the time doesn’t mean I don’t know how."

Suguru gives him a long, scrutinizing look. "Saturday night. That’s your chance to prove it. Shoko’s giving you one rule. Can you handle that?"

Satoru leans back, tossing his phone onto the table with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, alright. I promise, no flirting with her friends. Cross my heart, hope to die." He even makes a little "X" motion over his chest for emphasis.

"I’m holding you to that," Suguru says, though there’s still skepticism in his tone.

Satoru flashes his trademark smile, full of mischief. "Relax, Suguru. I’ll be the picture of self-control. You won’t even recognize me."

Suguru utters under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You’ve been debating Shoko’s offer since she told you about it. That was on a Monday. It’s now Friday evening, having just come back from work. The light above displaying its warmth highlights your figure sitting at the lone kitchen table. Well, not exactly lone.

While you’re munching on a platter of rice and fish, your cat is doing the same across from you. Obviously not rice and fish, but her own cat food.

Your calico cat, aptly named Cinnamon, is a picture of elegance wrapped in mischief. Her predominantly white coat is a clean canvas, dotted with splashes of fiery orange and sleek black, creating a tapestry that seems almost deliberate in its beauty. Her left ear is entirely black, contrasting with the orange streak that runs like a comet across her back.

Her sharp green eyes glimmer with curiosity, a mix of jade and lime hues that shift in the warm kitchen light. They’re always watching—whether it’s the flick of your fork, the twitch of your fingers, or the way you lean into your chair, Cinnamon observes it all with the wisdom of a feline who believes she’s the queen of her small domain.

Her paws, delicate and white, tread lightly across the linoleum floor, though they’ve certainly caused their share of chaos when batting pens or half-full glasses off the table. She has a fluffy tail that curves like a question mark, often brushing against your legs as if to say, Don’t forget I’m here.

Despite her mischievous streak, Cinnamon’s coat is always soft to the touch, her fur holding warmth like a freshly baked loaf of bread. And whenever you reach out to pet her, she leans into your hand, her purring a gentle hum that makes the loneliness in your little apartment feel less heavy.

She’s only two years old, having rescued her off the street after a particularly snowy day. She was so small in your hands it was adorable. After her first visit to the vet, you discovered she had been born deaf.

Along with Shoko, Cinnamon had become your anchor after moving to the big city all alone. She was a reminder that you’re not really alone. And while you wish she was granted the right to hear your soft coos and praises, your touch is something that means just as much.

After observing her movements, you look back down at your food. It would be nice to go. Maybe you can make some new friends, get out of your shell for once. You’re 29, but mentally you still feel like you’re in your early twenties. You never really experienced the fun people do at that age. Partying, clubbing, one night stands, waking up on a random person’s couch.

Although sometimes you’re glad you didn’t, the thought still pokes and prods at your subconscious from time to time. Including now. You seriously can’t keep living like this. Seriously, people your age are married and having families. For example, your brother.

You can’t say you hate clubs if you’ve never even gone. You can’t say you hate meeting new people if you rarely even do that. It’s just your own set of insecurities and self doubts that keep you chained to the dungeon of your own mind.

You wonder, sometimes, if it’s easier to stay locked in that safe space of isolation. No one to disappoint, no expectations to meet. It’s so much quieter in your head when you're alone. No judgments, no glances, no questions that you can’t answer.

But then, there’s always that nagging thought, that whisper in the back of your mind. What if you’re missing out on something better? What if there’s more than just the silence you’ve grown comfortable with?

Don’t you deserve some redemption? Not every person on this Earth is a horrible human being.

It’s a familiar battle—the pull between the comfort of solitude and the yearning for something beyond the walls you’ve built. You’ve never been the outgoing type, never the one to seek attention or jump into the spotlight. Yet, part of you wonders if you could change that. If you could be someone who takes risks, someone who shows up for the moments that matter instead of hiding from them.

Shoko. Speakeasy. She’s been inviting you out for months now, but this time feels different. Maybe it’s the way she worded it, or the way she’s been extra persistent, almost as if she can sense that something in you is on the verge of breaking out. But even now, you hesitate. The voices in your head, the ones that keep you quiet and safe, they whisper louder. What if you’re out of place? What if you don’t belong there?

You tap your foot nervously, staring at the plate of food. You’ve been meaning to take that step outside your comfort zone...and yet, there’s still that part of you holding you back, like a tug of war between the unknown and the familiar.

Maybe Saturday is the night you finally take that first step. Or maybe it’ll be another moment of hesitation, another night spent wondering what could have been.

But it’s up to you to make that decision. And the more you sit here and hesitate, think of the what ifs, the harder the decision is becoming. So, with a burst of courage, you rip the bandaid off. No going back.

Your fingers work quickly at your phone screen, typing out:

You:

What time Saturday?

The minutes that pass are spent with you tapping a palm against your cheek, lightly reprimanding yourself. Why did I do that? Now I have to go! The second you get a text back, you’re not sure if it’s dread, anxiety, or a hint of excitement.

Same thing.

Ieiri:

9pm, see you there :)

The night buzzed with an electric hum as Satoru pulled his jacket tighter around himself, stepping out of the sleek black car that parked a few feet away from the club’s entrance. Speakeasy was alive tonight, its neon sign casting a soft glow onto the crowd gathered outside, the faint bass of the music vibrating through the pavement.

He adjusted the collar of his jacket, tossing a quick glance at the line of people waiting to get in. It wasn’t a particularly cold night, but the energy in the air was sharp—anticipatory. Nights like this were his playground, and Satoru never missed an opportunity to enjoy himself. Suguru had texted him earlier to remind him—no, warn him—not to mess around. Shoko’s words were practically seared into his memory by now: No flirting with her friends.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t behave. He just didn’t see the fun in restraint. Still, tonight was about more than just him. He figured he’d at least try to make an effort—for Suguru’s and Shoko’s sake, if nothing else.

Sliding his sunglasses up into his hair, he smirked at the bouncer, who gave him a nod of recognition. Being Satoru Gojo had its perks. He breezed past the line, feeling the envious stares of the waiting crowd. The heavy door opened, and he was hit with a wave of heat, the thrum of music, and the low chatter of voices layered over it all. Inside, the club was alive—dim lights reflecting off polished surfaces, laughter and conversation mingling with the music, and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. He scanned the room, his sharp blue eyes catching on familiar figures near the bar. The DJ was currently playing—what he assumed—early 2000s American music. Not his exact favorite but hey, he actually loves Usher.

The second floor is where Suguru said everyone would be. Making his way up the stairs, he sees that Suguru is already there, leaning casually against the counter with a drink in hand. Shoko sat next to him, her head tilted as she laughed at something he’d said. She noticed him first, her gaze locking onto his before she gave a small, knowing wave.

Satoru sauntered over, seeing the other people Shoko invited, mainly women. his usual swagger in his step, his grin firmly in place. “You miss me?” he asked, sliding into the seat next to Suguru.

“Like a hole in the head,” Shoko deadpanned, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Suguru shook his head, handing Satoru a drink. “You’re late. Again.”

“Fashionably,” Satoru corrected, taking the glass and raising it in mock salute. He leaned back in his seat, letting his gaze drift across the upstairs area. Seemed Shoko went all out, securing a VIP section. It was the same as always—music, drinks, strangers exchanging fleeting glances. Yet, there was a flicker of something different tonight, something he couldn’t quite place.

“So,” he started, swirling the drink in his hand as he turned back to his friends. “Where’s the party?”

Shoko rolled her eyes, her tone dry as she replied, “The party’s right here, Satoru. Try not to ruin it.”

He laughed, leaning forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. When have I ever ruined anything?”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged a look, and Satoru rolled his eyes. Tonight was shaping up to be interesting, even if he had to behave. Or at least pretend to.

“Shoko!” One of her friends, visibly drunk, rushes up to her. “The girls and I are doing shots, c’mon!” With a giggle, Shoko is promptly dragged away to the side, a circle of women forming as they ready themselves for the shots they’re about to force down.

After mindlessly sipping, he finishes his drink. Standing up with a small grunt, looking around like he’s scoping the place. “I’ll be back.”

“Satoru.” Suguru replies in that knowing tone of his.

“Relax,” Satoru laughs, nudging his friend’s foot. “I’m behaving. You said I couldn’t flirt with her friends, but they’re not the only eye candy up here.”

Suguru sighs, already regretting his decision to let Satoru tag along. “Just don’t start anything stupid,” he mutters, leaning back against the bar as he watches his friend disappear into the crowd.

Satoru navigates through the sea of people with ease, his height giving him an advantage as he scans the room. The music thrums in his chest, the bass almost matching the rhythm of his pulse. He doesn’t have a plan—not that he ever does—but there’s always something, or someone, that catches his eye.

He moves toward the edge of the dance floor, his gaze flitting between the moving bodies, the glowing bar signs, and the scattered tables filled with groups of friends or couples sharing drinks. It’s not that he’s particularly looking for anything tonight—he just enjoys the thrill of seeing what, or who, might cross his path. As he leans casually against a nearby column, his attention is drawn to a table in the corner. A group of women sits there, laughing and talking over cocktails.

Bingo.

“Hi there,” Satoru approaches the woman on the side, leaning in slightly like he’s trying to make sure she hears him over the music. “You’re very beautiful, are you here all alone?”

The woman startles slightly, her eyes widening as she looks up at him. For a moment, it seems like she’s unsure if he’s even talking to her, her gaze flicking to the nearby group of women. But when she realizes he’s fully focused on her, her cheeks flush a faint pink. “Oh, um,” she stammers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, I’m with my friends.” She gestures vaguely toward the table, where the other women are chatting animatedly, seemingly unaware of the exchange.

Satoru grins, “I can tell that much, but I mean are you here with a guy?” He asks, shifting his weight casually as he leans an elbow on the back of her chair.

She lets out a nervous laugh, clearly flustered but not entirely uncomfortable. “I—uh—no, no. Do I know you?”

He tilts his head, his grin widening as if her question is a challenge. “Not yet. But I think we can fix that.”

It’s smooth, calculated—the kind of line Satoru’s used to throwing out without much thought. He doesn’t expect every woman to fall for it, but he knows how to work a room, how to read someone’s body language and play his cards just right.

Suguru’s voice lingers in his head, a faint reprimand. Don’t flirt with her friends. But this woman isn’t part of Shoko’s circle, and besides, Satoru never said he’d stop being himself. “So,” he continues, his voice low and teasing, “are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to keep calling you ‘the prettiest girl in the room’ all night?”

The woman lets out a soft, breathy laugh, the kind that tells Satoru she’s not used to this kind of attention—or at least not from someone as bold as him. She glances down at her drink, swirling the contents nervously before finally looking back up at him. “It’s Mayumi,” she says, her voice light and uncertain, as if she’s still deciding whether or not she should be engaging with him.

“Mayumi,” Satoru repeats, tasting her name like it’s something rare and exotic. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He leans in slightly, his tone dropping just enough to feel intimate without crossing a line. “So, Mayumi, what brings you here tonight? Celebrating something? Or are you just here to escape the world for a little while?”

Her lips curve into a shy smile, her fingers brushing the edge of her glass. “My friends dragged me out,” she admits. “They thought I needed to… loosen up, I guess.”

“And do you?” he asks, one brow quirking as his grin turns playful.

“Do I what?”

“Need to loosen up.” His voice is teasing, his gaze unwavering as if he’s trying to read every flicker of emotion on her face.

Mayumi looks away, her smile fading into something more subdued. “Maybe,” she murmurs, her tone quieter now. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this.”

Satoru straightens slightly, his grin softening into something that almost looks genuine. “Well, then,” he says, extending a hand toward her. “How about we change that? Dance with me.”

She stares at his hand like it’s a foreign object, her expression a mix of hesitation and intrigue. “I—I don’t know,” she stammers. “I’m not really a good dancer.”

“Lucky for you,” Satoru says, winking, “neither am I.”

He wiggles his fingers invitingly, his confidence infectious enough to make her laugh again. After a moment’s hesitation, she places her hand in his, letting him gently pull her to her feet.

“See?” he says, leading her toward the edge of the dance floor. “You’re already loosening up.”

She shakes her head, but the smile on her face tells him she’s starting to enjoy herself. As they step into the sea of moving bodies, Satoru glances over his shoulder, his eyes catching Suguru’s across the room. His friend’s expression is a mix of exasperation and amusement, shaking his head as if to say, Of course you couldn’t resist.

Satoru smirks, mouthing, I’m behaving, before turning his attention back to Mayumi, the night stretching ahead with endless possibilities.

This continues on for at least two more hours. Mayumi is sweet and all, but so are her friends Raya, and Mina, and Sera. He’s a little more tipsy than he’d like to be, but he’s not driving tonight. Besides, he’s a lightweight, he should’ve been more calculating on his drink count. Oh well, not like he has work tomorrow. Just some grading and emails from students trying to raise their grade and kissing his ass.

He laughs about it, even with his arm around Ai, his half empty drink in the other. Bright eyes glazed over, cheeks undoubtedly red, and a lazy smile permanently etched on his face. However, his nose twitches subtly, when a sudden scent invades his nostrils. Satoru remembers being praised by his teachers and schoolmates for his outstanding senses that it was almost scary sometimes.

The little thing, he hears. The smallest item, he sees. And the faint scent, he smells.

It’s weak at first, weaving through the layered smells of perfume, alcohol, and sweat. But it’s distinct—a soft, clean scent, almost like fresh linen mixed with something sweet and floral. But it also smells like marshmallows, like a cozy night in front of the fire. His nose twitches again, and his lazy smile falters for just a moment.

The scent is out of place here, where everything feels loud and brash. It’s quiet and grounding, tugging at something deep in his hazy, alcohol-soaked brain. He tilts his head slightly, scanning the room without meaning to, his arm still loosely draped around Ai’s shoulders.

“Satoru?” Ai’s voice pulls him back, light and teasing. She tilts her head to catch his eye, her glossy lips curving into a playful pout. “You still with me?”

“Hmm?” He blinks, looking down at her with an easy grin that feels more automatic than usual. “Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

“Hard to tell sometimes.” She giggles, poking his chest lightly, but he’s already tuning her out.

The scent lingers, wrapping itself around him like a thread pulling taut. It shouldn’t matter. It’s probably just some random person passing by, someone’s perfume or shampoo. But something about it makes his chest tighten, a strange warmth blooming there that he can’t quite place.

Without even realizing it, he’s scanning the room again, his gaze sharper now, cutting through the dim lighting and flashing neon.

“What are you looking for?” Ai asks, her voice tinged with curiosity, but he doesn’t answer.

Because suddenly, he sees her.

You’re standing near the bar, posture reserved, and gaze focused on something—or maybe nothing—in the distance. You’re not really dressed to stand out, outfit simple and understated compared to the glittering ensembles of the crowd. But it’s her, and for some reason, he knows you’re the source of that scent.

Satoru’s grip on his drink tightens, his fingers flexing around the glass as he watches you. You don't look like she belongs here, not in the way others do. It’s like you’re not trying to be seen, not angling for attention. And yet, somehow, you’re all he can see. All he can smell. He’s biting on his lip now.

Ai’s voice snaps him back again, sharper this time. “Satoru, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively, finally pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down on a nearby table.

“Where are you going?” she calls after him, but he doesn’t answer.

His feet are already moving, carrying him toward the bar, toward you. The closer he gets, the stronger your sweet and addictive fragrance gets. And Satoru craves sweet things. He’s inhaling and inhaling, like he’s trying to get every trace of it lodged in his nose, in his being. With one final, strong whiff, he leans against the bar next to you. Subtly and smoothly.

You still haven’t noticed him. With a peer down at your drink, its dark fizziness tells him you’re not a drinker.

Play it cool, play it cool. But it’s hard to do that when he wants to shove his face in your hair.

“Not much of a drinker, huh?” Satoru says, his voice smooth and casual, just loud enough to cut through the music.

You glance up, startled at first, then wary. Your eyes meet his—blue, bright, and annoyingly self-assured. He leans on the bar like he owns it, a boyish simper on his face as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

You don’t answer, not right away. Instead, you turn back to your drink, fingers lightly tapping the glass.

Satoru doesn’t let the silence faze him. He tilts his head, studying you with an almost curious expression. “Let me guess,” he continues, undeterred. “It’s root beer. Or maybe cola? You seem like the cola type.”

There’s the faintest twitch at the corner of your lips, but you quickly press them into a thin line. He catches it anyway, filing it away as a small victory. “Ah, not a talker, huh?” he presses, his tone light and teasing. “That’s okay. I’m great at one-sided conversations. People say I have a gift for it. I have a lot of them actually.”

You take a slow sip of your drink, clearly trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. He leans in just slightly, not enough to invade your space, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

“Come on,” he says after a moment, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “What’s a quiet little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

This time, you turn to him, your eyes narrowing slightly. The question lingers in the air, and for a brief moment, it seems like you might answer.

But instead, you just shrug.

Satoru blinks, caught off guard by your lack of response. Then he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

You glance at him again, and he swears there’s a hint of twinkle in your gaze before you look away.

And just like that, he’s hooked.

“There you are, I thought you ditched me.” A familiar voice suddenly appears, Shoko walking up to your other side and putting her arm around your shoulder. When she spots Satoru next to you, a small frown forms. Pulling you closer to her side slightly. “Are you bothering her?”

He huffs. “Pfft, what? No, I’m making conversation.”

Shoko raises a skeptical brow, her arm tightening around your shoulder as if shielding you from him. “Right. Making conversation,” she echoes, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You glance between the two, feeling the tension shift in the air. It’s not hostile, but it’s clear Shoko isn’t thrilled with his presence. Satoru smirks, clearly unfazed. He leans casually against the bar, tilting his head in that annoyingly confident way of his. “Relax, Shoko. I’m not here to scare off your friend. I’m just being friendly.”

“Friendly?” she repeats, her frown deepening. “Your version of ‘friendly’ usually ends with someone giving you their number or regretting their life choices.”

He puts a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Ouch. You wound me.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, her fingers lightly drumming against your shoulder as she looks at you. “You okay?” she asks, her voice softer now, her concern evident.

You nod, offering a small smile, though your hands instinctively grip your drink a little tighter.

“See? She’s fine,” Satoru cuts in, flashing Shoko a triumphant grin. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Yet,” Shoko mutters under her breath before pulling you gently away from the bar. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s find a quieter spot.”

Satoru doesn’t try to stop you, but his eyes follow you as Shoko leads you across the room. His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it—curiosity, maybe even intrigue.

“Friend of yours?” he calls after Shoko, loud enough for you to hear.

She doesn’t look back, but her reply is sharp and to the point. “Off limits, Satoru.”

For the first time that night, his grin falters slightly. Off limits, huh?

Now, he’s really intrigued.

Throughout the time left, he’s busying himself with chatting up other people, even giving a small kiss to this one named Yua (he thinks that’s her name). He’s on his last drink of the night, feeling more breezy by the second. But even as his attempts at having a good rest of his night aren’t exactly failing him, he can’t stop himself from sending glance after glance to the direction Shoko whisked you away to.

You’re with her other friends that are still here, though standing against the wall in an awkward position that makes him laugh to himself.

Shoko’s trying to include you, but it’s not that easy.

The way you stand there, clearly out of your element, is oddly endearing. It’s a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the club and the people surrounding you. Shoko’s doing her best, gesturing animatedly as she talks, trying to pull you into the conversation with her friends. He can tell she’s trying to make you feel included, but it’s not really working. You offer a polite nod or a faint smile every now and then, but your body language screams discomfort.

Another sip. Another glance.

What is it about you that keeps pulling his attention? He’s met plenty of people tonight, charmed them, entertained them, even kissed one. Yet here he is, more drawn to the quiet person hiding against the wall than the vibrant partygoers vying for his attention.

“Earth to Satoru.” Yua’s voice cuts through his thoughts, her hand waving in front of his face.

“Hm?” He turns to her, blinking as if snapping out of a trance.

“You okay? You’ve been zoning out,” she teases, leaning a little closer.

He offers a crooked grin, shrugging. “Yeah, just thinking about how long I’ve been here. Probably time to head out soon.”

Yua pouts but doesn’t press further. “Can I com—“

He downs the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass on the bar before pushing off it. His gaze drifts toward you one last time, watching as you glance down at your drink, clearly counting the seconds until you can leave.

Off limits. Shoko’s words echo in his mind again, but the mischievous glint in his eyes says otherwise. “See you around,” he tosses to Yua as he starts to walk away, the pull toward you stronger than the haze of alcohol in his system.

And you can feel him approach, trying your hardest not to look over because if you don’t, then maybe he won’t actually do it. However, you’re proven wrong. Your lips threaten to downturn into a displeased frown at his persistence. Can’t he take a hint?

Shoko’s too busy taking another shot, because if she wasn’t, no doubt she’d be shooing him away again like he’s a stray dog staring at a piece of meat.

In a sense, he is.

“You like dancing?” He asks, having to lean in closer to your ear in order to be audible over the pounding bass of the throwback music. An opening, you think to yourself. If you say yes, he’ll ask you to dance with him. If you say no, he’ll still probably try to dance with you.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Instinctively, you step a half foot back, awkwardly holding your glass of coke in your hands. The drink feels stabilizing in this environment, giving you something to do with your hands. When you see the grin on his face, it almost makes you want to call back for Shoko like she’ll save you. You shake your head and look back down at the black fizzles.

His head tilts, eyebrow raising up slightly. “You wanna learn?”

Again, you give your head a small shake.

His lips purse into a confused, almost disappointed frown before he dramatically sighs. Leaning up against the wall beside you. You can feel the way he—either accidentally or purposefully—brushes his hand along your arm. Once more, you put a hint of distance between you two.

It feels so awkward, so unbelievably awkward. You’ve seen him converse with practically everyone up here, but why is he so stuck on you? You’re not even reciprocating anything, but he hasn’t left you yet. In your mind, you’re counting down the minutes till when it’s socially acceptable to go back home. In his mind, he’s trying to piece you together. From the looks of it, you’re like a puzzle.

And he’s always loved puzzles.

Finally, he sighs. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low but clear, enough to cut through the noise of the club. “You know, you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

You glance up at him, confusion clouding your features. He doesn’t give you time to respond. “You keep looking for an exit,” he continues, his tone not mocking, but almost thoughtful. “It’s written all over your face. You came to hang out, but now you’re just trying to get through the night without standing out too much.”

You blink, slightly taken aback, suddenly feeling the need to protect yourself. “I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a raised hand. “It’s fine. Everyone does it, really. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know more.” You open your mouth to protest, to dismiss him, but before you can get the words out, he adds with a tilt of his head, “Or maybe you’re just scared of the spotlight?”

The word scared sticks in your mind, gnawing at your thoughts. You’re not scared—are you? Sure, you don’t like being the center of attention, but that’s different. Isn’t it?

Satoru watches the subtle shift in your expression, the way your gaze darts away from his and then back to your drink, and he knows he’s got you. You’re curious, even if you won’t admit it. “Just one dance,” he adds suddenly, his voice teasing but not pushy. “You don’t have to say yes if you really don’t want to. But you’re missing out.” The chuckle that follows leaves you even more curious. He’s teasing, of course. But maybe there’s some truth held to his words.

He’s waiting now, watching you, his grin growing wider at the faintest flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. You’re not the easy pick, and that’s exactly what’s drawing him in.

However, you’re saved by the bell. Almost literally.

“Alright everyone, Speakeasy is beginning its closing! Please head out of the nearest exit! Thank you and we’re open again tomorrow, same time!”

The voice of either the manager, DJ, whoever runs the club emits from all the speakers. You breathe a small sigh of relief, drinking the rest of your coke and placing the glass on the table. Satoru’s hand reaches out, as if contemplating touching your shoulder, but you’re already alerting Shoko of your departure.

“I’m so glad you came, did you have fun?” Shoko asks, drunkenly smiling and hugging you. When Satoru hears your lowered chuckle, a weird punch-like force is delivered to his gut.

“Mhm, thank you for inviting me.”

“You know you’re always welcome.” She pulls back, examining your face. “Driving back?”

You nod in response.

“Okay, be safe. Text me when you get back home.”

“You too.”

Her smile turns more genuine, planting a platonic kiss to your cheek before letting you go. You zip your jacket up, adjusting your purse strap on your shoulder and head to the stairs.

“Hey.”

God damn it. You hesitate for a moment whether to keep walking or answer him, but you’re too kind-hearted for blatant ignorance. So, you look over your shoulder to see the white haired man that’s been pretty much bugging you this entire night. He steps closer, hands shoved in his pockets. “Before you go, I’m Satoru.”

And now he’s introducing himself to you. You feel even more wary. You don’t want him to think this means anything, but you came out for a reason. To attempt to break from your hardened shell. Besides, it’s just your name. “Y/N.”

The corner of his lip tilts up, revealing a small dimple on his cheek. The sight makes you warm. “I like that.”

Satoru studies you for a moment, his eyes playful but softened, a sharp contrast to the usual teasing energy that surrounded him. You can’t help but notice the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to read every part of you. But the warmth that spreads through your chest at his compliment is undeniable. You didn’t expect it. Most people would’ve just moved on by now, given how you’ve been brushing him off. “Y/N,” he repeats, his voice low and almost contemplative. “Nice name. Fits you.”

You can feel the slight tension in the air, that quiet moment between you two, and despite your better judgment, something about him is… disarming. His presence, the easy confidence he exudes, is like a soft pull on your composure. It makes you hesitate longer than you should. After internal debate, you nod briefly and continue walking back to the stairs. Again, his voice calls out to you. “By the way, I love the way you smell.”

Your steps falter, face contorting into confusion. What an odd compliment for someone you don’t know. Without turning around, you tell him, “Thank you.” Hurrying your steps so he doesn’t try to stop you again and with that, you’re out of his sight.

Even though you only muttered a few sentences to him, Satoru feels a strange sense of curiosity. Curiosity mingled with determination. He smiles to himself, drinking the last bits of his drink before heading off too. A thought reverberates throughout his mind like a drum, even when Suguru is patting his shoulder goodbye.

He wonders how long it’ll take to get a girl like you in his bed.

taglist: @partypoison00 @sukuxna0 @courtneedsleep @uhenivid @nylve

@myahfig4 @yigaclvn @shoma-nom @dulce-incitacion @heartsteelkaynconsumer

@ialoneamthesillyone @tojideckmuncher @mawaziiphotography @drowninginhiscxm @97543idk

@nariminsstuff @boothillglazer @chilichopsticks @starmapz @kultofkorii

@lovelymaximumenemy @misslovingpearl @tbzzluvr @tiredasiandaughter @gojowifefrfr

@meowpopsicle @ari-sa @his-ocean-emissary @legendarystarwarsgarden

@rjreins @chxllix @viiennie @sinnaminttoast @lady-of-blossoms

@ducky1232 @starlightoru-gojo @gojoscumslut @namisteaparty @harryzcherry

@kaiserswifeyy @hermizery @raflomlf0r3v3r @ghostswhoretbh @soobiary

@kirachuyuu @sylussss7 @honoredalone @roronoazorosbxtchh @cherrythiccums0 @mxlktae

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓹𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓾𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 1

(3,081) words

summary: you're mean. you're bad. but your smart enough to get grades and attention and yet, breaking luigi mangione to be the kind of person you are doesn't seem to work.

little do ya know, he's about to break you instead.

ᴛᴡ: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ɴᴏᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰʀᴇᴀᴅ

~

Computer Science.

Now, hear me out would be the best phrase. Yeah, that's right. You're a woman in computer science at one of the snarkiest, headstrong universities in the country. Penn wasn't all that bad excluding the thousands of students that made it up. Normally, situations would push you be the bigger person and reserve some sense of decency. But in such a competitive market where you were paying to get paid, you had to be nasty.

It just so happened that what started out to be a guide now turned into you. You were and still are a snarky, irritating person that somehow turns heads every time you walk into the room. You've got the typical high-school style clique of girls fawning over you and everyone elevates your position because they are no better.

It does you good, this attitude, because it took you all but two whole semester to kick your grades up so high and absolute shatter the expectations of the degree that people didn't mind ignoring your arrogance to admire how smart you must've been.

Don't get it wrong, because you were and are smart. You're a student but better, you're the Kris Jenner of your year. You were good at marketing shallowness that somehow, was keeping you afloat with profit coming in the form of grades, internships, and attention.

In process, it became frustrating to see others who happened to be in a similar place. You wanted all the eyes on you so you went low with your actions and words to make sure it stayed that way but then, Intermediate Systems - COMPSCI 1570, rolls around and you're paired with Luigi Mangione.

Not paired with, actually, but put in a class with him. But paired in the sense of competition - who could get the most attention. You hate eo admit it, but the guy has got these ridiculously well-defined curls that are so tame yet alluring, it makes you want to rip his head off. You hate the way his smile is effortlessly charming and warms you heart. You hate the kindness that it makes bubble up inside of you.

On the more technical side, you hated how well-rounded the competition between you two was. He knew exactly who you were and you knew him, which meant he always played to get at you. You heard from everyone about how his nose was deep in the books and computer, trying his best to ace the exam only to quietly pass his grade to you. Sometimes, you did better. It made you feel like you're walking on Cloud 9, knowing this irritatingly handsome asshole could be squashed beneath your foot for this one moment, but other times? Oh, he decimated you. The professor would let his name escape from their lips, rather than yours.

It was an ultimate motivation, as you sit there, digging your nails into your palm and wondering why Luigi deserved it. How dare he step above you? How dare he pursue ambition rather than letting you have it all for yourself?

It was such a selfish notion and pursuit that had managed to seduce you with such blindness you never thought to question how you could be such a cruel, tasteless indivdual.

Yet he did. And he did so in all fairness. He, unlike you, was friends with everyone. With the bright-hair colored wimps in the corners and the sluttiest-for-him girls that applied themselves onto him with utter desire which he only combated with smiles and ultimate respect.

How frustrating, really, because even when you did beat him in an exam score, you could never beat him character wise. He would always stand above you and in truth, you were the bug. You were the dust beneath his feet so apart from your degree, you had another thing to acheive.

Him.

Not sleeping with him, no. Not fucking or kissing him throat deep. No.

Rather, being able to break his goody-two shoes act, you called. In reality, it was just him. Luigi Mangione just was a good person and that truth was so sour you only looked at him to arrogantly call him such a good boy and you hated it

You had to make him mean and nasty just like you.

That's exactly what you were going to do.

Or try to.

~

Luigi is sitting at his computer, working away on a new project the professor had assigned a few days ago. No matter where he was, he caught your eyes and this time was no different.

You walk over, swaying your hips a bit too seductively, biting your lip and wearing a stupidly sardonic smile. Your top is a low v-cut, exposing the rounds of your breasts that you were sure to apply body glitter on so everyone's eyes would stare like they were the prize. Your skirt was hiked up just enough to stir wonder and want, and as always, these were only ingredients for your experiment named Luigi Mangione.

"Hey Luigi." You wink before pulling a chair and sitting down next to him, tilting you head to the site with a pout while staring at the screen, scanning his code. It was habit, so your mind was translating the numbers and symbols into understandable language, hiding how impressed you are at all costs.

You're also relieved because you have the same answers, but we don't speak of that, now do we?

"You again." Luigi turns his head and you feel like clawing your heart out of your chest just to stop the butterflies you feel in your stomach. His lips are parted and puffy, the gap speaking a quiet invitation as if they're meant to be kissed. His nose bridge is screaming an intelligent form of dominance over the situation, as his facial curves the remainder of his gentle vice towering over you, soft yet present in all its overwhelming glory.

"Don't like me Lu? Am I too smart for you to admit?" You giggle, high pitched and bend forward, letting your biceps squeeze your breasts more as you bite your lip and look up at him with poisonously doe-y eyes, trying to make him fall. He takes a cursory glance, though, at your body before chuckling and typing away at his code.

"Are you too poor to figure that out for yourself?" His words cut at your ego and your expression instantly falls, sitting back in the chair and your loud, shocked exhales doesn't go un-missed by either of your. You curse at yourself quietly for letting it make a sound while Luigi only types away, as if he heard nothing.

He heard. Oh, yes, he did.

"Mangione is being an ass today? Code giving you a tough time Lu?" Your voice shakes at first, tears coming to your eyes in reaction to his demeaning question and he doesn't make that much better, ignoring you but smirking as if you're in desperate need of pity and attention.

Because you are and without saying it, he loves showing it to you time and time again.

The lack of answer enrages as you as you feel your heart rate shoot through your chest, prompting you to slam a few keys on his keyboard to which he only pauses, staring at your fingers. He watches how they shake, your acrylics getting stuck in the gaps between the board and keys. The way they wince from the tug of those pauses yet, there is an innocent and pitiable need that he sees and recognizes but staying silent.

Luigi turns his head toward you, cocking his neck down and to the side.

"You done? 'Cause I'm almost finished my code and seeing your excursions on Instagram makes me think your situation is otherwise." He smiles at you and you pant, removing your hands from his keyboard.

"You infuriate me Mangione." You dig your hands into your palm before continuing. "I'm finished dimwit. It's a one-part project and I submitted it yesterday because as always, I would never submit it the day its due, which is today and which is fairly typical for you." You twirl your hair between your fingers, uncaring if he admires you body as your get drunk in the expectance of hearing him sarcastically compliment you.

It's still something, even if he won't mean it.

But instead, his mouth parts and his eyes widen before contorting into a concerningly amused smile and before you know it, he's bending over the table and laughing into the table before looking back up at you.

Your expression is unchanged, but your body goes rigid with expectation.

He pulls his body away from the computer, shutting it down and putting it in his back before he places a hand on your knee.

A shiver makes its way from his fingers to your neck.

"Sweetheart," He starts talking, drawing out the pet name before his other hand slams a packet on the table.

You stare at the papers and back at Luigi.

"Is this a lecture for how I'm supposed to be a good girl?" You bite at him, words unforgiving. He raises his eyebrows before shaking his head and standing up. Your eyes follow, taking in the beauty of his height.

Heat seizes your comfort in the moment as he bends down and speaks into your ear, letting both arms cage you in the chair.

"It's a 3-part assignment. You forgot to scroll all the way down, sweetheart." You eyes widen and you turn your head up to look at him, nearly whimpering when you realize his lips are less than an inch away from yours. Suddenly, all your egotistic ideas and bubbles burst and melt away, leaving you naked as you fight the obligation to cross your eyes from how close he is. He stays in place, pushing himself back while staring into your eyes.

Your lips are parted, vulnerable in arousal and shock as a hand comes to push some loose threads behind your ear. You blink slowly, lips quivering as your realize your royally fucked because one part took four days and now, you had to complete two more in less than eight hours.

Luigi coos, watching how you break slowly in front of him, before his face is back the stoic yet kind approach he utilizes.

"See you at the submission deadline. Or not." He leaves after lifting a hand of yours and placing it on the flipped over directions packet, one that held a dirty, ugly, and devastating truth that you were lef tto fend with until 11:59pm.

~

"You look like you need a beer." Your roommate, Kate, pats your head as you're hunched over, posture despicable as you somehow manage to finish the second and half of the third part using some of your own ideas and resources.

Those resources... which aren't supposed to.

But you could care less.

"Right." You give a curt reply, ignoring the sound of a Coke popping open in Kate's hands, which you don't even need to see to realize.

"Why don't you just let loose for the evening?" Kate casually asks and you half slam your hands on the table.

"I've got this stupid project for my Systems class which I need to finish. Didn't read all the directions and now I'm cramming, so no thank you Kate." Kate raises her eyebrows before laughing.

"Hey, isn't that the class that Mangione guy is in?" She asks curiously and you freeze up.

Not him.

You rolls your eyes, ignoring how your breaths falter as you turn around and nod. "Yeah, what about 'm?" You furrow your eyebrows, licking your lips as they suddenly dry up. Kate gives you a suspicious look.

"I've heard he's one of the smartest guys. Maybe you should ask him at his frat party later." Kate supplies and before you can scream and shout in retaliation, she gets up and opens her closet.

"You can unshackle yourself and get that assignment done. Win-in to me." She rummages through her bling and glitter bodycon dresses, unbeknownst to your fuming.

You had to let her know that was out of question.

"Over my dead body." You spit the words out and Kate turns around, a dress in her hand but she barely reacts.

"And a shit GPA. Suit yourself hardass." She nudges your sitting figure with her hips before before leaving the room, leaving your to your thoughts.

This was, like any other, a crucial project and this was one of the most important classes because a stellar grade in this class meant a higher chance at a scholarship you were applying for. They liked you, but they wanted to see the grade you get in this class as a deal-breaker. If you aced, you got the scholarship.

It was everything, then, this class. You already were utilizing ChatGPT, your textbook, GitHub, and every source on the planet.

Just a half-part more.

But somehow, the last half was the hardest and it ate away two hours of your time already. Every late submission was docked 30% which would drop your grade into a B+ range, something you did not want to admit. Something that would happen because those few times Luigi beat you, he crushed you by over 20-30%.

You were not doing as well as you wanted to in the class.

You check the time, letting the 9:30pm flash into your eyes before the screen quietly goes black.

Maybe an hour wouldn't hurt.

But whatever you did, you were going to walk out finishing this project yourself and not asking Luigi.

~

"You came?" Kate is yelling over the music, dragging you by the arm as you stumbled through the people dancing over the music.

"The fuck? I didn't know Psi Kappa was this disgusting!" You nearly scream, letting Kate guide you through the place. You scan the crowd, trying to find familiar faces and friends so you can gain some footing in the place. The music is too loud, making your head pound.

The smell of alcohol, something you refused to drink, kicked around the nausea and for a second, you regret even stepping foot into this place.

Of course, that all melts away when your eyes land on Luigi Mangione.

He's wearing a white polo shirt, unbuttoned 3/4 of the way down as his pecs and defined abs scream for everyone's attention, detailed in their allure. His arms are deliciously toned and even, despite the flashy lights and revolving colors of the place. His head is craned to the side as you watch him talking up another girl, letting her feel him up.

You don't realize you're staring until his eyes suddenly swerve, directly piercing into yours. You physically feel yourself stutter, freezing as you let him hold the eye-contact. An ever-so teasing smile grace his lips before he's bending down and whispering something into the girl's ear.

You watch her pout, a face she quickly replaces with a flirty smile before letting her sight linger on Luigi and choosing to walk away. He chugs the rest of his drink down before, to your horror, he's walking in your direction.

Funny enough, the crows shifts to the start of a new song and the new gap in front of your confirms he's walking only towards you.

You instinctively take a step back against the soft strain of your own bodycon dress, feeling your legs shake as you hit the bar counter and reluctantly, you face a now towering Luigi smirking down at you.

"What happened to that attitude?" His question should sound a lot meaner, but instead, it comes out soft with a warning and hint of shame intertwined. Your head pounds as you force yourself to come up with some jumble of words to respond.

"It's there." You breath the statement out, but it's not too convincing. Luigi uses that to take a step closer and now, you're forced to stare up and into his eyes.

"Doesn't seem like it. How's that project comin' along?" He cages you in again, both arm circling around your already very limited space and you turn your head to the side, steeling yourself against his presence.

Something about the effect he has on you is so humiliating. This wasn't matching your brand - bitchy, arrogant, and perfect. Rather, this was a complete juxtaposition. You always keep control of the situation with your machinations or outright insults but now, that was not happening.

"Fine." You answers through your teeth, facing away from him still and suddenly you feel his mouth too close to your ear.

"Liar." He whispers it and you nearly moan, gulping down the sounds. He watches you shiver lightly, soaking in the helplessness that is starting to take over your figure.

"You need help baby?" He pushes the boundary, enjoying how you squirm more with every second he forces himself into your space. You're at a loss for words now, unable to distinguish between arousal, frustration, and utter confusion at your behavior right now.

So, you simply shake your head no.

It's an insufficient answers because Luigi's fingers are suddenly gripping either side of your face, making you gasp, before he forces you to look at him.

"Tell me the truth baby." Fuck, that name was really getting to you and his fuckable lips and hands were not helping right now.

Relinquishing the control you never had didn't seem like too bad of an option right now.

"I don't answer to you." You steel yourself, contorting your face and looking up at him with siren eyes which doesn't stand for long before his other hand is making it's way up your thigh and between your legs.

"I don't have a problem," He talks low and seductively in your ear, making your listen to the gravel in his voice, teasing his fingers upwards and watching you heave you chest up and down with increasing nervousness. You let your guard down, whimpering for a second before he retracts both hands.

"I'll get it out of you baby. We all need help sometimes and you..." he trails off, staring at your face that is lolling, lips parted and undoubtedly watery.

"You deserve to get the attitude fucked out of you." And with that, he pushes himself back and through the crowd, not even caring to give a glance back before leaving you alone and shaking, ready to cry.

You were such a weak, pathetic little girl and now, Luigi knew it.

~

if you would like to be a part of my taglist, please comment on my pinned blog post, not here!

taglist: @madkohi @iinfinitelimits-blog-blog @poohkie90 @chariytz @alotofsomething @nosebeers

[4linos]

crossroads part 2

lee felix x fem!reader, (slight seungmin x reader)

synopsis: torn between his heartbreak and the responsibility of fatherhood, felix struggled to navigate his emotions. as time passed, he remained by your side for the sake of the baby, though the wounds of the past lingered.

warnings: infidelity, pregnancy, heartbreak & betrayal, violence/blood, slow burn reconciliation.

wc: 19,578

[crossroads part 1]

Felix didn’t sleep.

No matter how much he tossed and turned, no matter how many times he shut his eyes and willed himself to stop thinking, it was useless. His mind refused to quiet down, racing with memories of you, of what you used to talk about when things were good.

You had always said you wanted lots of kids, a big house, and a few pets running around the backyard. Felix had laughed back then, saying that three was a lot, but the truth was, he liked the idea of it. He liked the idea of a future with you.

Now that future was shattered.

And yet, somehow, you were telling him it wasn’t over. That a part of you, of both of you was still here.

But was the baby even his?

The question burned in his mind all night, tormenting him. The betrayal still lingered like a scar that refused to heal, and no matter how much he tried to push the thought away, he couldn’t shake the possibility that the baby wasn’t his at all.

Maybe this was just another cruel twist of fate.

By the time the sun started creeping over the horizon, Felix had had enough. He needed answers. He needed to know.

He showed up at your place without warning. His heart pounded as he stood in front of your door, fists clenched at his sides. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see you again, to face you after everything, but he didn’t have a choice.

He knocked once. Then twice.

A few seconds later, the door cracked open.

You looked tired. Worn out. Like you hadn’t been sleeping either. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, lips parting as if you wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Felix didn’t waste time.

"Is it mine?"

Your brows furrowed at his bluntness, but you didn’t hesitate. "Yes."

Felix inhaled sharply, searching your face for any sign of dishonesty. He wanted to believe you. He needed to believe you.

"How do I know you’re telling the truth?" His voice was quiet but firm, the pain evident in every syllable.

Your expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. "Because I know, Felix."

Silence stretched between you.

Felix swallowed hard, his thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and resentment. You had destroyed him, ripped his heart to shreds, and yet this was bigger than that. Bigger than either of you.

"I don’t know if I can forgive you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know if I ever will."

Your throat bobbed, eyes glistening, but you nodded. "I know."

Felix clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t something he could walk away from. Whether he wanted to or not, this was real now.

And it was only the beginning.

-

Felix didn’t know what he was doing.

For the past 24 hours, his mind had been a mess, torn between his emotions and the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He had spent the night at Chan’s apartment, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in his head over and over again.

The betrayal. The heartbreak. The moment you told him you were pregnant.

The way you had looked at him when he asked if the baby was his.

Felix had wanted to hate you. He had wanted to walk away and never look back. But the moment you said yes, the moment you reassured him the baby was his, something inside him cracked.

No matter how much pain you had caused him, this wasn’t just about the two of you anymore.

This was about the baby. His baby.

So when he asked you when your first check up appointment was and you hesitantly told him, he found himself saying the words he hadn’t been sure he was ready for.

"I’ll meet you there."

The next morning, you sat alone in the waiting room, your fingers gripping the edge of your sweater as anxiety twisted in your chest.

Felix wasn’t here.

You checked your phone again, but there were no messages, no calls. He was running late or maybe he wasn’t coming at all.

You didn’t know which thought hurt more.

The nurse eventually called your name, and as you stood, your heart sank. You had told yourself not to expect anything, that Felix showing up would be too much to hope for.

But some foolish, desperate part of you had clung to the idea that maybe just maybe he would want to be here.

You followed the nurse into the small examination room, trying to push the disappointment down.

"Go ahead and lie back for me," she said gently, rolling up the ultrasound machine.

You did as told, lifting your sweater to expose your stomach as she applied the cool gel to your skin.

"We’re just going to take a look now, alright?" she explained, moving the probe across your belly.

You nodded, but your mind was elsewhere. The room felt too quiet, too empty. You had never felt more alone than in that moment.

And then

A knock at the door.

You turned your head just in time to see Felix walk in, slightly breathless, his hair a little messy as if he had been rushing.

"I’m sorry I’m late," he said quickly, his eyes flickering between you and the nurse.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your lips curving into the softest of smiles as you looked back up at the ceiling.

"You made it."

Felix didn’t respond, but he moved to stand beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as he stared at the screen.

The moment the nurse adjusted the probe and the image of your baby appeared on the monitor, everything else faded.

The tiny, flickering heartbeat echoed through the room, and you felt tears sting your eyes.

Felix sucked in a breath beside you.

For the first time since this nightmare began, the two of you weren’t arguing, weren’t caught in a whirlwind of pain and regret.

For the first time, it wasn’t about the past.

It was about the future.

You watched Felix carefully as he stared at the ultrasound screen, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted in awe. The soft thumping of your baby’s heartbeat filled the room, and for the first time in weeks, everything felt still.

No anger. No betrayal. No resentment.

Just this, just the reality that the two of you had created something together.

Without thinking, you reached out for his hand.

For a moment, Felix hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides, his body stiff, as if unsure whether to accept the warmth of your touch.

But then, slowly, he took your hand.

It wasn’t the same as before. His grip wasn’t tight or familiar. it was careful, almost hesitant. But he wasn’t pulling away.

And right now, that was enough.

The nurse continued explaining a few more things, talking about the baby’s development and what you needed to do to stay healthy. Felix barely said a word, only nodding along as he listened, his gaze flickering between the monitor and your stomach.

When the appointment ended, the nurse excused herself, leaving you both alone in the room.

You turned to Felix, expecting him to let go of your hand, to pull away the second you were no longer in the presence of someone else.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just stood there, staring at the ultrasound picture the nurse had printed out for you.

"That’s our baby," you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Felix swallowed hard, nodding. His thumb absentmindedly ran over the edge of the ultrasound image as if trying to process it.

"Yeah."

Silence lingered between you.

There were still so many things unresolved so many things left unsaid. But right now, in this moment, none of that mattered.

Because no matter how much damage had been done between you two, one truth remained:

This baby was real. And it was his.

And somehow, that changed everything.

-

Felix drove you home in silence.

You sat in the passenger seat, your hands resting on your stomach, still feeling the lingering warmth of his touch from earlier. The ultrasound picture sat between you both on the console, a quiet reminder of everything that had changed.

Neither of you spoke, but the air was heavy with unspoken words, thick with questions neither of you knew how to ask.

When he finally pulled up to your apartment, he didn’t turn off the engine. He just sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

"I meant what I said," he murmured.

You turned to look at him. "About what?"

He exhaled, his jaw tightening. "I don’t know if I can forgive you."

The words still cut deep, but you nodded, forcing yourself to accept them. "I know."

"But I’m not gonna abandon my kid." His voice was firm, filled with conviction. He finally turned to look at you, his gaze unreadable. "I’ll be here. For the baby."

The words should have reassured you, but they only made your chest ache.

For the baby.

Not for you.

You nodded, fingers tightening in your lap. "I wouldn’t expect you to."

Felix studied you for a moment longer before glancing away, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted.

"We’ll figure something out," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You wanted to reach for him, to hold onto something, to bring back even a fraction of what you had lost. But you knew better.

Felix wasn’t yours to hold anymore.

So instead, you reached for the door handle. "Thank you for coming today."

He nodded once.

Without another word, you stepped out of the car and shut the door behind you.

Felix watched as you disappeared into your apartment before letting out a shaky breath, gripping the ultrasound picture in his hands.

This was real.

Whether he was ready for it or not.

Felix didn’t go straight to Chan’s place after dropping you off.

Instead, he drove around for a while, his mind racing. The ultrasound picture sat in the passenger seat, staring up at him like it was mocking him.

This was supposed to be simple. He was supposed to hate you, to move on, to forget you ever existed after what you did to him.

But now?

Now, there was this, a life growing inside of you, a baby that was half him, a future he hadn’t planned for.

By the time he finally pulled up to Chan’s apartment, his head was still spinning.

Chan was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone when Felix walked in. The second he saw him, his face lit up.

"So?" Chan grinned. "How did it go?"

Felix didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the ultrasound picture, holding it up for Chan to see.

Chan’s expression softened as he took the picture, staring at it. "Whoa."

Felix couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he dropped onto the couch beside him.

"Crazy, right?"

Chan chuckled, nodding. "Lix, the baby looks exactly like you."

Felix rolled his eyes. "Shut up. It’s literally just a blob right now.”

"Nah," Chan teased, squinting at the image. "I can totally see the freckles."

Felix groaned, shoving him playfully. For a brief moment, it felt normal like everything was okay.

And then his phone rang.

He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Jiheon.

His stomach twisted with guilt.

"Hey," he answered, trying to sound normal.

"Hi," Jiheon’s voice was warm on the other end. "Wanna come over for dinner tonight?"

Felix hesitated, his fingers tightening around the phone.

He should tell her. He needed to tell her.

But instead, he heard himself say, "Yeah. I’d love to."

When he hung up, he let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chan was staring at him now, his expression unreadable.

"You didn’t tell her, did you?"

Felix looked away, guilt gnawing at his chest.

"No."

Chan sighed, shaking his head. "You need to."

Felix exhaled sharply. "I will, okay? I just… not yet."

“And when were you planning on telling her? When the baby’s already born?"

Felix groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know, Chan. I just… I don’t want to lose her, too."

Chan’s expression softened slightly. "You’re gonna have to tell her, man. Sooner or later."

Felix knew he was right.

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for “sooner.”

Felix sat there, his fingers hovered over the screen, as if debating whether to text Jiheon back and tell her the truth right then and there.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a heavy sigh, shoving the phone into his pocket as he leaned back against the couch. His mind was a mess, a tangled web of emotions he couldn’t seem to unravel.

Chan was still watching him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"You know you can’t keep this from her, right?"

Felix groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "I know, Chan."

"Then why are you acting like you don’t?"

Felix exhaled sharply, letting his hands drop to his lap. He didn’t have an answer, not one that made sense, anyway.

"Because I’m scared," he admitted, voice quieter than before.

Chan’s brows furrowed, his expression softening slightly. "Of what?"

Felix let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"Of losing her. Of messing this up. Of…" He trailed off, his throat tightening. "Of everything."

Because this wasn’t just about Jiheon.

This was about you. The baby. His entire future shifting into something he hadn’t prepared for.

Felix had spent weeks trying to move on, trying to forget you, trying to forget the way you had shattered him. Jiheon had been his escape, his fresh start.

And now, he was about to drop a bomb on her that could ruin everything.

"She’s gonna find out eventually," Chan said gently. "Wouldn’t it be better if she heard it from you?”

Felix closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He knew Chan was right. He always was.

But knowing what he should do didn’t make it any easier.

Because the truth was, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise…

He wasn’t just scared of losing Jiheon.

He was scared of what this all meant, scared of what it would mean to see you again, to be in your life, to be a father when he still wasn’t sure if he was ready.

"I’ll tell her," he muttered, more to himself than to Chan. "Just… not tonight."

Chan sighed, clearly frustrated, but he didn’t push any further.

Instead, he simply watched as Felix stood up, grabbing his jacket and slipping the ultrasound picture back into his pocket.

"I gotta go," Felix said, trying to sound normal.

Chan didn’t say anything, just gave him a knowing look as he walked out the door.

Felix ignored the weight in his chest as he left.

Tonight, he’d pretend everything was fine.

Tomorrow… well, tomorrow was a problem for another day.

You had never felt more alone.

A part of you had foolishly hoped that with the baby, Felix would be around more. maybe, just maybe, he would soften toward you, even forgive you for everything you had done.

But that wasn’t the case.

If anything, it felt like he was keeping his distance, showing up only when necessary, speaking to you only when it was about the baby. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t Felix not the Felix you used to know, not the one who once loved you so fiercely it felt like you were the only person in the world.

And it hurt.

Even if you knew you deserved it.

But while Felix had been pulling away, Seungmin had been doing the opposite.

He had been calling more, texting more, even showing up at your door uninvited, making excuses just to see you. It was suffocating. You hadn’t told him about the pregnancy yet, and for a while, you had managed to keep it hidden. Thankfully, you weren’t showing much yet, and loose clothing made it easy to disguise.

But that all changed the moment he found out.

It had happened unexpectedly, he had come over one evening, despite your reluctance, and had caught sight of something you had left on the table: the ultrasound picture.

At first, he just stared at it, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What’s this?"

Panic shot through you. You immediately reached for the picture, but it was too late.

Seungmin’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. He looked up at you, his expression shifting from confusion to shock.

"You’re pregnant?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your pulse skyrocket. "Seungmin, I—"

But he didn’t let you finish.

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the ultrasound as he took a step back. "Is it mine?"

His words sent a sharp pang through you. You quickly shook your head. "No. It’s Felix’s."

Silence.

Seungmin stared at you, his expression darkening, his breath coming out unevenly.

"How do you know?" he finally asked, his voice eerily calm.

You flinched, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Because I know, Seungmin. This baby is not yours."

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes.

"That’s funny," he scoffed, crossing his arms. "Because from what I remember, we weren’t exactly keeping our distance back then, were we?"

Shame crawled up your spine, burning through you like fire.

"It’s not yours," you repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

But Seungmin just shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh.

"Right," he muttered. "Felix finds out you’re cheating, leaves you, and suddenly you’re pregnant with his kid? Sounds convenient."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You need to leave."

"No, I think I deserve to know the truth."

"You already know the truth, Seungmin."

He stared at you for a long moment before letting out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair. He was angry and hurt, but there was something else beneath it. Something almost desperate.

"If it was mine," he started, voice softer now, "would you even tell me?"

You hesitated.

And that was all the answer he needed.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he shoved the ultrasound picture back onto the table.

"I should’ve known," he muttered. "You only wanted me when it was convenient for you, huh?"

That wasn’t true.

But you didn’t have the strength to argue.

You just stood there, watching as Seungmin grabbed his things and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, you collapsed onto the couch, pressing a hand to your stomach.

"It’s just us now," you whispered to the baby.

And for the first time, that realization truly sunk in.

It was just you now.

Felix was slipping away, and Seungmin wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

You had made your choices.

And now, you had to live with them.

Felix had been trying. Trying to move on, trying to piece his life back together.

Jiheon had been his escape, his fresh start, someone who made him feel like he could forget, even just for a little while. And for a while, it worked. Their movie nights, their late-night talks, the way she fit so easily into his arms, it was comforting, safe, easy.

Until now.

Felix had only left for a few minutes, excusing himself to the bathroom, but when he returned, he immediately felt the shift in the air.

Jiheon was no longer curled up on the couch beside him. Instead, she sat stiffly on the opposite end, her arms crossed, her eyes clouded with something unreadable.

Felix frowned, pausing in his steps. "What’s wrong?"

Jiheon didn’t say anything at first, just pressed her lips into a tight line before finally looking up at him.

"Who’s Y/N?"

His stomach dropped.

He barely had time to react before she continued, her voice sharper now.

"Who is she, Felix? Why is she texting you, asking you to come over?"

Felix’s breath hitched as he immediately reached for his phone, unlocking it in a panic. And there it was, the notification staring back at him.

Y/N: Felix, can you come over? I really need to talk to you.

Shit.

His grip tightened around the phone as realization set in, Jiheon must’ve seen the message while he was gone.

Felix swallowed hard, looking up at her. "Jiheon, I—"

"Are you two timing me?" she cut in, voice shaking slightly.

Felix’s eyes widened in shock. "What? No—no, it’s not like that."

He reached for her hands, desperate to calm her down, but she pulled away, standing up abruptly.

"Then what is it like, Felix?" Her voice wavered, but the hurt in her eyes was evident. "Because I don’t understand why some random girl is texting you like this while you’re with me."

Felix clenched his jaw, knowing there was no way around it now.

He had to tell her the truth.

"She’s not just some random girl," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "She’s my ex."

Jiheon’s expression faltered for a brief second, but she quickly masked it with a bitter laugh. "Wow. Okay. And you’re still talking to your ex? That’s great, Felix."

"I didn’t want to tell you like this." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt mixing in his chest. "But you deserve to know the truth."

Jiheon folded her arms, her walls fully up now. "Then tell me."

Felix exhaled shakily before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

"She cheated on me," he started, his voice tight. "With my best friend."

For a moment, Jiheon looked taken aback.

"Felix..."

"And I left. I cut her off completely, I swear. I was trying to move on. I am trying to move on."

Jiheon’s features softened slightly, but the hesitation was still there.

"But?" she prompted.

Felix felt his heart hammering in his chest. This was it. The moment that would decide everything.

"But she’s pregnant," he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

Jiheon blinked, as if she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

"She’s what?"

Felix swallowed. "She’s pregnant. And it’s mine."

Jiheon took a step back, shaking her head as if trying to process his words. "No. No, Felix, you—this has to be a joke."

"I wish it was."

Jiheon let out a sharp breath, her hands coming up to her temples as she tried to wrap her mind around what he had just told her.

"So let me get this straight." Her voice was eerily calm now. "Your ex- the one who cheated on you, broke you, left you a complete mess, that ex is now having your baby?"

Felix clenched his fists. "Yes."

Jiheon stared at him, something breaking in her gaze.

"And you didn’t think to tell me?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Felix felt the guilt weigh even heavier on his chest.

"I didn’t know how."

"So you were just gonna keep it a secret?"

"No! I was going to tell you, I just—" He let out a frustrated sigh. "I didn’t want to lose you, Jiheon. I mean we just started seeing each other and I didn’t know how to bring it up—"

Jiheon let out a hollow laugh. "Well, congratulations, Felix. Because you just did."

She turned on her heel, walking toward her bedroom.

Felix panicked. He reached out, grabbing her wrist gently, stopping her.

"Jiheon, please. Just—"

She yanked her hand away, looking at him with nothing but disappointment.

"Go."

Felix felt his chest tighten. "Jiheon—"

"Felix," she interrupted, her voice quieter now. "Just go."

And that was it.

Felix stood there for a long moment, staring at her as she turned away from him, her body tense, her breathing uneven.

He had lost her.

Just like that.

With a heavy heart, he grabbed his jacket and phone, heading for the door.

And as he stepped outside into the cold night air, reality sank in.

His past had finally caught up with him.

And now, there was no running from it.

Felix’s heart pounded in his chest as he rushed down the dimly lit streets, his mind racing.

Jiheon’s words still echoed in his head, her disappointment and heartbreak lingering in the air like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He had lost her, and maybe he deserved it.

But right now, none of that mattered.

His focus was on you.

On the texts she had seen. On the urgency in your words.

Y/N: Felix, can you come over? I really need to talk to you.

His mind instantly jumped to the worst-case scenario.

Something was wrong with the baby.

He didn’t even realize how fast he was walking, practically sprinting now. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over your contact before pressing call.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Felix’s stomach twisted painfully. He cursed under his breath, picking up his pace.

By the time he reached your apartment building, he barely gave himself a moment to catch his breath before banging on your door.

"Y/N?" he called out, his voice laced with panic. "Open the door! please."

Silence.

Felix felt his entire body tense.

"Y/N!"

Just as he was about to knock again, he heard faint shuffling from inside. The lock clicked, and the door cracked open slightly, revealing you standing there in an oversized hoodie, your eyes puffy as if you had been crying.

Felix exhaled sharply, his eyes immediately scanning over you, then down at your stomach.

"Is the baby okay?" he asked without hesitation.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. "What?"

"The baby—" he took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "You texted me saying you needed to talk. I thought—" He cut himself off, his jaw clenching. "I thought something was wrong."

Your lips parted slightly as realization dawned on you.

You had been so lost in your emotions when you sent that message, you hadn’t even considered how he might interpret it.

Guilt settled in your chest.

"No," you reassured him softly, shaking your head. "The baby is fine, Felix. I swear."

His shoulders sagged with relief, but the tension in his expression didn’t completely fade. "Then why did you text me like that?"

You hesitated, gripping the edge of the door.

"Because..." Your throat tightened as you tried to find the right words. "I just... I feel so alone in this, Felix."

His breath hitched.

"I know you don’t want to be around me. I know I hurt you." You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I’m scared. And I—I don’t know how to do this alone."

Felix stared at you, his heart twisting painfully at the raw vulnerability in your voice.

For the first time in weeks, he really looked at you, not just as the person who betrayed him, but as the person carrying his child. The mother of his baby.

And he saw it.

The exhaustion in your eyes. The loneliness. The fear.

He exhaled slowly, his walls cracking just a little.

"You’re not alone in this," he finally said, his voice softer now. "I told you, I’m not walking away from this baby."

You looked up at him, searching his face.

"But what about walking away from me?”

Felix froze.

Then Felix let out a dry, bitter scoff, shaking his head as he looked down at the floor. His chest tightened, anger bubbling up beneath the surface, anger he had been trying to bury for weeks.

"What about you?" he muttered, his voice sharp. "You’re scared? You feel alone?"

He finally looked up, his jaw clenched, eyes filled with the pain he had been carrying. "What about me, Y/N? What about the guy who just found out that his long-time girlfriend had been sneaking around behind his back with his best friend?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the door.

"Felix—"

"No," he cut you off, his voice rising slightly. "You don’t get to act like you’re the only one hurting here."

The words hit you like a slap. You knew you had no right to argue, you had betrayed him in the worst way possible. But hearing the pain in his voice, seeing the torment in his eyes, made it all the more unbearable.

"I know," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I know I hurt you, Felix. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. Ever." You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But I’m not asking for that right now. I’m just..." You hesitated. "I’m just asking for you to be here. For the baby."

Felix closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"I told you I would be," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less tense. "I’m not walking away from my child."

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"But you don’t get to ask me to pretend like everything is okay."

Silence filled the space between you, thick with unspoken words, unresolved pain.

Felix took a small step back, shaking his head.

"I’ll be there for the appointments. I’ll do what I need to do as the father of this baby." He hesitated before adding, "But you and me? We’ll never be okay again."

His words stung, but you nodded, accepting them. Because you knew deep down, he was right.

Felix exhaled sharply before turning on his heel, walking away from you, leaving you standing in the doorway, heart heavy with regret.

And as you watched him disappear down the hall, you realized, this wasn’t just about the baby anymore.

This was about the shattered pieces of what you had ruined. And no matter how much you wanted to fix it, Felix had made one thing very clear.

Some things were beyond repair.

Felix didn’t look back as he walked away.

His footsteps echoed down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anger, sadness, and exhaustion weighing down on him.

For weeks, he had been drowning in emotions he couldn’t even name, grief for the relationship he lost, betrayal that still burned in his veins, and now, the overwhelming reality of impending fatherhood.

And yet, despite everything, the moment you said you felt alone, a part of him cracked.

Because as much as he wanted to hate you, as much as he wanted to push you away, he couldn’t ignore that you were carrying his child.

When he finally made it outside, the cool night air hit his skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside him. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, hovering over Chan’s contact. He needed to talk to someone, to make sense of everything.

But before he could press call, his phone buzzed in his hand.

A text.

Jiheon: I think we should stop seeing each other.

Felix felt the wind get knocked out of him.

He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the phone. He wasn’t stupid, he knew this was coming the moment he told her about you, about the baby. But seeing it in black and white made it real.

He stared at the message for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, but what was there to say?

She had already made up her mind.

So, he did the only thing he could.

Felix: I understand.

And with that, he turned off his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he let out a bitter laugh.

He had lost everything.

Jiheon. You. Seungmin. The life he thought he was building.

And now, all he had left was a future he hadn’t planned for.

A baby with someone he could barely look at without feeling sick.

Felix closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as he exhaled slowly.

For the first time since this nightmare started, he had to accept it, there was no going back.

This was his life now.

-

Felix sat at the bar, his fingers wrapped around the cool glass of whiskey, his third one of the night. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him, but no amount of alcohol could numb what he was feeling.

He had lost everything.

The girl he once loved. His best friend. The possibility of something real with Jiheon.

And now, he was trapped in a situation he never saw coming, expecting a baby with someone he could barely look at without feeling a deep, gut-wrenching pain.

The ice clinked as he brought the glass to his lips, letting the burn of the liquor distract him.

Just one more, he thought. Just enough to forget, just for tonight.

Moments later, the bar door swung open, and he heard the familiar voices of Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chan approaching.

"Finally," Hyunjin huffed, slipping into the seat next to Felix. "You sounded like you were dying over the phone, man."

"Yeah, what’s going on?" Chan asked, eyeing Felix cautiously.

Felix shook his head. "Nothing. I don’t wanna talk about it." He lifted his glass. "Just distract me."

Changbin raised a brow but didn’t press.

Instead, they fell into casual conversation, throwing jokes back and forth, talking about work, music, anything but her. Anything but the baby. For a moment, Felix allowed himself to relax, laughing along, even if it felt hollow.

Then, the door opened again.

His laughter died in his throat.

Seungmin.

Felix’s grip on his glass tightened as he watched his former best friend stroll in, laughing with Jeongin, Minho, and Jisung like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t torn Felix’s life apart.

Felix could feel his blood boiling.

How was he so carefree? How was he acting like he hadn’t completely destroyed everything Felix held dear?

Hyunjin noticed the change in his expression immediately. "Felix—"

But before anyone could stop him, Felix was already pushing himself off the stool, his feet moving before his brain could catch up.

He stormed across the bar, his vision hazy with rage, and before Seungmin even had a chance to register what was happening—

Felix’s fist collided with his jaw.

A sharp grunt escaped Seungmin as he stumbled back, knocking into a nearby table. Gasps filled the air as the bar fell into sudden silence.

Seungmin quickly recovered, touching his lip where blood had started to trickle. He looked up at Felix, and for the first time in weeks, his mask of indifference cracked.

"You son of a—"

Before anyone could react, Seungmin swung back, his fist slamming into Felix’s cheek.

Felix barely felt it.

The anger coursing through him was far stronger than the pain.

He lunged forward, grabbing Seungmin by the collar, shoving him back as the two crashed into a table, knocking over glasses.

"How could you?" Felix’s voice was raw, shaking with emotion. "You were my best friend, Seungmin! My brother! And you—" He shoved him again. "You threw it all away like it meant nothing!"

Seungmin shoved him off, breathing hard. "I didn’t mean for it to happen, Felix!" he snapped.

"Bullshit!" Felix roared. "You don’t just accidentally sleep with your best friend’s girlfriend!"

Before Seungmin could respond, Jeongin, Minho, and Jisung stepped between them, holding Seungmin back as Chan and Hyunjin grabbed Felix.

Felix turned his burning glare toward the others, betrayal cutting through him like a knife.

"And you—" he spat, looking at Jeongin, Minho, and Jisung. "How the hell are you still standing by him? After everything he did?"

Jeongin swallowed hard, looking away. Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It’s not that simple, Felix," Jisung muttered. "We’re friends with both of you—"

"Not anymore." Felix’s voice was ice-cold, final.

The bartender slammed his hands on the counter. "Enough! All of you—get out!"

Felix breathed heavily, his hands trembling as he wiped the blood from his busted lip. He shot Seungmin one last look, one filled with nothing but disgust before turning on his heel and storming out of the bar, Chan and Hyunjin close behind him.

The cold air hit his skin, but it didn’t do anything to cool the fire raging inside him.

Chan sighed. "What the hell was that, Felix?"

Felix let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair.

"That?" he muttered, voice hollow. "That was me finally giving him what he deserved."

Hyunjin frowned. "And did it help?"

Felix exhaled slowly, staring up at the dark sky.

"Not even a little."

Felix sat on the curb outside the bar, his knuckles still throbbing from the impact of his punch. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only exhaustion in its place. His lip stung where Seungmin had hit him, but it wasn’t the physical pain that got to him, it was everything else.

He felt empty.

Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin stood nearby, watching him carefully. He knew they were worried, but he couldn’t bring himself to face them right now.

Felix sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair before looking up at them.

"I’m sorry," he muttered.

Chan crossed his arms. "Felix—"

"I just—" Felix shook his head. "I need space, okay? I can’t go back to your place, Chan. I just… I need to be alone."

His friends exchanged glances, clearly hesitant.

"Are you sure that’s a good idea?" Hyunjin asked.

"No," Felix admitted. "But I can’t breathe right now. I just need to be somewhere else."

There was a heavy silence before Changbin finally sighed, patting Felix on the shoulder. "Call us if you need anything, okay?"

Felix nodded, pushing himself up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward nowhere in particular. His only plan was to find some random hotel and crash there for the night, maybe for a few days.

Maybe forever.

-

You had just finished your nightly routine. Washed your face, changed into your most comfortable pajamas, and crawled into bed when your phone rang unexpectedly.

Frowning, you reached for it, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Minho’s name flashing on the screen.

Felix and Seungmin’s mutual friend.

You hesitated before answering, but when you did, there was no response. Just the faint sound of movement on the other end before the line went dead.

Confused, you stared at your phone for a moment. And then, before you could process what was happening, another call came in.

This time, it was Seungmin.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You let the phone ring for a moment, debating whether you even wanted to hear his voice. But something told you to answer.

"Hello?"

"Did you know Felix just attacked me?" Seungmin’s voice came through the line, sharp and accusing.

Your body went rigid.

"What?"

"Yeah, completely unprovoked," he scoffed. "I walked into the bar with Minho, Jeongin, and Jisung, and the next thing I know, he’s throwing punches like a damn lunatic."

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your phone.

"Seungmin…" you sighed.

"Don’t ‘Seungmin’ me," he snapped. "I don’t know what the hell his problem is, but if you still talk to him, tell him to get his shit together."

The line went dead before you could respond.

You sat there in silence, gripping your phone, your mind racing.

Felix.

You didn’t even think twice before dialing his number.

It rang.

Once. Twice.

Then, finally—

"What?" Felix’s voice came through, rough and distant.

The first thing you noticed was how off he sounded. His words were slightly slurred, and you could hear the faint noise of cars passing by in the background.

"Felix," you said carefully. "What happened? Why did you fight Seungmin?"

A bitter laugh came through the receiver. "Why do you care?"

You exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to your forehead. "Just tell me what happened."

"What happened?" Felix repeated, voice thick with emotion. "What happened is that I finally stopped pretending everything was fine. What happened is that I saw him, and I couldn’t stand it. What happened is that I punched him because he deserved it."

You closed your eyes, your heart aching at the rawness in his voice.

"Felix, where are you?"

"Why?" he muttered.

"Because you sound drunk. And it’s late. Do you need me to pick you up?"

Another bitter laugh. "I don’t need anything from you."

You bit your lip.

He was upset. And drunk. And wandering the streets alone at night.

You couldn’t just let him be like this.

"Felix, please."

Silence.

"Come to my place," you offered, ignoring the part of your brain that screamed at you that this was a bad idea. "I’ll give you space. You don’t even have to talk to me. I just—just let me make sure you’re safe."

Felix didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t hang up either.

You took his hesitation as an answer.

"I’m on my way," you told him before ending the call, not giving him the chance to refuse.

You jumped out of bed, quickly changing into something more suitable before grabbing your keys and rushing out the door.

You found him exactly where your phone said he was, standing near an empty bus stop, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his blond hair disheveled, his posture slouched. The moment you pulled up, he looked at your car, his expression unreadable.

You rolled down the window.

"Get in."

Felix hesitated. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the pride that kept him rooted in place. But eventually, with a deep sigh, he walked around to the passenger side and got in.

The car was quiet.

You glanced at him as you started driving, taking in his tired eyes, the faint bruising on his knuckles.

"Have you eaten?" you asked softly.

Felix let out a dry chuckle. "Why do you care?"

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you focused on the road ahead.

"Because I do," you finally said.

Felix didn’t respond.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the seat.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

The rest of the drive was silent.

When you pulled up to your place, Felix hesitated again.

"You don’t have to stay," you told him. "But I think you should."

After a long pause, Felix exhaled and pushed the door open, stepping out.

You followed him inside, locking the door behind you.

The weight of the night was heavy, suffocating.

"You can take the couch," you said, motioning toward it. "There’s a blanket there if you need it."

Felix barely acknowledged you as he collapsed onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

You lingered for a moment, watching him, debating whether you should say anything else.

But before you could, he spoke.

"You can go to bed." His voice was quieter now, tired. "I won’t leave. Not tonight."

You swallowed, nodding.

"Okay."

With that, you turned, heading toward your room, leaving Felix alone in the dimly lit living room.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of you knew what would happen next.

-

Felix awoke the next morning, blinking into the soft light that filtered through the curtains. For the first time in a long time, his mind was quiet. He wasn’t haunted by the thoughts of betrayal, by the sting of Seungmin’s words or your past mistakes. It wasn’t peace exactly, but it was a brief respite from the chaos in his mind.

The couch he slept on wasn’t the most comfortable, he could feel the old springs poking into his back and the fabric was worn from years of use. But for some reason, it felt... familiar. Homey, even.

It was the couch you both had picked out together when you first moved in, that one piece of furniture that seemed to tie the entire room together. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being here, how much he missed the comfort of your presence, the little details that made this space feel like home. The smell of your perfume lingering in the air, the way the light streamed in at a certain angle in the morning, the sound of your laugh when you made jokes that only you understood.

He pushed those thoughts away quickly, feeling a mix of guilt and longing. He couldn’t afford to be weak not now, not after everything that had happened.

A soft shuffle interrupted his thoughts. He could hear you coming down the stairs, your footsteps light on the old wooden steps. The smell of coffee wafted in the air, and he knew immediately what you were up to.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Hey," you greeted him softly as you appeared in the kitchen doorway. Your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure how to approach him after everything.

Felix didn’t look at you right away, but instead ran a hand through his messy hair. He couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze, not yet.

"Do you want breakfast?" you asked after a beat, a gentle smile pulling at your lips.

Felix hesitated. He hadn’t planned on staying here long. He was supposed to leave as soon as he could, to get away from the heaviness of the situation, from everything that reminded him of what was broken.

But as he sat there, the warmth of your voice and the thought of the pancakes he used to love so much tugged at something deep inside him.

"I... I should go," he muttered, running his fingers along the edge of the couch.

You stepped closer, and the soft sound of your footsteps seemed to fill the room. "Just for breakfast," you said, your tone pleading, but still gentle. "Please."

Felix looked at you then, his eyes flickering between the old memories that swam in his head and the reality of everything that had happened. You were standing there, looking as beautiful as you always did, even in your worn-out pajamas and messy hair. It was like nothing had changed, but everything had.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. He should’ve said no. He should’ve left. But...

"Alright. Just breakfast."

A small wave of relief washed over you, and you smiled, a quiet, soft smile that made Felix’s heart ache just a little.

You moved toward the kitchen, quickly grabbing ingredients and setting up to make breakfast. Felix watched you for a moment, taking in how naturally you moved around the space. It was all so... familiar. It reminded him of mornings before everything fell apart, when it was just the two of you in this small kitchen, laughing over burnt toast or accidentally spilling coffee everywhere.

Before everything went wrong.

As you flipped the pancakes onto a plate, you glanced back at him, noticing the way he was staring at the table, lost in thought.

"It’s your favorite," you said lightly, placing the plate in front of him with a quiet sense of accomplishment. Blueberry pancakes, the ones he always begged for on lazy weekend mornings.

Felix forced a small smile, grateful that you remembered, even though it stung a little to have the old routine playing out like this. He grabbed his fork, cutting into the pancakes. They were exactly how he remembered them light, fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness.

You sat across from him, nervously picking at your own pancakes, glancing up at him every now and then. Neither of you knew what to say, or if there was anything left to say. The silence between you was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, Felix looked up from his plate, his gaze softening. "You didn’t have to do this."

You shrugged, offering a weak smile. "I wanted to."

He didn’t respond right away, unsure of how to react. Felix felt torn, he knew he couldn’t just pretend everything was fine. But he also knew that this... small act of kindness was all you could give him right now.

And maybe it was enough.

He didn’t know what came next. There were still so many things left to figure out, so many questions that would never be answered, so many hurts that would take a long time to heal.

But for this moment, with the smell of pancakes in the air and the warmth of the kitchen wrapping around him, it almost felt like things could be okay. At least for a little while.

Felix took another bite, chewing slowly as the silence between you continued. And in the quiet, you both realized that while things might never be the same, you still had pieces of each other, pieces that might just be enough to start rebuilding.

The silence at the breakfast table was thick, neither of you knowing quite how to bridge the gap that had widened between you. Felix took another bite of the pancakes, his mind wandering as he absentmindedly chewed. The familiar taste of the blueberry pancakes felt comforting, almost nostalgic, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the heaviness that lingered in the air.

As he finished his last bite, he heard the soft shuffle of your feet, and then the sound of the kitchen drawers opening. He glanced up but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to expect from you now, what you wanted, what he wanted.

You returned a moment later, the faint rustling of a first aid kit catching his attention. He didn’t have to ask what it was for.

You sat down next to him on the couch, looking at his hands, the bruises on his knuckles, and the scrapes on his jaw from the fight with Seungmin.

"Can I... can I tend to your wounds?" you asked quietly, almost hesitant. There was an unspoken request in your voice, like you needed to do this like it would make something feel more right, more repaired between the two of you.

Felix hesitated, glancing at your hand that held the first aid kit. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew he couldn’t keep pretending things weren’t broken. That what he was feeling wasn’t just anger but also pain, pain that you had caused, but also pain that he still felt for what the two of you had lost.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, rubbing his face with one hand. He didn’t want you near him. Not like this. He didn’t want to feel anything for you, but his body was betraying him. Every instinct, every touch of your hand made him want to lean into you, to forget the hurt, to pretend that nothing had ever happened.

"Alright," he muttered, reluctantly pulling his hand away from his face so you could get closer. He winced a little when you started to apply the antiseptic to his knuckles.

The coolness of the ointment on his skin stung at first, but the sting was a relief. It was a sharp, real feeling that grounded him, pulled him away from the dizzying emotions he’d been carrying for too long. He didn’t look at you, but he could feel your presence next to him. Your soft breath, the slight trembling of your hands as you worked carefully, tenderly, on his wounds.

Your touch was gentle but purposeful, your focus entirely on him. The room felt small, quiet, almost like it was holding its breath.

You didn’t say anything as you cleaned up his knuckles, and Felix didn’t feel the need to fill the silence either. It was a strange, intimate moment one where words seemed pointless and unnecessary. You just needed to be there for each other, in whatever small way you could manage.

When you finished with his hands, you moved to the side of his jaw, gently dabbing at the scrape there. Felix didn’t flinch this time. The physical pain from the fight didn’t matter as much as the emotional wound that had yet to heal.

You let out a soft sigh as you finished, then placed the first aid kit back on the coffee table. Felix sat there for a moment, staring ahead, as though lost in thought. His hands were clean now, but the feelings inside of him remained tangled and complicated.

You sat there quietly beside him, unsure if you should say anything. But you wanted to. You wanted to tell him everything, the guilt you felt, how sorry you were, how much you wished you could undo everything that had happened. You wanted to make him understand, even if it didn’t fix anything.

But you stayed silent, unsure if words would help or if they’d just make it worse.

After a long pause, Felix finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”

The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, but you didn’t flinch. You hadn’t expected forgiveness to come so easily, not after everything that had happened.

You took a breath, gathering the courage to respond. “I understand.”

Felix nodded, his gaze falling to his now bandaged hands. He didn’t say anything else, but there was a quiet understanding between you. Things weren’t okay. You weren’t okay.

But for a brief moment, sitting there next to each other, the tension between you seemed to ease. The pain didn’t go away, and it wouldn’t be gone for a long time. But right now, in this space, you were trying, trying to find some kind of peace in the wreckage of what you’d both lost.

And maybe that was enough for today.

Felix and you sat in the silence for a while longer, neither of you moving. It was strange, the way things had shifted from anger and hurt to this fragile, unspoken understanding. The weight of what had happened was still there, hanging in the air, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like it wasn’t suffocating either of you. You were both trying to process everything together but not quite together.

Felix shifted first, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, and then he sighed. The exhaustion in his voice was palpable, the kind of tiredness that wasn’t just from a lack of sleep, but from months of emotional turmoil. He had his eyes closed for a moment, and you saw the strain etched on his face. His walls, though still strong, were cracking under the weight of everything.

"I don’t know what I’m supposed to do," he said finally, his voice low, as if he were talking more to himself than to you. "I keep telling myself I should just walk away from all of it... but then there’s this baby. And I can’t just pretend like it doesn’t matter."

You wanted to say something, anything to ease the guilt that was evident in his voice. The guilt he carried for wanting to run but also knowing he couldn’t. The confusion about everything, about the betrayal, about the child that was coming into the world despite everything that had happened.

But you knew there was no easy answer. There were no words that would fix what had broken. So, instead, you simply nodded, showing him that you were there. Not for excuses, not for explanations, but just... to be present.

He glanced at you then, meeting your eyes, his expression still conflicted. “I don’t even know if I can look at Seungmin the same way again. Everything feels so messed up... so wrong. I don’t even know who to trust anymore."

His voice cracked slightly, and you felt a pang in your chest. You knew you were to blame for a lot of that mistrust, but the last thing you wanted was to throw that in his face again. He was already carrying too much.

"I understand," you said softly. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, Felix. I don’t deserve that. But I just need you to know that I am sorry, truly sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Felix nodded slowly, the sadness in his eyes cutting deep, but something about the way he looked at you now was different. Maybe it was the pain of the situation finally coming to the surface, maybe it was a realization that this wasn’t going to be an easy road for either of you, but for a brief moment, there was an understanding that lingered between you.

You both stood up almost at the same time, and Felix wiped his face with the back of his hand, a sign of frustration. He felt too many things too much confusion, too much pain, too much anger and he didn’t know how to untangle it. He reached for his jacket as he turned back toward you.

"I’m sorry," he muttered again, almost like an automatic response. He wasn’t just apologizing to you, but to himself as well. Apologizing for the things he couldn’t fix, for the parts of himself that had been shattered.

You watched him for a moment as he grabbed his things, and even though everything between you was strained and uncertain, there was a flicker of something hope, maybe that hadn’t been there before. He was trying. You both were. Trying to make sense of the pieces.

"Felix," you called softly, and he turned to face you again, this time with a question in his eyes.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath. "I know things are messed up... and I don’t expect them to change overnight. But can we... can we at least try to figure this out? For the baby? For what we had?"

His gaze softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t pull away from you. He looked at you not with anger, not with betrayal, but with something quieter. Something uncertain, but also open.

"I don’t know how," he admitted quietly. "But I’ll try... for the baby. And for us."

You both stood there for a moment, the weight of everything still hanging in the air, but there was a shared understanding now. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was a start a hesitant, fragile start toward something that could eventually be repaired.

Felix turned toward the door, ready to leave, but stopped just before he stepped outside.

"I’ll check in on you... later," he said, almost like a promise. His voice was raw, but the decision was made.

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. You didn’t know what the future would look like, but at least it wasn’t completely closed off. At least he was willing to try.

As he walked out of the door, you stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the last few months lift just a little bit. It wasn’t a resolution, but maybe it was the first step.

And for now, that had to be enough.

The days that followed were filled with tension and uncertainty, yet there was an underlying thread of something new. It wasn’t forgiveness, and it wasn’t forgetting, but it was a cautious attempt at rebuilding. Both you and Felix were still grappling with the wreckage of everything that had happened, but the shared understanding that things couldn’t stay the same anymore had begun to form a fragile foundation.

Felix kept his distance, but there were moments when he would send a quick text just to check in. "How’s the baby?" he'd ask, or "Everything okay?" The messages felt hollow at times, but also a sign that he hadn’t completely closed the door. He was trying, in his own way. Trying not to be overwhelmed by everything.

You, on the other hand, were constantly battling the guilt. Every time you saw Felix, you saw the man you had hurt, the man you had betrayed. And yet, there were moments when he spoke gently, when his eyes softened that reminded you of the man you had loved, the one who had held you close, the one who shared your dreams.

Still, the distance between you both was palpable. It was a delicate thing, like walking on glass, unsure of what might break next.

One evening, when the apartment was quiet, you received a text from Felix. This time, there was no question about the baby or a simple check-in. It was just a question:

"Can we meet? I need to talk."

Your heart skipped in your chest. You didn’t know what it would be about, whether he was about to pull further away from you or if he was ready to talk about things more openly, but you knew that this conversation was inevitable. You couldn’t keep avoiding it.

You agreed, and the next morning, you found yourself waiting at a small café, nervously stirring your drink, hoping Felix would show up. It had been days since you’d last seen him in person, and despite the text, a small part of you wondered if he’d back out, just like he had so many times before.

But he walked through the door, his face tired but determined. When his eyes found yours, there was no warmth there, but there wasn’t any more anger either. Just a quiet sadness. A brokenness you could feel without him having to say a word.

You both ordered, the silence between you stretching for what felt like an eternity, before Felix finally spoke.

"I’ve been thinking," he began slowly, his voice shaky as he sat down across from you, his hands clasped together tightly. "About everything. About us."

You didn’t interrupt, just waited for him to continue, hoping this wasn’t another closed door, another goodbye.

"I’m not saying I’m ready to forgive you. I’m not even saying I’m okay with what happened." His words hung in the air, heavy and painful. "But I think… maybe I was so angry, I didn’t see that I was losing sight of something important."

You leaned forward, your heart racing, unsure if you should even hope for what you were hearing.

"The baby," Felix said, his gaze dropping to the table. "I can’t just ignore it. I can’t just pretend it doesn’t matter. I know I was wrong for hitting Seungmin, for doing everything the way I did. But this baby, it’s not going away."

You swallowed hard, tears welling in your eyes, as you processed what he was saying. He wasn’t giving you a clean slate. He wasn’t saying he was ready to jump back into everything. But he was willing to acknowledge the one thing that had connected you, the baby.

"I don’t know what happens after this, or where we go from here," Felix continued, "But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care."

A small, broken smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t know how things would unfold, but Felix was speaking like he wasn’t giving up completely. And that, in itself, felt like progress.

"I’m willing to try," you whispered, meeting his eyes. "For the baby. And maybe... for us."

As time passed, things between you and Felix continued to evolve. The weight of the past was still there, but it wasn’t all-consuming. You both had agreed that you couldn’t rush things, and so you moved forward cautiously, step by step. There were awkward silences, moments of hesitation, but there were also glimmers of the connection you once shared. You both stuck to baby-related conversations, appointments, names, shopping for clothes and accessories anything to avoid the deep emotions that still lurked beneath the surface.

But it was during one of those quiet afternoons that things took a sudden turn. You’d spent hours together, assembling the baby’s crib, changing table, and dresser, your muscles sore and your bodies exhausted from the effort. You had picked up takeout from your favorite restaurant, comfort food, just something to eat while sitting on the floor, surrounded by all the baby furniture. It felt like a small, peaceful moment amidst everything that had happened.

Felix, sitting cross-legged next to you, began to absentmindedly fiddle with the takeout box, clearly lost in thought. You glanced at him, noticing the way his eyes seemed distant, like he was somewhere else for a moment.

Then, without warning, Felix broke the silence. “Remember when we moved in here?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with nostalgia.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the shift in the conversation. You hadn’t talked about the past in so long, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Your heart skipped a beat. There had been so many memories here,

good and bad. A mix of laughter, late-night talks, and, unfortunately, heartbreak. But you could feel something different in his voice, something softer, almost vulnerable.

You nodded slowly, your voice soft. “Yeah, I do. I was so excited, and you kept saying how we’d make this place our home. That we’d fill it with memories.”

Felix smiled faintly, but there was a bittersweetness in it. “I remember how we argued about the couch. You wanted the big one, and I wanted the one that didn’t take up the whole living room. In the end, we got both.” His chuckle was a little forced, but it was real enough. “We spent hours looking for furniture. Everything had to be perfect.”

You smiled at the memory, a warmth spreading through you. “I loved those moments. When we’d go to stores and just talk about what we wanted in our future. And how you’d always tease me about the amount of throw pillows I’d want on the couch.”

Felix’s gaze shifted, more serious now. “I miss that. I miss how simple things were. How easy it was to just be with you. I know we’ve been through a lot, and it’s not going to be like it was. But…”

He trailed off, and you felt a lump in your throat. You knew what he was saying. You both knew things couldn’t go back to the way they were. Too much had happened, and there were too many wounds to heal. But hearing him speak about it, it made you realize how deeply you both had been affected by everything that had transpired.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I miss it too. I miss us. But we can’t just go back. I can’t expect you to just forget everything. And I don’t want you to.”

Felix nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. “I don’t expect that either. I just…” He paused, his gaze lingering on you, and for a brief moment, there was no tension, no anger just two people who had loved each other and were now figuring out how to navigate the wreckage of what had happened.

“I just don’t want to keep pretending that we can’t rebuild. It might take time, but I think we owe it to ourselves and the baby to try. To make something work, even if it’s not what it was before.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let go of everything that had happened, but you knew you couldn’t go back either. The future, the one you both had envisioned, was still within reach, but it would be different. You and Felix would have to create a new version of it, one where trust was rebuilt and hearts were mended.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want to give up on trying either. Not with the baby. And not with us. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Felix gave a small, relieved smile. “One step at a time, huh?” He let out a deep breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “I can do that.”

You both sat there for a while longer, eating and reminiscing about the past, about everything that had brought you together. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t perfect, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you were heading in the right direction.

And while the road ahead was uncertain, you had hope. That was all you needed to move forward, together.

-

One night, you had just settled into bed when a sharp pain in your lower back had you wincing. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to have you shifting uncomfortably. You placed a hand over your stomach, trying to breathe through it, but another wave of discomfort rolled through you.

Felix must have heard you stir because a few moments later, there was a soft knock at your door. "You okay?" His voice was laced with sleep but still filled with concern.

You debated telling him it was nothing, that he didn’t need to worry. But the look in his eyes when he peeked through the door made you sigh. "I think the baby’s just restless," you murmured.

Felix stepped inside without hesitation, coming to sit on the edge of your bed. “Do you want me to do anything? Should I call the doctor?"

You shook your head, placing his hand over your belly. "Just stay for a bit."

He nodded, rubbing slow, soothing patterns on your stomach. His touch was gentle, familiar. For a moment, it was just the two of you no past mistakes, no painful history. Just the quiet of the night and the shared anticipation of the little life you were bringing into the world together.

Then, the baby kicked, hard.

Felix’s eyes widened before he let out a soft laugh. "Whoa. That was a strong one."

You chuckled, despite the discomfort. "Yeah, your child is already showing off."

Felix shook his head in amusement, but something in his expression softened. "I still can’t believe it sometimes. That we’re really having a baby."

You swallowed hard, nodding. "Me neither."

A comfortable silence stretched between you before Felix spoke again, quieter this time. "I know things aren’t perfect. And I know I said we should take it one step at a time. But… I just want you to know that no matter what happens between us, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here. For you. For the baby."

Your throat tightened at his words, a mix of emotions overwhelming you. You had hurt him in ways that could never fully be undone, yet he was still here, still choosing to be in your life, in the baby’s life.

You gave him a small smile, one that held more meaning than words could express. "I know, Felix. And I’m grateful for that."

He didn’t say anything else, just continued tracing slow circles over your stomach, staying with you until you eventually drifted off to sleep.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

-

The morning had started like any other. Felix had insisted on making breakfast, claiming you needed to sit down and rest instead of “waddling around” the kitchen. You had rolled your eyes at him, but deep down, you appreciated the way he took care of you, always making sure you were eating well, getting enough rest, and not overexerting yourself.

You sat at the dining table, watching as he moved around the kitchen with ease, flipping pancakes and humming softly under his breath. He was in a good mood today, cracking dumb jokes that had you laughing despite yourself. But what he didn’t know was that, beneath your laughter, you had been feeling an odd discomfort all morning, subtle cramps that came and went, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

You had read about this. Braxton Hicks, maybe? Just false contractions, nothing to worry about. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. You didn’t want to say anything to Felix, not when he had been hovering over you like a hawk lately, acting as if you were made of glass. If you even winced slightly, he was already at your side, asking if you needed anything.

So you ignored it.

But the moment your water broke, there was no hiding it anymore.

A sharp, unexpected pressure hit you just as you reached for your glass of water, and before you could process what was happening, you felt the unmistakable rush of warmth between your legs. Your heart stopped for a moment, your breath hitching as you looked down to see the small puddle forming beneath your chair.

Felix, completely unaware, was still talking about something when he turned to face you, his expression quickly shifting from amusement to pure panic the moment he saw your wide eyes.

“Felix—” you started, voice shaky.

His gaze dropped to the floor, then back to your face, his spatula clattering onto the counter as his brain caught up with what was happening.

“Oh my—oh my god. Oh my god.” He stumbled over his words, rushing to your side, his hands hovering near you as if he wasn’t sure what to do first. “Are you—was that—your water just—”

“Yeah.” You let out a breathless laugh, though you were starting to feel the panic creep in, the cramps turning into something much stronger now.

Felix, on the other hand, was spiraling. “Okay, okay, um—hospital! We need to go to the hospital! Where’s your bag? Do you have your bag? I should call someone—no, wait, I’ll get the car—oh my god, it’s happening—”

“Felix.” You reached for his wrist, squeezing it to snap him out of it. His frantic eyes met yours. “Breathe.”

He took a shaky breath, nodding rapidly. “Okay. Breathing. Yep. I’m good. I’m okay.”

Another contraction hit you, stronger this time, and you clenched your jaw, gripping the table for support. Felix immediately noticed, his panic returning full force.

“Okay, nope. We’re leaving right now.” He rushed off to grab the hospital bag you had packed weeks ago, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

You managed to stand, exhaling slowly as you tried to brace yourself. Felix was back in an instant, keys in one hand, your bag in the other. “Can you walk? Do you need me to carry you? Should I call an ambulance? No, wait—that would take too long. Let’s go, let’s go—”

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but smile at how frantic he was. You had never seen him like this, so overwhelmed yet so determined to do everything right.

“Felix, I can walk,” you assured him, though you gladly let him wrap an arm around you for support as he guided you toward the door.

As he helped you into the car, his hands shook slightly when he buckled your seatbelt, his breaths uneven. You placed a hand over his, squeezing gently. “Felix.”

He met your eyes, swallowing hard.

“We’ve got this.”

He exhaled deeply, nodding before rushing to the driver’s side. “Yeah. We’ve got this.”

And with that, he sped off toward the hospital, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he whispered reassurances under his breath, whether for you or for himself, you weren’t sure.

Felix was completely, utterly in love.

From the moment the nurses placed your daughter in his arms, he hadn’t let go. He had stared down at her with wide, teary eyes, his fingers trembling as they carefully traced the tiniest details of her face, her button nose, her soft cheeks, the little pout of her lips. She was perfect. So small, so delicate, yet she had completely stolen every part of him in an instant.

Even now, hours later, Felix still hadn’t put her down. The only time he had given her up was when she needed to be fed, and even then, he had stayed right beside you, watching over both of you with a look of pure adoration.

You leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion settling into your bones, but the sight before you kept you awake. Felix sat in the chair beside your hospital bed, cradling your daughter so gently as if she were made of glass. His thumb brushed over her tiny hand, and when she instinctively wrapped her fingers around it, his breath hitched.

“She’s got a strong grip,” he whispered, awestruck.

You smiled, watching him as he softly ran a finger along her cheek. “She really loves her daddy already.”

Felix’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, something unreadable in them. He swallowed, blinking rapidly before looking back down at the baby in his arms. “I love her too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, quieter this time. “Thank you.”

You tilted your head. “For what?”

He took a shaky breath, his gaze still locked on your daughter. “For her.” He exhaled deeply. “For giving me the best thing in my life.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say something, something meaningful, something that could possibly convey the weight of this moment, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, you reached out, placing your hand over his. He didn’t flinch or pull away. He simply squeezed your fingers gently, his touch lingering as your daughter let out a tiny sigh in his arms.

And for the first time in a long time, things between you felt… okay. Not perfect, not completely healed, but okay. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

The afternoon sun filtered through the hospital window, casting a soft glow over the room as you lay back in bed, exhausted but content. Felix still hadn’t let go of your daughter, and at this point, you had accepted that she was going to be permanently attached to his arms.

Not that you minded. Watching him with her was something you never wanted to forget. The way he looked at her, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, it was a side of Felix you hadn’t seen before. One filled with pure, unfiltered love.

A knock at the door broke the peaceful moment. Felix glanced at you before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and in walked Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin. Felix had texted them earlier, and now they were finally here.

As soon as they stepped in, you felt it.

Tension.

None of them said anything directly to you, but the way their gazes flickered in your direction, the tightness in their expressions, it was clear that old wounds were still fresh. And you didn’t blame them. They were Felix’s best friends, his brothers, and they had been there for him through everything.

Still, they were respectful. They didn’t bring up the past, didn’t make any passive-aggressive remarks. They simply greeted you and Felix before their attention was immediately stolen by the tiny bundle in his arms.

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin breathed, stepping closer, his eyes wide with wonder. “She’s so tiny.”

Changbin leaned in, grinning. “She literally looks exactly like you, Lix.”

Felix let out a breathy chuckle, his gaze never leaving his daughter. “You think?”

Chan folded his arms, nodding as he smirked. “Yeah. She’s got your nose, your lips… even your ears, man.”

Felix let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Poor kid.”

Hyunjin scoffed, nudging him. “Please, you know you’re pretty.”

They all laughed, the tension easing just a little, though you still felt like an outsider in the room. You watched as Felix proudly showed them the baby, as they gushed over her, their voices dropping to softer tones whenever she so much as stirred in his arms.

“She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger,” Changbin teased.

Felix didn’t even deny it. “Yeah. She does.”

You had never seen him like this before. So light. So full of warmth. Even after everything, after all the pain, the heartbreak, the anger Felix was happy.

And you?

You could only hope that, one day, you’d earn the right to be a part of that happiness again.

Eventually, Chan cleared his throat, giving Felix a knowing look. “So… have you thought about a name yet?”

Felix froze for a moment. His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his daughter’s tiny hand as he swallowed.

“I—” he started, then hesitated.

You bit your lip. You and Felix had thrown around baby names before when you were still together, but you weren’t sure if those names still held the same meaning for him now.

Seeing his hesitation, Hyunjin chuckled. “Damn, you really haven’t decided yet?”

Changbin smirked. “Are we just gonna call her ‘Baby Lee’ for the rest of her life?”

Felix let out a soft laugh, but there was something nervous in it. His fingers tightened just slightly around his daughter’s ones.

Then, without looking at you, he said, “I was thinking about the names we talked about before.”

Your breath caught.

Felix finally looked up at you then, and for the first time in a long time, there was something softer in his gaze.

“Do you still like them?” he asked.

You nodded almost immediately. “Yeah. I do.”

He let out a breath, glancing back down at his daughter. “Then…” He paused for a moment before saying the name out loud for the first time.

The name that, once upon a time, you had chosen together.

A quiet silence settled over the room as everyone processed it. Then, Chan smiled. “It suits her.”

Hyunjin nodded. “It really does.”

Felix glanced back at you again, searching for your reaction. And when you smiled truly, genuinely smiled, he seemed to relax just a little.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t forgetting.

But it was something.

And for now, that was enough.

As the evening settled in, Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin bid their goodbyes, giving Felix one last clap on the shoulder and shooting you a few lingering glances before stepping out. The room felt noticeably quieter once they left, the only sounds filling the space being the faint beeping of the hospital monitors and the soft, rhythmic breaths of Aera sleeping in Felix’s arms.

It was just the three of you now.

Felix looked down at Aera, his fingers gently running over her tiny fingers, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment of silence, he finally spoke.

“Are you really sure about the name?” His voice was quiet, hesitant, as if he was still trying to grasp the reality of it all.

You met his gaze, nodding firmly. “Yes. We both agreed on it before, and now seeing her… it’s perfect.”

Felix exhaled, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He looked down at his daughter again, murmuring her name under his breath, almost like he was testing how it felt to say it out loud. Aera.

Your heart clenched at the tenderness in his voice.

Another silence fell between you two, but it wasn’t as heavy as before. If anything, it felt more fragile, like the air between you was made of glass, one wrong word, and it would shatter.

Felix suddenly sighed, shifting in his chair. His grip on Aera remained steady, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his expression as he spoke again.

“I know things between us are… complicated,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to be there for her. Always. No matter what happens between us, she’s my daughter, and I’ll never let her feel like she’s anything less than loved.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “I know you will, Felix.”

He hesitated before continuing, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “But I also want to be there for you.”

Your breath caught.

“I want us to be a family.”

You felt the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. It wasn’t just a promise to be present in Aera’s life, he was offering something more, something bigger. A chance at rebuilding what was lost.

But as much as your heart longed for it, fear clawed at the back of your mind.

You bit your lip. “Felix…”

His fingers curled slightly around Aera’s tiny ones as he studied you carefully, waiting for you to continue.

You took a shaky breath. “I want that too. More than anything. But… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this just because of Aera. I don’t want you to force yourself into something you don’t really want.”

Felix’s brows furrowed slightly, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“I’m not forcing anything,” he said, voice firm yet gentle. “I just… I don’t know. After everything, I thought I could move on. I thought I was done with us, but…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Being here again, seeing you with Aera… it makes me realize that I still—”

He stopped himself, looking away.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, your fingers tightening slightly against the blanket draped over you.

“That you still what?” you asked hesitantly.

Felix let out a humorless chuckle, his free hand running through his hair before he finally met your gaze again.

“That I still care,” he admitted softly. “That maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left between us.”

Your breath hitched.

The vulnerability in his voice, in his expression, made your chest ache.

You wanted to reach for him, to tell him you felt the same, that despite all the pain and betrayal, your heart still stubbornly beat for him.

But you knew that words alone wouldn’t fix what was broken.

So instead, you whispered, “Then let’s take our time.”

Felix blinked at you.

You swallowed your nerves. “Let’s take things slow. Let’s figure this out without rushing into anything just because of Aera. If there’s really still something left between us… we’ll find our way back. But only if it’s real.”

Felix stared at you for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Okay,” he murmured. “We’ll take our time.”

And for the first time in a long time, despite the uncertainty of the future, you felt hopeful.

The days that followed felt like uncharted territory, uncertain yet hopeful, fragile yet full of possibility.

Felix stayed at the hospital with you and Aera, never once leaving your side unless absolutely necessary. He was the first to wake up at every little sound Aera made, the first to hold her when she cried, the first to soothe her even before the nurses came in to check on her. It was clear that he had already fallen completely, hopelessly in love with his daughter.

And as much as you tried to keep your emotions in check, watching him with her, seeing the way he looked at her with nothing but pure adoration, made it impossible not to remember why you had loved him so much in the first place.

The day you were discharged, Felix was the one carrying Aera’s car seat, adjusting it with the utmost care as he buckled her in. The ride back home was quiet, both of you still adjusting to the reality of this new life you had created together.

When you got home, Felix helped you settle in, bringing Aera to her crib while you finally got a chance to breathe. The house felt different with him there again, not quite like before, but not completely unfamiliar either.

For the first few nights, Felix stayed over as promised, though it didn’t take long for his protective instincts to kick in. Anytime Aera cried in the middle of the night, he was the first to rush to her side, sometimes even before you could make it out of bed.

One night, as you stood in the doorway watching him gently rock her back and forth, you couldn’t help but whisper, “You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

Felix turned to you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I want to.”

And that was the thing, Felix always wanted to.

Days turned into weeks, and the rhythm of life began to shift. There were no grand declarations, no sudden changes. But there were moments, small, fleeting moments where the distance between you didn’t feel so vast.

Like the morning you found him asleep on the nursery floor, curled up next to Aera’s crib after a long night. Or the way he still remembered exactly how you liked your coffee, leaving a fresh cup for you on the kitchen counter even when he was too tired to say much.

And then there were the times when he let his guard down completely like one evening when you were folding tiny onesies together, and he suddenly chuckled under his breath.

“What?” you asked, looking up at him.

He smiled, shaking his head. “Just… it’s crazy, isn’t it? How much has changed.”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. It really is.”

Felix hesitated before saying softly, “But… maybe change isn’t always bad.”

You weren’t sure where this was heading. Neither of you were. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like there was a chance.

A chance to heal.

A chance to start over.

A chance to figure out if love real, honest love was still waiting for you both on the other side of all the hurt.

And as Felix looked at you, something warm and familiar in his gaze, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you were willing to take that chance.

Felix had fallen into a routine, wake up before Aera, prepare her bottle, change her into a fresh onesie, and take her out for a walk in her stroller. It had become their thing, a moment for him to bond with his daughter while giving you a much-needed break. He knew how exhausted you had been, how the stress of adjusting to motherhood weighed on you. So, every morning, he made sure you had at least a little time to yourself.

Today was no different. He gently strapped Aera into her stroller, making sure she was comfortable before heading out into the crisp morning air. She babbled softly as he walked, her tiny fingers curling around the toy he had clipped to her stroller. Felix smiled, brushing his fingers gently against her cheek. “You’re such a good girl, you know that?” he murmured, watching as she looked up at him with those wide, curious eyes.

Meanwhile, back home, you had just finished your shower. You went through your usual post-shower routine, enjoying the rare moment of solitude. The apartment was quiet, peaceful, until a sudden knock at the door interrupted the moment.

You didn’t think much of it at first, laughing softly to yourself. You figured it was Felix, maybe having forgotten his keys. “Really, Lix?” you called out playfully, making your way toward the door. “You’re going to have to be more responsible when Aera—”

Your voice cut off as you opened the door and realized it wasn’t Felix standing there.

It was Seungmin.

Your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t seen him since everything happened. Since he found out you were pregnant. Since he fought with Felix. Yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like no time had passed.

Before you could speak, Seungmin scoffed, eyes scanning over you. “You’re still here,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You gripped the edge of the door, standing firm. “What are you doing here?” you asked, voice sharper than intended.

Seungmin sighed, tilting his head. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for months. You ignored me. I figured I’d stop by in person.” His gaze flickered behind you as if expecting someone else to be there. “You never told me you had the baby.”

You tensed, stepping slightly in front of the doorway. “This isn’t a good time.”

Seungmin scoffed again, rolling his eyes. “Right. Because it never is with you, huh?” His eyes narrowed. “So? Was it his?”

You clenched your jaw. “Seungmin—”

“Is the baby his or mine?” he pressed.

Before you could answer, footsteps echoed, and the tension in the air thickened instantly.

Felix had arrived.

He had just been about to call out that he was home when he saw who was standing at the door. His entire body went rigid, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered between you and Seungmin.

Seungmin, on the other hand, seemed entirely unbothered by Felix’s presence. His eyes dropped to the stroller Felix was pushing, where Aera sat wide-eyed, looking up at the stranger before her.

And then, as if Felix wasn’t even there, Seungmin pointed at Aera and asked, “Is that her?”

Felix's grip on the stroller’s handle tightened so much his knuckles turned white. His entire body burned with anger, with resentment, with an unbearable sense of betrayal all over again.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that Seungmin was standing here, at his home, or the fact that he had the audacity to ask about his daughter.

Felix looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Felix’s voice was low, dangerous.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I didn’t—he just showed up.”

Felix exhaled sharply, stepping forward so he was standing between you and Seungmin, his protective instincts kicking in full force. “You don’t belong here.”

Seungmin crossed his arms. “I just wanted answers.”

Felix’s eyes darkened. “You don’t get to ask about my daughter.”

Seungmin let out a bitter laugh. “Your daughter?”He turned his gaze to you. “Is he sure about that?”

Before you could say anything, Felix stepped forward. “You need to leave.”

Seungmin looked like he wanted to argue, but the fury in Felix’s expression made him hesitate. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head before finally turning to walk away.

Felix didn’t move until he was sure Seungmin was gone, his entire body still tense with anger.

When he finally turned to you, you could see the conflict in his eyes, the pain, the exhaustion, the deep-rooted anger that never fully went away.

“Did you know he was coming?” Felix asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No.”

Felix exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He looked down at Aera, who was still sitting peacefully in her stroller, completely unaware of the storm that had just passed.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, finally, Felix sighed. “I need some air.” before pushing Aera’s stroller to you.

And just like that, he walked past you, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding, wondering if this had just unraveled all the progress you had made.

Felix didn’t come back right away.

You weren’t sure where he went, and you didn’t text him to ask. You wanted to, wanted to make sure he was okay, wanted to tell him that Seungmin showing up had caught you off guard just as much as it had caught him, but you knew better. Felix needed space when he was angry.

So, you gave it to him.

The rest of the evening was quiet. You kept yourself busy with Aera, going through your usual routine feeding her, bathing her, putting her to sleep. But the entire time, your thoughts were elsewhere. Would Felix come back tonight? Would this set everything back? Would he start resenting you all over again?

It wasn’t until nearly midnight that you heard the door unlock.

You sat up on the couch immediately, having dozed off while waiting. Felix stepped inside, his shoulders tense, his eyes downcast. He looked exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally.

He closed the door behind him, sighing before finally meeting your gaze.

“She’s asleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You nodded. “Yeah. She went down a couple of hours ago.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and walked past you, heading straight for Aera’s room. You followed a few steps behind, standing in the doorway as you watched him lean over her crib.

His expression softened as he looked down at her, his fingers brushing gently against her tiny hand. Even in moments like this, when he was visibly exhausted and drained, he never let it affect the way he was with her.

You hesitated before finally speaking. “Felix… I didn’t know he was coming. I swear.”

Felix didn’t look at you right away. He just exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as he continued watching Aera sleep.

“I believe you.” His voice was softer now.

That should have been a relief, but there was something about his tone that made you uneasy.

“But?” you pressed, knowing there was more.

Felix finally turned to look at you, his brows furrowed slightly. “I just—I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up here. After everything. And then to act like he had some right to ask about her?” His jaw tightened. “It made me so angry, and I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I know.”

Felix was quiet for a long moment before he finally stepped away from the crib. “I’m gonna crash on the couch.”

You watched as he left the room without another word, leaving you standing there with your own thoughts.

Something had shifted again. You just didn’t know if it was for better or worse.

The next morning, Felix was gone before you woke up.

You found a note on the kitchen counter in his rushed handwriting:

Called in for work. Be back later. Call me if you need anything.

You stared at the note for a while, trying to decipher what it meant beyond the words themselves. Was he still upset? Was he avoiding you? Or was this just Felix’s way of making sure you knew he wasn’t running away completely?

You didn’t want to overthink it, but it was hard not to.

The day passed slowly. Felix texted once to check on Aera, and you kept your response short, unsure if he wanted more conversation than that. He didn’t reply after that.

By the time evening rolled around, you were exhausted, mentally more than anything. Aera had been fussy all day, and with Felix gone, the silence in the apartment felt heavier than usual. You had just managed to put Aera to sleep when you heard the front door unlock.

Felix walked in, looking just as tired as you felt.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, unsure of where you stood with him after last night.

He set his bag down, meeting your eyes for a moment before sighing. “Hey.”

An awkward silence settled between you.

You hesitated before finally saying, “She just went down. She was a little fussy today.”

Felix nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll check on her in a bit.”

Another silence. You hated this. Things had been getting better, slowly but surely, but now it felt like you were back at square one.

You took a deep breath before saying, “Felix… are we okay?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw the conflict in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I thought I was getting past everything, but then last night happened, and it just brought everything back.”

Your chest tightened. “I get that. I do. And I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but… I just don’t want us to go back to how we were before.”

Felix sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t either.”

That was a small relief, at least.

He exhaled deeply before saying, “I just need time. Last night really messed with my head. Seeing him, hearing him talk like he had any right to ask about Aera, it pissed me off more than I expected.” He shook his head.“I don’t ever want him around her.”

You nodded immediately. “He won’t be. I told him to leave. He’s not a part of this.”

Felix studied you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay.”

Another pause.

You swallowed, then asked softly, “Are you staying tonight?”

Felix hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

You nodded.

Things still weren’t fully okay.

But at least he was still here.

He stayed each night, still keeping his distance, but he was there. He still took Aera on her morning walks, still made breakfast for both of you without asking, still checked on you when you looked too tired.

But you could feel it, something had shifted after Seungmin showed up.

Felix was more guarded again. He still spoke to you, still smiled at Aera like she was the most precious thing in the world, but there was something distant in the way he looked at you. Like he was trying to protect himself from getting hurt all over again. You didn’t blame him.

You were washing dishes when Felix returned from a grocery run. Aera was babbling happily in her playpen, reaching for one of her stuffed animals. You heard the sound of the front door shutting, followed by the rustling of grocery bags as Felix set them on the counter.

“I got some of those snacks you like,” he said casually, unpacking the bags. “And extra formula, just in case.”

You wiped your hands on a towel, watching him for a moment. He was always like this, always thinking ahead, always making sure you and Aera had everything you needed.

You took a deep breath before finally saying, “Felix.”

He paused, looking up.

You hesitated, then softly asked, “Are we ever going to talk about it?”

Felix tensed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Talk about what?”

“Everything.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “We’ve already talked about it.”

“Not really.” You took a step closer. “We talk around it. About Aera. About what happened with Seungmin. But not about us.”

Felix was quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he sighed and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I just want to know where you stand.” Your voice was soft, but firm. “You’re here. You help with Aera. You take care of me in ways you don’t have to. And I appreciate it more than I can say. But Felix, if you don’t want this anymore, if you don’t want me, I need to know.”

Felix’s jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You think I don’t want you?” He shook his head. “That’s not the problem. The problem is, I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Your chest tightened, but you nodded. You deserved that.

“I know,” you whispered.

Felix ran a hand through his hair, looking torn. “I don’t know how to move past this,” he admitted. “Some days, I think I can. Other days, I remember everything and I just, I get so angry all over again.” He met your eyes, and you could see the conflict in them. “I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same way I used to.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, but you swallowed it down.

“Then what do you want to do?”

Felix was silent.

Then, after a long moment, he sighed. “I don’t know. But I do know I love Aera. And no matter what happens with us, I’m always going to be here for her.”

You nodded, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “I know.”

Another pause.

Felix hesitated before finally saying, “I just need more time.”

You nodded again, forcing a small smile. “Then take all the time you need.”

Felix didn’t say anything, but something in his expression softened.

It wasn’t a resolution. It wasn’t a promise of things going back to how they were. But it was something.

The days stretched into weeks, and the unspoken tension between you and Felix remained. He was still there every day taking care of Aera, making sure you were okay, sleeping on the couch like he always did. But something between you felt frozen, stuck in a place where neither of you could move forward nor turn back.

You tried to focus on Aera. She was growing so fast, and her laughter filled the quiet spaces in the apartment that had once been filled with love, arguments, whispered confessions, everything that had made you and Felix you and Felix.

But the truth was, you missed him.

Not just as Aera’s father, not just as someone who had become an inseparable part of your life, but as him. As the person who used to kiss your forehead every morning before you even opened your eyes, who used to dance with you in the kitchen just because, who used to hold you close and tell you he’d never love anyone the way he loved you.

And maybe that wasn’t true anymore.

Maybe you’d lost that part of him forever.

-

You woke up to the sound of Aera crying. You started to sit up, but before you could, you saw Felix was already there, half-asleep, cradling her in his arms and gently bouncing her as he whispered to her in that soft, deep voice that always calmed her down.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby girl. Daddy’s got you.”

You watched as he rocked her, humming softly under his breath. The sight made something in your chest tighten painfully.

This was Felix. The Felix who loved so deeply, who gave everything he had to the people he cared about.

You had hurt him. And yet, he was still here.

The next morning, as you were making coffee, you hesitated before finally saying, “Lix?”

He looked up from where he was feeding Aera her breakfast.

“Yeah?”

You swallowed, then said carefully, “You don’t have to stay.”

Felix froze, his spoon hovering mid-air. “What?”

You took a deep breath, gripping the counter. “I mean it. If it’s too hard for you, if being here every day is just making things worse for you, I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay for me. Or even just for Aera. I know you love her, and I know you’ll always be here for her. But I don’t want you to force yourself to be somewhere that makes you unhappy.”

Felix stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, he said, “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head immediately. “No. Of course not.”

Felix exhaled, setting the spoon down. He looked down at Aera, gently wiping a bit of food from her mouth before finally speaking.

“I don’t know if I can just walk away.”

You felt your heart ache. “Felix—”

“I meant what I said before,” he interrupted, looking at you with something raw in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. But I also don’t know if I can let you go.”

You swallowed hard.

Felix sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I still think about it,” he admitted. “Everything. How it felt when I found out, how I spent weeks trying to convince myself I hated you.” He laughed, but it was hollow. “But I never could.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Felix…”

He shook his head, looking down. “I need more time,” he said again.

And this time, you realized, so did you.

You had spent so long wanting things to go back to how they were that you hadn’t stopped to think about whether they should. Whether Felix deserved more than just an apology, whether you deserved to try again as the person you were now, not the person who had made those mistakes.

So you nodded, voice soft but certain.

“Take all the time you need.”

Felix looked at you, searching for something in your expression. And for the first time in a long time, his gaze didn’t hold anger or pain, just something tired, something cautious, something that still, deep down, looked a lot like love.

Maybe this wasn’t the end.

Maybe this was the beginning of something new.

-

You were finishing up dinner when Felix spoke up.

“I found a place.”

You froze, setting your fork down. “Oh.”

Felix hesitated before continuing. “It’s not far. Just a few blocks down.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process the sudden shift.

He’s leaving.

Of course, you knew he couldn’t stay here forever. You had even told him that if he needed to leave, he should. But now that it was happening, you felt a sharp sting of something you didn’t quite know how to name.

Felix must have noticed, because he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“I think it’s the right thing to do,” he admitted. “I don’t… I don’t want Aera growing up thinking we’re something we’re not. And I don’t want to confuse myself, either.”

You swallowed. “I understand.”

Felix looked at you for a long moment. “But I’ll still be here. Every day, if you’ll let me.”

“Of course.”

You meant it. Even if it hurt, even if it wasn’t what you wanted deep down, you knew Felix needed this. Maybe you did too.

Felix slipped out of his new apartment early in the morning.

The sun had just barely risen, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets as Felix made his way to the coffee shop a few blocks away. It had become a part of his routine lately, taking small moments like this to step out, clear his head, and bring back something warm for you and Aera to start the day.

As he stood in line, waiting for his order, he scrolled absentmindedly through his phone, checking messages, looking at the latest photos he had taken of Aera. His name was eventually called, and just as he was about to step forward, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"Felix?"

He turned around, his brows lifting in surprise when he saw her.

"Jiheon?"

It had been months since he last saw her. Since the night she told him she couldn’t do it anymore couldn’t be with him, knowing his heart was still tangled in a complicated mess with you. He had respected her decision, even if it stung at the time, and they hadn’t spoken since. For a moment, there was an awkward silence, but then she smiled softly.

"Hey, it’s been a while."

Felix gave her a quick hug, stepping back with a chuckle. "Yeah, it really has. How have you been?"

She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I’ve been good. Keeping busy, you know? Work, life, the usual." She paused before tilting her head. "And you? How's everything?"

His expression softened immediately, and without even thinking, he said, "Aera."

Jiheon's brows furrowed slightly in question.

"My daughter," he clarified, his lips curving into a proud, almost boyish smile. "She was born six months ago."

For a brief second, Jiheon seemed taken aback, but then she nodded with an understanding smile. "Wow... six months already? You look happy." Felix exhaled a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, she’s... she’s everything to me."

Jiheon studied him for a moment before carefully asking, "So, does that mean you and your ex...?"

Felix immediately shook his head. "No. We’re not back together. We never really were after everything. I just want to be there for my daughter. That’s what matters most."

Jiheon nodded slowly. "I see." There was something unreadable in her expression, but she didn’t press further. Before either of them could say anything else, the barista called out Felix’s name again, signaling that his order was ready. He turned slightly, glancing at the counter before looking back at Jiheon.

"It was really nice seeing you," he said genuinely. "If you ever want to catch up, I still have the same number."

Jiheon smiled, though this time it was a little smaller, a little more hesitant. "Yeah. You too, Felix."

He gave her a small wave before picking up the tray of coffee and breakfast, stepping out of the shop and into the crisp morning air.

As he walked back to the apartment, a strange feeling settled in his chest. A part of him had expected to feel something seeing Jiheon again regret, longing, nostalgia, but instead, he felt... closure.

His past had finally stopped pulling at him.

And when he stepped into the apartment, greeted by the sight of you rocking Aera in your arms, mumbling something soft as she stirred awake, Felix realized something else.

He had everything he needed right here.

Felix stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching you with Aera. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on gently bouncing your daughter in your arms, whispering soft words to soothe her. He stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching you with Aera. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on gently bouncing your daughter in your arms, whispering soft words to soothe her.

"Shh, sweet girl, Daddy’s coming back with food. You know he always does."

Felix’s heart clenched. He had heard you call him “Daddy” in front of Aera before, but something about the way you said it so naturally, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, made his chest feel tight. He took a deep breath and stepped further inside.

"Guess you know me too well," he said, setting the coffee and food down on the counter. You looked up, surprised at first, but then smiled. "She was getting a little fussy. I think she missed you."

Felix chuckled as he took off his jacket. "Yeah? Well, I missed her too." He walked over, gently brushing a finger over Aera’s chubby cheek. She blinked up at him, her tiny hands reaching out instinctively.

You handed her over without hesitation, and Felix immediately settled her against his chest, swaying slightly. She cooed softly, nuzzling into him, and Felix felt that familiar warmth spread through him. You watched the two of them, your heart aching in a way you couldn’t quite describe. He was such a good father, so patient and attentive, and it only made you more aware of how much you still loved him.

"Breakfast is still warm," he murmured after a moment. "You should eat before it gets cold." You nodded, making your way to the counter. As you opened the bag, you glanced at him curiously.

"You were gone longer than usual. Everything okay?"

Felix hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. "Yeah. Ran into someone I used to know."

You didn’t push, but something in his tone made you pause. "Someone... important?"

Felix sighed, shifting Aera in his arms. "Jiheon."

You froze. Of course, you remembered her. The girl Felix had started seeing after you broke his heart. The girl who probably could’ve given him everything he deserved if it weren’t for you and Aera.

You swallowed hard. "Oh. How was that?"

"It was... closure, I think." Felix met your gaze, his expression unreadable. "She asked if we were together, and I told her no. That I’m here for Aera. That’s what matters most to me."

You forced a small smile, nodding. "Right. That’s what’s important."

But the words felt heavier than they should have.

Felix studied you for a moment longer before finally exhaling, as if there was something else he wanted to say but didn’t know how. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Aera’s forehead and whispered, "Let’s eat."

And just like that, things continued quiet, steady, and uncertain, with a thousand unspoken words lingering between you.

//

a/n: the ending is definitely rushed #sorry 😞 (& yes, reader is a bad partner & i did that on purpose only because they’re almost never the bad person. 🫣) #first time writing this much in one fic so if it’s bad i’m sorry 👉👈

❌proofread

masterlist.

[taglist: @lovesunshinefelix, @hanniebunch.]