#but from what i can tell that’s not what defenders of this genre want

[marshmellowtea]

the more i read about cozy horror the more i understand why people fucking hate the idea of this being considered a “genre”

[trans-leek-cookie]

someone talking about the ways media and common tropes/depictions of things that are either explicitly or implicitly linked to marginalized people are demonized and presented badly is not a fucking opportunity for you to flex how you're doing it Differently And Better

[the-sunflower-room]

scared half to death

🌪️tyler owens x fem!reader 

☆ genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers

☆ wc: 2.7k

☆ summary: tyler owens is not easily angered, but when the love of his life runs into an incoming tornado without a second thought, his emotions get the better of him.

☆ warnings: a very upset tyler, yelling, language

note: so i watched twisters and it was actually everything to me! the brainrot is bad and i’ve been wanting to write for tyler ever since i saw it, so here it is! this is very much the idiots in love trope because it’s one of my favorites. enjoy! :)

“Where is she?”

Tyler isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this angry before. He considers himself a fairly easy going man, always quick to make light of a situation and put everyone in the room at ease with his charming, joking nature.

But this was different. This had his heart pounding, his ears ringing. His face is flushed red and he feels like he can hardly breathe.

All because of her.

He slams the door of his truck, approaching his crew in the gas station parking lot with a look on his face that’s so completely un-Tyler that it makes them all shift uneasily.

“Where’s…who?” Boone tries weakly, unsuccessful in his attempt to play dumb. Lily rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare.

Tyler clenches his jaw, for once not in the mood for his friends’ antics. “You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

They all exchange glances, his uncharacteristic demeanor both surprising and concerning. This isn’t the calm, charismatic frontman of the Tornado Wranglers they’re used to.

“She’s in the RV, but I don’t think-” Dani begins, but he’s already beelining for the camper before they can finish. He can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears as he nearly bursts through the door, finding her sitting at the small table in the back with her head in her hands.

Her gaze snaps up at the sound of his entrance into the RV, and her face immediately drops when she sees him practically fuming. “Tyler-” she says urgently, instantly on her feet as he approaches as if she’s about to defend herself. But he isn’t having any of it.

“You wanna tell me what the hell you were thinking out there?” He seethes, suddenly towering over her with his jaw clenched and hands on his hips. She swallows thickly, nervous around this version of him. Terrified to have upset him, disappointed him.

“Tyler, I promise, I was just trying to do the right thing-” she starts again, her tone practically pleading, but he just scoffs. 

“The right thing?” He questions in disbelief, cutting her off with a shake of his head. “You call nearly getting yourself killed in the field ‘doing the right thing’?”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the reminder of what she’d done, at the venom in his voice that’s ordinarily so gentle when directed at her. Memories of what had transpired nearly 20 minutes ago flood her mind and she feels a lump forming in her throat.

“I couldn’t let our data get lost,” she whispers weakly, her gaze glued to the floor in shame. “Bullshit,” he mutters, jaw clenched as his breath picks up. His eyes search her face, grasping to understand why the hell she had risked her life the way she had.

“You don’t run into the path of an incoming EF3 to recover some stupid equipment for our disruption research,” he practically spits, his voice growing louder, more emotional.

“That equipment is completely replaceable. You sure as hell aren’t. So I want to know why on god’s green earth you thought it was a good idea to run headfirst into danger like that.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes welling up with unshed tears at the reminder of her brashness. She feels ashamed and almost embarrassed as Tyler practically berates her.

They were best friends, a pair that the rest of the team liked to call the “dynamic duo.” With a shared passion for tornadoes and a taste for danger, they had instantly clicked from the moment they met during a chase a few years ago, becoming inseparable. Which is why Tyler’s harsh reminder of her stupidity stung so painfully.

She wasn’t used to hearing him so upset, so emotional in the worst way. With her, his tone was always soft, teasing, sometimes so overtly flirty that it would leave her heart pounding and her cheeks flushed.

But this was different. Now his gaze was harsh, curses unnaturally tumbling from his lips as she struggled to explain herself. And she hated every moment of his scrutinizing stare.

“You’ve worked so hard on putting together the equipment for the disruption research. I didn’t want you to have to start from scratch…not after all the effort you went through,” she explains pathetically, her voice cracking slightly as her emotions begin to shine through.

Tyler shakes his head, stepping even closer into her space. “And you thought it was worth risking your life for?” He grits out, his furrowed brow and downturned lips looking so unnatural on his normally smiling face.

Another shuddering breath escapes her as she catches herself from revealing the true reason she’d been so careless, from baring her soul and telling him that she’d run into the path of an incoming tornado because she loved him more than anything. That the thought of his disappointed face, his devastation over months of work lost to an unpredictably large tornado, hurt her so much that she would have done anything to save that equipment.

Anything to make him happy, to be the hero that he was to her.

“I- I didn’t get hurt, I knew I had time to get at least some of it-” she stammers, but she can’t get the words out.

“You didn’t have time!” He practically yells, gripping her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. His eyes are wide, his gaze burning as he stares down at her.

“If Boone hadn’t been close by with his truck, you could’ve easily not made it. You could’ve died,” he chokes out, his grip on her tightening. His eyes are watering now, his anger fizzling out into something more desperate, more panicked.

Tyler still remembers the pure, unadulterated fear he’d felt as she slipped out of the safety of his truck before he could stop her, sprinting out into the open field where the winds and torrential rain were getting worse by the second.

He remembers the devastated scream of her name that had ripped itself from his chest, lost to the howling winds.

He sure as hell can’t forget the feeling of overwhelming fear and helplessness that overtook him when the rain became so intense that he could not longer see her, no longer assure himself that she hadn’t been sucked up into the raging funnel or hurt by the flying debris.

It was only when he got radio confirmation from Boone five minutes later, stating that she was safe in their truck with some of the equipment intact, that he even knew she was alive.

It had been the most hopeless, terrifying five minutes of his life.

“Don’t you understand what you mean to everyone? What you mean to me?” He rasps, his voice quieter now, more broken. “Some stupid equipment for an experiment isn’t worth your life, Y/N. Not in the least.”

His eyes are tender now as they rake over her face, scanning the scrapes and cuts littering her cheeks, the patch of dried blood clinging to her temple. His heart aches at the thought of her getting hurt, even if the injuries are small.

She notices that nearly all of his anger has left his body, replaced by the emotion that had truly been brewing beneath the surface: crippling fear at the possibility of losing her.

A silent tear runs down her face at his softer, more vulnerable words, her heart breaking as she realizes the effect her thoughtless actions have had on the man she loves. He’s quick to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on her cheek as he gazes at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she chokes back a sob. In an instant, he’s enveloping her in his tight, comforting hold, cradling her head to his chest and pulling her so close to him that their bodies are practically molded together.

“Shhh…it’s alright, sweetheart,” he gently hushes, his hand stroking through her hair as she cries softly against him. He’s back to himself now, all anger and frustration long abandoned in favor of his naturally calm, caring demeanor. Through her tears, she feels herself flushing slightly at his term of endearment.

“I’m the sorry one. I shouldn’t have yelled at ya, you didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs into her ear, his arms tightening around her.

He internally berates himself for defaulting to anger when she had also probably been scared and upset. But thinking she had died in that tornado just for attempting to recover his equipment had struck something so deep within him that his brain had reacted irrationally.

He stews in his remorse for a moment longer before admitting a truth that might be a little too vulnerable, a little too revealing of his deep and unwavering love for her, but he has to get it off his chest.

“…You just scared me half to death, darlin’. I can’t lose you...I can’t. It would tear me apart worse than a damn tornado ever could.” His whispered words are so raw and tinged with devastation that her breath hitches against his chest.

Slowly, she peels herself away from his comforting embrace to get a good look at him, and what she finds makes her heart clench in her chest. 

His eyes are red and glassy, obvious signs that he’d been crying. His muscles are taught with anxiety, like every fiber in his body had been tense ever since she fled his truck. His hair is slightly tousled and she instantly knows he’d been running his hand through it the way he does when he’s stressed.

The thought that she could cause him this much worry, this much pain, sucks the breath from her lungs and makes her feel dizzy.

“I only tried to save the equipment because I knew how important the research was to you,” she whispers, her voice still shaky but full of sincerity.

“I know how much it means to you, finding a way to keep these tornadoes from causing so much damage to innocent lives. I just- I wanted to do something brave and selfless for you, the way you always have for me,” she admits softly, swallowing as she meets his gaze.

His lips part slightly at her admission, the reverence in her words staggering. Hearing that she cares for him, finds him brave and selfless, wants to return the way he makes her feel, fills his heart with a love so deep he feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Y/N, you’re-” he rasps, pausing to clear his throat when he hears how raw and weak his voice sounds.

“You’re so damn sweet. Your heart is so big. That’s what I love about you. But please, don’t be as stupid as me. I throw myself headfirst into danger so much because I don’t think first…my judgement gets clouded by the thought of helping someone and I get tunnel vision. Which has put me in one too many potentially life-ending scenarios,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing her slightly as they rest on her shoulders.

“I can’t- I won’t let you be that careless. You mean too much to me.”

Her eyes widen at the tenderness in his voice, the affection and worry dripping from every word. It feels like their conversation is breaching on something deeper, something much more vulnerable and terrifying.

Her mind is hung up on his soft that’s what I love about you. Even hearing the word love directed at her from the mouth of Tyler Owens makes her head spin and her face heat up, and she’s unsure if she’s even breathing anymore.

“Tyler…” she manages, her voice threatening to break with the overwhelming swirl of emotions running through her. She can’t help herself, knows that she’s finally going to put it out there, tell him how she feels no matter how scary it might be.

“I love-” his lips are on hers before she can even finish. The sensation of Tyler kissing her is unlike anything she’s ever felt, and she’s damn sure she never wants him to stop.

His large hand tenderly cups her cheek while the other snakes into her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands as he pulls her even closer. She gasps softly as his grip tightens, his lips moving against her own with an almost feral desperation.

The salt from her tears mixes with his sweet taste – something like honey and peppermint – and she melts further into him and his warmth. She can feel him pour every ounce of his turbulent, pent-up emotions into the kiss, and it leaves her completely breathless.

He’s waited for this moment for so long, and after thinking he’d lost her today, he’d be content to just kiss her like this for the rest of time. Reassuring himself that’s she’s still there, that she’s his. Showing her what she means to him.

Finally getting a grip on his emotions, Tyler pulls away for a moment, wanting to make sure he hasn’t misread the signs, misinterpreted what he’d felt brewing between them for so long.

But a wide, disbelieving grin spreads across her face as she fights to catch her breath, and he suddenly has no doubt that she’s been his all along.

“I’ve been waiting for that for- well, I don’t even know how long,” she laughs breathlessly, slightly woozy from his intoxicating taste.

He huffs a laugh in return, his eyes shining with an overwhelming adoration for the woman before him. “Yeah…I think Boone might owe Dexter and Lily some money,” he jokes softly, his thumb gently brushing her rain-soaked hair away from her face.

His eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her muddy clothes, her scraped up hands, the shallow cut on her temple. Regret courses through him at the way he’d raised his voice at her, even if it had been out of fear of losing her.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” He murmurs, his voice lower and more serious than before. She gently nods, her hand moving to rest on top of his own as it cups her face.

“I’m ok, promise. It’s just a little scrape from slipping in the mud,” she reassures him, sensing his lingering gaze on her slightly bloodied face. She can practically feel the apprehension in his stare, his constant worry for her well-being so endearing that she just wants to kiss him again and again.

“I promise, Ty. And I swear, I won’t do anything like that again. I just got lost in the moment and didn’t think before acting.” He nods slowly, letting the sincerity in her voice wash over her and comfort his racing mind. 

“You’d better not,” he teases softly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “If we’re doing this thing, no more running headfirst into tornadoes, you hear? Can’t have my girl acting like an irrational daredevil like me. I’ve been told she’s smarter than that.”

She feels herself blushing as he calls her his girl, the title rolling off his tongue so naturally that it makes her heart skip a beat. Tyler watches as a hearty laugh escapes her and she leans into his touch, his own smile growing wider.

Suddenly nothing else has ever mattered beyond this moment of her in his arms, blushing and laughing like he’s the funniest damn man in the world.

“Ok, alright,” she giggles with feigned exasperation. “No more running into tornado paths, I swear. Wrangler’s honor. But you have to swear it too. You’re an adrenaline junkie and a trouble maker, even more than I am.”

He chuckles at her playful jab, his body feeling lighter than it has all day as he finally lets the tension within him fade. She’s safe, he tells himself over and over. She’s alive, she’s teasing him like she always does, and she’s got him smiling like a damn fool.

“Baby,” he mutters with that teasing glint in his eye, “you need to get my head checked if I ever run away from you and into a tornado. No man in his right mind would leave a gorgeous thing like you for some wind.”

Before she can reply to his ridiculous comment, he captures her lips once more with his own, relishing in the way she smiles against him as he pulls her closer.

This is all Tyler’s ever wanted - all he’s ever needed. Just her, safe and sound, loving him in all his flaws and worry for her.

If her running into that damn field led to this moment, this reality where she’s finally his, then so be it. He’s never been more grateful for a tornado.

[parfaitblogs]

state of grace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your cat has taken liking to your friend with benefits, and you begin to battle with the consequential feelings. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff (18+ for suggestive content) tags: established friends with benefits. reader has a cat. your cat likes him more than you :(  avoidant!reader for like a teensie second. it's okay happy ending. the happiest possible ending actually. fade to black. word count: 1.9k a/n: sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things. like a cat. :) im a dog person. idk why i wrote this.

Seventeen times.

That is how many times Spencer Reid had found residence at your apartment in the past month alone, taking up the space on the other side of your bed. Thirteen of those times he had stayed the night. Six of those times, he had come for sex. The other eleven? He had come because you needed a friend. 

Or, rather, your cat did. 

You had discovered you weren't any more complex than your average man, at the end of the day. Human beings are at their core created to love and be loved, and by extension, to want and be wanted. You wanted Spencer, and you were wanted by Spencer. For both your friendship, and the intimacy your relationship provided. 

But you did not love him, and he did not love you. 

Cat's are anything but fickle creatures. A lot of your best friendships were centred around whether or not your cat developed a liking to the person or not. Oftentimes, your fleeting relationships came down to the odd sixth sense the animal had for disliking the worst people. That, and your one night stands were never a crowd favourite within the walls of your apartment. And yet; Spencer Reid. 

He was nothing short of charming. In a sort of dorky way, yes. But whatever socially romantic skills he lacked, he most certainly made up for by giving you the best of just about everything in bed. A small part of you wants to claim it's human instinct to know how to worship the person meant for you, but the logical reason is probably his eidetic memory knowing exactly what he's doing after a singular trial run. Entertaining the thought of being his soulmate was not a wise choice.

He most certainly was your cat's, though. The Ragdoll always jumping down to greet him the second he stepped foot in your apartment, usually resulting in the break of a kiss and a five minute intermission before the two of you could do anything. 

At first, it was an inconvenience. Your cat had never taken such a liking to a person you'd brought home before, and it was jarring to watch a man you were partially trying to undress, stop everything to pet your cat. Now, it is simply endearing. You've stopped trying to steal Spencer's attention before the cat does, and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer's priority list will always be the feline, then you. 

Today was, seemingly, no different. Despite the dull ache between your legs and the fact that this visit had started as something as obscene as Spencer calling from his work bathroom to ask if he could come over after for he was, and you quote, in dire need to touch you (among many other things), whatever those needs were, were put on hold. 

You smile regardless, leaning against the edge of your couch as he crouches down to meet Po — yes, like the panda — his hand immediately reaching out for the cat to run his head along. 

Spencer's head lifts to look at you. "Morgan thinks Po isn't a real cat, and we've just got a name for your—um—" his brain catches up to his mouth mid sentence, and he's stammering his way to silence. 

"Please tell me you defended my cat's honour," you retort.

"I did! I even showed him the photo I took of him while you were in the shower last week. He thinks it's a different person's cat."

You shake your head in disapproval. "Unbelievable. Your coworker thinks we've named my pussy."

"That's just Morgan."

"I wish Po could speak English. Then he could hear this nonsense, and stop loving you more than me," you grumble, and Spencer's lips twitch up into a smile, as he situates himself on the floor, the cat climbing into his lap.

"Actually, he technically can. Cat's can understand up to thirty-five words in whatever language you train them in. Also, when they meow, they begin trying to mimic the sound of certain human words. It's their vocal tract that prevents them from literally speaking English," he explains.

But, you're too invested in the way his long fingers are delicately running through the cat's hair, to both respond, and really pay any attention at all.

You had had fleeting thoughts about real feelings for Spencer two months ago. Brushing them off as loneliness and your need to satiate the hopeless romantic within you, you'd forgotten about it up until this recent week.

He'd been over every single day, sometimes for sex, oftentimes for a movie and dinner (which was usually a bowl of pasta you had overestimated while cooking). And every single time, you'd developed an overwhelming anxious pit in your stomach when watching him interact with Po, your heart fluttering the entire time, mind running rampant on domestic thoughts you should be squashing. 

Should be, but weren't. 

You'd tried to put it down to the motherly instinct you had over the animal. Seeing somebody else treat him with as much love and care as you did was endearing — it wasn't a Spencer Reid specific trait. Yet, here you were. 

"I feel like the benefits of this relationship have changed," you say, seating yourself in front of Spencer on the floor, Po lifting his head to look at the person behind the sudden movement, before he let it rest back on Spencer's thigh. 

"To what?"

"My cat," you huff, and Spencer laughs.

"He is my favourite benefit thus far," he muses. 

"The feeling is definitely mutual," you nod your head to Po, whose eyes were now shut, seemingly quite comfortable disregarding all your personal plans and taking Spencer's attention.

"Animals don't usually like me," he comments. "I don't know why Po is different."

Oh, you had a few ideas why.

"Maybe he's exercising the keep your enemies closer life motto," you offer, and Spencer's eyebrows shoot up in faux offence. 

"This is unadulterated love," he protests. "He does not think of me as an enemy."

"That's what he wants you to believe," you hum, pushing yourself up on your legs. "Well, since plans have been rudely interrupted, do you want some dinner?" 

"Sure," he answers, though his attention is back on Po. Clearly so, for he says, "I'll get to our original plans after we eat, don't worry," almost absentmindedly.

It's the kind of thing that makes you forget you're in the room with the dictionary definition of a nerd. You know it's only because sometimes he says what he is thinking without thinking. It doesn't do anything to help the ongoing internal battle about your feelings for him. 

Or maybe he does know exactly what he's doing.

"You should get a cat," you say, heading into your kitchen to find something for the two of you to eat. "You seem to like them enough."

"Why? I have yours."

"I'm not going to be around forever," you reply, unthinking. "I mean, one day we're gonna have to end this because the other has found someone they want to be with. Properly. It wouldn't be fair to keep a friendship."

He falls silent, and when you lift your head, you see he's staring at you with an almost confused frown on his face, which triggers your own confusion to appear. His scratching of Po's head has been interrupted, and you're starting to question what was wrong about what you had said. 

Sure, you're pretty sure you have feelings for him, but as far as you knew, they were one sided. Right?

"I didn't—I thought—" he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, then continues. "I thought that had changed this past month."

"What do you mean?"

"I just—I've been here for things other than sex a lot. I thought you knew I liked you, and you were subtly trying to tell me you liked me too. I'm starting to sense I misread that."

For a profiler, he was incredibly awful at reading you. 

"Yeah..." You slowly nod your head, but it's the deepening of his frown that has you rushing to add, "I mean, I—I do. Like you. I'm kind of embarrassed that was obvious. But I didn't think you liked me outside of having sex with me. I wasn't trying to communicate my feelings. I was trying to hide them."

"Oh," he falls silent again. "So the times I’ve been here in the past month weren’t makeshift dates?"

"They weren't intended that way..." you trail off. "Did you see them as dates?"

"Kind of, I guess," he's back to running his fingers through Po's fur, just to keep his anxious hands busy. "They don't have to be, if you don't want them to. I just thought this feeling was mutual and we were... I guess, dating."

"The feeling is mutual," you quickly correct him. "I know that now. I didn't think we were dating because I didn't think you liked me back. Changing our relationship kind of needs to be a conversation."

"Right," he breathes out, an awkward smile painting his lips. "Is this the conversation, then?"

"I guess?"

"So now we're dating."

"If that's what you want," you nod, head feeling a little fuzzy.

"Is it what you want?" he presses. Always the gentleman.

"Maybe," you muse, leaning forwards against the kitchen countertop. 

He's watching you, and for a second you let the silence fall over you, fearful that you've just discouraged him enough to ruin things between you. He carefully takes Po off his lap, the cat running into your room the second his paws hit the hardwood floor, and he's standing up to move over to you. 

"I don't like maybe," he frowns. "Yes or no?"

You blink, realising he was evidently too anxious of your genuine response to have any recognition to your poor attempt of a joke. 

"Yes, Spencer. That's what I want," you're breathless as you speak, and you're thankful for the relieved smile that stretches across his lips.

"That's what I want too," he answers. 

"Yeah, I figured." Your second attempt at a tease lands, and he huffs a small laugh, which warms your heart. "Do you still want dinner?"

He had somehow gotten closer to you throughout the awkward enough conversation, and he was sliding his arms around your waist. Something he had done many times before, yes, and yet this time it was feeling much more intimate, and your heart was thrumming against your chest a little harder than usual. 

"Maybe it can wait?" he offers, ducking his head down, lips ghosting over your own. "I don't have a bothersome cat keeping me preoccupied from you, now."

Despite yourself, you poke a finger into his chest and say, "Don't insult Po."

"I'm not. Just merely stating an obvious fact."

"I'll call him back in here to preoccupy me."

"He has selective hearing. And he likes me more than you."

Your lips drop into a frown, lower lip jutting out, and Spencer is quick to try and kiss it off within seconds of noticing it. 

"I'm sorry. That was mean. I promise he doesn't like me more than you," he says, though his voice is too amused to be entirely sincere. 

"That was mean," you agree with a firm nod. "You're very mean to me, Spencer Reid."

"I know, I'm awful. Can I make it up to you, sweet girl?"

Well, when he asks you like that.

"Mm..." you hesitate, but he's already guiding you around, walking you backwards, through your apartment and towards your bedroom. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hands that were around your waist hike your shirt up, his lips still kissing against your skin despite the intense multitasking he was forcing upon the two of you.

"Thank you."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[domjaehyun]

the boy is mine (l.dh) — part one

PAIRING. haechan x fem!reader (also jeno x reader) GENRES. smut, angst WORD COUNT. 19k CONTENTS. infidelity, alcohol & weed consumption (MC is a non-smoker if that matters to you), explicit smut (dirty talk, fingering, finger sucking, oral (receiving), rimming (receiving), groping/frottage, marking, spit play, (brief) ear play, breast play, creampies/unprotected sex (if you explicitly need me, a stranger on the internet, to tell you not to fuck raw, you are not responsible enough to be reading this. move along now), snowballing, public sex, car sex, riding, bratty dom-leaning switch!haechan, bratty sub-leaning switch!reader, sweet dom!jeno, face riding, handjob, overstimulation (receiving), praise kink (receiving), light degradation kink (giving), mating press, morning sex) NOTES. welcome back to meeeeeeee!!! i hope you enjoy this fic because i worked very hard on it!! please leave feedback if you liked it :) i would also greatly appreciate tips if you really liked it :3 THANK YOU LIKE THE HUUUUUGEST THANK YOU TO BRI (@jalitepng) FOR BETA READING THIS BIG OL FIC :D PLAYLIST. the boy is mine - ariana grande // fantasize - ariana grande (unreleased) // lowkey (feat. erykah badu) - teyana taylor // agora hills - doja cat // pussy is mine - miguel // softest touch - khalid // cut - tori kelly // seatbelt - josh levi // often - doja cat // surrender - nbdy

how can it be you and me? might be meant to be, can’t unsee it but i don’t wanna cause no scene i’m usually so unproblematic, so independent, tell me why ‘cause the boy is mine.

You suppose your fate was sealed from the beginning. 

Even as you’re riding in the passenger seat of Yunjin’s car as she speeds down the freeway, your heart filled with a relief and fulfillment you haven’t had for the past six months, you can’t help but feel like something’s… lacking.

“So, spill,” you hear Seulgi pipe up from the backseat. “How many little British boy hearts did you break on your little Oxford trip?”

“Who says I broke any hearts?!” you exclaim with an incredulous laugh, and everyone in the car turns and gives you the same unimpressed look. “Oh, that was creepy. Did y’all plan that?”

“You were gone for six whole months and you want us to believe you got up to no romantic shenanigans? Hm?” Seulgi asks, narrowing her eyes at you, and you narrow yours right back.

“I didn’t break any hearts!” you defend yourself, and Chaewon sighs.

“Did you stow away a cute British boy in your carry-on?” she asks, and you make a face.

“Certainly not.” 

“Then there’s a broken heart floating around in Oxford as we speak!” Chaewon insists, and you scowl.

“Let me out right here.” you mutter, turning to open the door on the freeway, laughing as the other inhabitants of the car gasp and shriek in alarm. “I’m joking!” 

“You’re crazy, that's what you are.” Yunjin clarifies, and you giggle.

“I was having a laugh.” you say unapologetically. “Anyway, I didn’t really get up to too much in Oxford, really. I was focused on studying, I guess.”

“Oh, lame!” Seulgi boos, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m here now, though, so the hot girl spring and summer can commence!” you say happily, and your friends cheer. 

“Winter just texted asking if we got you off the plane okay,” Chaewon announces, and you shake your head.

“Tell her my seatbelt got stuck and wouldn’t let me out and so they took me back to England.” you suggest, and Yunjin snickers.

“Tell her the pilot got confused and took her to the wrong New York. If she asks what other New York, just be like, ‘the other one?’” she adds on, and Chaewon snorts.

“You’re both terrible.” she laughs as she types in a response.

“What’d you tell her?” Seulgi asks.

“That she got held back for getting her bag searched and they found five kilos of cocaine. So they took her out back and made her snort all of it as punishment and now she’s running amok in the city like Cocaine Bear. She’ll beat us back to the house.” 

“And we’re terrible?!” you exclaim indignantly.

“Well, yes.” Chaewon replies calmly. “Mine is obviously a lie.”

“Wh— My seatbelt getting stuck isn’t an obvious lie?” you splutter. 

“Well, that could actually happen!” she defends, and you blink at her incredulously.

“I didn’t expect the lesbian to forget that scissors exist.”

Chaewon’s jaw drops and she jabs a finger in your direction. “Homophobe!” She turns to Seulgi for support, but Seulgi just shakes her head.

“You’re alone in this one, Chae,” Seulgi giggles. “I laughed, I’m sorry.”

“Man, this is some bullshit.” Chaewon grumbles. “You’re supposed to have my back! We’re… we’re sapphic sistren!”

“You actually did not just say that.” Seulgi marvels. “Sapphic sistren is crazy.”

“I had to pull the gay card to win.” Chaewon says with a shrug. “I’m not sorry.”

“Can we get back on topic, please?” Yunjin laughs incredulously. “Jesus, it’s like if you put squirrels on a podcast.”

“We should make a podcast, actually.” Seulgi suggests, and you nod.

“We could call it ‘That’s Nuts,’” you say excitedly.

Chaewon snorts. “I’m in.”

Yunjin beeps her horn loudly, garnering all of your attention as you all jump in surprise. “We’re outside all spring and summer, right?”

“Well, after work, yeah.” you agree, and she smiles, nodding.

“I don’t want to hear you missed out on a fun fling or opportunity because you were busy working.” Yunjin jabs her finger at you accusingly, and your hands fly up defensively.

“In my defense, doing my job is way less risky than taking chances romantically.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Yunjin complains. “Live, girl!”  

“There are gonna be cute guys at the party, obviously. So I will live!” you insist, and Yunjin nods.

“That’s more like it.”

Returning to your thoughts for a moment, it dawns on you that romantic excitement is exactly what you’re lacking. You want to love; you want to love someone and be loved by that someone and for that love to be something beautiful and consuming, and you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to have to wait. 

You’re in the middle of making a mental pact with yourself to be just a bit more daring, a tad more forward and bold when it comes to love, when Seulgi and Chaewon laugh loudly at something on one of their phones, snapping you out of your internal monologue, and you shift in your seat, turning to face them.

“I can’t believe you guys left your whole apartment unattended during a house party just to welcome me home,” you sniff dramatically, and Seulgi snorts.

“Anything for you, my friend.” she replies with a playful crinkle of her nose, and you reach out to pinch it lightly.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s completely unattended! Winter’s there.” Chaewon points out, and you raise your eyebrows skeptically.

“Right… what is her non-confrontational ass gonna do if something goes wrong?” you ask, and Seulgi winces.

“Good point. Maybe step on it, Yunjin.” 

“I’m already going twenty over the speed limit!” she exclaims defensively.

“You’re not even exaggerating,” Chaewon half-gasps, half-laughs as she leans forward to look at the speedometer. “We might make it there quicker, but we might not make it there safely.”

“We are here for a good time!” Yunjin yells, whipping her hair around excitedly. “Not a long time!”

“Deeply concerning words coming from our driver.” Seulgi snickers quietly, and you nod, turning back to sit in your seat properly. “So…”

You peer at her through the rearview mirror curiously. “So?”

“I’m just imagining Jeno’s reaction when he sees you again for the first time.” She shrugs with a faint teasing smile, and you can feel your cheeks warming as a small smile starts to tug at your lips.

Jeno’s had a thing for you for the past… year and a half—at least, that you’re aware of—and you won’t lie, he’s definitely easy on the eyes and a sweetheart to top it all off. Before you went away to Oxford, you two had built up a bit of a flirtationship that neither of you tried to push further because of your study abroad trip you had planned.

Now, however, you’re back, and you’re admittedly excited to see if it leads to something worthwhile. 

“He’ll probably do that little crescent-eyed smile he always does when you spare him a crumb of attention.” Chaewon supplies as you’re lost in thought, and you roll your eyes as Yunjin nods knowingly.

“I’m willing to bet he’s gonna try to be glued to your side all night.” she adds, and you sigh loudly and dramatically.

“You guys are really something else, you know that?”

“You love it!” Chaewon says confidently, and you can’t help but smile fondly, nodding in agreement.

“I kinda do.”

Yunjin spares you a sideways glance that lingers for suspiciously long on your frame, and you raise an eyebrow.

“My eyes are up here.” you joke, waving a hand in her line of sight, “and, more importantly, the road is over there.” She chuckles and relents, refocusing her attention on the road, but she has that telltale look on her face that usually means she has something on her mind. “What are you thinking about?”

“Well—not that I’m judging at all, because, you know… live your life, girl.” Yunjin pipes up, and you turn to look at her, curiously awaiting the rest of her thought. “But are you gonna wear that to the party?”

You look down at your comfortable sweats and hoodie, perfect airport attire, and look back up at Yunjin with a playful frown. “What, is this not cute enough?”

“Well…” she trails off, and Seulgi pops her head forward between the front two car seats.

“No! It’s not a good enough outfit! You’re the guest of honor at your own welcome home party, and you have to come harder than some cozy gray sweats with a hole by the ankle.” Seulgi scolds, and you roll your eyes with an amused smile.

“Obviously I’m not going to wear this to the party, girl.” you laugh, and Seulgi sighs in relief. “I was just messing with you.”

“Well, cut it out! You know I’m gullible.” She frowns, and you reach into the backseat to pat her hand comfortingly.

“All the more reason to mess with you, my love.” you reply with a deceptively innocent smile. “Anyway, when we get back home, I have to shower and freshen up and change into my actual outfit. I also have to sort out the presents I brought back for everyone and make sure Jeno’s cake is still in good shape.”

“I still can’t believe you baked him a cake,” Chaewon marvels. “It’s giving domestic. Housewife, even.”

“Martha Stewart found jobless,” Seulgi adds, and you snort.

“I know this is his favorite type of cake, so I just… thought I’d make it for him.” you mumble quietly with a small, dismissive shrug.

“That is very cute to me,” Yunjin says reassuringly before punching the horn roughly and making the rest of the three of you jump in surprise. “Stupid fucker doesn’t know how to use his turn signal?!”

“Yunjin, calm down,” you advise, patting her knee gently.

“I am calm,” she replies, her tone level, and you pull your hand back, still eying her suspiciously. Sure enough, as she drives by the driver that failed to use his turn signal, she rolls her window down and yells out a string of expletives that makes Chaewon gasp in horror.

As Yunjin rolls her window back up and turns the radio up, you sit back and smile, thinking about how happy you are to be back at home.

You get home an entire eight minutes before your initial ETA, making Yunjin grin proudly when you make the announcement. 

After your friends help you bring your luggage up to your apartment, you go into the bathroom to freshen up. After the extensive process that was showering, brushing your teeth, reapplying your skincare and makeup, and applying lotion and getting dressed, you emerge, fresh-faced and victorious, into your living room where your friends lie sprawled on your couch as they wait for you. The only eyesore about your appearance is the large sack you’re carrying of presents you brought back for your friends.

“I’m ready!” you chirp happily, and Yunjin is the first to look up from her phone at you, eyes taking in your casual and comfortable yet cute attire before she nods appreciatively.

“It’s giving Santa Claus,” Seulgi chuckles, gesturing at your large bag slung over your shoulder.

“Ho, ho, ho,” you drawl with an amused roll of your eyes.  

“Stop it, Seulgi,” Chaewon scolds before focusing her gaze on you. “You look cute! Bet you-know-who’s gonna be all over you.” she says with a teasing grin, and you roll your eyes despite smiling before you set the bag down and set about getting out your gifts for your friends that are present.

You hand Yunjin a wrapped box of gorgeous shoes from an England-exclusive boutique and she sets about unwrapping it, her eyes widening with excitement as she reveals the present inside.

“Holy shit?” she gasps, gaping at the shoes. “These are perfect!”

“They’re so you,” you agree with a proud nod. “I saw them one day through a window while I was walking down the street and had to stop in and get them for you.”

“My turn, my turn!” Chaewon exclaims eagerly, bouncing in place as you root through your large sack and pull out a small wrapped box, which you hand to Chaewon carefully. She squeals in excitement once she’s opened the present, leaping up and engulfing you in a tight hug. “My perfume! I thought they discontinued it!”

“They stopped selling it in the States, but I managed to track down a store that still had some in stock, so I got you a couple—y’know, so you wouldn’t run out.” you say, smiling, and she beams at you.

“You’re the best.” she says seriously, looking you directly in the eyes to drive home her sincerity.

“I try,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug before reaching into the bag once more and pulling out one last present for Seulgi, wiggling the box at her invitingly. 

“For moi?” she asks with feigned surprise, a hand to her chest.

“Indeed,” you confirm with a grin, and she sits forward, taking the gift from your hand and opening it up.

“Oh, my God.” she exhales in shock, staring down at the designer earrings and bracelet set. “These look expensive as fuck.”

“They kinda were,” you admit sheepishly. “All of your gifts were a pretty penny, actually, but you guys definitely deserve them. Those really spoke to me, and I thought they’d look gorgeous on you.”

“Thank you, my love,” Seulgi coos affectionately, standing up to engulf you in a hug. Yunjin and Chaewon join in a brief moment after, the four of you hugging tightly for a lingering, blissful moment.

“You’re all very welcome. Are we ready to go now?” you say, changing the subject with ease even as your voice is muffled into Seulgi’s shoulder, and Seulgi pulls back immediately with an emphatic nod. 

“Ready as ever! Our fridge has snacks that are calling to me from over here.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” you scoff in amusement as you all head to your front door and file out after each other.

“Must have gotten it from hanging out around you.” she replies with playfully narrowed eyes in your direction.

“Oh, really?” you challenge, biting back a laugh, and she nods, puffing out her chest comically as she chest-bumps you on purpose. “Assaulting me in the middle of my apartment complex is actually wild and unheard of, and you will be hearing from my attorney.”

“Bring it on, baby!” she urges, and Yunjin rolls her eyes in poorly concealed amusement as you two start to giggle at your antics, the sounds of mirth ringing out in the lobby as you exit the elevator.

“You two are so strange,” she remarks in wonder. “But later for that. Onto more pressing matters!”

“Such as?” you question, holding the door open for Chaewon to follow behind you into the street. 

“How long will it take us to get from our house to yours?” Yunjin asks, pulling out her phone to search for it, but Chaewon seems to be one step ahead, already focused on her phone screen.

“The travel time from here to our house,” she announces loudly, squinting at her phone momentarily, “is roughly twenty minutes.” You all stand around Yunjin’s car at your respective doors, waiting for Yunjin to unlock the car so you can get in.

“Hm, yeah? Why so long?” Yunjin asks curiously as she moves to look over Chaewon’s shoulder. “Traffic, huh? …I bet I can shave that time down to fifteen minutes.” Her eyes glint with excitement as she presses her car door remote, the sudden and loud beep-beep of the doors unlocking making you and Seulgi flinch for a moment.

“Dear Lord, help us all,” Seulgi mumbles as you all climb into Yunjin’s car, strapping in before she peels out of her parking space and zooms into the night. 

True to her word, Yunjin precariously shaves six minutes off your travel time and you pull up to Chaewon’s and Seulgi’s apartment earlier than anticipated, exhilarated and pumped full of adrenaline. 

“Are you excited to be back at La Casa Payasa?” Seulgi asks with a smile, and you nod with a relieved sigh.

“It’s just like I remember it.” you hum fondly as you head up to their door and bring your fist to the door, only getting to knock once before the door swings open and Mark throws himself at you for a hug.

You catch him with a surprised laugh, stumbling back from the impact slightly but returning the tight hug nonetheless. He tucks his face into your neck and mumbles something that you can’t hear, prompting you to pull back slightly.

“I didn’t hear a word you said,” you chuckle, and he pulls back as well so you can see his bright smile.

“I missed you so much,” he repeats, and you coo fondly, pulling him back into the hug. 

“I missed you, too!” you chirp warmly, squeezing him in the hug for good measure. When you two pull apart, Chenle’s standing beside Mark and grinning at you. “Hey, Chenle!” 

“Hey, stranger,” he teases, pulling you into a hug of his own. “Long time, huh? Let’s hear that British accent you developed over there.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you reply in your best British impression, and he bursts out laughing.

“Man, that’s good stuff,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. “We missed you over here!” he complains, moving to swat you on the arm. “Don’t leave again.”

“I’ll do my best to stick around.” you assure him, and he smiles and nods, content.

“Now what’s with this big ass bag you’re carrying, huh? Did you stow away some British goodies for us?” Chenle asks curiously, pinching the fabric of the sack over your shoulder. 

“Something like that,” you say slowly before you set it down and reach inside, handing Chenle and Mark their respective gifts. As they open them, Mark being considerably more careful than Chenle, you wait, hands clasped behind your back and rocking back and forth on your heels.

“How the hell did you get a signed Steph Curry jersey?” Chenle questions, baffled and thrilled, and you shrug with a secretive smile.

“I have my ways.”

“Never mind that—how did you get Frank Ocean himself to sign this album?” Mark asks, downright bewildered, and you shrug again.

“Ways that I have… that are mine.”

“You’re so silly, but this is amazing,” Chenle laughs, hugging you. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” you lilt sweetly, and Mark looks up from the Frank Ocean vinyl again to meet your inquisitive gaze with wide, awestruck eyes.

“You’re incredible. Genuinely.” he stammers, and you smile widely as he pulls you into a hug as well once Chenle’s released you. 

“I do my best,” you reply happily.

“Wait, also, how was your flight? Anything crazy happen?” Chenle asks curiously, and you pause as you think back.

“Actually, yeah; these two guys got into a verbal argument and then one of ‘em was like, ‘I’ll beat everyone’s ass right now!’ Which, objectively, is a crazy thing to say, but crazier to insist when you’re in a metal contraption thousands of feet in the air.” you start explaining, and Chenle’s eyes widen.

“No way,” he mumbles. “Then what?”

“Then he started threatening the flight crew, and I’m pretty sure he got placed on the no-fly list.” you finish with a solemn nod, and Mark gasps.

“I could never imagine never being able to fly again.” he mutters in awe, and you nod in agreement. 

“I know, right? He had it coming, though.” you say, and they shrug, nodding in agreement.

“I guess so,” Mark agrees before his face lights up as he seems to remember something. “Hey, where’s Jeno? He’s been waiting for you to show up.”

“I think he’s with Winter and Haechan right now,” Chenle answers, and you scrunch your face up in confusion.

“Who’s Haechan?” you ask, baffled, before it dawns on you. “Oh, wait, that’s Winter’s new boyfriend?” you ask, and they nod. “I see… well, can’t wait to meet him, I guess.” You shrug indifferently, now craning your head to look around for Jeno. 

You spot him before he spots you, the male standing alone texting on his phone by the couch. As if he can sense you looking, he looks up and his eyes lock on yours a moment later, his entire face brightening up as he starts to make his way over to where you’re standing.

By the time he’s where you are, you’re both sporting excited yet shy smiles as he opens his arms for a hug and you step into it. His arms drop to your waist and you wrap yours around his middle as he squeezes you gently.

“Hey,” he mumbles into the embrace, a smile audible in his voice.

“Hey, there.” you greet.

“Welcome back.”

“Good to be back,” you reply with a little grin.

“Did you have a good flight?” he asks curiously, and you nod.

“Minus a crazy guy on the plane, but it all ended fine,” you assure him, and he looks momentarily bewildered but manages to rein in his reaction.

“That’s good, I think… what seat did you get?” he questions, leaving you somewhat touched by his thoughtful questions. 

“I got a window seat,” you answer with a smile, and he nods in approval. 

“I love a good window seat,” he hums. “Did you watch a movie or nap or something?”

“I napped for a bit, yeah,” you chuckle, suddenly remembering how you’d had a bit of drool dried on your cheek earlier. Subconsciously wiping at the spot, you smile up at him casually. “I’m still a little tired, though.”

He frowns sympathetically before a little hopeful smile appears on his face. “Well, I hope you’re not too tired, because I wanted to give you something.” 

Your eyes widen. “You got me something?” 

He nods shyly. “I got you something. It’s in my car, though, and I parked kinda far, so I have to go get it. Come find me later when I come back so I can give it to you.”

“You got it,” you say with a smile. “I’ll come find you for sure. I actually have something for you, too, so we can trade.”

“Oh, no way! You’re the best.” He beams, squeezing your waist, at which point you realize you two never let go from the hug. Your cheeks on fire, you withdraw your arms from his middle and he does the same to you with an amused chuckle.

“I’m actually gonna go grab something from the kitchen,” you say, jerking a thumb in the direction of the hallway. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m gonna run to the bathroom, actually.” he answers, and you nod before you two go your separate ways. You turn back at the sound of your name to see Jeno looking at you with a soft gaze and an even softer smile that makes you feel like you’re a giggly school girl all over again.

“It’s really good to have you back. It really wasn’t the same without you. Seeing all your Instagram stories gave me a crazy sense of FOMO, and our little phone calls here and there really made me miss you even more,” he says sincerely, and you place a hand over your heart, touched.

“I’m really happy to be back,” you assure him. “I missed you.” His brows flick upwards in surprise at your somewhat bold admission, and you blink twice in mild alarm before continuing in a slight rush with, “I—well, like, I missed you, and Yunjin, and Chae—I missed you all, y’know? The story posts were so you wouldn’t forget about little ol’ me. I loved our phone calls, but it’s so much better getting to talk to you in person.”

He laughs lightheartedly and nods, waving you off reassuringly. “I get you. Go get yourself some snacks! We didn’t stock up on your favorites for some random people to eat it all up before you get any.”

“Copy that,” you say with an emphatic nod, saluting him jokingly before heading to the kitchen.

As you’re making your way to the snacks, you catch the eye of a very handsome stranger leaning against the wall in your hallway talking to one of your friends from work. To your surprise, he doesn’t look away from you as you approach, even going so far as to turn his head as you walk by to keep staring at you. 

You’re not sure if you’re more intrigued by him than by the challenge he’s posed, but you keep eye contact until you get to your kitchen and round the corner to find yourself a snack.

Moments after you’ve entered the room, you feel someone enter behind you, a smile coming to your lips as you realize who it most likely is.

When you turn to face the newcomer, he’s standing surprisingly close to you, his eyes scanning your face with an intrigue and intensity that leaves both of you a little breathless. 

“Hi.” the handsome stranger says as his lips curl into a grin. 

“Hi, there,” you echo, smiling back at him. ”Did you follow me in here?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was fate?”

You pretend to think about it. “By the way you watched me walk in here… no.”

He chuckles. “Fair. I had to ask you a question.”

“Luckily for you, I love questions.” you hum, placing both hands on the counter behind you and leaning against it in a silent invitation not only to ask his question, but also to approach.

Thankfully for you, he does both, stepping closer with a small chuckle and asking, “I was wondering if you believe in love at first sight.”

“Oh, brother—” you start to laugh, and he joins you before waving his hands to get you to stop.

“Hear me out!”

“My listening ears are on,” you reply with a smile and coy tilt of your head that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed, based on the way his already probing gaze intensifies.

“Do you?” he asks again, and you think about it for a moment.

“Not really,” you admit, letting out a small giggle at the disapproving look he gives you. “But maybe I can be convinced.”

He smiles widely, looking so bright that it truly dazzles you before continuing on to say, “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Why?” you ask. “Do you?”

“I don’t think I did,” he answers carefully, “until I saw you just now.”

“Oh, brother!” you burst out laughing—half from surprise and half from being flustered by how surprisingly sincere he sounded. In your attempt to recover from your outburst, you catch a glimpse of him to see that he’s gazing at you openly with a fond look in his eyes. “You are really something, you know that?”

He steps closer to you with a heat in his eyes, a glowing ember of intensity burning as he asks, “Something good or something bad?”

You shrug playfully and lean closer, wanting him nearer to you. “Jury’s still out on that part.”

He chuckles and wets his lips before his gaze drops to yours. “Can I present some new evidence?” he murmurs, and you tilt your head to the side as you pretend to think it over. “Has anyone ever told you that it’s really cute when you do that?”

“Of course,” you snicker. “Why do you think I do it?”

“So you’re turning up the charm right now, but you don’t believe in love at first sight?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Is it love at first sight or attraction, sir?”

He grins and steps even closer, dangerously close to touching you. “So you’re attracted to me.”

You look around, confused. “Now who said all that?” 

“You just did.”

”I most certainly did not.”

He half-scoffs, half-laughs in disbelief and points at you accusingly. “I heard you.”

“You heard wrong, I guess,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug before patting his chest twice. Your phone buzzes in your back pocket and you both hesitate, neither of you wanting to exit the intimate moment. However, when it buzzes a second time, then a third, you decide to give up and pull your phone from your pocket to check it.

jeno [23:04] hey i’m back

jeno [23:04] i have your surprise :)

jeno [23:05] let me know where to find you

You lock your phone and look up at the handsome stranger with a small frown. “Anyway, this was great, but I have to go find someone.”

He frowns deeply and catches your hand as it leaves his chest, lacing his fingers with yours and looking up at you. “Do you actually have to leave or am I making you nervous?”

“I told my friend I’d find him later, and it’s officially later,” you explain truthfully, and he seems to hear the sincerity in your voice, because he relaxes visibly. “Maybe I’ll find you after?” you offer, and he perks up, gently squeezing your hand.

“I’d like that.”

“Can I get a name? So I know who I’m looking for later?” you ask.

He smiles, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you when you find me later.”

You pout, and he smiles fondly at you. “I guess.” you relent, grabbing the soda and snacks you came to get off of the counter and heading towards the kitchen exit. “See you later?”

He nods resolutely. “See you later.” 

You exit the kitchen with a small smile that threatens to take over your whole face if you don’t calm your spirits as you begin your second search of the night for Jeno. 

After grabbing the presents you got for him from where you’d stashed them in Chaewon’s room, it doesn’t take you long at all to find him, the male still lingering by the entrance when you spot him. You sneak around a small group of people and pop up beside him, making him jolt in surprise and clutch his chest.

“Hi,” you giggle, and Jeno slumps with relief when his eyes lock on you, a warm smile coming to his face.

“Hey,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“So… how do you want to do this?” you ask curiously. “I can go first if you want?”

“No, I want to go first for sure,” he replies with a sureness in his voice that leaves you a little surprised and mildly impressed.

You gesture for him to start, still holding your present for him behind your back, and he retrieves two small, rectangular boxes from inside his jacket pocket. 

“That looks expensive,” you say worriedly, and he chuckles fondly before waving a hand dismissively.

“It wasn’t too bad, don’t worry.” he replies reassuringly as he hands you the small boxes.

You gesture awkwardly with your hands still behind your back, trying your best to indicate that your hands are currently out of commission, and his eyes light up with understanding before he’s gingerly opening one of the navy blue boxes.

You gasp once you’ve peered into the box, your eyes wide as you look up at him in surprise. ”Jeno.”

“Is it too much? Oh, God, you hate it. I’m sorry–” he starts to worry aloud.

“Wait—Jeno—”

“I can take it back, maybe, and you can pick out something you’d like more—”

“Jeno?”

“I should have thought it through more carefully—”

”Jeno!” your voice is gentle in tone but loud enough to catch his attention, his worried eyes locking in on yours. “Please relax.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles embarrassedly, looking down at the floor.

“I was going to say that I genuinely love them. The necklace and the earrings are stunning, and they’re exactly my style.” you say sincerely, in awe as you stare down at the beautiful pieces of jewelry Jeno bought you. The necklace is a silver choker, a paperclip-like link type chain with a diamond-encrusted butterfly in the center. The earrings are matching silver hoops with butterflies adorned along the rings of metal, and your jaw drops slightly as you take in the beauty of Jeno’s present.

“You really like it?” he asks excitedly, a hint of worry still in his voice, but when you nod, his brows unfurrow and he smiles widely, relieved. “I saw the set and it reminded me of you. It’s beautiful, classy, and fun.” 

You can’t help but smile. “You think I’m classy and fun?”

“Of course,” he answers instantly, and your smile widens as you step closer to him curiously.

“You think I’m beautiful?” you ask with your eyebrows raised, and Jeno visibly swallows.

“I do,” he bashfully agrees, and you coo fondly, wanting nothing more than to set his present down and wrap him in a tight hug. “I really do.” 

“Jeno,” you tease playfully, “I’m kinda dying to know what’s in the other box.”

“Oh, yeah!” he exclaims, closing the first box and opening the second as he explains, “I just got them in gold and silver because I know you tend to wear both depending on your mood and your outfit, so I gave you options.”

“Jeno, that is so thoughtful.” you gush appreciatively, and he blushes immediately, cheeks pinking along with the tips of his ears. “I absolutely love them,” you say gratefully, a warm smile curling your lips.

“Thank God,” he sighs with a laugh that you join him in.

“Okay, so… don’t know how I’m gonna top that,” you joke, “but it’s my turn now.”

“You have my undivided attention,” he assures you, and you can’t help but bat your lashes at him slightly.

“I like the idea of that.” you say flirtatiously, and he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “Okay, here, we’ll trade and you’ll open.”

“Deal,” he agrees, swapping presents with you. You watch nervously as he unties the ribbon on the white box and lifts the lid. “This looks delicious, holy shit.”

“I made it myself,” you say carefully. 

He looks up at you in surprise. “From scratch?”

You nod. “From scratch.”

“That’s amazing,” Jeno marvels. “Isn’t Victoria sponge cake hard to make?”

“Baking is only hard if you can’t follow instructions.” you say with a resolute nod, and Jeno snickers.

“I never thought of you as a rule-follower, if I’m being honest,” he admits.

You shrug. “Rules and instructions are very different to me, but I can be very obedient when I want to be.”

Jeno pauses at that, eyeing you suspiciously. “Oh, yeah? Like when?”

“In the bedroom.” you answer without hesitation, smiling in amusement as Jeno’s eyes widen slightly.

“You never gave off ‘obedient,’ y’know.” Jeno informs you.

“If I can tell you know what you’re doing, I’ll listen to you.” you reply with a nonchalant shrug.

“Yeah? Would you listen to me?” Jeno asks, voice quieter and, if you’re not mistaken, lower than before. There’s a suggestive edge to his voice, playful and flirtatious, but in the way that very much indicates that he’d stop joking in a minute if you were into it.

“Depends,” you answer, smiling up at him. “Do you know what you’re doing in there?”

His responding chuckle is significantly deeper than the ones before it, the sound undeniably attractive as he regards you carefully. “Absolutely.”

“Is that so?” you muse softly, watching him intently. “And I’m supposed to go off of your word?”

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you shrug.

“I just tend to learn better from experience.” you reply with a small flirtatious smile that threatens to overtake your whole face.

“Maybe we can arrange that.” he says with a playful grin.

“I’ll keep my schedule open.” you say with a curt nod, and he snorts in amusement.

“Perfect.” he agrees before focusing his attention on the smaller box in his arms. He sets the cake box down on the table by the entryway and unwraps the other, cube-shaped box, his eyes widening with excitement when its contents are revealed to him.

“No way!” he gasps, turning the Big Ben snow globe this way and that. 

“I remembered you have a snow globe collection and I thought I could help you add to it.” you explain, and Jeno looks up at you, eyes bright.

“You’re amazing. Thank you so much.” he gushes happily, and you beam at him before waving him off.

“Of course, Jeno. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you while I was gone.” you say sweetly, and he grins before opening his arms for a hug, 

You step into his embrace readily and wrap your arms around his middle, the two of you squeezing each other tightly. When you pull back slightly, you realize Jeno still hasn’t let you go, his arms still securely wrapped around your waist. 

“I really missed you, y’know.” Jeno says softly, and your heart warms.

“I missed you too, Jeno. It’s good to be back.” you echo, and he smiles before gently releasing you, his reluctance apparent in the way his fingers linger as they pull away from you. “Oh!” you say, remembering something out of nowhere. “I actually still have to give Winter her present, so I’m gonna track her down and do that.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, go for it. Thank you again—I’m gonna demolish this cake later.” Jeno says, finishing his sentence in a conspiratorial whisper, and you giggle.

“I’m glad. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” You reach up and pinch his chin gently, smiling wider when his blush from earlier returns in full force.

Jeno nods shyly, and you release him before venturing further into the party in search of Winter.

Finally spotting Winter across the room on her phone, you cross the living room and tap her shoulder from behind, smiling widely when she turns around.

“Hey!” she greets excitedly, wrapping you in a hug. You two rock from side to side for a moment, hearts full, before you release each other. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to give you your present,” you say with a small shrug and a smile, and her eyes widen. “It’s nothing crazy!” you warn her, waving your hands dismissively, and she shrugs, reaching out for the gift bag in your hand with opening and closing fists.

“I wanna see! Can I see, please?” Winter pleads, and you give in with a fond laugh, handing over the gift bag. 

You wait with bated breath as she opens the present, her eyes softening fondly as she gazes down at the stuffed plushie in her hand.

“It’s so cute! How’d you even find a desert fox plushie?” she asks, in awe as she turns it this way and that.

“I had it commissioned from a toy store boutique only in England,” you explain, and she smiles widely, wrapping you in another tight hug.

“Thank you so much,” she gushes, pulling back from the embrace to clutch her plushie to her chest tightly. “I gotta come up with a name for you, little guy!”

“You do that,” you laugh, moving a stray curl out of her face. “I’m gonna keep making my way through the party.”

“Okay,” she sing-songs. “See you later!”

“See you, babe!” you chirp, waving goodbye before heading back the way you came, deciding to take a detour into the kitchen for more snacks.

You’re barely in there for five minutes, munching happily on salty and sweet snacks alike, before you exit and run almost directly into the chest of someone; the only thing stopping the collision are their quick reflexes as they steady you in place.

“Sorry!” you apologize, stepping back and looking up to your victim before you stop short and a pleased smile curls your lips.

“Hey, you. Was wondering where you’d run off to.” the handsome stranger from earlier says, smiling at you.

“Oh, y’know. Making the rounds, saying hi to everyone. It is my party, after all.” you reply with a secretive smile, and he steps closer with raised eyebrows of intrigue.

“Is that so?” he asks, and you nod, stepping a bit closer to hear him better. 

“Mm, yeah,” you hum. “You know what’s weird?”

“What is it?” 

“This party is for me, and yet there are people here I’ve never met before,” you muse. “Like you.”

“Maybe it’s a sign you're meant to get to know me.” he suggests with a wry grin, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“Good one.” you reply playfully. “So what should we do to get to know each other?” you ask with a playful lilt and feigned curiosity.

“Mm, you could start by telling me more about yourself.” he replies, and you raise your brows.

“‘Myself’ is a very broad topic,” you point out, and he snorts. “Be more specific.”

“Fair, fair.” he agrees with a chuckle. “What are…” he trails off thoughtfully before he perks up again, “your love languages?”

“I feel like this is an unfair advantage sort of question,” you reply with a small pout. (You do not miss the way his gaze softens fondly. Or the way it drops to your lips.) “So, I’ll only answer if you do, too.”

“That’s fair,” he agrees with a smile. “You first, though.”

“Mine are,” you say as you try to recall what the quiz results said the last time you took it, “acts of service, physical touch, and quality time. What about you?”

“Wait, let’s unpack yours first—”

“No, you say yours, then we’ll unpack mine. Fess up, bucko.” you press, poking him gently in the chest.

He laughs at your poke and mini outburst before obliging. “Physical touch,” he murmurs, leaning into your space and smirking slightly when you half-step, half-stumble back, “words of affirmation,” he straightens up and gestures between the two of you casually with a cheeky grin before finishing with, “and quality time.”

“You’re so smooth,” you gush sarcastically, and he snickers.

“Why, thank you. I’d say I try, but then I’d be lying.” 

You shoot him a look. “Don’t push it.”

Holding his hands up in surrender, he shrugs. “My bad.”

“As long as you know.” you reply with a sweet smile, and his gaze softens. “What?”

“You’ve got a beautiful smile, you know that?” he murmurs, and your cheeks warm. 

“Thanks,” you mumble bashfully, and he coos fondly at you. 

“So cute,” he fawns.

You glower at him. “I’m out of here,” you mutter, undeniably flustered and embarrassed about it. 

“Aw, come back, cutie—” he slips his fingers around your wrist gently and tugs you closer, smiling when there’s virtually no resistance from your end. “I didn’t mean to make you all nervous,” he apologizes with a playful, teasing lilt that tells you he might not actually be all that sorry. 

Turning your nose up, you look away from him even as his hand slips down to let his thumb stroke gently at the back of your hand. At your small intake of breath, he smiles and tugs you even closer—dangerously close, actually—before moving to wrap his hand around the small of your back.

It’s almost as if the Fates themselves decided to intervene, the divine timing is that impeccable.

His phone pings, and he frowns before pulling it out of his back pocket and checking the screen. His face falls visibly and so drastically that it actually hurts you to see for a moment, leading you to avert your gaze politely.

His hand slowly retreats from its original path, and you’re shocked to find that you’re a bit disappointed. 

“Do me a small favor? Schedule some time for me later before your busy, busy party ends? I’ll be back.” he says hopefully, squeezing your hand gently before shooting you an apologetic smile and turning to weave between a couple of people before disappearing into the hallway.

You try not to look as disappointed as you feel, but apparently you fail because Seulgi’s by your side moments later from out of virtually nowhere.

“I saw you pouting from all the way across the room,” she chuckles fondly as she strokes your back gently. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not pouting,” you mumble, and Seulgi raises an eyebrow.

“Tell that to your bottom lip,” she points out, and you tuck it back in with an air of defeat. “Exactly. Now what’s wrong?”

“I was talking to this really cute guy earlier,” you admit with a slowly deepening frown, “but he had to leave really suddenly.”

Seulgi makes a sympathetic hum. “Did you get his name?”

“No!” you complain, and she nods in understanding.

“Well, even if he had to leave, he might come to another party in the future—because he clearly knows someone here, you know?” 

“What’s wrong?” Chaewon asks, a tipsy Winter in tow.

“How do you know something’s wrong?” you ask, confused. 

“You’re pouting,” Chaewon points out, and you splutter, bewildered. 

“I’m not!” you exclaim defensively, and Winter winces sympathetically.

“You are.” she confirms, reaching out and unceremoniously poking your bottom lip before giggling to herself.

“She’s mad her party crush pulled a Cinderella and dipped on her,” Seulgi explains.

“Ah,” Chaewon and Winter both say sympathetically.

“That sucks,” Winter sighs. ��Speaking of cute guys disappearing—has anyone seen my boyfriend anywhere?”

“What’s he wearing?” you ask, and Winter moves to answer before Chaewon unknowingly cuts her off. 

“It’s so weird that you and Haechan have been at this party for so long and have yet to run into each other.” Chaewon marvels aloud, and you shrug casually.

“I probably walked by him or something and just didn’t know,” you brush it off, and Chaewon nods thoughtfully.

“Walked by who and didn’t know?” Yunjin asks from behind you, and when you turn to face her, she frowns. “Why are you pouting?”

“Mother of God—” you huff, crossing your arms, and Yunjin winces.

“Jeez, tough crowd.” she chuckles. “Walked by who and didn’t know?” she presses.

“Haechan,” you explain, and her brows furrow together in confusion, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Oh,” is all she says after a moment. “Wait, can you, um, come help me with something in the bathroom?” she asks you, eyes concerningly piercing.

“Sure,” you mumble, definitely confused but picking up on her sense of urgency. 

“We’ll be right back,” Yunjin explains, tugging you away. “Roommate problems!” she calls over her shoulder, and you grimace to really sell the direness of the situation.

You let her tug you into the bathroom towards the back of the apartment by Seulgi’s and Chaewon’s bedrooms, and she sits you down on the toilet before taking a deep breath.

“I don’t exactly know how to tell you this, but I was trying to find you earlier before this spiraled out of control.” she starts. 

“You’re scaring me,” you complain, and she shushes you as she unlocks her phone and starts searching for something. 

“You did meet Haechan, actually, but I have a feeling no one told you that you met Haechan.” Yunjin says finally, and you think back to the very small amount of people you met for the first time today, pondering over who it might be before Yunjin turns her phone to show you the screen, and— 

“Fuck.” you mumble hoarsely, and Yunjin nods slightly before closing her phone on the screen she’s just showed you of a photo of your friend group, presumably from when you were abroad, where Winter is sitting happily on the lap of— “that’s the stranger I was talking to.” you say sadly. “My party crush.”

“Did he ever say his name?” she asks, and you think back, growing increasingly more irritated when you realize—

“No,” you mutter bitterly, “he must have conveniently forgotten to share that part.”

“Can I say something?” Yunjin says carefully, and you nod solemnly. “I saw you two staring at each other before he followed you into the kitchen.” Your blood runs cold, and it must show on your face, because she quickly adds, “I’m not mad at you, and I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m just gonna warn you, because that staring contest was intense, and I don’t know what happened in that kitchen—I don’t want to!” she says suddenly, putting her hand up to silence you as you move to speak before slowly continuing with, “I just know none of that can happen in front of Winter, so it shouldn’t happen at all.”

“Agreed.” you sigh sadly. “Yeah. I mean, I’m pissed as hell, and I might maim him the next time I see him, but other than that, I guess I’m fine.”

“I mean. yeah. Definitely agree with maiming him, actually.” she agrees after a moment of thought. “Just do something subtle and easy to explain away.”

You smile at her, your spirits lifted slightly. “You’re the best.” 

“Love you, girl.” she says sincerely, bending down to hug you before helping you to your feet. “I got your back.”

You head back out there with no pout in sight, only a deceptive smile as you plan your revenge.

It’s not long before the not-so-mysterious stranger comes back around, by which time you’ve fully worked yourself up into a huff about the situation once more, crossing your arms, leaning against the wall, and eyeing him disapprovingly as he approaches.

“Why so serious?” he jokes, and you raise an eyebrow.

“At what point were you going to tell me you’re dating Winter?” you ask, deciding to get right to the point, and he freezes, shock on his face. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. 

“For what?” you test him, and he frowns deeply.

“For hiding that from you.” he sighs, and you huff as he continues, “I just really wanted to get to know you, and I felt like I had to hide that because you knowing would ruin it!”

You look at him with an eyebrow raised pointedly. “And what would you call this?” 

His frown turns to a petulant pout. “Ruined?” he asks.

“Ding, ding, ding,” you say sarcastically before turning to leave.

“Wait, I’m— I’m really sorry,” he pleads, catching your hand before you can slip away. “Can we start over a little bit?”

“How are we gonna start over a little bit?” you ask skeptically, and he stands up straighter, tugging you a bit closer before smiling hopefully and releasing your hand to wave in greeting. 

“Hi, I’m Haechan, Winter’s boyfriend,” he introduces himself as he offers his hand to shake. As you take it, he gently urges you closer with a testing tug before adding, “and I think you’re beautiful.”

“Haechan!” you whisper, half-laughing in surprise, and he shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Figured I’d lay all my cards out on the table this time.”

“Kinda ballsy, no?” you raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms, and he chuckles.

“I’m a pretty ballsy guy.” 

You eye him up and down before tilting your head to the side and saying, “I’m sure.”

“So am I forgiven?” he asks hopefully. 

“For now,” you reply after a moment of thinking, and continue at the sight of his excited smile, “but I’m watching you.”

“I’d be upset if you weren’t.” he murmurs, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

It doesn’t take long for your one-sided animosity to dissipate as you and Haechan manage to fall into a normal enough conversation about your activities in Oxford. At one point, the familiar but unpleasant smell of weed filters into your senses, making you subconsciously wrinkle your nose in distaste. 

Haechan raises an eyebrow, amused. “You alright?”

“You don’t smell that?” you ask, and he sniffs the air before he chuckles.

“I’m guessing you’re not much of a smoker?” he speculates.

You shake your head, tipping your head back to swallow the rest of your drink. “Definitely not.” You lick your lips to clean up the remnants of your drink, and barely stifle the laugh that bubbles up when you notice Haechan watching your mouth with both entirely rapt attention and a slightly dazed expression. “See something you like?”

“Sure do,” he breathes, and you yelp, swatting his arm lightly. “You asked!”

“As a joke!”

“Well, sorry for failing to read the room properly. I was a little, um, distracted.”

“Haechan.”

“Hm?”

“Stop staring at my lips.” 

“What if I don’t?” he asks, stepping closer to you slowly. “Hm?”

“You’re awfully bold for a guy who’s dating one of my friends.” you murmur back, and he shrugs, smiling flirtatiously.

“I know what I want.” he answers casually, and the resolve in his voice takes you by surprise, leaving you to swallow a growing lump in your throat.

“I’m, uh,” you stammer, looking around for something, anything, that can save you from his intense attention. “I’m gonna go see if they want snacks,” you finally answer pathetically, and he doesn’t buy it for a minute, a smug grin curling his lips before he nods, seemingly complying.

He waits for you to move past him, staying perfectly still and therefore forcing you to squeeze between him and the counter, and head towards the living room before he’s so close behind you that he’s practically on you and only then does he reply, a smile audible in his voice as he murmurs, “Let’s go, then.”

“Hi, my dear friends. Are we having a good time?” you ask as you re-enter the living room and scan over each of your friends, all sitting in a circle with Yunjin’s infamous hot pink bong placed carefully in her lap. The party continues on around them, people only sparing cursory glances at the very occupied couch and nearby seating of Seulgi’s and Chaewon’s living room, but you couldn’t care less about the other guests, instead focusing your attention on your seven cross-faded friends. 

Yunjin, ever the lightweight, looks up at you with red-rimmed, half-lidded eyes and a dopey smile. “Never better.” 

“I actually just want to say that I missed you so much,” Chaewon sniffles, hurriedly wiping away a tear before looking up at you earnestly. “I’m so happy you’re back.”

“I missed you, too!” you reply, touched, and she sniffles loudly, the tip of her nose pinking in that signature way that lets you know more tears are en route whether she likes it or not.

“I’m not gonna lie, yo,” Mark mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face and looking over at you. “I’m about to be starving.”

“‘About to be starving’ is crazy, actually.” you snicker, and Mark joins in your laughter, his laugh bubbling up inside of him almost uncontrollably.

“Well, you know how it goes; we smoke, we get high, we get the munchies.” Mark explains, and you nod in understanding. 

“Mark… I went to England for a study abroad program… not to get a lobotomy.” you say slowly, and he snorts loudly in surprise and amusement. “I remember what happens when y’all get high.” you remind him, and he lifts his hands up in surrender, nodding back at you with a grin. “Do you guys want food from the deli down the block?”

“Yes!” The resounding chorus of assent from all your high friends actually takes you by surprise, sending you stepping back in shock only to stumble directly into Haechan’s chest. He steadies you instantly, hands gripping your shoulders securely, and quietly double-checks with you to make sure you’re actually sturdy before releasing you. 

You hate that you found his touch comforting for even a second, trying your best internally to squash the initial attraction you had to him as you attempt to focus on the task at hand.

“Okay, sounds good to me. Can y’all just type your names and what you want in my Notes app?” you ask, unlocking your phone, opening the Notes app, and passing your phone to Yunjin. As your phone makes its way around the circle, you turn slightly to face Haechan, who’s already watching you with an unnerving level of intensity.

“Haechan, why don’t you go with her?” Seulgi suggests, completely missing the warning glare you send her way. “She can’t carry all of that by herself.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” he agrees easily, and you purse your lips for a moment, breathing in deeply before turning fully so you’re face-to-face with Haechan. “Looks like we’re gonna spend some more one-on-one time together.” he says with a secretive smile, and you swallow hard, not knowing what to expect from this little excursion.

Your phone eventually makes its way back to you and you look over the orders before putting your phone in your back pocket and heading to grab your coat, Haechan following diligently behind you.

“Okay, we’ll be back soon! Try to hang in there, guys.” you announce, stepping out of the apartment and holding the door open for Haechan, who exits and shuts it behind himself.

As you two make your way down the hall to the elevator, he speeds up slightly so he’s walking in front of you before turning fully around to face you, taking smooth backwards strides down the hall.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, confused, and he shakes his head with a smile.

“Don’t mind me.” he replies, and you snort in amusement. 

“Kinda hard not to mind you when you seem hellbent on staring holes into my face.” you mutter as you press the elevator button.

“Not my fault you’re nice to look at.” he defends himself, and you look over at him instantly, shock written all over your face. “What’s wrong? Surely you’ve heard that about yourself before.”

“I sure have,” you agree readily, sighing in relief when the elevator door opens. Stepping in, you add, “I just haven’t heard it from the mouth of my friend’s boyfriend.”

“Ah, well.” He follows you into the elevator and shrugs with a “what can you do?” type of smile, making you narrow your eyes. “First time for everything, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you reply slowly, regarding him suspiciously. “Let’s try and make that first time the last time, okay?”

“No promises.” he murmurs, a smile audible in his voice. When you look over at him, he winks at you so quickly you almost think you imagined it, and you jolt, making a noise of bewilderment that sounds embarrassingly close to a mix of a squawk or squeak before turning to face forward again.

The weather actually feels quite nice, you realize when you both get outside, a light, cool breeze filtering through the trees, and you and Haechan walk alongside each other for the first two, maybe three minutes in silence before he breaks it.

“Can I ask you a question?” Haechan asks, looking over at you as you two walk to the deli.

“Depends… is it weird?” you return his question with another question, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Don’t think so.”

“Okay, then shoot.”

“I noticed your reaction to the smell of the weed smoke earlier,” he recalls, and you hum in acknowledgement. “Do you not smoke?”

“Not at all,” you reply, and he nods in understanding. “I don’t do any drugs.”

“Me either,” he replies, and a mildly surprised smile makes its way to your lips. “Can I ask if you have a reason for never wanting to try anything?”

You’re silent for a moment as you attempt to find the right words to explain yourself and Haechan waits patiently, the two of you walking in a comfortable silence before you break it. “I don’t like the feeling of not being in control of myself.” you say carefully, and he gives you an emphatic nod that piques your curiosity. “You too?”

“Somewhat, yeah, but I was mainly nodding because I completely get it. For me, I don’t like moving any slower than usual or feeling restricted in any way.” 

“That makes perfect sense, too.” you say, giving him a firm, approving nod of your own, and he chuckles quietly. “I’ve always wondered about what it might be like to just… mellow out and calm down, y’know?”

“Definitely,” he agrees. “They usually get so… happy.”

“Exactly! Well, except for when Chaewon starts crying out of nowhere.” you add.

Haechan laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know what that’s about.”

“That’s another thing, too.” you say, starting to feel more comfortable talking about it to someone who understands. “I feel like some drugs—especially, like, weed, LSD, acid, shrooms, and stuff like that—they tend to bring out, like, parts of your subconscious that are typically hidden away.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about that and I’ve definitely seen it happen,” Haechan says, sounding surprisingly solemn.

“Yeah, so… whatever’s going on under the surface in here,” you say, tapping your temple, “is none of my business.” you finish with a resolute nod, making Haechan snicker. “I will simply continue raw-dogging life on this bitch of an earth.”

“That’s so real.” Haechan says through his laughter, making you smile.

“Thank you!” you chirp. “Also, when you say you don’t like moving slower or feeling restricted, do you mean in a physical or mental sense? Or is it both?”

“Hmm,” Haechan hums thoughtfully. “Definitely both. I just feel like… I would describe myself and my lifestyle as somewhat fast-paced, y’know? Like, not really very sedentary, I’m always on the move, and if I’m high off of, like, weed or something, I feel like all I’d be able to do is… vegetate…  and I hate the thought of that.”

“That’s so real,” you say, echoing Haechan’s earlier statement. “Well, you know, if you want to move faster, there’s always cocaine,” you joke, and he snorts loudly, clearly not expecting your comment. 

“I definitely wouldn’t try cocaine,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I can just imagine my poor mom if I came to visit her one day and I was all strung out and tweaking.”

“Aw, are you a mama’s boy?” you ask teasingly, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Maybe a little bit, yeah,” he admits with a shy smile, and you grin.

“That’s sweet.” you assure him, and he visibly relaxes, laughing with an air of bashfulness. “We’re here, by the way!” you point out, gesturing to the deli less than thirty feet away at the end of the block.

Haechan jogs slightly ahead of you, opening the door and holding it for you to enter.

“Thank you,” you say with a grateful smile as you step inside. The smell of the deli is delicious, the scents of various foods being cooked wafting through the air, and for a moment you half-expect to start floating involuntarily towards the tastiest smelling dish.

“Okay, let’s get these orders in,” you mutter to yourself before making your way over to where the grill cooks are stationed. “Hi, how are you feeling tonight?” you greet politely, exchanging brief pleasantries before continuing on with, “I actually have a pretty big order I’d like to place with sandwiches and sides, but I don’t mind waiting if I have to!”

“Go ahead, miss,” one of the cooks says, and you look down at your phone before starting to read off the orders.

Haechan stands off to the side and watches on as you rattle off the nine different sandwich and side order combos to the cooks, who nod and start to prepare them. When you’re finished, you turn to face Haechan and smile sweetly before leading him towards the drinks and snacks. 

“Okay, can you help me carry these to the front?” you ask Haechan.

“Of course, yeah,” he answers, and you start to hand him various drinks and snacks off of the note everyone wrote in.

“Okay, a raspberry peach Snapple for me… a Redbull for you—wait, Haechan, you like Redbull but you won’t try cocaine…? Seems fake,” you comment, and Haechan lets out a shocked laugh before raising his hands—well, he’s holding a drink in each hand, so fists—in surrender.

“Take it easy on me!” he begs jokingly, and you pretend to think about it before relenting with a smile and continuing to collect the drinks. 

“Mountain Dew for Seulgi… Sprite for Jeno… oop, and a Sprite for Chenle, too… root beer for Winter… blue Gatorade for Mark… Arizona raspberry iced tea for Yunjin, and finally, that XXX Vitamin Water that Chaewon’s always raving about.” You close the refrigerator door with your hip, the two of you carefully carrying your armfuls of beverages to the counter.

“I never got the Vitamin Water hype.” Haechan admits.

“It’s essentially juice, but like water with a splash of juice, maybe two if you’re lucky.” you say. “At least, that’s what I think, but some of them do actually taste pretty good, too.”

“Hm,” he remarks thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I just never got into it.” 

“You got into that Redbull pretty easily though, huh?” you tease, and he laughs, his cheeks pinking ever so slightly, and you’re glad he’s looking away so he can’t see how blatantly you paused to look at him.

“Miss, some of your order is ready!” One of the cooks calls out to you, and you shoot them a thumbs up as they bring two sandwiches and a couple of trays to the counter for you. “Do you want to pay now or when we’re finished preparing everything?”

“Oh, I can pay now! Just let me go get the chips and stuff.” you say before whizzing off to where the snacks are, returning shortly after with Seulgi’s Takis and Chenle’s red Doritos and placing them on the counter triumphantly. 

The worker manning the register rings your stuff up and reads you out the total, to which you respond by pulling out your phone to tap the card reader, but Haechan calls your name before you can complete the transaction, making you look over at him in confusion.

“I got it,” he offers, reaching for the card reader with his own phone only for you to shoot him a funny look and nudge his phone out of the way to finish paying with your own phone. 

“You didn’t have to pay for it, Haechan,” you assure him. “Think of it as the small fee I had to pay for disappearing from the country for about half of a year.”

“Yeah, but I was being a gentleman.” he protests with a frown.

“It’s okay! Be a gentleman to your girlfriend—not me.” you say with expectantly raised brows.

“I’m trying to impress you, though,” he points out, and you roll your eyes.

“Read the room, maybe?” you chuckle, and he scrunches his nose up in distaste. “Something wrong?”

“I’m not much of a reader.” he replies with a dismissive shrug, and you raise your eyebrows.

“I’m a librarian.” you remind him. “My job is literally all about reading.”

“On second thought,” Haechan blurts out, “I literally read every day, all the time.” When you snicker in amusement, he grins and continues with, “I’m being so serious. I’ve read every bottle of shampoo and body wash in my shower front to back!” he presses, and you burst into laughter. 

“You’re ridiculous.” you giggle as you recover from your laughing fit, and he grins shamelessly.

“I made you laugh, though,” he points out with a smug little grin. “So you kinda like it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie with a sniff, looking away. 

“You think I’m funny,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he gets closer. “And if earlier was any indication, you think I’m attractive.”

“Where are you going with this?” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“You like me.” he replies simply, and you choke on your spit. 

“Two fairly objective observations are not an indication of me liking you.” you splutter indignantly, and Haechan raises his brow.

“Being attractive is objective now?” he asks skeptically, and you glare at him, turning to the row of deli cooks pretending not to be watching your conversation intently.

“Is he a handsome guy?” you ask them, and they all look between each other with confusion and mild discomfort. “Literally no homo. Please relax. Is he a handsome guy or is he an uggo?” you emphasize, and one of them snorts.

“He’s definitely not ugly, no,” one of the cooks pipes up, and they all nod in agreement. “Handsome guy, actually.” 

“Good bone structure,” the cook beside him adds, and you could swear Haechan starts to blush. “Yeah, he’s a good looking dude.”

“Sí, muy guapo.” A cook you can’t even see chimes in, and you and Haechan look at each other, bewildered. 

“How many of you are back there?” Haechan asks as he chuckles nervously.

“No te preocupes, amigo.” the same cook says, still concealed from view. “Eres guapísimo.”

“Thank you, guys.” you reply gratefully before turning to stick your tongue out at Haechan triumphantly.

To your surprise, his gaze darkens. “Do that again.”

“No, I’m good.” you reply immediately, fixing your face and turning away from him. “Little freak.”

“Mm, maybe a little bit.” he hums, and you grimace.

“Yuck.” you mutter, narrowing your eyes in his direction. “Get a grip. As I was saying, me finding you funny or attractive has nothing to do with liking you.”

“Why wouldn’t you, though?” he presses, and you let out an exasperated sigh before turning fully to face him. 

“You have a girlfriend!” you whisper-shout, confused even further by the way he looks at you, smug and unimpressed.

“So that’s the only thing stopping you?” he says slowly, and you pause as you realize what you’ve admitted to.

“It’s the only thing that matters.” you huff with an air of finality, and Haechan just chuckles, stepping closer.

“Not this? Hm? Not how good—no—how right this feels?” he murmurs suggestively, and you shake your head firmly.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” you mutter, and he scoffs in disbelief. 

“Are you really gonna keep playing dumb?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,�� you sing-song, and he rolls his eyes.

“Sure.” he murmurs, amused. 

Desperate to change the topic, you look around, your eyes landing on the bags of food on the countertop.

“Man, those fries smell so good,” you groan, staring enviously at the bag containing Winter’s order of curly fries.

“Mm, yeah?” Haechan hums, looking from the bag to you. He puts a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture and pops open the plastic container. He pulls out a small handful of Winter’s curly fries, about as much as he can fit between his thumb and forefinger, and grins at you, winking before popping one in his mouth.

He reaches his hand out, offering you one of his stolen goods, and you hesitate for a second before deciding to reach forward and take the proffered curly fry. As you chew it, your eyes roll back into your head in ecstasy, the fried good the perfect amount of salty, crunchy, and warm.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully, and he waves you off dismissively.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “It’s our little secret, okay?”

“Jeez, I just met you tonight and you’re already trusting me with secrets?” you chuckle, and he shrugs.

“Well, should I not trust you?” he asks curiously, and you shake your head instantly in disagreement. 

“You can trust me, don’t worry.” you assure him, and he smiles widely, nodding slowly in understanding.

“Great.”

“The real question is if I can trust you,” you continue, and he chuckles.

“You can,” he says confidently, and you raise your eyebrows skeptically.

“How do I know I can trust that?” you ask, and he laughs, rolling his eyes slightly as he leans closer to you conspiratorially.

“That’s just a risk you’re gonna have to take.”

“No, thanks. I’m not big on risks.” you admit.

Haechan tilts his head to the side curiously. “You don’t take any risks?”

You pause to think about it, thoughts racing back to earlier when you made the mental pact with yourself to be more daring and take more risks. “Not really, no. Unless you count letting Yunjin drive.”

He snorts. “I’m talking big risks.”

You stare at him blankly. “Have you ever been in the car with Yunjin?”

Chuckling and shaking his head slightly, he says, “I have.”

“It’s pretty risky.”

“I’m talking about different risks, though. Think harder.” he presses. 

You sigh loudly but oblige, thinking about it again. “I guess studying abroad in Oxford felt pretty risky… I was essentially all alone on the other side of the world.”

He shakes his head. “Bigger,” he explains. “I’m talking about something that,” his gaze slowly falls to your lips and he continues, “could go really wrong.” 

It feels like he’s hinting at something, and you’re not sure you want to find out.

“Truthfully, I don’t get why I would take risks like those.” you say with a pensive frown, and he smiles, eyes still trained on your mouth with an unmistakable fascination as he steps closer to you, practically cornering you against the snack rack behind you, and if he hears your squeak of alarm, he chooses not to comment. 

“It’s about the reward,” he murmurs, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips slowly. “People take risks because they think that the reward is worth it in comparison to what could go wrong.”

“Well, I don’t think most risks I can think of off of the top of my head are worth it,” you say with a stumped pout.

“I can think of one I wanna take right now,” he hums softly, reaching up to rest one hand on the rack behind you, and you balk, finally starting to understand what he’s been hinting at.

“I, um, think that might be too risky.” you reply cautiously, and he chuckles quietly.

“I disagree,” he says plainly. “I think it’d be so worth it.” he breathes out, his gentle breath fanning over your lips, the minty scent tempting you more than you’d like to admit. 

“If you try and kiss me right now,” you say quietly, “I will bite your lip until it bleeds.”

He snickers and nods in understanding. “Understood.”

“Is that risk worth it now?” you ask wryly, and he bites back a laugh.

“I don’t know, let me find out.” he says, leaning in closer, and you yelp, pushing his chest reflexively and, when he barely budges, clapping a hand over your mouth and glaring at him as he laughs loudly. “Man, you’re cute.”

“Shut up,” you mutter contritely, moving your hand away when he relents and steps back. “Let’s not ask why I don’t feel comfortable taking risks and ask, instead, why you—” you poke his chest accusingly, “feel so comfortable being so reckless.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, explaining, “I don’t think it’s that I’m reckless—”

“Yeah, right.” you mutter.

He ignores you. “I think it’s that I want to know what it feels like to truly live.” he finishes, and you pause at that, genuinely taking in his words. “Life is too short to be scared to indulge, you know?”

“Well,” you say slowly, thoughtfully, “I guess that makes sense.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe I could stand to live a little more,” you ponder, noticing the way his eyes drift down to your lips once more and quickly adding, “but that doesn’t mean you can kiss me. I’ll still bite you.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks softly, teasingly, and you nod. “What if I said I kinda like it a little rough?”

“I’d say you’re in the wrong relationship.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Haechan’s eyes widen as he points at you with a bright, triumphant grin. “I’m joking! I’m joking.”

“I don’t think you are.” he replies smugly.

“Oh, brother.”

“You think I’m in the wrong relationship?” he presses, and you shake your head vehemently, desperately trying to cover your tracks.

“Only because Winter is not a ‘likes it a little rough’ kind of girl,” you explain quickly.

He nods in agreement. “This is true.” he admits, and you relax slightly, glad he gets your point. “So, who would be the right relationship for me, hm?” he teases, and you groan loudly, tipping your head back in exasperation. “Got any ideas?”

“Nope.” you answer flatly. 

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, leaning closer. “You sure about that?”

“Miss, the rest of your order is ready!” One of the cooks calls out, and you pounce on the interruption eagerly.

“Thank you!” you call back to the cooks before turning to Haechan with a relieved smile. “You know what? We’d better go back before they put out a Missing Persons report for us.” you dodge his taunting question from earlier and carefully remove yourself from your very compromising position, walking towards the counter of the bodega to collect the bags of food. “Are you coming or what?” you huff, attempting to conceal how flustered his previous line of questioning has left you by placing a hand on your hip impatiently.

He shakes his head with a chuckle, but meets you by the door, slipping his fingers in the loops of the numerous bags weighing down your index and middle fingers to relieve you of the burden. He leans forward, opening the door for you and gesturing for you to exit first. “You’re lucky I don’t want to hear any of them complain about their food being cold, because I could do this—” he gestures between the two of you, “all night and then some.”

“That’s great, Casanova,” you drawl, pointing ahead of you down the street towards where you’re heading. “Now walk.”

As you two walk back from the bodega, you can’t help but notice that Haechan’s path keeps veering slightly off-course, the male repeatedly bumping into you as you two walk. 

“You good?” you ask finally after what must be the eighth mini-collision, and Haechan chuckles, albeit somewhat sheepishly as he brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Is there a reason why you keep bumping into me? Are the bags throwing you off-balance or something?”

“Would you, uh, believe me if I said that I just like you and want to be close to you?” he answers, and you stop short, blinking at him impassively which causes him to stop walking as well.

“Bold words for someone with a whole girlfriend back at the party.” you reply with a dismissive snort, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know what it is,” he says as you two slowly fall back into a comfortable pace. “I think we’d be good together.”

“Haechan,” you warn. 

“You fascinate me,” he admits plainly, staring at your face openly. “I wanna get to know you better.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that,” you say apprehensively. 

“I’m gonna learn about you eventually, because I’m not going anywhere.” he replies confidently. “I’m gonna learn everything about you—your hopes, your dreams, your fears—” he leans closer so his breath hits your cheek and continues, “what makes you tick.”

“Well, you wanna know something?” you offer, and he nods instantly, leaning towards you in anticipation. “Something that makes me tick is when guys with girlfriends hit on me very blatantly.”

“Ah, I see,” Haechan remarks thoughtfully. “So I should be more subtle.”

“I—well—no, that’s not really what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean?”

“Stop saying flirtatious things!” 

“So you want me to stop saying flirtatious things—”

”Yes, that’s quite literally what I just said—”

“—and start doing flirtatious things.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you stare at him incredulously. “Not even remotely what I meant.”

“No, I think that’s what you were hinting at.” 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’d better believe it, baby.”

“Calling me ‘baby’ when you have a whole girlfriend is crazy, by the way.”

“Maybe I’m crazy. Did you think about that?”

“Clearly. I’ll let Winter know her boyfriend is actually an escapee from the insane asylum and she’ll just dump you.”

“So you can have me all to yourself… I like it.” He grins, and you open and close your mouth repeatedly, at a loss for words.

“Where are you hearing these things? Haechan, do you often hear things other people don’t?” you ask with patronizing concern, and he bursts out laughing. “It’s not funny, actually! Maybe I will tell Winter after all.”

“She won’t do anything,” he replies through his laughter.

“You’re right.” you agree in disappointment. “Poor girl. She’d probably think she can fix you.”

“I know what could fix me,” he says, fixing you in place with a serious stare.

“Haechan, you’re kinda scaring me.”

“Relax, it’s nothing crazy.”

“You’re not exactly what I’d consider a good judge of what’s crazy or not.”

“I just want your number, God.”

“Oh!” you reply, relieved, and an equally relieved smile appears on his face. “You’re not getting that.”

“Aw, come on!” he whines, leaning on you dramatically. “How am I supposed to get to know you?”

“Through speaking to me in person?”

“So you wanna see me… in person…” he trails off with a suggestive lilt to his voice, wiggling his eyebrows, and you suck your teeth. “If you like me, you can just say that, you know. I won’t tell.”

“You really are crazy.” you marvel, and he grins over at you.

“Is that… intrigue I detect in your voice?” he teases, and you balk.

“No?” you reply a bit too quickly, and his eyes light up.

“You’re intrigued by me!”

“I just wanna know how and where Winter found your crazy ass!”

“So you can go there and get yourself another me?” he replies, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Hate to break it to you, princess, but there’s only one of me.”

“Thank God for that.” you mutter under your breath. “So, do you have, like, a mute button or something?”

“I’ll shut up for the rest of the walk back if you give me your number.” he says with a mischievous smile, and you roll your eyes, Haechan’s ever-so-keen eyes noticing your hesitation. “You’re totally thinking about it.”

“I really want you to stop before you get one or both of us in trouble.”

“I will be as quiet as a street rat if you give me your number and don’t block me before I can text you.”

“Damn, how’d you know I was gonna do that?”

“I know the signs of someone playing hard to get.” he says proudly, and you snort.

“I’m not playing hard to get, Haechan. You’re playing hard to get rid of.”

“And I’m gonna play until I win. Now—your number, please.” He smiles dazzlingly at you, pulling out his phone from his back pocket and handing it to you.

You stare at his unlocked phone then at his twinkling, hopeful eyes before sighing in defeat and taking the phone from his hand to enter your number.

“Hell yeah!” Haechan cheers, and you shoot him a judgmental stare.

“Ground rules.” you say plainly, and he nods, instantly attentive. He is cute, you think reluctantly, especially like this as he hangs on your every word like a puppy. “No texting me suggestive photos.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Keep the texts harmless.” you warn him, and he nods in agreement.

“You got it.”

“And don’t call or FaceTime unless it’s an absolute emergency.” you finish, and he scrunches his face up in confusion.

“What if the emergency is that I want to see you or hear your voice?”

“Absolutely bonkers thing to say with a girlfriend, by the way.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have Instagram… just look at my pictures or something, I don’t know.”

“What if I want to see you right then exactly how you are?”

“That’s too bad.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and you already know this is going to be a bad decision. “What exactly constitutes an emergency?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. If you were injured or in danger or something and no one else was picking up?”

“Okay…” he trails off skeptically.

“Even then, though, I think you should just call emergency services.”

“You’re brutal,” Haechan remarks in awe. “I like it.”

“Watch it!”

“Watching,” he replies smoothly, grinning in your direction, and you turn to face forward quickly, hoping he didn’t catch your smile. “I saw that.”

“You saw nothing.”

“You smiled. You like me—at least a little bit!”

“First you’re hearing things, and now you’re seeing things? Maybe we should get you checked out.”

“…We?” he points out with a sly smirk, and you roll your eyes as you trudge ahead and up to the apartment building, repeatedly (and with an air of impatience) buzzing the intercom to be let in.

“Thank God we’re back.”

“Since when was the museum so damn expensive?” Chenle mutters in awe as he forks over the thirty dollars for the admission fee.

“It’s the price of knowledge,” Yunjin sighs with a shrug as she takes Chenle’s place at the ticket till and hands the attendant three $10 bills.

“Psst,” Haechan whispers to get your attention, and you turn your head slightly to see he’s leaning towards you. “This is enough to radicalize me,” Haechan huffs bitterly before releasing Winter’s hand and stepping forward to pay. You notice with a curious tilt of your head that he’s taken longer than the rest of your friends so far, despite using Apple Pay, but you don’t think much of it until he’s walked away with Winter and it’s your turn at the register, where the attendant hands you a ticket with a smile.

“Oh, I didn’t pay yet—”

“The gentleman before you paid for your ticket,” she explains with a small nod, and you pause, mentally buffering before smiling at the attendant, taking the ticket, and walking to join your group.

When you meet up with them, Haechan already has his eyes trained in your direction, his left eyelid dropping down into a secretive wink before he grins at you. 

“You’re too much,” you mouth at him, walking up beside him to nudge him with your shoulder surreptitiously. He lets out a small chuckle and shrugs as casually as he can before he tickles the palm of your hand with his fingers in a gesture that has you wondering if he plans to hold both your hand and his girlfriend’s. Before the thought can gain much traction, however, the tour guide for your group appears and introduces herself as she passes out museum maps to everyone in your party.

After introducing herself, she takes you through a corridor to the Egyptian art section, walking you by a preserved tomb and detailing funeral processions and Egyptian customs. The guide herself is very engaging and the artwork is fascinating, but you actually came on a mission to see certain wings of the museum. As she walks you through the Egyptian art wing, you consult your map, trying to see if there’s a point coming up where you can casually separate from the group. 

Initially, you were following after the tour guide, but now you’re admittedly starting to fall towards the back of the group due to your lack of interest in this particular time period, when the exhibit at the end of the hallway you just passed catches your eye. 

You look around you to see if anyone in your tour group is around, observing that the coast is clear before you attempt to break off from your group and do your own thing.

“And where are you sneaking off to?” Haechan’s voice appears out of seemingly nowhere, making you gasp as you whip your head around to look at him.

“Why?” you ask, furrowing your brows. “Are you gonna snitch on me for leaving?”

“I’m not snitching,” he promises you, and you relax slightly before he continues with, “I’m coming.”

You stop short and look at him like he’s grown a second head. “You seem to be mistaken.” 

“Definitely not that,” Haechan assures you, and you roll your eyes before quickly turning to leave. He catches up with you easily, making you huff quietly in frustration, and continues to attempt to persuade you, saying, “You need someone with you in case you get lost.”

“Haechan, if I’m with someone and I’m lost, then I’m pretty sure they’re as good as lost too.” you explain slowly, and Haechan pauses to think, leaving you the open opportunity to slip away from him yet again.

He manages to find you yet again, grinning triumphantly when he does, and argues, “I think you should travel with someone—like me—who has a map.”

“Haechan, I am quite literally holding the map they just gave me.” you remind him, and he seems to buffer in real-time, lips parting to form a shocked little “O” shape that is, for all its silliness, stupidly attractive on him.

You’ll give it to him; he’s definitely not lacking in the looks department. 

“Well—haven’t you ever heard of the buddy system? There’s safety in numbers, y’know.” Haechan catches up with you once more as you speed walk down a mostly empty hallway. 

“Oh, my God, fine.” you whisper-yell exasperatedly. “Fine, you can come with me.”

He perks up immediately, smiling brightly and you can see his body relax as you gradually slow your pace into a comfortable stroll so he can fall into stride with you.

“Great,” he says happily. “Where are we going first?”

“Well, I really want to see the Greek sculptures…” you half-say, half-suggest hopefully.

“Okay, sounds great; let’s go!”

“Haechan.” 

“Mhm?”

“Can you walk faster, please? I’m not trying to lose a whole person in the Met.” you complain, stopping in your tracks and turning around to let Haechan catch up to you. The section you’re passing through is packed, the room filled with the din of various animated conversations all overlapping one another.

“Sorry, I’m just taking in all the art in front of me,” he replies, and your expression softens as you remember that this is, in fact, a museum exhibit you’re standing in and not merely a hallway to where you want to go.

“Yeah, the paintings are beautiful,” you agree, and he looks over at you with a confused look.

“Oh—yeah, the paintings are cool, too.” he answers unconvincingly, and you stare at him expressionlessly.

“What were you looking at if not the paintings?” you ask, confused, and he looks you up and down pointedly as if to answer your question. “You’re ridiculous,” you groan, turning to walk away.

“Oh, come on, you can’t blame me! You in that outfit is a goddamn masterpiece.” he defends himself, and you just sigh loudly as you keep walking. 

“Keep up!” you quip, and he catches up to you, leaning down slightly so his lips are by your ear.

“Don’t even get me started on this cute little skirt you’ve got on,” he murmurs suggestively, and an involuntary shudder travels down your spine from the ticklish sensation of his breath on the hair on the back of your neck. “Kinda driving me crazy,” he half-mumbles, half-chuckles.

“It can’t be that hard to drive you crazy,” you point out. “You already live on the corner of Bonkers Boulevard and Delulu Drive.”

“Wow, and you call me a menace?” he snorts in amusement, reaching over to pinch your side in retaliation and laughing when you dance away with a giggle. “Come back, I thought we had to stick together,” he complains.

You roll your eyes but stop just ahead of him, hands placed on your hips as you wait for him to catch up. 

“That’s better,” he finally says when he’s beside you once more. “You know, maybe we should hold hands.” he suggests, smiling wider and nodding vigorously in an attempt to convince you when you look over at him with a “no” already on the tip of your tongue.

“And why would we do that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side in a patronizing act of confusion.

“It’s crowded. What if someone walks between us and you turn to enter an exhibit but I don’t see where you went?” He frowns petulantly, and you scoff dismissively. 

“You can hold my purse,” you offer, holding it out to him.

“How is that gonna help me stay close to you?” he asks with a frown, and you shoot him a look.

“It’ll help me stay close to you,” you clarify. “All my stuff is in there, so I’m not going anywhere that bag’s not going.”

“Hm. I’d rather hold your hand but I guess this will do.” he sighs dramatically, and you snicker.

“Keep wishing.” you reply casually.

“Oh, I will. Got any loose eyelashes I can wish on and blow away?” 

“No.”

“Lucky pennies?”

“I don’t have change. Does the universe take Apple Pay?” you reply in a bored tone, and he snorts loudly in amusement.

“Man, gorgeous and funny,” he sighs contentedly, and it’s your turn to exhale in amusement. “Fine. I’ll wait until 11:11 to make the wish.”

“You know that because you told me what you’re gonna wish for, it’s not gonna come true now, right?” you remind him with a teasing smile, and his eyes widen comically.

“I’ll wish for something different.” he relents, and you can’t help but frown slightly at the crestfallen look on his face. You look around to see if anyone you know is nearby and, seeing no one, let out a defeated yet amused sigh before reaching out and linking your fingers with his. “I knew you liked me,” he remarks with an air of smug satisfaction, and you scowl at him before ripping your fingers from his. 

“...And you’re done.”

“Nope, too late,” he replies with a wide grin as he links his fingers with yours again, either oblivious to the fight you’re putting up or simply unfazed. “We’re locked in now.” he teases, and you raise your brows in a silent challenge. 

“Oh, yeah? Should I call you something cutesy like—oh,” you say, stopping mid-sentence and turning to look at him with a slowly growing mischievous smile. “What was that name Winter called you on the way here?”

“Oh, please don’t.” 

“Was it Snookums?” you think aloud, and he groans, tossing his head back dramatically.

“Please?”

“Cuddlebug?”

“No—”

“Oh!” you exclaim, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. “Pookie Bear.” you say triumphantly, and the grimace on his face is beyond rewarding.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Haechan says hurriedly. “In fact, I’d rather you not—”

“But I love calling you Pookie Bear, Pookie Bear.” you coo affectionately, putting extra emphasis on the embarrassing pet name to leave it dripping with saccharine sweetness.

“You know what’s kind of crazy?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Besides you? No.”

“Ha, ha.” he drawls. “What’s crazy is that it’s kinda hot the way you say it.” he points out, and you whine loudly in protest. 

“I can’t have anything, man! I get to torment you back for less than two minutes, and your freaky little self likes it?” you gripe under your breath as you pull him towards the large sign indicating the doorway to the beginning of the Greek sculptures exhibit. “We’re here!” you announce happily.

“Anything I should know before we enter this section?” he asks curiously, and you think for a moment before nodding.

“Most, if not all, of these statues have micropenises.” you warn him, and roll your eyes instantly at the immediate amusement on his face. “Keep the dick jokes to a minimum.”

“You got it, princess.” he agrees, nodding cooperatively, and you whirl around to look at him.

“Princess?!”

“You call me Pookie Bear, I call you princess.” he says with a nonchalant shrug, and you narrow your eyes at him in a silent staredown. “It’ll grow on you,” he says confidently as he starts walking into the exhibit.

And as you’re tugged along after him, protesting all the while that “it most certainly will not,” you can’t help but feel like it already has—that is, if the sensation you’re feeling of a lone butterfly fluttering around your stomach has anything to do with it.

“Haechan,” you whisper urgently, shaking your linked hands to get his attention.

He looks over at you curiously, eyebrows raised expectantly, and you point towards a sign in the corridor. “What is it?” he asks. “The café?”

You nod. “I’m hungry.” 

“Honestly, I could eat,” he agrees, and you beam up at him, tugging him towards the entrance to the café.

The café is lovely, with a fairly large selection of ready-to-eat foods, and you and Haechan walk around the tables of food before you spot one in the distance and slip your hand out of his to go check it out. 

No less than a moment after you’ve let go of Haechan, he practically snatches your hand back up, stubbornly linking his fingers with yours once more.

When you shoot him a look, he just stares at you with a challenge in his eyes, daring you to let go again.

“You’re something else.” you laugh, and he shrugs.

“Give a guy a warning next time,” he replies. “I wasn’t ready to let go.”

“Warning: I’m about to let go,” you say patronizingly, and he just shakes his head. “Wh—no? What do you mean, no?”

”No, you’re not.” he says simply.

“I literally am,” you let out a laugh of disbelief before attempting to tug your fingers from his again. “Haechan, quit being a brat!”

“It’s in my DNA,” he replies with a dismissive shrug. “I like holding hands.”

“Hold your own hand, then.” you snicker, and he shakes his head decisively. 

“Like holding your hand better.” he coos fondly, and you roll your eyes. “Just take me with you to check out the food, princess.”

“I’m ignoring that,” you huff, but lead him to the sushi rolls you were staring at nonetheless. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he confirms as he smiles over at you, and you bite down on your lip to hide the smile that threatens to greet him. “What are you gonna get?”

“Nothing crazy,” you muse, picking up a tray and inspecting the rolls inside. “Maybe just this and a drink.”

“Which one’s that?” Haechan asks curiously, peering over your shoulder. 

“California roll,” you answer with a smile before reaching into the refrigerated drink section and grabbing an organic peach soda.

Haechan follows your lead, picking up a sushi roll container and snagging a Dr. Pepper from the drink area before you two make your way to the cashier to pay.

The cashier greets you both with a friendly smile and rings you up first. When you’re about to pay, Haechan grips the back of your cardigan and firmly but gently pulls you away from the counter before tapping his phone to the payment screen.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you huff with a frown, and he just smiles as the receipt comes out.

“I’m a gentleman,” he replies simply as the cashier rings him up, and you snort in amusement.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” you ask dryly, and he narrows his eyes at you. When it’s his turn to pay, you inch closer to the payment screen in the hopes to return the favor, but Haechan is one step ahead of you, plucking your phone from your hand with ease and pocketing it before tapping his phone to the screen again.

“Yeah, it is,” he replies with a cheery grin, smugness laced in his voice. “Come on, let’s eat.”

You two thank the cashier before heading towards the back of the café, where you sit at the corner table, Haechan sliding in beside you.

“You couldn’t sit over there?” you ask flatly, gesturing to the empty spot in front of you, and he shakes his head with a teasing smile. “Of course not.” you sigh in defeat, instead opening your California roll tray and breaking the wooden chopsticks to start eating. “What’d you get?”

Haechan pauses to look at the label on his container before opening it. “Seaside salmon roll,” he replies, snapping his chopsticks neatly into two before picking up a piece of sushi from the carefully composed roll.

“Ooh, yum,” you say before placing a piece of your own roll into your mouth and chewing, your eyes sliding shut in bliss. “God, that’s good.”

“This sushi tastes like heaven,” Haechan groans happily, and you giggle, your mood lifting with some good food entering your system. 

“Hey,” you say as you pick up your next piece, “I just realized; what if they want to get food after this?” you ask, and he shrugs.

“Either we’re not hungry, or we get something small.” he suggests, and you nod in agreement before eating the next piece of sushi.

“Are you gonna be sneaky and pay for that, too?” you ask, unamused, and he nods proudly. “I can pay for my own food, you know; my librarian job makes decent pay.”

“Yeah, well, I can pay, too. My job definitely pays decently.” Haechan replies stubbornly.

“Oh, yeah? And what do you do?” you question.

“I’m a wine sommelier for a high-end restaurant downtown.” he answers proudly, and you purse your lips in quiet defeat.

“That actually does sound like a decent-paying job.” you admit, and he nods confidently. “Well, hey, did you know they sell wine here?” 

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, looking around for the wine menu and relaxing once you point it out to him. 

“Yep. So tell me, Mr. Sommelier, which wine would go best with my California roll?” you quiz him, and his lips quirk up into a smile.

“What’s the taste like?” he asks, and you pick up a piece and put it on his tray, signaling for him to try it. “Without tasting it, I’d say a nice… light, fruity wine would be good for this.” he suggests before placing the piece of sushi in his mouth. As he chews, his smile widens and he nods in confirmation, adding, “I’d definitely say a nice Pinot Grigio would go great with this. The sweet and light notes of the Pinot Grigio would go really well with the flavors here.”

You’re not going to lie to yourself; it’s a little attractive to see him talk about something he knows so much about. 

“Yeah?” you hum. “What about yours?”

“Oh, Pinot Noir, for sure. It’s sharp enough to match the heaviness of the salmon, but not too sweet where it takes away from the overall flavor.”

You nod, taking in the information and secretly composing yourself as your insides squeal girlishly at his confident explanation.

“That’s pretty cool, Haechan,” you remark, impressed, and he smiles in satisfaction.

“Isn’t it? You know, we should go on a wine tasting date some time.” he suggests, and you shoot him a suspicious side glance.

“A wine tasting what?” you press.

“Did I say date?” Haechan asks with a chuckle, and you nod slowly, still regarding him carefully. “I meant outing. A wine tasting outing.”

“Nice save,” you snort, and he huffs petulantly.

“It’s not my fault,” he defends himself. ‘I was distracted.”

You raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Distracted?” you ask, and he nods firmly.

“Yeah, your little skirt is messing with my head.” Haechan grunts, and you look down at your lap with a bewildered questioning noise.

To be fair, it is a cute skirt; your beige and black plaid pleated skirt was carefully selected from your closet earlier and clearly must have been a flattering choice, given that Haechan literally can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Then look up and not at my legs, silly.”

“But if I look up, I see—” he starts to complain but stops as he does just that, looking up from his—well, your—lap and trailing off slowly as he gazes at you.

You’re pretty sure you don’t need to hear what he was going to say, because his face reads loud and clear; there’s desire swimming clearly in his gaze and his lips are parted ever so slightly as he spaces out staring back and forth from your lips to your eyes.

“If you look up, you see… my face?” you supply in an attempt to help him regain his sensibility, and his lips part more as he struggles to find the right words. “I mean, yeah, and my shirt? Well, it’s a white tank—like, yeah, it’s a little short, but—and this is just a beige cardigan, so it’s not as distracting if you look up instead—”

“If I look up,” Haechan says carefully, “I see you.”

For a moment, you’re rendered speechless as the implications of his words sink in.

Looking at him again, you realize there’s an awe in his eyes as he watches you, an adoration almost, and the context of him seeing you sets in. His eyes rove over your face with an almost greed, darting around rapidly as he frantically takes in every detail he can manage to commit to memory. 

He’s not looking at you like he’s undressing you, like he’s groping you with a glance; he’s looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders of the world—like he can’t quite contemplate everything he’s seeing, but he’s damn sure going to try. His gaze caresses you like you’re an antique artifact at the museum that could break if you so much as stare at it too hard.

Observing the way he looks at you is the closest you’ve come yet to understanding how and why the eyes have been referred to as the windows to the soul. His gaze is so open, so vulnerable and wondrous that you have to ponder, for a moment, if this is what it looks like to fall in love.

You push the thought from your head as soon as it emerges, not willing to give it any space in your mind, but you can’t shake the way his gaze completely unravels you. 

He watches you like he can see every complexity of your personality in your pores; like he can see your unspoken words reflected in the gloss on your lips—like your eyes hold the manuscript of your hopes and dreams and he’s about to pore over it, memorizing it down to the letter.

He looks at you like he’s dangerously close to seeing you; you, past your barriers and caution tape; you, with all your intricacies and contradictions; and you, with all the hope and yearning and vulnerability you’ve had since your youth that you’ve been trying to convince everyone is no longer around. 

You’re utterly overwhelmed with all the thoughts swimming in your brain at the moment, and one thought swims up to the forefront, displaying itself loud and clear and unignorable. 

He looks at you like he’s falling in love.

“Haechan, please stop looking at me like that,” you beg in a whisper, scared to speak any louder in case your voice trembles. Something about the intensity of his gaze is beautiful and terrifying all at once, and you’re not ready for him to see you unraveled like this.

Haechan must be able to sense the panic in your voice, your underlying fear of being truly seen and known undoubtedly ringing out in the silence between you two, because he smiles reassuringly and relents, softening the intensity of his gaze until he’s displaying nothing more than mild curiosity and fascination.

“Thanks.” you mutter shyly, averting your gaze to inspect your cuticles in a feeble attempt to act natural.

“No problem. Can I say something, though?” he asks, and you nod, internally bracing yourself. “Have you heard of twin flames?”

“Yeah, isn’t that like soulmates, kinda?” you reply.

something about him was made for somebody like me baby, come over, come over and god knows i’m trying, but there’s just no use in denying

“Kinda,” he says slowly. “Some people call them ‘mirror souls,’” he explains. “Essentially, they’re two people with an intense soul connection that makes them complete when they’re together.”

You pout thoughtfully. “Like two halves of a whole?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he agrees. “The term ‘mirror souls’ is a bit more fitting, because they complement each other; they’re opposites in crucial ways, but in ways that could either ruin things or make them work really well together.”

”Okay,” you say carefully. “Well, thanks for the mini lesson. Why’d you bring that up?”

“I feel drawn to you.” he explains in a rush, almost like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to say it. “Like, I can’t explain it, but when I first met you, I felt—I don’t know—something.”

“I’d wager that the something you felt was just the blood rushing down to your d—” you remark dryly, but he cuts you off, shaking his head. 

“It wasn’t.” he insists. “I felt a connection. And you felt it too—remember?”

“No,” you lie. You remember all too well, actually. 

“You flirted with me.” he reminds you with a triumphant grin, and you frown. 

“That was before I found out you were dating my friend!”

“So the connection magically went away? Hm? The initial attraction you had to me just vanished into thin air?” he presses.

“I locked it in a closet.” you admit. “It can’t come out.”

“Well, unlock it.”

“I have swallowed the key.” you reply stubbornly.

“Well, I’m picking the lock.” he counters, and you gape at him indignantly.

“You can’t do that!”

“And why not?”

“You have a girlfriend.” you remind him, and he has the audacity to scoff and roll his eyes, making you gasp in horror. “Ooh, I’m telling.”

“Who cares about that?” he asks, waving a hand dismissively.

“Um, gee, I would wager that your girlfriend does.” you reply sarcastically. “And you should care, too.”

“All that yapping—”

“I know this boy did not just say I’m yapping—”

“—and you still didn’t say that you care.” he finishes, and you stop short, blinking at him in surprise. “Gotcha.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groan. “I’m not your girlfriend, you know—I don’t have to put up with this.”

“Do you want to be her?” he asks, and you freeze, staring at him incredulously.

“No? I barely know you, and from what I do know, you like stepping out on your girlfriend.”

“False. I don’t like to step out on my girlfriend,” he corrects you, and you roll your eyes. “I just like you.”

“Stop saying that.” you warn.

“I mean it.” he says simply.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble if you keep talking like that.” you reply nervously.

“The risk is so worth it though, don’t you think?” he murmurs conspiratorially, and you stare at him blankly.

”No.” you reply flatly, entirely unamused.

Haechan pouts—somehow handsomely—and nudges you with his shoulder, saying, “Come on… try living a little.” 

“No.”

”You know you want to.” he coaxes, and you grumble unintelligibly under your breath.

”What I want is for you to drop the subject,” you say, batting your lashes at him for the effect. “Pretty please?”

His gaze darkens slightly. “Beg again.”

“I didn’t beg!” you splutter, both indignant and flustered by the shift in the air. “I requested politely.” 

“Well, request politely again. You’re really cute when you do that, you know.”

”And on that note, this conversation is over. Now,” you say slowly, patting your lap and nudging him with your shoulder. “I think we should probably get back. Y’know… before they notice we went missing.”

“I guess you’re right,” Haechan agrees with a reluctant sigh, gathering your and his food containers and standing up. “Lead the way, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you whisper loudly, and he grins cheekily as you two make your way to exit the museum café.

“Stop liking it and I’ll stop doing it.” He retorts, stopping in front of you suddenly so you bump into him. 

“Haechan!” you can’t help but laugh at his refreshingly playful nature, and he looks over at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of a brat?”

“Yes, actually.” he replies thoughtfully. “But it takes one to know one.”

You stop short and he turns back to look at you curiously. “Are you calling me a brat?”

“Yes,” he replies easily with a smile. “Yes, I am.” And before you can retaliate, he’s speed walking towards the garbage to throw out your waste, stopping just in front of the exit to wait for you. When you get closer, still staring at him with narrowed eyes, he shoots you a dazzling smile and opens the door, holding it for you.

”Ladies first.”

“Oh, now you’re a gentleman.”

“What do you mean, ‘now?’” Haechan replies, shocked. “I let you sit first, I held the door for you, I threw out your garbage for you and paid—”

“Which you definitely shouldn’t have done, by the way.” you interject, and he stares blankly at you. “Don’t get me wrong, my wallet and I appreciate you greatly, but I was more than capable of paying for myself.”

“It’s okay,” he muses lightheartedly, shrugging. “You can just make it up to me sometime.”

You pause, staring at him suspiciously. “And how would I do that?”

“I’ll come up with something,” he replies with a small secretive smile. 

“I don’t like the sound of that.” you say slowly, and he laughs, throwing his arm around your shoulders goodnaturedly. 

“It won’t be anything drastic,” he assures you. “Just something like… a kiss.”

“A kiss?” you splutter, and he grins, nodding. “You’d better be joking.”

He turns his head towards you, tightening his grip around your neck not enough to be overbearing but just enough to prevent you from turning your face away. “And what if I’m not?” His voice softens as he continues, “Hm?”

A long silence passes between you two—far longer than socially acceptable—during which Haechan stares pointedly at your mouth and you attempt to avoid doing the same. After what feels like ages, you break the tension-laden quiet by clearing your throat and walking forward and out of his embrace.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” you say over your shoulder, and Haechan chuckles as he catches up to you.

“I do.” he replies simply, and you snort. He leans over, bringing his lips to your ear, and murmurs, “And I think you like it.”

TA DA!!!!! i hope you enjoyed your read! the second part will be up in exactly two weeks! reminder that (only if you’re able) tips are very much appreciated, as is positive feedback! if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just shoot me an ask and please make sure your privacy settings are updated accordingly!

ORRRRRR you could sub to my patreon, where the whole fic is already posted in full!! (

LINKS: KO-FI // VENMO // CASHAPP // AMAZON WISHLIST // (if you’d like to support via paypal, let me know off anon!!)

[ugh-yoongi]

a word from our sponsors | knj

you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly. 

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway).  When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and…  “Kissing,” she says finally.  “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.”  He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines.   “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”  Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion. 

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt.  “Yeah—want you, Joon.”  “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.”  “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her.  Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does.  She hates that he’s right.  Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides.  It’s perfect.  Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy.  “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster.  “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing.  When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

[luvyeni]

YOU CATCHING THE BOUQUET 𖹭 스트레이키즈 ( reaction ) !

genre fluff 𖹭 warning nothing pairing — OT8 x fem reader | back to library .

— stray kids reaction to when you catch the bouquet at a wedding ...

request. skz! Reaction when ur at a wedding and u catch the bouquet? saw someone do it with enhypen and I was immediately intrigued.

𐙚 : BANGCHAN ֶָ֢ !

He watched you catch it, the bride telling you to get ready for your wedding; his entire neck up to his ears turning red, smiling down at the ground shyly ( I love his shy smile ). the entire night he's thinking about it, how his married life would be with you, and it all seemed perfect in his head. he probably will bring it up a few days later casually, both of you just sitting on the couch when he turns to you. "what do you think about getting married?"

𐙚 : LEE KNOW ֶָ֢ !

smirking ; he just wants to tease you. "you practically threw that girl to the ground to get them." he tapped your pouty lips. "hey." you tried to defend yourself. "you tryna tell me something?" he knows that getting married is not on your list for right now , but you do want to get married. "you finally ready?" he said dancing with you. " maybe in a few more years , not now." he nodded , he's ready whenever you are.

𐙚 : CHANGBIN ֶָ֢ !

oh so you want to get married? cause he's sure the man who officiated the current bride and grooms wedding was still around; if he paid good money he'd do it, changbin just needs your word and he'll leave this wedding right now and go get a ring, that's how serious he is about this shit, you have to take his hands into yours to calm him down. "so when are we doing this, just give me the word?" he's already calculating the prices in his head for your honeymoon. "definitely not today so calm down baby."

𐙚 : HYUNJIN ֶָ֢ !

all our lover boy hears is wedding bells the moment the flowers touch your hands , he can picture the wedding. you don't even notice it , someone points it out. "you might want to go tell lover boy over there he's in public and everyone can see him sketching out your wedding plans on that name card." you turn to find your man in his own world writing down something , you smile, walking over to him. "what you writing?" "our future vows." you furrowed your eye brows. "hyune." you slapped his shoulders. "do you really want to get married?" you asked. "of course." he said. "even if it's in 5 years , it's you I want to marry."

𐙚 : HAN JISUNG ֶָ֢ !

he didn't know what happened; until people started coming to him saying "get ready" or "good luck" — poor jisung was so confused; until he saw you holding the bouquet of flowers in your hand while you talked to friends. every single question went through his head. 'does she want to get married?' 'is this a sign' he didn't even know if he should bring it up; you saw him standing there in his head , and you went up to him, kissing his lips. "don't think too hard into it love , we're not getting married anytime soon."

𐙚 : FELIX ֶָ֢ !

whether you agree with it or not; felix reminds me of the type to propose at someone else's wedding— but this isn't about that. seeing you excitedly catch the flowers, looking at him with a smile, he took that as 'yup she wants to get married' so when he gets you alone , he pops the question; yes the question. "marry me." he said. "Huh?" You asked. "Not now of course, but soon; marry me." you didn't want to cry to take away attention from the bride. "o-okay." You kissed him. "let's get married." i said he was the type to ask at a wedding, not that he'd take away attention from the bride and groom, you'd announce it weeks after the wedding.

𐙚 : SEUNGMIN ֶָ֢ !

you've ever seen a video of him just freezing up all confused mouth hung open, that's it; for the first time in his life he was shocked. "aren't we supposed to get married now?" You teased him, handing him the bouquet. "where's my ring pup?" he quickly snapped back into reality, his friends slapping his shoulders teasingly. "please , I'm not that stupid, she doesn't want to get married yet." he's still gonna ask you about it, he doesn't want you to think he's over looking it. "when are you gonna force me to marry you?" he says trying to be cool. "who says i want to marry you." you teased back, both of you ending up just smiling at each other. "who else would I marry?" "your right who else would you marry?" you know it won't be anytime soon , but you know you won't be marrying anyone else.

𐙚 : JEONGIN ֶָ֢ !

another confused one; like you were eager as hell to catch those damn flowers , were you ready to get married? you both were so young and he loved you and with time he wouldn't mind talking about it with you, but right now he wasn't ready. he genuinely wanted to ask you, so he waited until you got home , subtly bringing up the topic. "you don't want to get married yet?" he would ask. "what?" "married , earlier you were so happy about catching the flowers." you smirked. "Do you not want to marry me?" he began to trip over his words, making you laugh. "innie please." You calmed him down. "of course I want to get married , but not now , we're so young." he sighed. "You were so happy." "because the girl in front of me kept pushing me out the way, I was happy i got it, the look on her face still makes me smile."

©️LUVYENI

[bountycancelled]

OPLA characters reacting to a sweet, girly reader who turns out to be a a ruthless fighter

genre: headcanons, fem! reader, kinda suggestive??, idfk just read it bro

requested: nope, but reqs are open! pls, for the love of god, request for the opla♡

feat: zoro, sanji

a/n: reader's feminine but not female if that makes sense, only witting again because I'm obsessed with the one piece live action. also, this may be a little ooc, since I haven't watched the anime/read the manga, sorry about that! also, if you wanna be added to my perm taglist, pls feel free to ask!

☆ZORO☆

when you first joined the crew, zoro was immediately unsure of what exactly you brought to the table. I mean, they already had a swordsman, a sharp shooter, a navigator, a dumb cook and a captain/motivational speaker. so what were you doing here?

from luffy's explanation of you, he was aware that you were a good fighter, but he had never seen you in action.

the only things he had seen from you were stuffed animals laying around the ship, pastel outfits he could spot for miles, and bows that had been put in his hair while he slept.

he was tolerant of you at best, and straight up apathetic at worst, but finally, there came a time where someone tried picking a fight with you since you seemed like an easy target while you were walking with him and nami.

although he wasn't particularly fond of you (lies), he still felt the need to defend you as a crewmate, but the ass whooping you gave the stranger made him freeze in place.

there was blood splatter on your pretty face, deep red sploches of your cute clothes, and a look of pure hatred in your eyes. and you had never looked more beautiful in zoros eyes.

that was the first time zoro had ever smiled at you. sure, he had slightly smirked at your cuter tendencies, but in that moment he was truly smitten with you.

from that day, zoro wanted to train with you. what you lacked that he had in experience, you made up for in absolute cruelty when fighting. you were quick, agile and you weren't afraid to make zoro hurt, and he loved every second of it.

zoro would sometimes smile when he saw bruising on his body from his time training with you but catch himself and go stone faced immediately. no, he was not falling for you, absolutely not.

except he was, and the next time you showed up by his side with a slight limp, some tears in your cotton candy coloured clothes, blood all over you, and a sadistic smile on your face, he would tell you as much.

SANJI♡

sanji is unsurprisingly, enamoured by you the second you join the straw hats.

I'm talking, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, cheesy and constant compliments like "you're cuter than any of your stuffed animals, yn-swan~" and even brushing up on his baking skills to bake you aesthetically pleasing sweet treats that always put a smile on your face.

if I'm being completely honest, it doesn't bother him that he doesn't know exactly what your strengths are, you could be amazing at everything like barbie or you could literally not know night from day and he'd still admire you all the same.

one day, you're wearing bottoms that are on the shorter side not that sanji minds at all and you're out exploring the island you're at with him by your side, holding all your bags because in his words "angels don't do hard labour when he's around" when someone decides to hit on you.

you reject them politely, but when they make a less than appropriate comment about your outfit, you click your tongue and shake your head, readying yourself to hospitalise someone.

sanji's mood switches to one of being happy because he's around you to one of murderous intent the second this rando tries you, but you already have them wheezing on the floor with broken nose before sanji can even lift his leg off of the ground.

you're back to usual self, fixing the bow on your hair while complaining about how fucking hard it is to get blood stains off of your clothes, while sanji is thinking about how fucking hard he is

safe to say that this heartless, terrifying side of you makes sanji fall even harder and question whether or not he's a masochist.

he'll still insist on doing things like carrying you anywhere (most of your shoes you impractical as fuck, but style>functionality always) lifting things for you and treating you like a piece of fine china because that's exactly what you deserve, no matter how badass you are.

only difference is, now he'll never come to aid when it comes to kicking ass, because he enjoys seeing you take people to heaven and back more than anything.

he compliments now range from "omg you are the most adorable, lovable, doll-like angel I've ever seen" to "please punch me, step on me, make my nose bleed, choke me-" and he's now ten times more annoying about you than he was before, which no one thought was possible.

believe me when I say that images of you in frilly outfits with your eyes gleaming like diamonds eveytime you make someone bleed occupy 90% of his thoughts. (the other 10% is all things cooking, of course.)

[weakformingyu]

You are my favorite

Pairing: Lee Know x afab!reader

Part 2 of Can I be your favorite?(Recommended to read the first part for context)

Genre: smut, fluff, angst(the tiniest bit)

Summary: you let your insecurities come in between your new relationship with Minho, luckily for you though, he's not gonna let you run away so easily.

Words count: 3,076

THIS CONTENT IS +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: oral(f. receiving), unprotected piv(wrap it before you tap it ffs), creampie, marking, hickeys, dirty talk(barely), Minho is possessive asf(is it even my fic if he's not possessive?), reader is insecure

You were sore when you woke up the next morning — or should you say, afternoon? It was already 2pm when you opened your eyes, finding Minho's place empty by your side.

You look around the room, now there's enough light coming from the windows for you to be able to see the room. You don't know how to explain it but it fits Minho perfectly, the decoration is discreet but not basic and it shows a lot of his personality, more than you're aware of.

You get up, not really sure what you're supposed to do. So you collect your things and start getting dressed, tying your hair in a ponytail to try and conceal the mess.

When you open the door, you look around before getting out, not sure if you're going to find someone and a bit embarrassed to be going away at this hour. You get down the stairs, walking past the kitchen at a quick pace but before you can turn the knob, you hear a voice behind you.

“Minho, your girl is trying to escape”, he yells, making you spin on your heels quickly looking at the telltale just to find a boy, who you're sure is Jeongin, the youngest of the frat house.

“Never thought you would be the type to smash and dash”, your crush says, popping out of the kitchen.

“I'm not!” You defend yourself, crossing your arms.

“That's not what it looks like to me”, he shrugs.

“I was just looking for you”, you lie and he scoffs, walking towards you.

“You shouldn't lie, princess”, he leans closer to you, making you gulp. “I don't like liars”, he whispers. Smirking when he sees your breath quickening and the way you lick your lips nervously. “Anyways, you can go if you want. I'll pick you up at 8”

“F-for what?” You ask, trying to recompose yourself.

“I told you I was going to take you out for dinner, didn't I?”

"I can't believe you're really going on a date with Minho”, Jihyo says, clapping excitedly while she searches for something in your wardrobe.

“I don't why he wants to go on a date with me”

“‘cause you're hot?” Your best friend says, as if it's obvious.

“He has a hundred other hot girls to take on dates”, you scoff, making Jihyo throw a pillow at you.

“Stop with the self depreciation, he doesn't want the other girls, he wants you. So get your ass over here so I can help you with your makeup”

You were hopeful but didn't think Minho would actually do as he promised. At exactly 8pm, you heard a knock on the door and Jihyo squealed, giving you a thumbs up and sending you to your date.

Minho was looking exceptionally handsome in all black, hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. He stares at you up and down with a grin on his lips.

“You look good”, he tells you, enjoying seeing your cheeks turning a dark shade of red.

“Y-you look nice too”, you say, stepping outside and closing the door behind you.

You are seated in front of him, not really sure what to do next, you two ordered your food and some expensive wine that you never heard about. The ride to the restaurant was a bit awkward, you felt the need to say something but didn't know what to say so you talked about the weather not realizing that he liked seeing you trying, nervous like a bunny being hunted by a predator, him.

“So, what's your major?” He asks, taking you out of your thoughts. He's resting his face on his hand while watching you fidget on your seat.

“Engineering”, you answer, sipping on the glass of water the waiter poured to you.

“That's interesting”, he smiles. “I'm a dance major”, he tells you.

“I know”, you say without thinking, covering your mouth immediately. “I mean, everyone knows”, you smile sheepishly.

“Ah, yes. You like me, right?” He smirks, proudly, making your face turn as red as a tomato.

“Please, stop saying that, it's embarrassing”, you hide your face in your hands.

“It's embarrassing that you like me?” He chuckles, tilting his head.

“You were not supposed to know that”, you clarify, “it's pathetic that I have feelings for someone who didn't even know I existed until last night”, you sigh.

“I clearly knew you existed, since I knew that you like me”, he teases. “I don't think it's pathetic, the heart wants what it wants”

“Is that why you dated all those girls?” You ask, naively, making his eyes grow wide. He didn't think you'd be that straightforward.

“No, I'm not one to rejected a nice looking girl”, he shrugs, “they just didn't manage to be more than that to me, but I'm sure they can be something more for someone else”

“Ah”, you nod, feeling awkward.

“Do you want to date me?” He asks nonchalantly like he's asking how was your day, making you choke on the water you just drank.

“What?” You ask, shocked.

“I think I was very clear”, he answers, scowling.

“Why would you want to date me?”

“I guess you heard me well”, he teases, “you're my type”, Minho clarifies.

“I don't think I'm, though”, you oppose.

“I think I know better than you who is or is not my type”

“I mean, I'm not pretty like your other girlfriends”, you push.

“Firstly: why would I want someone just like the people I broke up with? Second: I think you're pretty”

You feel your whole face hot, covering your mouth instantly so he doesn't see the stupid smile you have on your lips.

“Also, I like fucking you”, he ruins the moment, smirking, “I wanna keep doing that”

“What a gentleman”, you roll your eyes, ignoring the heat growing on your lower stomach. He doesn't need to know that you'd give anything for him to fuck you right now on the restroom of the restaurant.

“I can be one”, he stretches his arm, grabbing your hand, caressing it. “Or I can be the opposite of that, it's your call”, he shrugs.

That's precisely how you ended up fucking on the restaurant’s restroom. He pulled you inside the confined space, bending you on the sink and before you could prepare yourself his cock was inside of you.

“Fuck, kitten”, he groans, covering your mouth, not slowing down his thrusts. “You have to be quiet if you don't wanna get caught”, you nod, crying out, seeing his smirk through the reflection of the mirror.

You ended up dating him. It's not like it's a sacrifice for you or anything but you couldn't wrap your head around the reason that the Lee Minho would want to date you of all people. People's reaction was different from the one you expected too, they didn't really care, thinking he was going to dump you in a week.

However, to their surprise and especially yours, he didn't. Minho never even brought up the idea of breaking up and when you realized, two months had already passed.

After two months you still couldn't believe you were dating him and how hot he is, you always thought he was the most handsome man you ever saw but dating him hits differently. Now you can see him after a shower, coming out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hip, his muscular chest bare for you to drool over. He cooks for you, making your favorite foods or some you never ate before. He brings you snacks and makes side dishes for you to eat at home. Minho picks you up before class and takes you back home after or he invites you to sleep over at the frat. You're already acquainted with all his friends, they even come looking for you to show you things when you're in the house. It makes you wonder if they acted like that with all of his girlfriends. Two months of the sweetest romance and the best sex you've ever had.

At least it was. You're not going to deny it, you're insecure. Minho is someone you never thought you could reach, so to be his girlfriend? It's something you never imagined. As he told you before, he has a great number of options, so the possibility that he'll replace you anytime, scares you.

You try forgetting about that, try not to overthink, until you find him at the library with a girl all over him. She's beautiful, perfect skin and shiny hair, she's hanging too close to him, touching his arm and throwing her head back in an exaggerated laugh. She's actually touching him at any chance she gets and you're there paralyzed like an idiot, watching it.

You feel the tears brimming in your eyes and you turn around and walk to the opposite side. You are his girlfriend, you should definitely step in, but in all honesty, you are too scared. Scared he'll look at you like you are nothing, that he's finally going to look at you with cold eyes like you have been waiting for it to happen.

You don't talk to him for days, avoiding meeting with him and ignoring his calls. You know it's childish to just ignore someone like that but you just needed to prepare yourself for the dreadful conversation you were about to have. It's going to be for the best if you two break up, he can go back to the way he lived before and you can stop worrying about when he's going to get tired of you.

It's not a surprise when Minho shows up at your door, you expected that to happen but wasn't expecting his appearance. He has his hair disheveled, deep eye bags under his eyes and he looks furious.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, angrily, not even greeting you and storming inside your apartment like a hurricane. “Why did you disappear?”

“I needed to think”, you murmur, closing the door behind you.

“Think about what? You should at least have answered my texts”, he huffs, taking his jacket off and throwing it on the couch.

“About us”, you answer him, making his face soften a bit.

“What about us?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“I think it's best if we break up”, you tell him at once, not really capable of dragging this conversation for too long, it was already so hard to say that sentence, you are about to cry at any minute.

“What are you on about?” He frowns, taking a step closer to you, but you take a step back.

“I'm trying to make the right decision for the both of us”, you sigh, “it's not like this is going to last anyways, you should go find someone who's on your level”

He scoffs, breathing a laugh. You expected any other reaction of him, but that one was not included.

“So that is what this is about”, he starts walking towards you and you start stepping back, until you bump into the kitchen table with nowhere else to run. Minho gets closer to you, looking down on you as he cages you between the table and his body.

“My kitten is insecure, is that it?” He asks, making you blush with the pet name. Minho never gets tired of making you flustered.

“I'm not”, you lie, avoiding his gaze.

“You know I don't like liars”, he tells you, “but I guess it's on me, if I did a better job as your boyfriend you wouldn't be feeling like this’, he pouts.

“You are a great boyfriend”, you murmur, trying not to look into his eyes, he's too close.

“Hm? I am?” He teases. “Then what's it, kitten, did you find someone more interesting than me?” He smiles, it was supposed to be a joke but the way your eyes widened with that simple suggestion makes him a bit mad. “Is that it?” He asks, narrowing his eyes to stare at you.

“No, there's no one like that”, you tell him.

“Then why did you hesitate?”, he raises his brows in questioning. You were just too shocked to answer right away but he doesn't let you tell him that. “Nice way to make me angry”, he scoffs. “I told you I can be a fucking gentleman so why do you always make me be the opposite of that?” He asks, taking a step closer to you and pressing his body against yours. His hands slide around your waist, caging you even more in his hold.

“Minho, I-”, you try to speak but he tsks, interrupting you.

“You need to learn a lesson”, he tells you, leaning closer and brushing his lips on your cheek, trailing it down to your jaw and then your neck. “You are mine”, he whispers before attaching his mouth to your neck, biting on your skin so hard you whine with the pain.

His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing it and pulling you up, to sit on the table. You were on your pjs already ready to sleep and that makes his access to your body easier, the thin fabric of your clothes can barely block the warmth coming from his body to yours.

Minho pops open his dress shirt, letting it slide and fall on the floor, watching your reaction to him. You bite on your bottom lip, staring at his muscular chest. He always looks so good, you feel like moaning just by looking at him.

“Min…”, you murmur, spreading your legs wide for him. It's not like you can resist him anyways.

“There you are”, he smiles, unbuckling his pants and letting it fall down at his feet, “my needy girl”

You avoid his eyes, pulling your shirt off to reveal your bare chest to him.

“You look so hot, all spread for me like this”, he smiles, getting on his knees. Minho pulls the waistband of your shorts and panties down, watching your glistening cunt in excitement. “Is this because of me or are you thinking about someone else?” He pushes, finally seeing you look at him, shaking your head frantically.

“It's all you, the only one I think about is you”, you confess, feeling your cheeks hot.

Minho grins, putting your legs over his shoulders and kissing your inner thighs. He licks your pussy slightly, just teasing you, making you put your hands on his head to force him against your core.

You can feel him smile, licking a long strip between your folds, attaching his lips to your clit next. Minho slides his hand between your legs, inserting two fingers inside of you, going in and out while he sucks your aching core, grunting and groaning with you pulling on his hair and he watches as you become undone in his mouth.

You can feel your orgasm coming, your toes curl immediately and you buck your hips against his mouth desperately, chasing your high and when the knot on your lower stomach finally explodes, you moan loudly, trembling in his embrace.

Minho stands up, cleaning around his mouth with his fingers and then licking on them.

“Still my favorite taste”, he smirks. You look stunning with your soft lips parted and hair disheveled, your chest rises and falls in a fast rhythm.

“This is going to be the last time I'll let you have your way”, you try looking the least bit believable while stating that, but that only makes him chuckle, stroking his cock a few times before he comes closer to you.

“And that only proves that you still haven't understood the situation you're in”, he tells you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock while he waits for you to stop him but you don't, you want to feel him inside you so fucking much that it seems like you're going crazy. He pushes in, feeling your cunt squeezing him deliciously. “Fuck”, Minho murmurs. Your arms wrap around his waist, burying your nails in his skin, the snap of his hips against yours making you breathless.

He kisses you, feeling your sweet lips against his only adds to the building up of his orgasm, you look so pretty, you're perfect for him, your pussy is perfect for him, he won't let you end things with him that easily.

He pulls away from you for a moment, your mouth is parted and your eyes are glossy, he wants to hold you forever.

“I'm in love with you”, he confesses, thrusts faltering a bit. Your eyes grow wide to his sudden revelation. “You won't get rid of me that easily, kitten”, he groans, pressing his lips against yours one more time.

That's enough for you to cum, squirming and trembling in his embrace, while you watch him breathlessly thrust inside of you, eyes locked with yours.

“Do it inside”, you cry out, overstimulated after your second orgasm. Minho groans, bending towards you and kissing you, spilling his hot cum inside you while he bites on your lips.

He rests his head on your shoulder, breathless, trying to recompose himself.

“Don't ever talk about breaking up, ever again”, he pulls away to look at you, finding your eyes brimming with tears.

“But I saw that girl hitting on you the other day at the library”, you pout, making him sigh, cupping your face with both of his hands.

“Yes, she was hitting on me but I told her I have a really smart, hot girlfriend and that I was not interested”, he tells you, making you feel like the greatest idiot in the world.

“I'm sorry, I should have checked with you first”, you say, “I just love you so much, I'm scared you're going to dump me”, you confess, making him chuckle. His heart beating like crazy, it's the first time you openly say you love him.

“Y/n, you're stuck with me for a long time”, he gives you a peck on the lips, “I won't ever do anything to hurt you, okay?”

You nod, feeling warmth spreading all over your chest.

“Now, you better prepare yourself, ‘cause you need to receive some punishment for disappearing and making me worry”, he tells you, showing you that devilish smirk of his and before you can run to save yourself, Minho is picking you up and dragging you to your room.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You want your boyfriend's attention again.

Genre: Hurt & comfort (angsty fr)

Warnings: James is an asshole in the beginning, relationship problems (happy ending!), mentions of fighting and jealousy, crying, sexual harassment/non-consensual kissing, swearing (a lot)

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Wait, James! I'm sorry," you shout but James doesn't listen as he harshly pulls his arm away from you when you try to hold onto the sleeve of his jumper. Salty tears brim your eyes as you mutter, "Please, Jamie. You have to understand."

You almost bump into him when he stops dead in his tracks. "Understand? What is there to understand?" he states in a whisper, his voice uncharacteristically calm for someone that's so very clearly furious. It scares you. Your chest feels tight as he turns around and when thunder crackles in the sky, you jump.

"He touched you," Pain taints his voice and your eyes soften, "Rosier had his dirty hands all over you and you didn't even try to stop him."

You shake your head and your hands move to hold his cheek but he turns his head away, "I didn't want him to touch me! I s-swear," you try to explain desperately, "I just, I just wanted you to see me and — " You start but James interrupts you,

"Y/n, how can you say I don't see you? I love you! You're the only thing I see."

You feel like you're slowly losing your mind, "Then why don't you show it anymore?" Thunder claps again and rain hits your skin like small knives. You don't dare make a move as you remain frozen under your boyfriend's harsh stare.

"I show you I love you plenty," he defends.

You feel exhausted and your words come out jumbled, "No, you don't. I almost never see you anymore and tonight you spent all evening with your friends. I-I wore this stupid dress for you," You show him your dress and he looks at you with round, frustrated, eyes, "And you couldn't even compliment me."

James runs a hand in his damp hair and tugs at his curls in frustration, "I tell you you're beautiful all the damn time." He insists and you shake your head furiously.

"You haven't complimented me in weeks!"

James doesn't move and you can almost see inside his mind. He's thinking hard. "I haven't?" he asks slowly, genuinely trying to understand and remember.

You turn from him a little, tears pricking at your eyes. You close them, trying to erase what had happened at the party earlier. The music, the dancing, Rosier's lips against your ear, his hand on your arm,

"I can make him jealous, you know."

You had jumped, the drink in your hand almost falling to the floor. Evan held your hand and smirked his infamous smirk. "What?" you asked, your voice small as it's drowned out by the music.

Evan pursed his lips and ran a hand in his hair. "Your boyfriend," he said with venom and glanced at James. James, who was across the room with his friends, laughing loudly with his arm swung around Sirius's shoulder. You had blushed, a familiar pit forming in your stomach. You grasped your dress as Evan continued, "I can help you make him jealous."

In a moment of weakness, you looked at him and asked, "How?"

And then his body was pressing yours against the wall. Stunned, you didn't have the time to process what was happening as Evan's hand swept up your side and he whispered, "Let me show you how gorgeous you look tonight, Y/n," his voice was smooth as honey but his teeth nipped at your neck.

You made a small gasp when his lips found the corner of your mouth and just as your hands touched his chest to push him away, he's yanked away by his collar. James looked furious as he punched Evan and the party came to a sudden halt.

"She wanted me, mate," Evan said through a busted lip and, judging by the guilty look on his face, James believed him. James hadn't said a word to you as he dropped Evan and stormed outside. You ran after him, desperate.

Your eyes open and a tear slides down your cheek as you answer James, "No. You haven't. Not in a while. You barely even make time in your busy schedule to make conversation with me. I-If you don't want me anymore, you can tell me and," your voice is trembling and you have trouble finishing your sentence, "and w-we can break up."

James's entire face drains of color hearing you and his eyes widen. His hands shake as they find your cheeks and he moves in closer.

He looks you over, his lip trembling. "I'm so sorry," his voice is a mere whisper as he continues to look at you. You can see his mind racing, his eyes moving quickly over you as he searches your skin. "Y/n, did he hurt you? Rosier — did he hurt you?"

James leans his forehead on yours when you shake your head no. "Shit, baby, I'm such an idiot," he sounds desperate as his hands sweep up your arms and he looks at your body. "You're so stunning, Y/n. So beautiful all the fucking time. I'm so fucking sorry, love. I don't want to break up with you, that's the last thing I would ever want. I can't lose you."

You're overwhelmed by all kinds of emotions as you whisper, "Then why have you been ignoring me? Am I not enough for you anymore?"

James shushes you as he pets your soaked hair and gently guides your head to look up at him. He moves hair away from your face. "Don't say that. Please. You did nothing wrong. It's my fault. I have been so busy lately with school and Quidditch and – fuck – it never occurred to me that I was losing you. I took you for granted, love," he admits, caressing your cheek, "You're so sweet and kind to me I didn't even know something was wrong. I'm so sorry."

You don't want to forgive him and still, you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. As much as you want to despise him for what he did, you love him more than you could ever hate him and James sees this. He holds your cheek and he strokes his calloused thumb against your skin. "You should be mad at me, love. I fucking deserve it," he says sadly.

"I just don't understand why you would think I wanted Rosier to kiss me," You admit, your voice small. James's heart tightens in his chest and tears brim in his eyes. He doesn't think you can hate him more than he hates himself at this moment.

"I don't know, Y/n," he admits, "I don't know what I was thinking but I- I should have listened to you," he whispers, looking down and you can tell he's replaying the moment Rosier crushed you against the wall over and over again in his head.

"Bloody hell, I'm a shit boyfriend. Some guy forces himself onto you and the first thing I do is blame you," he sounds angry with himself and you can tell even if you reassure him, he won't excuse himself so easily.

"It's okay," you try anyway but James quickly presses his finger to your lips.

"Shh, no. It isn't okay," he says, his eyes stern and he leans his forehead on yours. "I don't fucking deserve your forgiveness," his hand hovers over your form, afraid to touch you but silently pleading with his eyes for you to let him.

You nod and his fingers skim the satin of your dress. "I love you," James says. His hand touches your waist and then gently slides up your ribs. "I love you. I love you. I love you," he continues in a mantra as his lips press to your ear and you let out a sigh. You melt into his touch and his mantra changes, "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Shit, baby, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," You try and whisper again but this time his lips find yours to silence you. You're surprised but when James pulls away to make sure you're okay with him kissing you after everything, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase his lips. James's hands move up and hold your cheeks as he kisses you again.

The kiss is delicate and mixed with both anger and sadness. Your anger and his, his sadness and yours, as well as an abundance of soul crushing love. Jame's hand slides down to hold yours and he disconnects your lips. "How can I make it up to you?" he asks seriously, looking into your eyes.

"What?" your eyebrows crease.

James repeats his question without complaints, "How can I make this better? I want to show you how much I care."

You search his face and he looks determined. A smile tugs at your lips. "Oh, um," you think for a moment, "just don't do it again? Please don't forget me again." James's heart shatters again and he's convinced all he has left in his chest are sharp shards that will cut into him for the rest of his life.

"Never, baby, never," he promises as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "What else? What else, love?" James sounds desperate at this point.

You pull away and stare into his eyes. "Listen," you start and his stomach turns as sweat beads at his forehead, mixing with the raindrops. His mind starts to spin as he thinks of what you could say.

I think this isn't working. I can't look past this. I don't love you anymore, not after what you did.

"I'm not looking to punish you for what happened, I just want to move forward," you pause and James hangs on your every word. "I love you and I can tell you're really sorry. I know you, and I know you won't do it again." James nods his head, agreeing, and caresses your cheek, "That's enough for me."

You kiss his lips and then smile at him and James is sure his heart will explode from happiness. The rain finally slows as he listens to your words and in a breathless whisper he vows to never do anything like this again.

And he never does.

[kisses4reid]

ruined surprises | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,

summary - you accidentally find a small, red, velvet box in aaron’s drawers.

genre - fluff, nonbau!reader x aaron, proposals, engagement rings, happy ending

warnings - mentions of anxiety, mixed feelings, um… being proposed to???

w.c. - idk why i put this here i never check before uploading. it’s only like 1k you’ll be okay.

a/n - hey pia why don’t we edit those drafts for the requests- no. ima do my own thing 😏🕷️also pls tell me abt mistakes i did not proof read this lol!

You sat at your dining table staring into space, or more specifically the bare wood in front of you. There were mixed emotions coursing through your veins. You felt as if your blood was changing from pink to green in the ugly mesh of conflicting feelings.

While this revelation brought you happiness and immense excitement, it also brought you fear. You were not supposed to find this, at least not now.

It stood prominent in your pocket, a pandora’s box of possibilities on how Aaron would react to your discovery. Would he be scared? Angry? Sad?

Your fingers picked at your nails as you took steadying breaths. The clock read only 5 minutes before Aaron returns from his vigorous job, 5 minutes before you’d have to reluctantly tell him you found the one thing he had been hiding from you.

The front door opens to your apartment and your palms start sweating in insecurity.

He’s tired, he’s worked all day, maybe it’s not the best time to bring it up. But what if he found out you knew the whole time? You’d be lying to him, and he values honesty above all else. What if it’s not for you? A gift, or maybe even an heirloom? Everything in your head started to doubt the one thing you wanted it to mean.

“Honey?”

Aaron stood at the end of the table, eyebrows low and eyes squinted slightly in concern. Coming home to your favourite person disassociating rigidly wasn’t a very warm welcome home. He would usually be greeted by a kiss, or the smell of a meal, or a bear hug. This was off, this was different.

“Aaron.” You smile, genuinely. Even with your anxiety raising your heartbeat by the second, there’s nothing that can keep you smiling from the sight of your handsome lover. Though the feeling was not long lived.

“Are you okay?” He asks, placing his bag down on the table and loosening his tie slightly.

“I’m… We need to talk.” You say with a gulp. You lowered your head and glanced at his expression quickly. It came out more serious than it needed to be, and honestly Aaron started thinking the worse.

He sat on the chair next to you and searched your avoiding eyes, “Y/n-“

“Before you say anything, and before I tell you about what,” you waved your hands slightly, “we’re actually talking about. I need you to know that if I’m wrong you can’t laugh at me, and you can’t get angry. Okay?”

He nodded more confused than ever. Okay so, the fact that he could possibly laugh from this ‘talk’ was a sign it wasn’t anything too bad. He only wished you’d stop taking deep breaths and get too it.

You sighed, tired of your own stalling before reaching in your back pocket and putting a small, deep red velvet box on the table. Aaron’s dark eyes latched onto the box and he sighed, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair in shock.

“Do you know what’s in there?” Maybe you hadn’t-

You nodded. He nodded back and closed his mouth in a tight lipped grimace. This was not how he planned his proposal to go.

You took a deep breath and quickly defended yourself, “I lost my sports bra, and I thought maybe I put it in your drawers accidentally so I opened them and found… that.”

Aaron looked into your eyes, you looked scared but as he watched your eyes soften he knew that you weren’t scared of the implications, you were scared you had done the wrong thing.

“Thank you for not pretending to be oblivious.” He said smoothly, receiving a small smile in return. It warmed his heart. Jesus, he thought you were breaking up with him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked through your stuff. I’ve ruined the surprise, your surprise-“

“It’s okay.” He smiled, bringing his hand over yours, pulling it to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. You smile softly and he continues, “Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“How?” You tilted your head and furrowed your brows, running your thumb over the back of his hand softly.

“Now you know I want to marry you.” Aaron’s cheeks reddened only slightly, and you laughed to bask in it. It wasn’t often you got your lover blushing.

“You told me you wanted to marry me on our fourth date. Trust me, I remember.”

He laughed this time and looked down at the box. “Did you like the ring?”

“I didn’t get a good look because I shut it immediately. I pinched my finger in the clasp.” You displayed your fingertip as proof, “But from what I saw, it was perfect.”

You didn’t ruin his plans at all, he thought. It wasn’t a terrible revelation, you didn’t give it to him and run away, you didn’t let him down easy. You were honest and turned the moment into a core memory. You laughed. Everything was good when you laughed.

Aaron placed a soft hand on your cheek and placed a loving kiss on your lips, you smiled into it. “You’ll just have to wait longer now.” He whispered jokingly, to which you slapped him on the chest and whined, no fair.

No. What wasn’t fair was that he would get the best life, with the most perfect wife in the world, and others wouldn’t.

But it was hard to feel sorry for others when you were in front of him.

About a month later. Aaron Hotchner decided he couldn’t wait any longer.

Aaron’s arm was on the back rest of the couch, legs stretched on a foot rest and you cross-legged beside him explaining the deep lore behind the movie that was playing in the background. You were blabbering on, voice changing between characters that you tried to imitate, and topic lighting up your face more than the TV screen.

And Aaron’s heart just couldn’t take it. He needed to ask you to marry him more than he needed anything else in the world. Those four words seemed to be the only cure to his love sickness (though he knew it would only get worse).

You laughed at one of your own jokes, and started to calm down your explanation.

“And that’s why the first actor got replaced.” You smiled and placed your hands in your lap, face triumphant. Aaron smiled softly, eyes tracing your face with love and adoration.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked.

You nodded, thinking it would be about the movie, “Of course.”

“Will you marry me?” He took the familiar velvet box from his sweatpant’s pocket and clicked it open, cheeks hurting in a smile as the ring was exposed to you for the second time. Aaron mentally scolded himself for not having a speech ready but seriously, he had not planned to do it tonight. It was a yearning, a need. Everything he would say to you, he promised to say a million times in your marriage as to not feel guilty about the bland proposal.

You held a hand over your mouth. Eyes glistening quickly, heartbeat seemingly still in your chest.

“Yes, oh my god. Aaron- Yes!” You threw yourself on him and squeezed his shoulders and back in a hug so tight he had to pat your back to get you off.

Not that he wanted you to stop, he just wanted to see you with a ring on your finger as quick as he could.

perm taglist (open!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover

[withleeknow]

forgetful.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; minho is lowkey the biggest simp wbk, unedited ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ word count: 0.9k note: first fic of 2024! don't look at me tho, at this point i just keep writing the most self-indulgent shit lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

minho is the type to - 15 seconds after he meets you for your weekly date night - ask you where your gloves are when he sees your reddened and shivering hands. there was a greeting kiss preceding the question, of course.

"i think we both know what the answer is," you tell him, trying to rub your hands together for warmth until he takes them and presses your cold fingers against his cheeks, before he kisses your palms.

"what’s the point of getting matching gloves if you keep forgetting yours?" he says, a light scolding tone in his voice that matches the slight frown tugging on his brows.

"it's not my fault!" you try to defend yourself. you'd raise your hands for emphasis, but he's still keeping them near his face, alternating between kisses and blowing into them to get you all nice and toasty. "i keep them by the door on purpose so i wouldn't forget to take them with me when i go out. you have to at least give me a little credit for that. i just... never actually remember to bring them."

he rolls his eyes, an act that most would find patronizing especially if minho is the one who's doing it. but when it comes to you, everything minho does is full of affection, even as he pretends to be annoyed.

"what am i going to do with you?" he mutters like a disappointed parent.

"it was your idea to get the gloves. i didn't really need them though. i have you."

"but i'm not with you all the time, baby. you need to keep yourself warm."

"well, you're here with me, aren't you? you can keep me warm now. i'll worry about cold hands later."

squishing his cheeks together, you pull him toward you for a swift peck.

despite his exasperated sigh, minho still presses his lips against each of your palms one last time, even turns them over to kiss your knuckles, before he settles on intertwining his left hand with your right one, stuffing them in his coat pocket as he pulls the both of you toward the direction of your dinner reservation.

"wait!" you exclaim, holding up your neglected hand, "what about this one? it's cold too."

he turns to look at you, his face devoid of all emotions as he assesses your so-called dilemma. then, minho lets go of you, telling you to put both your hands in your own pockets.

"come onnn," you lament, pouting at the man in front of you.

"you come on," he retorts. "just do it."

you huff childishly, watching as the breath comes out in a puff of smoke in the cold air, thinking minho is really letting you fend for warmth by yourself for the remaining 10 minutes that it takes to walk to the restaurant.

it's not like you meant to forget the gloves at home.

before you can resume walking, minho moves to stand behind you, pulling you to him, eliciting a surprised oof! from you. he shoves his hands into your pockets, intertwining your fingers once again within the confines of the fabric as he shuffles you forward, his legs on either side of yours so it's easier for you to walk. the thick coats and wool scarves that you're both wearing already make you look like a pair of clumsy bears roaming the street, but with your back pressed against his front like this, you have no doubt that by-passers must be thinking you're two cotton balls waddling in the middle of the city.

"minho!" you laugh, partially embarrassed that people are side-eyeing this strange public display of affection. "stop!"

"you wanted me to keep you warm, didn't you?"

"people are staring!"

"you said you were cold." he seems unfazed though, continuing to nudge you forward like it's the most normal thing in the world. "make up your mind."

"i take it back!"

you do your best to plant your feet firmly on the ground to keep him from moving. it works though, or at least it staggers him enough for you to wriggle out of his hold. you take a few steps away from minho, and he looks at you with unimpressed eyes.

"i take it back," you repeat. "we're only a couple blocks away. i think i'll manage."

he stares at you for a moment longer, before he reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of gloves, identical to the matching ones that you two picked out together a few weeks ago.

"how do you have my gloves?"

"these aren't the ones at your place," he clarifies. "this is your backup pair. i went back to the store and got them because i know you never remember to take shit with you."

you don't even try to suppress the grin that tugs on your lips when he walks closer to you, taking your hands and attentively covers your skin with the wool. "so you just... keep them with you at all times now?" you ask.

"pretty much, yeah."

once he's made sure that gloves are hugging your fingers snugly, you pull him down for a kiss, your lips moving together warmly. you feel him smile against you even though he's trying to look stern.

"you love me sooo much," you simper when you break from the kiss.

minho sighs, a long one as if to say yes, unfortunately i do love you very much.

"now come on." this time he does speak aloud. "let's go before they give away our table."

because that's just the kind of person minho is. because no matter how grumpy he may appear from the outside, he's still the type to always think of you and your wellbeing and show up for you even when you don't show up for yourself. no matter how callous his facade is, he is still the type to love you quietly. tenderly. completely.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 01.01.2024]

[sharkorok]

ooo u want me so bad

or…grumpy!enha being in luv w u

requested: nope

cw/genre: cursing, grumpy enhypen, fluff, humor, crack-ish, fem!reader, non-idol au, I wrote this during a zoom class, not proofread fuck it we ball, one joke about reader getting jumped?? anyways lmk if anything else should be tagged hehe

a/n: this was inspired by @macahoons grumpy enhypen texts that I just adored!!! Such a cute trope <3

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

heeseung

-he’s the basketball team captain, always idly boasting about his talents and loves being first place

-the only exception is you.

-he will never admit it but he absolutely lets you win every time you find him at the basketball court and u challenge him to some dumb scoring game where u see how many baskets u each can get

-“OMG HI HEESEUNG!! :3” when u find him at the basketball court and he sighs but he’s trying not to scream at how cute u r lowkey

-ur all giggly when u keep beating him “hee r u even trying?” “I’m just having a bad day don’t even” like he isn’t completely distracted by the way you look when ur grinning at him

-“I think I can take ur place as basketball team captain!” “In ur dreams??” but he’d gladly give it up if you would keep smiling like that

-insists on walking you home from the court because “I’m not gonna be held responsible for you getting jumped”

-and the next time you catch him on the basketball court it happens all over again! <3

jay

-you can’t even finish saying “I’m cold” before his jacket is over your shoulders and he’s scolding you for not being prepared

-sitting down and your skirt is riding up? his uniform blazer is over your lap and he’s shaking his head

-“what would you do without me??” “do you want your jacket back then , jay?” “…no”

-while it’s also because he cares about ur wellbeing, he also just really likes the sight of you wearing his clothes and you smelling like his cologne

-you literally walk into the room and he’s immediately “y/n you need to buy a thicker jacket you’re gonna get sick” not even a good morning or anything…

-“don’t tell people ur wearing my jacket I don’t want them to get the wrong idea 🙄” but lowkey he wouldn’t mind at all

-gets so (internally) giggly when u sink into his jacket because it’s chilly

-finds excuses u give u his clothes at this point …the tiniest piece of lint on ur shirt and he’s handing you his blazer

-“u can keep it ig”

jake

-gets you tiny gifts and acts like he just randomly found them

-he totally went out of his way to find you two matching keychains but he doesn’t wanna admit that

-“y/n I just randomly found your favorite seasonal pastry. no big deal. don’t thank me.”

-BUT HE ALSO KEEPS EVERY GIFT U GET HIM OMGEEE, he has a whole area on his desk dedicated to notes, trinkets, stickers, if you drew on his paper he’ll tear the section off so he can keep it LOL

-will never admit that. to anyone. but gets pressed if you give gifts to anyone else because that’s his y/nnie!! giving HIS gifts to some rando!! D: the cruelty!!

-gets sooo dramatic if he doesn’t get at least a little doodle he’s texting you like you killed a man

-one time his friend asked if he could borrow a pencil and he was like yea man sure and then realizing it was a pencil YOU!! gave him he snatched it back so fast trust

-he’s so cutie patootie but internally…4 now…

-wishes he could get over himself and kiss you all over when you shyly present a little plush toy you won at a claw game he’s RAHHHHH !!!

-for now he’ll stick to “thanks 😒”

sunghoon

-he’s really protective over you me thinks

-but he’ll be really quiet about it, maybe a girl makes you upset and he sees and he’ll “accidentally” knock over her bottled water on her notes, a guy is talking shit about you and sunghoon is squaring up in the courtyard no questions asked

-“sunghoon u dont have to protect me” “it’s not about you” even though it’s totally about you and he will die defending your honor

-one time on your walk out of school a tree branch poked you and u were all like “oh owie : o” and he was following behind before GLARING the shit out of that tree branch…

-another time this guy made a degrading comment about you and sunghoon managed to find receipts on him cheating on his gf and posted it on the school newsletter…cuz he’s silly like that <3

-honestly it’s a little scary the lengths he’ll go for you and still refusing to admit he’s doing it for you

-he’s not really good at comforting you when you cry, so he’ll make sure to protect you from anything that could make you cry

sunoo

-he’ll always listen to you

-if someone said “sunoo can u go grab me a drink from the vending machine” he looks at them like they’re insane but if YOU’RE asking??? he’s sprinting down the hallways

-“it’s literally just because ur lips get all chapped when your dehydrated don’t get an ego,” while he’s handing you like…water purified in Antarctica sourced from glaciers with a little paper umbrella

-even smaller things, he prioritizes your advice

-“guys should I have hot pot or panera for lunch?” and a rando will go, “panera!” and hes dead silent but you go “oh you should totally get hot pot!!” and he’s basically booking a reservation

-probably “accidentally” books a reservation for two and forces you to come since “it’s a waste of table space” if no one else does lol

-also if you don’t like someone he doesn’t like them either

-“sunoo are u friends with Ria?” “shes okay” “she said my makeup looked bad today :(“ and sunoo will act like he dgaf

-but next time you bring her up he scoffs and is all, “why even bother crying about her? she’s not worth your time and she’s annoying anyways” even though he’s never talked to this girl

-tldr ur word > anyone else

jungwon

-always speaks highly of you

-never to your face but he’ll always defend you when necessary, or speak up for you, or just praise you LOL

-“y/n actually scored higher than you, so idk why you’re bragging so loud” to some rando kid talking about test scores lmao

-or “y/n doesn’t like that snack get her another” when your friends are debating how to surprise you

-ur name is always in his mouth but positively LMAO

-brushes it off if you take note of this and says “people are just exaggerating, I barely talk about you, don’t get it twisted >:T” but everyone knows he’ll take any chance he can get to praise you

-“y/n is better tho” and everyone’s like?? who asked??

-it’s endearing but he doesn’t even notice it, he just is proud of you in every shape and form and since he can’t really express it around you he has to project it anywhere else he can hehe

-“jungwon do you think my hair looks okay?” says hee, looking for an actual answer. “y/n’s hair is nicer” responds jungwon, not missing a beat.

-“did you guys know y/n got a 100? isn’t she smart? don’t tell her I said that.”

niki

-does things for you without you asking and then acts like it’s a habit

-it is definitely not a habit for him to run out of his seat to pull out your chair for you, but he insists he literally does it for everyone (he doesnt)

-opens your capped drinks before handing them to you, stops you suddenly to tie your shoelaces, sends you photos of notes if you missed a day..

-“y/n you’d literally be hopeless without me” but he’d be hopeless if anyone else helped you because it’s his job!!

-it makes him feel special when he gets to do so many acts of service for you, for some reason he doesn’t mind running errands or whatnot, he’d much rather he be the one who does it than anyone else

-“y/n u forgot a hair tie today?? ur lucky I brought one” knowing damn well he brought it specifically for you ☹️☹️ cutie

-if the train is full you don’t even have to ask and he’ll let you take his seat “y/n you have weak legs, you need to sit”

-he secretly loves being someone you can rely on, no matter how much he denies it <3

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part two

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part two word count: 33.2k

part two warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, jealousy, a kiss or two, my incessant need to make sunghoon a figure skater in everything I write, family drama, use of the american (usa) university system

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

part one can be found on my masterlist!

note: reuploaded from my old blog with the same name! welcome back if you've been here before, and enjoy the conclusion to part one if you're new. happy reading ♡

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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PART TWO

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Jake Sim has been staring at his philosophy homework for the last twenty minutes when a stack of pastel pink papers slides across the table towards him. 

“What is this?” Much like most interactions he’s had with you, your sudden presence at Jake's favorite coffee shop is entirely unexplained. Hell, he’s not even sure how you found him here. He’d ask, if he thought you’d give him a straightforward answer. 

But Jake knows better at this point. So with a grumble, he takes out his headphones instead and prepares for a conversion that will probably put him in a worse mood than he started it in. 

Sliding down into the seat across from him without an invitation or the courtesy of an explanation, the only thing you say is, “You know, I really am starting to get a bit worried about your future success.” Nodding at the stack of papers you’ve just put on the table in front of him, you add, “How are you a third-year business major that still can’t recognize a contract?”

“I know what a contract is.” Jake defends, eyeing the papers warily, reaching out to pick them up. “But usually they’re not printed out on pink paper.” Really, who do you think you are? Elle Woods? And where did you even get this stuff? Jake doubts that this shade of pink cardstock came from the shelves of your local office supply store. Bringing the paper up closer to his nose, he levels you with a disbelieving look. “Hold on, is this paper scented?”

“Don’t put your gross nose on it! That paper is custom ordered.”

Of course it is. “Why the fuck did you print out a contract on custom ordered lavender-scented paper?”

You have the audacity to look affronted. “You should be thanking me.” With half a mind to snatch it out of his hands, you instead tell him with a glare, “Lavender is a very calming scent and probably the only thing stopping me from strangling you right now, y’know, since this entire thing is your fault.” 

Setting the papers back on the table with a little more force than necessary, Jake isn’t in the mood to play your favorite game of beating around the bush.“What entire thing? What kind of contract is this?” 

“I’m so glad you asked.” Your tone says otherwise. “Since someone’s loser brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut, just like I predicted, and someone’s mother found out about someone’s unfortunate use of the B word–”

“Hold on,” Jake’s brow creases in confusion. “I never called anyone a bitch–”

“Boyfriend,” you clarify, cutting him off. “I figured we better lay out some ground rules. You know, if we’re really gonna go for this.”

“Go for what?” Jake is still lost. “It’s just a family dinner–”

Shaking your head, you paint a perfect picture of disappointment when you tell him, “Your lack of foresight is astounding. Truly. Forget econ, I’m surprised you managed to pass classes that involve basic logic or any kind of critical thinking skills.”

Across from you, Jake does his best to close his laptop screen inconspicuously, keeping his untouched philosophy homework hidden from view. 

Then he returns, “And you don’t think you’re overreacting? Like, at all? What do we need a contract for?” Not that the lavender-scented abomination looks particularly legally binding to begin with. “Like I said, it’s just dinner–”

“For now,” you interrupt. “It’s just dinner for now. But two days ago, it was just a fundraiser, and to the best of our families’ knowledge, you were just my plus-one.” Giving him your best fake smile, you add, “And like the person at this table who has an IQ higher than a goldfish predicted, things are already getting messy. This,” you nod to the contract, “will help us clean them up before James or my mother realize that everything about you and me is nothing but one big lie.”

Jake sighs. Tries to defend himself even though he knows it’s futile. “Look, how was I supposed to know that my brother would open his big mouth to my mom?” And it really is just terrible luck all around – that James couldn’t keep a secret, that he chose to divulge it to the one person that actually cares about Jake’s love life and not just its potential effects on the family business. 

In fact, in Jake's opinion, his mother cares a little too much. The messages that started Sunday morning haven’t stopped since then. It’s a big part of the reason why his phone is currently face-down on the table that separates the two of you. Jake is not about to let you see anything that could potentially inflate your ego any more. 

His mother, however, seems to have other ideas. Right now, his message thread with her looks more like a one-sided fan club.

Mom: I can’t wait to meet her! I remember her as a little kid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.

Mom: Does she have any dietary restrictions or allergies? I’m starting to put together the menu for this weekend.

Mom: Does she prefer white or red wine? 

Mom: Never mind the last message. I’ll just pull out some of both. 

Mom: I just stumbled across a recent picture of her. Wow, she’s even more beautiful than I remember! I hope you’re treating her well. 

Mom: Can you send me your apartment address again? I want to mail you something.

Mom: Oh, and what’s ___’s favorite kind of cookie?

Mom: Forget it. I’ll just give them to you this weekend to take with you. 

Suppressing a wince, Jake decides to put his mother’s incessant prying to the side for the time being. Right now, he needs to build the most bulletproof defense of his intelligence and common sense as possible before you keep shooting holes in it. But contrary to his beliefs, you’re not here to argue with him about where the blame for your unfortunate situation lies, at least not for the most part. 

You tell him as much. “I’m not here to yell at you about how this is all your fault.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, lips flat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “I got my anger out already. Your picture’s right in the middle of my dartboard.” Across the table from him, you smile sweetly, imitate throwing a dart directly at the center of his forehead. 

Jake can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and somehow that’s more unnerving. 

“So what, you don’t need to hear me say that everything’s my fault? You’d rather get it in writing instead?” Jake glances at the forgotten contract. Suddenly, a wave of panic crests in his mind. “If you’re trying to sue me–”

You roll your eyes before he can finish the empty threat. “Again, that’s not what this is for.” Looking at the papers, you tilt your head, considering. “Although it’s not too late for an amendment…”

Jake cuts that train of thought off as quickly as he can. “Okay, what exactly is it for then?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Like I said, just like someone with more than two functioning brain cells predicted, your little slip of the tongue made things messy. So if I’m gonna save your ass and pretend to be your girlfriend in front of your family this weekend, we’re gonna need some kind of written agreement about how this is going to play out. Think of it as an agreement, something to outline the…” you pause, weighing your words, “expectations on both of our ends.”

A contract. A fake dating contract. It’s all Jake can do not to burst out laughing. He’s trying to egg you on a little, piss you off and push your buttons like you’re so good at doing to him when he tells you, “Y’know, it’s kind of funny how seriously you’re taking this.”

You don’t understand how he can be so blase about it all. Sure, maybe the contract was a little overkill, but the two of you are about to start pretending to be dating, to be a couple, in front of your families. It’s not something that you’re willing to walk into blindly. 

“Really? I think it’s kind of funny the whole reason I’m in this mess is because of you.” Suddenly, there’s a reignited fire in your eyes. Jake almost regrets his taunting. “In fact, I think it’s absolutely hilarious–”

“Okay, okay,” He can sense a losing battle when he sees it. Not wanting to rehash your argument from earlier or put himself at the center of any more dartboard target practices, Jake surrenders. And then he frowns. Reaching for the stack of papers again, he scans the first page. Trying to make sense of all the legal jargon and stylized formatting, he’s hesitant when he glances at you and slow to admit, “To be completely honest with you, I’m actually not that good with contracts–”

“Oh my god.”

“So, do you think you could go over the highlights for me?”

“You are absolutely insufferable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake intones flatly. “Are you talking to me or the mirror you spend five hours a day looking into?”

You kind of have to hand it to him. Ever since your run in with his brother, his insults have been landing a lot better. That one was actually pretty good. Not that you’d ever admit it. 

“Anyway,” you glare instead. “The highlights.” Nodding to the contract you spent most of last night writing up, you explain, “The first page is just basic contract language. The actual content of our proposed agreement starts on the second page.”

Following your explanation, Jake sets the first page aside, makes quick work of skimming the second. Or at least he tries to. It proves a difficult task, however, when he gets a little caught up on the very first line. 

“Really?” You’re not quite sure what kind of expression is on his face when he looks up at you. It’s an odd mix of shock, disbelief, and perhaps, if the sudden flush on his cheekbones is anything to go by, embarrassment. “Rule number one is no kissing?”

Across from him, you just rest your chin in your palm. “I know I’m crushing your dreams and all, but don’t be so surprised.”

Jake’s glare is easier to read this time. “That is not what I meant. It’s just… I don’t know.” It seems so obvious. He didn’t think you’d feel the need to actually write it out like he’s about to start trying to plant ones on you every hour of the day. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“I mean, I don’t know how family dinners work at your house, but mine usually don’t involve makeout sessions between courses.”

“Exactly,” Jake returns. “It hardly seems like something we need in writing when it’s more than easy to avoid.”

Still, you don’t back down. “Don’t blame me for erring on the side of caution. We’re pretending to be a couple in front of your brother. And we both know that you don’t exactly make the most rational decisions when he starts  pushing your buttons, boyfriend.”

The use of the pet name is intentional. It’s a reminder that Jake can’t be trusted where his older brother is concerned. Not when in the heat of the moment, he would say or do just about anything to get under James’ skin in the same way James has been getting under his for the last twenty-one odd years.  

“Point taken.” Jake can’t exactly argue that one. 

And in all honesty, Jake kinda feels like he’s getting off easy, at least with you. Not that he would ever tell you that. 

He’s feeling apprehensive about this dinner, yes, and now about being legally bound to you, but he supposes things could be a lot worse. For starters, you’d been much easier to convince than he initially thought. He wasn’t sure what kind of bribes would work on you, how he was going to get you to keep up the facade he started for one more dinner. 

Maybe, he thought,  he would be able to leverage your phone number against you in a new way. He could promise not to pass it along to James, but only as long as you did him the solid of playing the part of his girlfriend, this time at a dinner with his family. 

But that felt a little too much like blackmail, even for him. So instead, he had told you the truth. 

Listening to the phone ring after clicking on your number, it was all Jake could do not to throw his phone across the room in anticipation of your rage. But then you answered, and it all came spilling out. 

He told you that James could not be trusted with secrets but could absolutely be trusted to do everything in his power to ruin Jake’s life, even if unintentionally. He explained how his mother was now unfortunately involved, that your initial plan to just mention each other occasionally and claim that things fizzled by the time the clock struck midnight on New Year’s was no longer viable. 

You had remained completely silent for a long pause. Too long. Jake was suddenly very grateful that he took the precaution of having this conversation over the phone. Mostly because he was pretty sure if he tried to tell you face-to-face, you would cause him actual bodily harm. But instead of threats or curses or even sarcasm, Jake had listened as a long sigh came through the other line and then–

“Yeah, my mom has been asking me about you too.” Much to his shock, you were resigned to the fact, not angry at the news. And you had told him, “I’ll come to your family dinner. Just let me… Let me think about the best way to go about this.”

Less than twenty-four hours have passed since that phone conversation, and Jake shouldn’t be as surprised as he is that your idea of the best way to go about this is printed out for him on custom pink lavender-scented paper.  

Deciding to leave the kissing debacle alone for the moment, he reads through the rest of your so-called rules. With more of an idea as to what to expect, nothing shocks him quite as much as the initial line. 

He reads the second section wordlessly: Both parties will do everything in their power, to a reasonable extent, to maintain the image of a false relationship in the presence of family members and those with immediate connections to them (including, but not limited to employees, business partners, etc).

The third section covers another base: Friends and other acquaintances of both parties are not to be informed of the arrangement. Neither party is under obligation to maintain the lie of relationship with friends or acquaintances unless deemed necessary to maintain secrecy of the relationship. 

Jake glances up with a furrow in his brow. You clarify before he has the chance to ask, “Basically it’s saying that you don’t have to lie to your friends and tell them that we’re dating, unless they get suspicious or start asking. Just don’t tell them we aren’t. And absolutely do not tell them about the contract.”  

Jake nods, moves to the next line. 

Neither party may involve themself in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. Both parties are to avoid to the best of their ability any situation in which it could be interpreted that they are in a romantic relationship of any nature with another individual for the duration of this contract. 

“So essentially just no dating other people?” Jake asks. 

“Right.” You nod. “And try to avoid getting into situations that make it look like you might be dating someone else. I’m not gonna make you agree to stop hooking up with people or anything.” You look mildly ill at the mere proximity of Jake and the term ‘hooking up.’ “Just, y’know, be discreet about it.”

Jake looks up at you. “I’m not hooking up with other people.”

You cringe. “Thanks, but I really don’t need the gory details of your sex life. Do you understand the rule or not?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Great,” you move the contract aside, setting a new stack of papers down on the table. Also printed on pink paper, this pile is considerably thicker. “That’s about it for the contract, then. This,” you gesture to the new set of papers, “is for you to memorize.”

Jake would be a little less wary if it didn't look as dense as an encyclopedia. “What is it?”

“A list of everything a real boyfriend should know about me.” Jake waits for you to finish the joke, to land a punchline, but you’re entirely serious when you add, “Think of it as your ___ cheat sheet. I’ll need one for you too, of course. Preferably in the next couple of days so that I can get it down before dinner this weekend.” 

Hesitantly, Jake picks up the first page. Scanning over yet another meticulously formatted document printed on – he sniffs again – yep, lavender-scented paper, Jake privately thinks that this may actually come in handy. If nothing else, he’s sure he could reference it for some of his mom’s questions instead of needing to guess at your responses. 

It’ll help with the basics, at least. Jake is pretty sure you wouldn’t have bothered to include things like your favorite kind of cookie in there. 

But then he glances again at the stack of papers, and more specifically, how how thick it is. He looks a little closer at the page in his hand. Single spaced. He flips it over. Double sided. 

Looking over the back of the page in his hand, he forces himself to actually read some of what you’ve written. He doesn’t get far before he’s leveling you with a disbelieving look.

“Is this a prank?”

You have the gall to look confused. “Not even a little bit.”

Jake wants to tear his hair out. Because what the actual fuck? “I really don’t think anyone is going to ask me about your third favorite shade of Dior lip oil–”

“They might. And think of how suspicious it would be if you got me one as a Christmas gift or something and the color washed me out.”

Across from you, Jake’s eyes just widen. And then he’s weighing your words. 

Despite the ridiculousness, your argument does raise a point. Albeit not the one you intended. 

“Christmas gift,” Jake repeats slowly. As of now, you’re already over halfway through fall semester, which means the holidays will be approaching in just a couple of short months. Suddenly, they seem a lifetime away. “Does this contract of yours have an end date?”

“Oh, right.” Reaching for the contract again, you turn to the final page, lay it on the table in front of Jake. “Feel free to propose something else,” you offer, “but I put the termination date as January first of next year. I figured that we could use this arrangement to get us through all of the inevitable holiday parties. My family always hosts a giant one on New Year’s Eve, so I thought we could go to that together and then call it off the next day. What do you think?” You turn to him. “Too long?”

Jake discards your insane list of personal preferences for the time being and picks up the last page of the contract. At the bottom, he locates the verbiage in the final section, just above the two blank signature lines neither of you have filled yet. 

This contract will be terminated as of January 1 of the coming year. 

Jakes stares at the date for a moment. It feels odd to see an expiration date on your relationship, regardless of the fact that it’s all a facade. Seems strange to be starting something with the sole intention of ending it. But he can hardly voice those feelings, so instead he taunts, “You wanna be stuck with me that long, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Your lips flatten as you reach for your phone. “I will literally text your brother right now.”

“Nice try,” Jake calls your bluff. “You just told me that you didn’t want your mom knowing that you lied about dating me either.”

“No,” you correct, dangling your phone between your fingers. “What I said was that I want her off my back when it comes to my dating life and who I spend my time with. It wouldn’t matter even a little bit to her whether that’s you or James. In fact, she would probably actually like him bet–”

“Whatever.” If Jake is suddenly sulking, he figures that no one needs to be aware of it. “I know you like me more than him.”

“Incorrect. I hate him more than I hate you.”

Jake stares at you blankly. “Is there a difference?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. 

“Whatever. You’re still willing to tolerate me until New Year’s.”

“Is that actually high praise to you? Do we need to start working on your self-confidence too?”

Insult aside, Jake supposes that your deadline does make sense. Although family obligations are intermittent in nature, it would be nice to have a go-to plan for every event and dinner and interaction with his older brother that he’s forced into between now and the New Year. 

Honestly, the thought of having you at his upcoming family dinner has made Jake’s steps the last two days feel a little lighter. If anything, he thinks that you’ll be a great distraction for his father. Something to talk about besides the gory details of Jake’s many failures. 

It’s a chance to be impressive in the eyes of his family, even if only in some small capacity, even if only until New Year’s. 

A moment later, Jake warily eyes the pen you hand him. “Let me guess, pink ink?”

“Obviously not.” You roll your eyes. “How would that show up on pink paper?”

So Jake’s signature is written on the first dotted line of the contract with the matte black ink of your shockingly normal ballpoint pen. Moments later, your name joins on the second line, right next to his. 

And it’s as if something shifts in the air, as if something suddenly feels a little heavier, slightly more weighted. The following silence that passes between the two of you feels like a finale of sorts. The end of something and the beginning of another. 

Looking at the boy across from you, it feels strange to say that for all intents and purposes, even if they’re fabricated, you’ll be dating him until the New Year. Showing up on his arm and laughing at his jokes and filling in the quiet moments with little displays of affection, practiced bouts of intimacy. 

It’s weird. It’s daunting. It’s not something you have any clue how to navigate, even if the contract gives you a false sense of security, of control. 

You break the moment by glancing at the clock that hangs above the front door of the coffee shop. Suddenly, your mind is elsewhere. On the other part of your original agreement. “Your first tutoring session is tonight, right?” Jungwon mentioned it to you in passing. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods. If his voice has an odd sudden hoarseness to it, you’ll both ignore it for now. “Why?”

“What time are you supposed to meet him?”

“Six-thirty.”

A second glance at the clock confirms, “It’s six thirty-five.”

“Shit!” Jake is suddenly frantic, panicked as he rushes to repack his bag and salvage what’s left of a good first impression on his tutor. 

It hardly registers when you remind him, “Don’t forget to make me a cheat sheet of things I should know about you!” Already halfway out the door, the only acknowledgement you get is a half hearted nod. 

Frowning at the mess of papers in front of you, scattered from Jake’s hasty exit, you make quick work of rearranging your newly minted contract in the correct order. 

“Men,” you whisper, to no one in particular. Even though it doesn’t land on the ears you want it to. Even though Jake is too far gone to hear it. 

…

Instead, what Jake hears a handful of minutes later, is a less than friendly reminder from the librarian at the front desk that the university library is a quiet area and that running is strictly prohibited. Still out of breath from the way he just bolted across the entire campus, all Jake can offer her is an apologetic nod. 

He pulls out his phone to double-check the brief message thread between him and Jungwon, to confirm the exact location of their first tutoring session. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [3:02 pm]: Study room 103 on the first floor

After that, there are only two other messages – one being Jake’s hasty, misspelled apology for being nearly fifteen minutes late, to which he received:

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [6:41 pm]: No problem! I’m here

After navigating his way to the reservable first floor study rooms, Jake finds himself in front of Room 103. Suddenly, a wave of self-consciousness sweeps away any adrenaline fueled by his lateness. Any lingering annoyance brought on by a conversation with you. 

Should he knock? Is there a certain etiquette to this? How embarrassed should he be that the person waiting for him with both better punctuality and significantly better grades is two years his junior, according to the sparse information you gave him?

In the end, Jake decides it would be weird to knock and chokes down all his other uncertainty. Opening the door slowly, he nods at the boy already inside. 

“Hi, Jungwon?”

If his tutor is at all put off by Jake’s lateness, he does a great job of hiding it. Jungwon is all smiles when he says, “That’s me. You must be Jake.” Jake is still stuck halfway in the door like he wants to hold onto the opportunity to bolt, just in case he needs it. Jungwon picks up on some of his hesitation. “Come on in.”

Jake does so quietly, setting his stuff down as he slides into the seat across from Jungwon. As he pulls out his laptop, Jake glances at his tutor. All smiles and friendliness, the oversized hoodie he wears looks comfortable enough to fall asleep in. Altogether, he kind of reminds him of an overeager puppy. Or at least he would, if his features weren’t so distinctly feline. 

“Sorry again for being late,” Jake mumbles, opening a Word document. “I completely lost track of time.” More like his time was completely overtaken by someone that does a great job of consuming all his senses and sends his mind spinning sideways, but Jake can hardly say that. 

Just like he did over text, Jungwon doesn’t appear bothered in the slightest by his tardiness. “It really is no problem. I’m glad you found the room alright. It’s kind of like a maze back here.”

He’s being nice again. It’s a single hallway with a handful of clearly labeled doors. But Jake isn’t one to look kindness in the mouth, especially when he’s still sitting on a pile of discomfort. Instead, he figures it’s as good a time as any to express his gratitude. 

“Thanks again for doing this, and for keeping it on the down low. ___ mentioned that you’re great at econ.”

Across from him, Jungwon shrugs. “I’m good with numbers and data and stuff like that. And I had to get good at studying pretty quick, since I’ve been on academic scholarships since middle school.”

That tidbit swirls in the air for a moment, falls through the room like a bad premonition before settling uncomfortably in Jake’s gut. It makes him wonder, makes him question a lot of things. 

What would he be like, Jake wonders, if his family name wasn’t a safety net, a security blanket in its own right? If he had to fight to earn things like the university admission letter he took for granted?  Resented, even, since it was yet another choice made for him by his father. 

Would he be like Jungwon, tutoring older students for extra cash? Forgiving people when they’re late and convincing himself that years of staring at math problems until his eyes felt like sandpaper is the same as being ‘good with numbers and stuff like that’? 

And Jake is assuming, of course. Maybe Jungwon is just good with numbers, has a natural inclination for economics. 

But the only thing Jake has ever had a natural inclination for is doing what he’s told and then blaming the world around him when he hates himself a little for it. 

All at once, he feels like an observer in his own life. An external force that does nothing but shake the snowglobe and wait to see where the dust settles, where everything lands. 

But his self-prescribed identity crisis is not Jungwon’s problem, and Jake is at least self-aware enough to know that any hardships in his life likely pale in comparison to Jungwon’s. It’s not like measuring misery has ever done Jake any good, and it feels unfair for him to be jumping to conclusions and stacking their lives against each other when all Jungwon is doing is trying to make conversation. 

So Jake decides to save the psychoanalysis for a sleepless night and is nothing but neutral when he chooses to reply to the first part of Jungwon’s comment, “Well, I’m grateful that you’re willing to help me. I’m kind of a disaster when it comes to econ.”

“So I hear,” Jungwon smiles, and Jake thinks that maybe him and Jungwon will get along just fine, whether they have the common ground of economics or not.  “Don’t let ___ tease you too hard about it, though. I used to help her, too. Back in high school.”

And if Jake was trying to stop himself from feeling sorry for Jungwon, he doesn’t have to try for very long. He suddenly thinks friendship will be a very hard thing to form. Mostly because he has the distinct sense Jungwon is reflecting on your high school days together rather fondly. Maybe a little too fondly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “I’m a freshman, so I’m a couple years younger than you guys,” he sighs like it’s a terrible thing to be and Jake has never been more appreciative of his own birth date, “but she’s been friends with my older sister for years now. ___ was always pretty good at most subjects, but physics gave her a run for her money, so I helped her a bit when I could.”

It makes sense, he supposes. Jungwon was your physics tutor, so you knew you could recommend him with confidence. With all your first hand experience. 

“You two are close, then?” Jake hates the way he sounds almost defensive. Hates the way he doesn’t recognize the odd feeling that’s beginning to swirl in his gut unpleasantly.

“We’ve definitely gotten closer,” Jungwon nods. Jake doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden flush on the younger boy’s cheeks. “Especially since I started university here. My sister decided to get her degree abroad, but ___ and I have still stayed in touch even without her around as the middleman, y’know?”

“Right,” Jake agrees. To what, he’s not sure. He has no idea if you have the same feelings towards your relationship with Jungwon, if you’d corroborate the fact that the two of you are getting closer, if your cheeks would get a little color in them while you talked about it. 

It strikes Jake then that he really doesn't know anything about you. At least not anything substantial. And while the dictionary of personal details you’ve compiled is still sitting in his bag, he doubts it will divulge things related to relationships. Things he’s suddenly curious about. 

He can at least feel confident in the fact that you’re not currently dating anyone. He wouldn’t have just signed a contract if you were. But that still leaves a lot of gray area, a lot of questions. 

Are there any recent exes he should know about? Messy situationships that would be glad to land a few punches on him if word of your supposed relationship were to accidentally get out? 

Jake has no idea, and even less of a clue as to how to find out. But he doesn’t like the way those uncertainties settle in his gut. And he doesn’t like the way Jungwon says your name. 

Jungwon must mistake Jake’s sudden silence as passion for fixing his grades, because the next thing he says is, “Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.” His apologetic smile does nothing to quell the riot in Jake’s mind. “Anyway,” he opens his laptop. “Economics. I figured we could start by looking at the upcoming assignment to see which parts are trickiest for you and go from there.” Glancing at the older boy, he asks, “Or did you have a different idea?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head. “That sounds good to me.” And he shouldn't say it, but, “I’ve got plans this weekend, so I’m hoping to get as much of this done as I can before then.”

“Oh,” Jungwon asks. It’s more of an effort to be polite than genuine curiosity. “Anything fun?”

Jake shouldn’t. Not considering the conversation you just had. Not considering the contract he just signed. 

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I’m more nervous or excited.”

He really, really, shouldn’t. But–

“I’m taking ___ to officially meet my parents.” 

The way Jungwon falters is barely perceptible. Jake only notices because he’s watching for it. 

Jungwon’s brow creases for a moment, putting the pieces together until he realizes that they definitely only fit one way. “You two are dating?”

Jake tries not to be offended at the shock in his voice. “Is it that surprising?”

“I mean, kind of.” Jungwon is still reeling a bit. “When she mentioned that you were looking for a tutor, she said you were just a friend.”

And now Jake has to think of how to play his cards here. He needs to tread carefully, choose his words wisely. There are too many ways he could back himself into a corner, accidentally tell a lie he can’t talk his way out of. That’s probably, definitely, why you made the point of saying the two of you should leave your friends out of the arrangement entirely. Should only divulge the details if they start poking around first. Which Jungwon was definitely not doing. 

Ultimately, Jake decides to leave his explanation as vague as possible, hoping that the less he reveals, the less Jungwon will be able to poke at it until his lie crumbles and leaves nothing but the truth in its wake. 

Shrugging, he says, “We’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. You know how rumors can be.” They can catch fire at the first sign of wind. Can spread before there’s any chance of controlling them. Kind of like the one he’s single handedly spreading right now.

“Oh,” is all Jungwon says. And despite himself, Jake does feel kind of bad for the kid. He feels even worse when Jungwon finds his smile again a moment later and adds, “Well, I hope it all goes good for you. ___’s a great girl.”

But all that guilt is pushed to the side when that odd, unpleasant feeling at the bottom of Jake’s gut releases a little bit of tension, heaves a giant sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” Jake nods without thinking. In his mind, he sees a gold dress, a black marker, his name in your handwriting. There’s a sliver of truth there, albeit a small one, when he agrees, “She is.”

…

Saturday night puts you back in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, a sense of deja vu overcoming you as he navigates out of your apartment building’s parking lot and onto the highway. Although this time, he did manage to avoid an argument with your doorman. Mostly because Jake Sim is now a name on your list of approved visitors. 

And there are more differences to be found. Tonight, you’ve traded your evening gown for a pair of dark wash jeans and a sweater that Jake insists his mother will love. The aged bottle of red wine you brought as a gift for his parents has a bow wrapped around its neck where it sits on the back seat of Jake’s car. 

If nothing else, Jake has to applaud your insistence that you not show up as an empty-handed guest. Your commitment to the facade is truly admirable, even if it is motivated by the contract you keep safe and sound in the top drawer of your desk. 

And finally, as opposed to the drive to your family’s fundraiser, this commute is far from silent. 

“Good,” you nod, praising Jake’s most recent answer. Despite his initial protests, he did his studying. And if his string of correct responses is anything to go by, you seem to be a subject he has an easier time grasping than economics. Or perhaps one he simply has more vested interest in. “And my top three favorite colors are?”

“One,” Jake answers seamlessly. “Gold, but only if it’s 24 karat. Two, the exact red of the Hermès Satin Lipstick in shade Rouge H. Three is pink. But not hot pink. You like softer shades, like baby pink.” Like that damn contract. 

“Nicely done. My major is?”

“Pre-law,” Jake fills in. “But you’re still undecided on if you’ll attend law school after graduation.”

It’s a tidbit that he finds mildly interesting. He’s not surprised that like him, like James, you’re following in your parents’ footsteps. As the daughter of ridiculously successful lawyers, it’s a career path that makes perfect sense for you. 

And the compassion also has him thankful for the partnership between your families, which has undoubtedly done you both some favors. First, Jake suspects that a few under-the-table deals have likely funded more than one of his childhood family vacations. And second, it adds credibility, at least from an outsider’s perspective, to the relationship the two of you are faking. 

He does wonder why you’re undecided on law school, though. If law is your field of choice, it seems like a natural progression. Not to mention that as third-year university students, the two of you are running out of time for indecision. Jake is well-acquainted with this particular reality, but it strikes him as out of character that you are as well.  

From the outside, at least, you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. Someone who has it all together, who has a ten-year plan and the actual conviction to see it through to the end. Unlike him, who’s still grasping at straws where all matters of his future are concerned. 

A fact that he’s reminded of when you say, “You know, I didn’t exactly have high hopes, considering your academic track record, but that was perfect.” You shift in your seat, preparing for a challenge. “Okay, your turn. Quiz me.” 

Your work has been undeniably easier. As opposed to the multi-page, double sided, single spaced abomination you handed him a few days ago, the Jake Sim cheat sheet still sitting on your night stand was nothing but a small assortment of facts that fit on a single sheet of paper. 

But now, the subject of your major takes Jake from thinking about your future to thinking about the classes you’re currently taking. Which makes him think of something he hasn’t been able to let go of since his first tutoring session a few nights ago. Instead of cooperating, he hands the reins to what’s been weighing on his mind. “Are you taking any physics classes?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “You were doing so well. And you literally just answered that one. I’m a pre-law major, remember?”

But Jake needs to know. Doesn’t quite have the room to think about anything else right now. “Just answer the question.”

The glance you give him is scathing, but you can sense that he’s not going to let it go until he gets his answer. “No, I’m not taking physics.” Jake hates the way that odd feeling in his gut makes a sudden reappearance, hates the way it unclenches at your response. “I haven’t since high school. I hate that stupid subject.”

Still, he can’t stop himself from offering, “Well, if you ever do–”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I was pretty good at it in high school.” He’s only kind of lying. He was pretty decent at it, at least the times he bothered to finish his homework. 

“... Okay?” You still don’t see a point to this sudden detour in the conversation. 

“So I could, uh, I could help you out. If you ever have to take it for some reason, I could help with your homework and stuff.”

“Right, because the first person I would go to for homework help is definitely Mr. I Failed Economics Twice.” Jake can hear the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, a little miserably, that if you were actually picking someone to go to, it would probably be the same person tutoring Jake now. Your old physics tutor from high school. 

Jake will pretend that the way that makes his blood pressure rise is only because he’s worried Jungwon won’t have as much time for their sessions if he picks you back up as a client. 

“Don’t hold econ against me. They’re entirely different subjects–”

“Whatever.” You cut him off. “Who gives a shit about physics? Just quiz me.”

Jake wants to press it. He really does. Wants to ask his real questions, which have a lot less to do with physics and a lot more to do with a certain econ tutor, but it’s not like you’d entertain his curiosity there either. So he relents. “Fine.” Trying to remember what he even wrote on the sheet he gave you, he starts with, “My major is?”

“Business.” Slightly quieter, you mumble, “A questionable choice, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Jake protests. “I didn’t add any commentary to your ridiculous answers.” And some of them had been ridiculous, indeed. “I mean, seriously. You made me memorize your five favorite necklines.”

“Clearly not, since you put sweetheart and off-the-shoulder in the wrong order.”

Jake just blinks. How are you a real person? “You are actually the most annoying person I have ever met.”

The dig rolls right off your shoulders as you return one of your own. “That’s hardly even an insult, considering the size of your social circle. It’s not my fault you don’t get out much.”

“It’s like you want me to kick you out on the side of the highway–”

“And show up to your family dinner without me? Yeah, sure.”

“Besides, you know that means you’re admitting to being more annoying than Heeseung–”

“On second thought, the side of the highway sounds nice. Feel free to drop me at the next mile marker.”

“Yeah?” Jake taunts, glancing down at your choice in footwear. Another pair of heels so tall he’s impressed you can walk at all. “You think those shoes would be comfortable to walk home in?” Taking one hand off the wheel, he leans over menacingly. “In fact, why don’t I break them in for you now–”

“Okay,” you push back at him in a way that’s probably unwise, considering the fact that he’s driving. “Okay. No extra comments from me.” You mime zipping your lips with your finger. “You’re a business major. End of answer.”

Jake doesn’t believe you for a second. But after pausing to send you a withering glare for good measure, he continues anyway. “Sport I played growing up?”

Much to his surprise, your answer is genuine, concise. “Soccer.” And correct. 

“Pets?”

“Just a dog. Layla.”

As the road stretches on in front of you, back and forth quizzing takes you all the way to his parents’ house. As he pulls into the long driveway, Jake spares a glance in your direction. You wear an expression he hasn’t seen on you before. 

It confuses him a little, worries him even, until he realizes–

“Hold on. Are you… nervous?”

“What about it?” Even visibly tense, your gut reaction is to deny, to make excuses. Finally, you admit, “It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone’s mom.”

Jake almost considers telling you that he’s pretty sure she’d redecorate one of the guest bedrooms and put your name on the door if she thought you’d like that, but decides against it. 

“Hey,” he reaches for your hand instead, interlaces your fingers. “My mom will love you.” In fact, she probably already does. “It will be just fine.”

Jake supposes that divulging just one of her many messages from this week couldn’t hurt. Besides, he’s half afraid you’ll actually run back down the street the two of you just drove up if he doesn’t give you some sort of confidence boost. “She’s really excited to meet you. That cheat sheet of yours actually came in handy, because she asked me what your favorite kind of cookie is. She’s sending us back with a box of homemade snickerdoodles tonight.” What Jake doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s never been big on cinnamon. 

“Really?”

“Mhm. So there’s no need to wor–”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is…” Jake trails off, searching for the right words. “He’s a businessman. In a lot of ways, he’s difficult. And very set in his ways, which makes him particular. But on the outside, he’s easy to get along with. He wants to make a good impression on people. And even if he didn’t, you really don’t have anything to worry about there either. His biggest concern is always how things will reflect on the company, and you’re pretty much as perfect as it gets in that regard.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “And we both know my brother’s kind of obsessed with you.”

And he really did set himself up for it, he realizes, the second you turn to him with a wink and say, “Must run in the family.” Jake won’t even argue with you on that one for now. His mission was to get you out of your head and back to your usual self. The version of you that he knows and occasionally tolerates. The version of you that could probably win an Oscar for playing the role of is fake girlfriend, if you really put your mind to it. 

So before you can start to linger on your worries again, Jake steps out of the car. Makes quick work of walking around the front to open the passenger side door for you. 

When he offers you, and outstretched hand, you take it. This time, it’s you that initiates the interlacing of your fingers. Glancing at the expanse of the home in front of you – although mansion may be a better word for it – you take a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Jake echoes your words from your family’s fundraiser just a week ago. 

You’re a little less confident this go around. “As I’ll ever be.”

Jake, too caught up in his attempts to soothe your frayed nerves, forgets to warn you that Layla can be a bit of a jumper, especially with new people. Sure enough, the first person to greet the two of you as spoon as he turns the doorknob is his favorite family pet. Honestly, Jake is a little more concerned about the bottle of wine in your hands than anything. 

Especially when, just as he remembered a little too late, Layla makes quick work of giving you an overexcited greeting. 

When he does finally manage to get her mostly off of you, he’s relieved to note that the alcohol is unharmed. With a bit more trepidation, he lets his eyes wander up to your face. It’s a safe bet, he thinks, that someone with five favorite necklines isn’t a fan of obnoxious furry greetings.

To his surprise, however, the only expression he reads is pleasant surprise. 

“This is Layla?” You ask. Jake nods, still a bit strained from the way he’s preventing Layla from trying to lick at your face and leave paw prints on your jeans. 

But that’s not what you’re thinking about. No, you’ve suddenly been transported to an unfortunate forty-five minutes wasted in a restaurant all on your own. The catalyst of all of this. 

Because Layla is the same dog you saw while doom scrolling James’ social media profile. You thought she was cute, back then, sandwiched between gym selfies and other photos more telling of James’ awful personality. 

But now, looking at the way she almost seems to smile while Jake scratches her behind the ears, wraps her up in a big, warm hug, you think you just might like her even more. 

You’ve never seen your fake boyfriend look at anything with so much… fondness. It’s palpable, all of his pent up love, as he lets some of it loose to shower Layla with it. Everything about him is a little easier, a little more relaxed. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the absence of tension in his jaw. 

Most of all, you see it in his smile. Bright, warm, genuine. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. It suits him, you think, as you reach down to give her a greeting of your own. 

“Hi, Layla,” you smile, reaching down to pat her on the head. 

And if that makes Jake turn to look at you with a little too much fondness, you’ll assume it’s just lingering remnants of his reunion with his favorite girl. Layla, that is. 

You’re pretty sure the two of them could spend hours just catching up, especially when Layla turns onto her back in a silent demand for tummy rubs, but a voice from a nearby room cuts it short. 

“Jake?” A distinctly feminine voice calls. “Is that you?”

“Well,” Jake gives Layla one final pat for good measure, turns his eyes to you as he stands. “Shall we?”

You don’t mean to be, but you’re nervous again. This is his family, his space, his mother. Not only are you a stranger here, but one that’s been invited under false pretenses. There are too many things to fuck up, too many ways you could send this evening spinning sideways by accident. 

Here in the entryway, with just you, Jake, and Layla, things feel peaceful, simple. You know that just a few steps in the direction of his mother’s voice will turn that calm in your chest upside the head. You’re not ready for it. You’re not. 

You don’t respond to Jake’s invitation, but he reads your hesitation all the same. 

“Hey,” he whispers, all the hard edges gone from his voice as he steps a little closer. “She’s gonna love you.” Again, his hand finds yours, slides his fingers through your own and finds little resistance on your end. 

She. You don’t know how he knows, when you haven’t told him, but it’s true. You don’t care all that much about pleasing his father and even less so about making a good impression on his brother, but his mom… 

You care. You don’t know why, but you care. 

And you don’t know how, but Jake knows. 

You hope his words aren’t empty reassurances as you let him tug at your hand, pull you a little further into his home, wrap you a little more inextricably into the threads of his life. 

His mother waits for you in the living room. A head or two shorter than her youngest son, she has nothing but a smile for him as she pulls him into a hug, reaching up to wrap her hand around the back of his shoulders. 

Your hand is still linked with his. The angle makes it somewhat awkward, but neither of you is quite ready to let go. 

Looking over his shoulder, her eyes settle on you. Breath suddenly stuttering in your chest, your knees feel a little wobbly underneath you. 

Jake won’t let you fall. As soon as his mother releases her embrace, he’s tugging you closer. He undoes the bind of your hands only to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. 

“Mom,” he introduces, smiling. “This is ___,” eyes locking with yours, he adds , “my girlfriend.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was proud of the fact.

And then his mother is looking at you. Really looking at you. It’s hard not to wither under her stare, hard not to brace for the results of her inevitable appraisal. But where you expect to see scrutiny, judgment, disdain, you only see a smile. A warm one. A real one. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she says, and you almost have the feeling that she means it. 

Remembering yourself, your role for the evening, you give her a smile of your own. “It’s lovely to meet you too.” You hope your voice is more steady than it feels. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for inviting me to it.” Remembering the bottle of wine still encased in your hold, you hold it out towards her. “And this is for you.”

“Oh,” she beams, accepting the gift. Reading the label, she admonishes lightly, “You shouldn’t have. How did you know this is my absolute favorite?”

Glancing at her son, you admit, “I may have had some help.”

“Well at least one of us got some guidance.” She leans towards you, pulling your arm into her own and leaving Jake behind the two of you. “Tell me, what do you prefer? White or red?”

“Usually white.” 

Jake rolls his eyes at your answer, or rather, the brevity of it. According to the stack of papers you made him memorize, your real answer is…

Chardonnay with poultry, sauvignon blanc with seafood, pinot grigio with dessert, pinot noir with red meat (unless it’s ribeye, then cabernet sauvignon)...

But it does make him smile, the way you fall into step at his mother’s side so naturally. The way she makes you flush when she gives you yet another compliment on your hair or your outfit or your beauty. 

Even the protest dies on his lips when he hears her whisper a little too loudly, “And how do you put up with him when he’s in one of his moods? You know, the one where he gets all cranky and can’t be reasoned with at all.”

At her side, you just giggle. Jake would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was kind of adorable. 

He likes it, watching you and his mom together. Watching her light up at the chance to finally have a pretty girl to fawn over. His mother loves her sons – Jake has never doubted this for a moment – but there’s a certain kind of connection that only comes with a daughter. 

It’s a shame, he thinks, that your own mother is in the habit of squandering it with criticism and shame and admonishment. 

Watching the two of you now, Jake isn’t sure if he’s ever seen his mom enjoy herself more. When the three of you reach the dining room, she insists that you take the seat directly across from her. Even in her excitement, she won’t let anyone fill the seat next to you except for your boyfriend. 

It’s sweet, the way she dotes on you. And Jake is content to just watch, for the time being, hoping you and her both enjoy it as long as you can. 

Until New Year’s, that voice in his head reminds him. And suddenly, even with the back half of a semester in front of him, the holidays don’t seem so far away. 

The conversation only dies down slightly when his father and brother enter the room. Even in the comfort of his own home, his father strikes an imposing presence. He’s not cold when he introduces himself to you, reaching out an arm for a firm handshake, but there is no extra warmth embedded in the action either. After sending his youngest son a nod, he takes his seat at the head of the table. 

James doesn’t bother with formalities. Sliding down next to his mother, he’s already a little smug when he says, “Hi Jake.” Pausing, he glances towards you. “___.”

“James,” you return, smile significantly faker than it was moments ago. 

Jake is debating how worth it it would be if he kicked his older brother under the table when the first course is brought out, interrupting that train of thought. 

After passing the first set of dishes around and filling your plates, his mother is the first to pose a question. To test your thorough preparation for the evening. 

“So,” she asks, taking a sip of wine. “How did you two meet?”

And it’s such an obvious question. Such a painfully straightforward inquiry and yet somehow, too wrapped up in getting a contract signed and memorizing each other’s fun facts, it’s something the two of you completely neglected to cover.  

You both freeze, absence of a mutually agreed-upon backstory making you look like twin deer in headlights where you sit next to each other. 

A beat passes. Two. 

You say, “a mutual friend” at the same exact moment he says, “a class.”

Passing each other panicked looks, you smooth things over with a shaky, “A mutual friend in our class.” After a steadying breath, you add, “We have a mutual friend in our class, and he introduced us.”

“Oh, how nice.” Jake’s mom smiles. Turning to her youngest son, she asks, “Which friend was it? Someone I know?”

“Heeseung,” Jake nods, just as you say, “Sunghoon.”

This time, Jake is the one to cover your tracks. 

“My friend Heeseung and her friend Sunghoon know each other,” he explains. “I guess it’s technically two mutual friends, since we met through them.”

“And all four of you are in the same class together,” Jake’s mom is still beaming. “That’s awfully lucky. What a coincidence.” 

“You could say that again,” James mumbles under his breath across the table, decidedly less enchanted by the false tale of your first meeting. And considerably more suspicious. His eyebrow is arched when he asks, “What class did you say it was, again?”

Your brain scrambles only for a second. “Econ,” you answer quickly. Jake’s struggles aside, you figure that it's your best bet, considering that at least two of the four people you’ve listed are actually in that class. 

The glare that strikes the side of your face from Jake’s seat is frigid enough to kill a houseplant. 

“Econ,” James echoes flatly. And then something a little sinister enters his eyes. His spine straightens, poised for offense, when he directs to you, “I hope Dr. Kang isn’t as much of a hardass as he was when I was in school.”

You open your mouth to reply, probably to bite back with something along the lines of the class actually being rather easy, or you having a stellar rapport with Dr. Kang.

But Jake spots the trap before you can fall into it and cuts you off just as quickly. “It’s Dr. Jeong, actually.” He’s not glaring at his brother, but there’s no extra kindness in his stare. “I’m sure you remember, since you always say that he was your favorite professor.”

“Oh.” James’ eyes slide to his little brother. “That’s right. My mistake.” But his words make you think the switch in names was intentional bait, not a lapse in memory. Bait you almost fell for. 

Before you can let the implications of that sink in, Jake’s father directs his attention towards you, speaking for the first time. “You’re a business major, too, then.” It’s not exactly a question, even though he doesn’t know for certain. Even though he’s wrong. But men like Jake’s father don’t get to where they are by asking questions. They get there by making assumptions and talking over everyone else in the room until wills bend to their whim and reality is what they’ve made it. 

Still, Jake’s voice is steady when he corrects, “No she’s a pre-law major.”

Something flashes in his father’s eyes, but he says nothing. 

His mother, on the other hand, passes her youngest son a look. “I think ___ can speak for herself.”

It’s under his breath, but just a little too audible for comfort when Jake argues, “Not after I just had to memorize–”

“The entire case with me!” The sudden volume of your outburst rings awkwardly in the air. Adjusting your voice, you add to your explanation, “We got a crazy complicated case assigned in criminal law a couple weeks ago.” If the elbow nudge you give Jake is a little too hard, no one bats an eye at the way he winces slightly. “I’ve been talking about it so much I’m sure Jake has practically memorized it.”

Jake’s father hears what he wants to. Picks through the pieces of what you say and paints his own picture. “It’s nice to see a young person so dedicated to their studies.” No one at the table misses the way his eyes slide over to his second son. “And the family business by extension. I’ve always liked your parents,” he nods to you. “And they’ve been excellent partners. You’re going to law school, then, I assume? After you graduate.”

Jake can practically see the answer you typed out for him, words stamped in his brain from the amount of times he forced himself to look over them. My major is pre-law, you’d written in a font that’s almost as high maintenance as you. I’m considering attending law school after finishing undergrad, but I’m still undecided. 

But then he hears you say, “That’s the plan.” 

Jake can’t quite help the way he glances over at you, a question on his face, written all over his features. The two responses can’t hold true at the same time. 

One of your answers, either the one you typed for him or the one you’ve just given his father, is a lie. If the way your shoulders round slightly is any indication, he thinks the packet you gave him must be the real one. 

But as his father nods at you approvingly across the table, you just smile at Jake. Then you shake your head slightly, almost imperceptibly. He reads it as you intend it – a silent signal to move on and act as if nothing’s amiss. A nonverbal request to just let it go. 

Across the table from the two of you, his mother is the one to speak next, to divert the conversation from one area of dangerous territory to another. “James tells me that you two were together at your family’s fundraiser event.” Like Jake considered earlier, it’s all you can do not to kick him under the table at the reminder. That gossipping little shit. “You’ll have to pass on my apology to your mother that we couldn’t make it. But I have to say, I’m surprised the two of you decided to announce your relationship by attending together.” She frowns, but there’s a lightness in her tone that tells you she’s not mad, not really. “And I still can’t believe you made me hear it from your brother!”

Jake, thankfully, handles that one with ease. “We’ve been keeping things pretty close to the chest these last few weeks.” He glances at you fondly, and you have to applaud him. From the outside, you think it must look quite genuine. “We just liked each other.” Under the table, he takes your hand back in his. You assume that he’s just caught in the moment, forgets the fact that there’s no way for his family to see the display of affection. “We wanted to see where things would go.” Turning back to his mother, he adds, somewhat apologetically, “It was never meant to be some big announcement. Of course, I would have told you, Mom, when we did actually announce our relationship.” Jake lets his eyes fall on his older brother. “If someone hadn’t beat me to it.”

You can see the way James’ hackles rise, and so can she. 

Sensing the potential for another argument to brew, his mother cuts in again, smoothing over the tension. “Well, what’s done is done.” Turning to you, she smiles. “And we’re very happy to have you here, ___. I hope my son is treating you well.”

Jake isn’t sure how you manage to do it without grimacing, without turning up your nose at the lie, but you assure his mother, “He is.” And your smile looks almost genuine. “The very best,” 

Jake isn’t the only one that seems to think that you mean it. Across the table, his mother swoons while James crumples a little. His father just looks mildly disinterested, if anything. 

And those expressions remain steady for the rest of the evening, more or less, as you and Jake take turns spinning tales of the early days of your romance. He divulges the details of the outfit you were wearing on your so-called first date (a top with a sweetheart neckline, not off-the-shoulder), and you supplement with a tall tale of the time Jake saved you from getting soaked to the bone when he showed up outside of your lecture hall with an umbrella after a torrential downpour began out of nowhere. 

After a while, even his beaming mother can only handle so much sappiness, and she begins the end of the evening by excusing herself, referencing an early morning tomorrow as her reason for leaving. After giving you both one final hug, she bids you both goodnight. His father follows soon after, sans hug, leaving the table to take an urgent business call. 

In an effort to escape James and his wandering eye, Jake is quick to excuse the two of you moments later, whispering some half hearted excuse about giving you a tour of the house. To his credit, he does actually lead you around a handful of rooms on the first floor, but the tour is cut short by the time the two of you go up the stairs and step out onto the outdoor balcony on the second floor. 

The cool autumn air is refreshing, washes away lingering anxieties from a few close calls, a handful of narrow escapes from certain fiascos. From keeping up your hastily constructed lies for an entire evening.

For long minutes, the two of you are content to say nothing at all. And Jake isn’t uncomfortable in the silence, but after a while, he still searches for something to fill it. Something to get a conversation going. Something to see where your head's at. He finally settles on, “I can’t believe we forgot to come up with a story of how we met.”

He half expects you to say something scathing. To use your wit to insult or blame him for the lack of foresight, but you don’t. Instead, you exhale. And then you agree, somewhat amused, “Me neither.”

“I think we did alright, though,” Jake reasons. He hates to admit it, but, “That cheat sheet idea of yours came in handy, after all.”

Again, he doesn’t get the sarcasm he expects. “No kidding.” And then you’re the one looking for ways to keep the interaction flowing. Something to fill the silence. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” Jake nods. And he knew she would like you just as much. “She’s the person I’m closest to in my family.”

“Mm,” you hum. You can see why. She’s warm in a way that your own has never been. But it’s not like Jake exactly got dealt an easy hand when it comes to family members. You mean it when you tell him, “Your brother still sucks.”

Jake just laughs. “And I wouldn’t hold my breath for that to change anytime soon.”

A half smile pulls at your lips. It’s replaced by a small frown when you suppose it’s time to comment on the last guest of the evening. “You were right, in the car. Your dad is… intense.” It’s not like you exactly hit the jackpot of parental relationships, but you can’t imagine it’s easy for Jake to have a father like that, to have grown up with those expectations, those scrutinizing eyes, weighing on his shoulders. 

Instead of responding, Jake just looks at you for a moment. His eyes trace your profile, committing details to memory, as you look out at the night in front of you. And then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

You sigh. You’re still not looking at him, but you can sense the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Aren’t you going to anyway?”

Jake shakes his head even though you can’t see it. “I wouldn’t have asked for permission if I was going to anyway.”

A moment of silence rings in the air. And then, “Okay.”

Jake isn’t sure what you’re referring to. “Okay, you agree or okay, I can ask?”

At that, you turn to look at him. “Both, I guess.”

Jake meets your eye, considers the best way to ask what’s been weighing on his mind for the better part of the evening. “When my dad asked you about law school,” he starts, “why did you tell him that you’re planning to go? You wrote that you still aren’t sure on the paper you gave me.”

You only pause for a moment. “It’s what he wanted to hear.”

“What?” There’s no evasiveness in your words, but Jake is still looking for clarity.

Sighing, you elaborate, “Your dad didn’t want to hear about my indecisiveness when it comes to the future. He wanted to hear about the plan I have. One that would make sense to him. So I told him what he wanted to hear.” Breaking eye contact, you look back out at the stars. “Sometimes, it’s just easier that way.”

But Jake still has one other question. He might be pressing his luck, but he asks anyway, “Why haven’t you decided? About law school, I mean?”

Your gaze lands somewhere in the distance, somewhere it might take light years to reach. “What do you want to hear?”

For the second time, Jake asks,“What?”

It’s ironic, almost, how easily you’re able to rifle through his insecurities, his inner thoughts. “What do you want to hear? Something that will make you feel better about having questions about your future? Something that will make you believe you’ll have everything figured out soon?” The stars blink above you, and you ask him again, “What answer do you want to hear from me?”

Jake realizes it then, under the glow of fading moonlight, why you’ve always been an image of perfection to him. It’s not accidental, but it’s also not entirely honest. Perfection, he realizes, is your identity of choice – it’s what you think other people want from you. So you construct it, you practice it, you create it. And then you give it. You let people do what they want with it. 

But Jake isn’t asking about your future career plans because he’s trying to feel better about himself. He’s not trying to stack up your lives next to each other and see how his compares. He’s not trying to put cracks in the exterior you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

But he does want a glimpse of what’s underneath.  

So when he answers, he opts for a third option. “The truth.” Above you, the moon glows. “I want to hear the truth.”

If it catches you off guard, you recover quickly. You’re not sure what it is about this moment that has you wanting to spill your guts, but you can’t remember the last time someone asked. The last time someone cared.

So you tell him, with all your honesty, “I don’t want to go to law school. I never have. My mother has made it clear that that’s the expectation, though. So I can’t decide how willing I am to estrange myself completely. To potentially lose what’s left of our relationship.”

Jake listens. He hears you. He gets it. “What would you do?”

It’s another answer that comes easy, even though the question hasn’t been asked by anyone in a long, long time. “Architecture.” Your smile is small, but it’s real. “I had a great aunt who was an architect. And she always used to tell me, when I was kid, that the secret is to put a little love into everything you build. It doesn’t have to be actual buildings, of course. That was just her thing, y’know? The thing she could always put a little love into, even on the hard days.” You sigh. “Truth be told, I don’t hate law. It’s interesting, and I’m good at it. But it’s not something I’ve ever been able to put a little love into.”

You turn to him, words still ringing in the air. You ask, “What about you? Was business always your calling?”

If you can give him the truth, Jake supposes he ought to return the favor. “To be honest, I have no idea. It was never a question. It was always a given that I would study business and take on some kind of role in the company.” He turns over your great aunt’s words in his mind. “But I don’t think it’s something I have any love for. Not even a little.”

“So what would you do?” You echo his question back to him. “If you could do anything?”

Jake’s answer comes less easily. “I don’t know.” You raise an eyebrow. “I really don’t. To be honest, I don’t even think I could tell you most of the other majors that are offered at our university. It’s always been business. It’s what my whole family does. Even Jay, my closest friend, is a business major too.” Jake realizes how odd that must sound, but it’s true. “It’s all I really know.”

“Hm,” you muse. He can see the wheels spinning in your brain, the beginning of an idea. “Maybe it’s time for you to find your thing, then. Somewhere to put your love.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake scoffs. He doesn’t think that’s possible, and especially not at this point. “I may not ever be the CEO, but I still don’t want my dad to disown me. And besides, we’re in our third year. Not exactly the best time to change my major.”

“Yeah,” you agree, but Jake can tell you still haven’t quite let it go. “I suppose you’re right.”

This time, when the silence between you returns, you let it linger. With nothing but the pale glow of the night sky and quiet whispers of the wind, long moments bleed into each other. You take it all in, let it all wash over you – the stillness, the chill of an autumn breeze, the presence of the boy at your side.  

And it’s a long time before either of you moves again. 

…

At this point, Jake really should be used to ominous, slightly threatening messages from you. Still, he can’t help but stutter a bit when he checks his phone after another tutoring session with Jungwon the following week. 

Without any family events looming on the horizon, you and Jake have had a few days to yourselves without any fake dating facade to follow. Aside from the white lies Jake slips Jungwon every now and then, he hasn’t seen or mentioned you since e dropped you back off at your apartment after dinner at his parents’ house last weekend. 

His thoughts, however, are an entirely different matter. No matter where he is, what he’s doing, they have the very annoying habit of always straying back to the same scene. A moonlit balcony. A cool autumn breeze. The most scraps of truth he’s ever been given from you at once. A thousand misconceptions shattered and reconstructed all in a single moment. 

Still, Jake’ not quite sure how to interpret the message that greets him, other than as a very direct threat. 

You [7:48 pm]: Meet me at the far end of the quad next to the library tomorrow at 2:45 or I’m telling your brother we broke up and I have uncontrollable romantic feelings for him

Jake [8:02 pm]: Should I be scared?

He’s not reassured by your reply.

You [8:04 pm]: :)

So Jake is standing on the far end of the quad, beside the library, the next afternoon at 2:42 when he sees you approaching. 

The first thing you do when you finally reach him is swat at the baseball cap he’s wearing, knocking it askew. “What are you, a frat boy?”

“It’s sunny,” Jake defends, fixing his hat. Something you’re well aware of, if the obnoxiously large sunglasses balanced on the bridge of your nose are anything to go by.

“You know,” you tilt your head, giving it a second thought. “The hat might be kind of perfect, actually.” Deciding to divulge the reason for your message, you tell him, “I need you to come somewhere with me.”

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly thrown by the lack of details. He needs a little more warning than this, if he’s expected to play the role of your boyfriend convincingly. “Is this,” he leans in close, waits for a group of students to pass by before he whispers apprehensively, “a contract thing?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, don’t like, start hitting on other girls in front of witnesses or anything, but we don’t have to act like a couple.”

Now, Jake is even more confused. “Then where are we going?”

Never one to give in easily, all you say is, “You’ll see.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you give me more information.”

“I literally have James’ phone number in my favorites.”

He holds his ground. “And I have the right to know where you’re taking me!”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “Fine. We’re going to the Student Union Building.” A multipurpose building in the center of campus, it’s a typical place for events that are too large to be hosted anywhere else. Which really doesn’t give Jake much to work with.

“Why?” His question is slow, suspicious. 

“My god.” You throw your hands in annoyance. “I’m going to have to start paying Jungwon double if this is how annoying you are when you have a question about something. Just come with me,” you reiterate. “You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough.”

“But–”

It doesn’t matter, you’re already grabbing his hand in yours, more or less dragging him through the quad towards the Student Union Building before he can get his protest out. Jake’s eyebrows are still creased in confusion when you pull him through the front doors and he sees the unusually large crowd of people inside. 

Then, he sees the banner hanging from the ceiling. His lips flatten into a thin line. 

“Absolutely not.” But you’re already behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him towards the makeshift check-in counter. 

“Hi!” The student employee greets, far too cheerfully in Jake’s opinion. If she notices the way your knuckles are white around his arm, holding him in place, she doesn’t comment on it. Jake pulls his hat down further over his eyes. “Are you two here for the Explore Our Majors event?”

“Yep,” you beam. And Jake is actually going to kill you. “I’m in my third year here, but my friend Ja–”

“Jacob,” Jake intercedes. 

“Right.” You spare a glance at him. “My friend Jacob.” You’re still way too excited when you lie, “He’ll be a freshman soon, and he’s hoping to look around and see all the different programs that are offered here. Do we need to go in a certain order or anything? Or is there somewhere we need to sign in?” 

There better not be. Like hell is he putting the name Jake Sim on a sign-in sheet for a major exploration event for freshmen. It’s not like his father has time to poke around at things like this, but his claws and connections run deep where this school is concerned. And Jake imagines he would be less than pleased to find out his son is wasting his time doing something so frivolous. Or something that could signal any kind of disinterest in the future that’s been laid out for him, his eventual place at his father’s company.

“Nope,” she smiles. “Each major has its own table, and majors are grouped by college. So all the STEM tables are over there, for example,” she points over to where a group of high school seniors are flipping through pamphlets. “You can just wander around as you like and chat with the people at the tables. There’s a mix of students and faculty. Oh, and each major should have a pamphlet you can pick up too, if you’d like.”

“Great,” you grin back. “Thank you.”

Again, if she sees the way you practically have to yank Jake by the arm to get him to move, she doesn’t comment on it. But once you’re out of earshot, he does lean down to hiss in your ear, “Why the fuck are we at the Explore Our Majors event for incoming freshmen?”

“Why do you think?” Your voice is entirely too loud. He has half a mind to slap his palm over your mouth to prevent you from spilling his secrets here in the middle of the Student Union Building’s largest event hall. “We’re finding you somewhere to put your love.” The large group of girls that walks by do a double take and then proceed to take turns shooting him death glares. 

Jake panics. “Would you stop saying it like that?”

You roll your eyes, paying the group of girls and his worries no mind. “Don’t knock my great aunt. Anyway, where do you want to start? Should we go over to the STEM tables?” Pausing to consider, you ask, “Or is your performance in econ more indicative of your math and science skills in general? We could look for liberal ar–”

“I just told you this weekend that I was good at physics.” It may have been a white lie, but who’s keeping track? 

“Oh, right.” You nod, eyes already searching for the table in question. “Should we go there, then?”

“No,” Jake shakes his head immediately. “I was good at it.” Questionable. “But I didn’t really like it.” A lot more true. 

“Alright,” you agree. Spinning to look in the other direction, you take him with you “Humanities it is. Or we could always go the fine arts route.” You turn to look at him for a moment, assessing. “You know, I feel like you would actually be a great dancer. You have the face for it.”

“Has that ever made sense to anyone you’ve said it to?”

“Wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You’re the first.” Trying not to read too much into that, Jake lets you pull him along until you’re standing in front of a table with a rather gaudy ‘Journalism’ banner hanging on the front. 

“Hi,” you smile at the students standing behind it. Jake pulls his hat down a little further. You don’t know a whole lot about journalism other than the basics, but you’re pretty sure they’re also in charge of student media on campus. “You guys run the student newspaper, right?” 

Picking up a pamphlet, you nod as the boy behind the table answers brightly, “Yeah, we do.” He’s proud when he adds, “Our last issue was one of our most read yet. We ran a really great article on the front page about the importance of understanding how economic trends affect our daily lives–”

Delicately setting the pamphlet back down on the table, you glance at Jake before apologizing to the overeager boy, “I’m sorry, but I think Jacob and I are gonna head to the next table.” 

ANd then you’re dragging him along again.

“Okay,” you turn to Jake once you’re out of earshot, “So that’s a veto for journalism. What about other kinds of writing? You point to a table a few rows away. There’s the creative writing table.”

Jake shakes his head. “Even discussion board posts are like pulling teeth.”

“Noted.” Your jaw sets with a little too much determination for his liking. “Minimal writing it is, then.” 

The two of you pass several more tables in the same fashion, Jake shutting each one down before you have a chance to so much as grab a pamphlet. 

There’s history, but who cares about dead people? English, but he’s seen the career outlook and he’d rather not study unemployment, thank you very much. Sociology, but he already lives in society. Why would he waste his time studying it?

Finally, you point out a major that he doesn't have anything scathing to say about within the first five seconds. “Graphic design,” you nod towards the table a few spots away. “That could be interesting.”

Jake hates to admit it, but he kind of thinks so too. He does think visual design is pretty interesting, and marketing and advertising have always been some of his favorite aspects of business. He’s about to say fuck it and fully embrace Jacob the incoming freshman when he notices one glaring problem. The graphic design table is set up right next to the business table. 

A nonissue, really, except for the fact that students are helping to run this event. And as you drag him closer, Jake realizes with mounting dread that he recognizes one of the faces spending an afternoon trying to convince high schoolers that choosing a business major will change their lives for the better. 

He turns to make a break for it before you can reinforce your grip on his arm and physically drag him with you, but it’s too late. 

“Jake?” he hears a horribly familiar voice call. “Is that you?” Turning around slowly, he knows he’ been caught. Jake kind of wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. The only thing he wants to do is melt into the floor. 

“It is you,” Jay says upon closer inspection. And because you seem so hellbent on making his life even more painful, you pull him with you until the two of you are right in front of his best friend. “What the hell are you doing here?” Jay asks him. “You said you had a date.”

Butting in on the conversation, your smile is entirely too smug when you turn to Jake. “You said what now?”

Glancing at you, Jay’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to connect the dots. “You were telling the truth? Dude, that’s even worse.” Jay looks at you almost like he’s trying to apologize on behalf of his friend. “You’re not exactly wine-ing and dining her, here.”

“Hi,” you introduce, extending a hand. Jay shakes it warily. “I’m ___. Jake’s…” you search for a good term to use, and finally, with a private smile, settle on, “plus-one.”

“To an Explore Our Majors event?” That clears up none of Jay’s confusion. He turns back to Jake. “What the hell? Are you going on dates with incoming freshmen–”

“This is my third year,” you interrupt again. “We’re just looking around.”

“Hold on,” Jay pauses, a flash of recognition crossing his features as he studies you for a moment. “You’re the ___ that Jake was trying to get a phone number from for his brother, right? Is that what’s going on? Are you making him do a bunch of stupid shit like this to get it?”

You shrug, glancing at Jake. “You could say that.”

Jake has to give it to you. You’re a lot better at beating around the bush, at avoiding giving straight answers about the nature of your relationship, than he is. Jay looks more confused than anything at your evasiveness. If James were to somehow hunt him down and inquire about the validity of your relationship, Jake is positive that his friend would have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

A reassuring idea, other than the fact that Jake is also sure Jay will be hunting him down after this to get the real story, since he couldn’t get it from you. Targeting the weaker prey, a classic strategy. 

“Anyway,” you build yourself an out. “We’re gonna go check out the graphic design table.”

You tug at Jake’s wrist, but he stands his ground this time. Thoroughly embarrassed and done letting you pull him around, he tries to back you into a corner with one of your tricks from the fundraiser. “We should get going, actually,” he argues pointedly. “Look at the time. We don’t want to be late for…” Unfortunately, he’s still no better at coming up with excuses, “that thing.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious trick. “Don’t worry.” Your smile is sugary, but your eyes flash with warning. “I canceled it. Let’s go.”

This time when you redouble your efforts to drag him to the graphic design table, he has no choice but to follow, a little miserably. Behind the business table, Jay has zero idea what to make of what he just witnessed.

As the students at the graphic design table start their spiel, Jake is glad at least one of you is paying attention. You nod along enthusiastically while the student representative talks your ear off about the pros and cons of various online photo editing programs, asking well-timed follow-up questions as you expertly skim the pamphlet you’re handed simultaneously. 

Jake, on the other hand, still coming down from the mortification of being caught, is suddenly a little caught up in the way your hand is still wrapped around his wrist. A light pressure he could easily work his way out of. But despite himself, he’s having a hard time coming up with any motivation to do so. 

Distantly, he concentrates on the sensation. Your skin is soft, warm. The gentle pressure of your fingers is a tether to you. And in this moment, it’s a reminder that out of everyone in his life, you’re the first to be so obnoxiously concerned with what his interests are, where his passions lie. 

Despite his rightful protests against attending this event, he can read your intentions behind bringing him here. And it would be a lie if he said he didn’t appreciate them, just a little. 

At this point in his life and academic career, he feels a little bit like a toddler you’ve thrown in a pool to try and teach to swim. It’s hard for him to tread water, to keep his head above the waves, when the solid ground he’s used to is suddenly replaced by new matter entirely. 

But if Jake is sure of one thing, it’s that he won’t drown. How could he, with the lifeline of your arm still reaching out towards him? With the steadiness of your fingers still wrapped around him? He thinks you just might save him too, if you saw him drowning. Would pull him in and teach him to float on his back. To work with the water instead of against it. 

To swim, even when the water gets rough. 

At your side, terms like visual communications and web design and typography all blur together. And Jake’s focus is still narrowed in on the pulse point on his wrist, the way his heartbeat is entrusted in your unwavering grip.

…

Jake has a well-practiced routine for checking his econ grade whenever results of a new assignment or exam are posted. 

First, he makes sure that anything fragile or breakable is out of his reach. Then, he lights a scented candle. Setting the new one he just bought a few days ago on his desk, he checks the label again. Lavender Dreams. It’s all he can do not to laugh, a little miserably. Well, he supposes, thinking back to your words a couple of weeks ago, time to find out if lavender is actually calming. 

Third, he makes sure he has no other important plans for the day. Nowhere else to be, nothing to do that he can’t show up for in a ruined mood. Because that is usually what happens during this little ritual of his.

Finally, his last step is to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom, imagine the sky above it, and whisper one, desperate, “Please.”

Then he sits at his desk and opens his laptop to greet his fate with a grimace and a racing heart. Today, Jake follows all the same steps until he’s navigating to his university’s learning management platform. He clicks on the Econ tab, slowly releases a breath he wasn’t meaning to hold. 

His shoulders tense at the notification of a newly inputted grade that pops up, the icon begging for his attention. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of lavender enter his nose and hopefully work some magic in his nervous system. 

Maybe he should adjust his ritual, he thinks, mouse hovering over the new grade notification. Maybe he should start burning incense or something, cleansing the air of any bad energy before he looks. In his indecision, his finger slips, presses, clicks. 

And Jake doesn’t quite have time to screw his eyes shut before the number flashes on his screen. 

Oh, he is so fucked.

So, so, so, terribly, absolutely, completely fucked. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise at this point, that the score of his latest homework problem set is a–

Wait. 

Jake opens his eyes, just barely, peeking at the screen again. 

82.

Jake pauses for a moment. His eyes open completely. His brow pulls down in confusion. 

82. He double checks to make sure he’s seeing the grade correctly, that the numbers haven’t somehow been reversed. 

They haven’t. 82. It’s his real, true, honest to god score. It’s a B. A low B, but that’s still the highest econ grade Jake has seen since his third round of the syllabus quiz.

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

Jake kind of doesn’t know what to do with his body, with all of the extra energy he suddenly has. In that moment, he thinks he could do anything. If Jungwon were here, Jake thinks he might actually kiss him on the mouth. 

82. It’s not enough to save his grade, not yet. But if it’s a trend that continues, Jake Sim just might finally pass econ. 

He goes to text his tutor the good news, to confirm their next session, but finds that Jungwon has beat him to it. Fingers still slightly shaky from the excess of nerves, he reads the new messages. 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:03 pm]: Hey, I saw that the latest homework grades were released. Lmk how you did!

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:04 pm]: Also, sorry to do this kind of last minute, but I’m not gonna be able to meet you at our regular time tomorrow. We could reschedule if there’s another time that works for you? Or we could just wait and meet again next week. 

Frowning, Jake reads the message again. He’s still riding the high of a B- and is reluctant to do anything that might prevent it in the future, including missing a tutoring session. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: Is there any way we could still meet tomorrow? Maybe before our usual time. 

Jake [7:10 pm]: And I got an 82! You’re actually a lifesaver

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: That’s great! 

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: I’m sorry, but I don’t think tomorrow afternoon will work either. I’m going to the university skating competition to support a friend

Yang Jungwon (Econ Tutor) [7:12 pm]: You probably know him actually. Him and ___ are good friends too lol. It’s Park Sunghoon

Jake rereads the message, sighs. He supposes it makes sense. He can’t really fault his godsend of a tutor for wanting to support a long-time friend at one of the most important competitions of his season. Still, Jake’s a little slammed this week, and the thought of missing a tutoring session is enough to sober him from the thrill of his latest assignment grade. 

Park Sunghoon. Jake has only met him once – in search of you, or rather, your phone number – and he doubts Sunghoon remembers much of that interaction. Jake doesn’t really know anything about him, other than the fact that he’s rumored to be one of the best skaters to come through this school and that he’s apparently good friends with both you and Jungwon–

Wait. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

Jungwon can’t go to Sunghoon’s skating competition tomorrow. Because Jake is almost positive you’ll be there too, is pretty sure you and Jungwon are probably going together. If there’s a flare of jealousy in his gut, he’ll ignore it for now. He has bigger problems.

Namely, the fact that Jungwon is under the impression that you and Jake are dating. Officially dating, since he knows that Jake took you to meet his family this last weekend. Quite seriously dating, if the lovesick expression on Jake’s face every time he talks about you in front of Jungwon is anything to go by. 

And the sole reason Jungwon is under that impression is because Jake couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Because he essentially told him, flat out, that the two of you are very much enjoying the honeymoon phase of your relationship. 

Still working in a cloud of panic, Jake leaves Jungwon on read for the time being and sends a message to you instead. 

Jake [7:17 pm]: What time is Sunghoon’s thing tomorrow? I’ll pick you up

You [7:18 pm]: ??? 

You [7:18 pm]: What the fuck?

Before he can think of a reply to type, Jake’s phone screen is overtaken by an incoming call notification. One that he knows better than to ignore, even as something in his shrivels a little. 

“Hello?” He answers, wheels in his brain spinning as he tries to come up with some sort of explanation on the spot. 

You don’t waste any time. “How do you even know about Sunghoon’s competition? And what do you mean you’ll pick me up?” On the bright side, you don’t sound angry, at least. Just very confused. 

“Jungwon mentioned it to me.” Jake decides he can at least be honest about that. “He had to cancel our tutoring session tomorrow.”

“So what?” Even through the phone, Jake can sense your exasperation. “You thought you could squeeze in some econ notes at the athletics center? My god, you are so persistent about the worst things. Leave poor Jungwon alone.”

Poor Jungwon. Poor Jungwon. 

Jake’s tone is a little less even when he clarifies, “No, it has nothing to do with econ. I just want to come with you. To, uh… to support Sunghoon.” It’s a weak explanation, even to his own ears. 

“You don’t know him.” Your voice is flat.

“We’ve talked,” Jake argues.

“You’ve had one conversation. He thought your name was Jacob.”

“Which turned out to be a very useful alias for me.” At the event for incoming freshmen you dragged him to unwillingly. “I owe him one.”

There’s an extended silence on your end. 

Jake begs a little more. “I let you drag me to that stupid event last week. You know, I had to run, actually, full on run, away from Jay the other day so he couldn’t ask me about it. Just let me come with you tomorrow.” 

You hesitate. “I might, if you tell me why you want to go so badl–”

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “You caught me. My secret passion in life is actually figure skating. I didn’t start training young enough, so now I have to live vicariously through–”

“You are so fucking annoying” But it works. “Fine.”

“Fine, as in, I can come?” Jake knows better than to sound too hopeful. 

You refuse to answer him directly. “Be at my apartment by four-thirty tomorrow. If you’re even a second late, I’m leaving without you.”

On the other line, Jake lets his fist fly into the air in silent celebration. Into the receiver of his phone, he says calmly, “Great. I’ll pick you up, then.”

You hang up without bothering to respond, and Jake returns Jungwon’s message. 

Jake [7:26 pm]: Let’s just plan to meet next week for tutoring. And thanks for the reminder. You kind of saved me again, actually. I’ll see you tomorrow at the competition

Sighing, Jake sets his phone down. 

For the moment, the crisis is averted, at least partially. But Jake knows he’ll have his real work cut out for him tomorrow. As he turns it around in his brain, the celebratory feeling in his chest slowly begins to morph into dread. 

How on earth is he going to sit through an entire evening with you and Jungwon without the illusion shattering one way or another? It feels like an impossible task. 

But then he takes a long inhale of lavender-scented air, looks back at the proud B- still displayed on his laptop screen. If he can pull that off, he thinks he just might be able to do anything. 

…

It’s a confidence that Jake is finding hard to rediscover the following afternoon. Just after three, every ounce of self-assuredness Jake has ever had is slowly draining from his body as the clock ticks closer and closer to four-thiry with every passing second. 

Standing in front of his mirror, Jake can’t decide how he feels about the black button-down he’s wearing. Is it too much? Not enough? 

He knows he’s probably overthinking it, but he’s about to spend an entire evening sitting with you and Jungwon, watching Sunghoon. If you don’t think he looks at least a little good in comparison, something in his pride is going to be very, very wounded. 

On the other side of his bedroom door, Jake can hear Jay poking around in his kitchen. After a few days of successfully dodging him, his best friend finally snuck his way into his apartment under the guise of delivering a package. Still a little terrified to face him and the questions he’ll inevitably ask, Jake has been hiding in his room since his arrival. 

He curses the situation now. If nothing else, Jay could at least provide a set of fashion-forward eyes to help him choose his outfit of the evening. But that would also involve explaining where he’s going, which would only send Jay’s suspicions about you and Jake skyrocketing. 

Unlike you, Jake is not particularly well-versed in avoiding leading questions. In fact, he regularly does the opposite, if his interactions with Jungwon are anything to go by. 

Somewhat regrettably, he decides he’ll have to use his own intuition for this one. 

That turns out to mean that Jake spends the next forty minutes trying on half of his closet, pulling out shirts that he hasn’t seen since middle school and watching the pile of rejected options pile up on his chair as uncertainties pile up in his gut. 

Finally, he lands on the black button-up he was wearing originally and decides to make the disaster of his room a problem for later. Glancing at the clock, he realizes with a bit of dread that he needs to head out soon if he doesn’t want to miss your threat of a deadline. But then his eyes land on the small handful of ornate bottles on top of his dresser, and he suddenly has a new problem. 

Running low on both steam and time, Jake decides that facing whatever Jay has in store for him is better than trying to make this last decision on his own. So he scans that array of bottles, picks his two favorite scents, and opens the door to his bedroom slowly, doing his best to delay the inevitable inquisition. 

Stepping out warily, he sees that Jay has moved from the kitchen to the living room and is currently snacking on a sandwich he made with whatever ingredients he found in Jake’s fridge as he watches something on the TV. 

“Hey, Jay?” Jake calls out, a little hesitantly. 

“What?” Jay doesn’t even turn to look at him. “Oh, you decided you’re talking to me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake searches for a feasible explanation for his avoidance. Finding nothing solid, he settles with the classically vague, “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what? Training for a marathon? I can’t believe you actually ran from me–”

“I realized I forgot my computer at the library,” Jake lies. “I wanted to go back and grab it before it got stolen.”

“Whatever.” Jay doesn't buy it for a second. But he is eating Jake’s food, so he figures he owes him a little. “What do you want?” 

Jake moves to stand next to his couch, careful not to block Jay’s view of the TV and annoy him further. Tentatively, Jake holds out the two bottles of cologne. “Which one of these smells better?”

Jay sends Jake a look of disbelief, sets his sandwich down on the coffee table. “Do I look like a fucking Macy’s employee to you?”

“Just help me out,” Jake pleads. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

Jay stares at him blankly for a moment longer. “Well, it depends,” He finally concedes. “The Yves Saint Laurent has more of a causal vibe, and the Giorgio Armani feels like you’re trying a little harder, like you want to be impressive and you don’t care if people know that.” 

And then he takes a closer look at Jake. At the way his hair has been perfectly styled to look just the right amount of intentionally messy, at the outfit he’s wearing. 

“Hold on, what are you so worked up about?” Jay’s eyes narrow in on his shirt. “And is that Prada? It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday. Where the hell are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Jake replies too quickly, already beginning to retreat to the safety of his bedroom before he can be questioned further. 

Jay turns in his seat, eyes following Jake accusingly the whole time. “You’re meeting ___, aren’t you? What’s going on between the two of you anyway? Why are you being so weird?”

Jake pretends not to hear his friend, closing the door behind him and he looks for his coat in the mess of his room. Finding it, he pulls his arms through the sleeves. Stopping at the mirror, he gives himself one final once-over before turning to leave again. Right before he does, he pauses, weighs his options as he weighs Jay’s advice. And then he reaches for the bottle of Giorgio Armani, sprays it twice for good measure. Before he can psych himself out again, he heads for the front door. 

He almost makes it, too, but before he can slip out, Jay asks him one last question. “Just answer this,” he bargains from his seat on the couch. “Are you meeting ___?”

“None of your business” is the only answer he gets as Jake leaves his apartment, quickly closing the door behind him to cut off any other opportunities for Jay to catch him in a white lie. 

And when Jake arrives at your apartment, he has seven minutes to spare. Sending you a message of his arrival, he makes his way to the lobby to greet you. 

“Mr. Sim,” your doorman nods coolly. 

“Elton,” Jake returns, equally as frigid as he reads the middle-aged man’s name tag. 

Thankfully, you don’t keep him waiting long. You make your way down to the lobby before Jake and your doorman have the chance to exchange a few more choice words.

Despite the initial turmoil and the current state of his bedroom, Jake is more than pleased with the clothing choices he landed on for the evening when he sees you. 

It would be hard to claim that the two of you are matching, exactly, considering how simple both of your outfits are. But as he watches you approach him in a black sweater and light jeans, Jake likes the way it almost looks as if the two of you did it by accident. Synced up so well that even your closets align without you meaning to. 

And he likes the way it looks like the two of you go together, two pieces of a matching set.

Giving your doorman one last parting wave, the walk to Jake’s car is short. He doesn’t offer to pull the car around this time, mostly because the white sneakers on your feet are a lot more conducive to walking that your heels for the fundraiser a couple of weeks ago.  

“I assume we’re heading to the Ice Sports Center,” Jake says, putting the car in reverse as he backs out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Much to his relief, you’re not projecting any annoyance. At least not yet. “But we’re picking up Jungwon first.” 

“What?” Jake balks, suddenly reminded of the awful tightrope he’s about to be walking all evening. The way he’s somehow supposed to keep Jungwon thinking that the two of you are enamored with one another without you finding out that he divulged the nature of your fake relationship to your friend. 

Mistaking his apprehension for annoyance, you shake your head. “You’re so mean,” you accuse. “First you invade our evening and then you complain about picking him up? The poor guy already has to put up with you all night. The least you could do is spare him an Uber ride.”

Jake suddenly has another bone to pick. “First of all, why do the the two of you even need an evening–”

“Because I never get to see him!” A bit dejectedly, you add, “Between classes and tutoring and his internship, he never has any free time.”

Jake wonders, somewhat vindictively, if he could start requesting additional tutoring sessions. Burn up whatever remnants of time the kid has to dedicate to you. 

Instead, he relents. He’s not going to win any favor from you by doing anything to Jungwon. Not that he needs your favor, of course. Not that he even wants it. 

So Jake just asks you to give him Jungwon’s address and plots it into his phone’s GPS without another complaint. But as the estimated arrival time begins to dwindle, so does Jake’s confidence that he can pull this evening off. 

With just a few minutes to go, he decides that honestly might be his only way out of this mess. 

Turning to you slowly, he says, “So, I kind of have to tell you something.”

You groan. “I hate the way you just said that. Please tell me I’m not also going to hate whatever it is you’re about to tell me.”

Jake hesitates, “I mean, I can’t predict the future–”

You read his guilt like an open book. Flatly, you ask, “What did you do?”

Jake is quick to go on the defensive. “Why are you assuming it’s my fault–”

You’re not in the mood for his evasiveness. “What did you do?”

It comes out all in a rush, sounds like one long word as Jake lets the truth spill out. “I might have accidentally told Jungwon that you and I are dating.”

Somehow, you understand just as well as you would have if he enunciated clearly. Your voice is dangerously low. “How, pray tell, did you accidentally tell your econ tutor that you and I are dating?”

“It just came out, I swear!” Jake tries to dig himself out. “You came up somehow, and I mentioned the dinner at my parents house. One thing led to another, and now he thinks that we’re dating.”

You’re still livid, not accepting his threadbare explanation. “I could sue you, you know. You signed a legal document agreeing to not tell our friends and acquaintances anything about our agreement.”

Jake calls your bluff. “That thing is not legally binding, and you know it. Besides, the wording on that part is so vague, I’m sure there are a million loopholes. No judge would uphold that in court.”

“Oh, so now you’re a contract expert–”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jake interrupts, deciding that neither defense or offense are likely to get him much of anywhere. Maybe an apology will do him one better. “I know we agreed to not get our friends involved, but it really wasn’t on purpose.” It kind of very much was, but he figures you don’t need to know that. “I just… Can we pretend, just for tonight?” It sounds reasonable enough to him. After all, “It’s no different than what we’ve done so far–”

“Yes it is,” you argue. Your fury has evaporated slightly, now just simmering in his passenger seat. But Jake still doesn't get it.  “Jungwon is my friend. He knows me, the real me. I’m not trying to keep up appearances around him. I don’t want to lie to him, and especially not about something like my relationships. Especially because he’s going to think that I’m the one that’s been lying to him about it.” The more you say, the worse Jake starts to feel. “I told him you were my friend.”

It wasn’t about you being embarrassed of Jake or not wanting Jungwon to think that you would ever consider dating him. It was because Jungwon is one of the few people that gets you, that really gets you. It’s because he’s one of your few real friends, someone you don’t have to lie to. Someone who accepts your truths as they come. 

“I know.” For the first time, Jake’s short-sighted solution to his jealousy doesn’t feel so satisfying. He hadn’t considered this, the potential fallout on your end. How you would feel about lying like this to someone that you’re genuinely close to. All he can say is, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up.”

You just give him a long look, silence building between the two of you as you weigh a million responses on your tongue and let all of them die, one by one, before breathing life into any of them. 

“I…” you finally say. “It’s whatever.” It’s not. Jake can hear it in your tone of voice, can read it in the way your lips twist. “Let’s just do it,” you agree to his original request. Jake isn’t sure why he can’t find it in himself to feel good about it. “Let’s just pretend for tonight.” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to remedy the situation. Still, your name is a quiet whisper on his breath. He feels like he’s begging, pleading. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 

You just shake your head, looking out of the windshield. “We’re here.”

And you are. Jungwon, completely oblivious to your conversation, is all smiles where he waits outside his apartment building, sending you and Jake both a friendly wave before jogging over to the car and sliding into the back seat. 

“Hey Jake, ___,” he greets, unaware of the stifling tension he’s just walked into. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. You have a really nice car.”

And Jungwon is so nice, Jake thinks. So nice and considerate and genuinely pleasant to be around. Things that he controls, things that Jungwon wakes up every day and decides to be. Things that make you like him, want to be his friend.

Things that Jake, as he glances to where you’re still nursing your wounds in his passenger seat, understands with a sickening realization that he has not been. At least not to you. 

And Jake could pin the blame on a million different excuses. His father or the tight constraints of his life or the way he feels like nothing has ever really belonged to him. But when he looks at you, at your hurt, he knows that his lack of consideration for your feelings is all of his own doing. 

Jakes turns back to Jungwon for a moment, tells him, “No problem. I’m glad we could all go together.” And then he puts his eyes back on the road ahead of him and makes the decision to take a little more ownership of the things he can control. To do his very best to be a little better. To try, really try, to put a little love into the things he builds.

So Jake doesn’t protest, when you arrive at the ice rink and slide down into the middle seat, next to both him and Jungwon. Doesn't let the unpleasant feeling that rises in his gut when you give Sunghoon a massive bouquet of flowers and a warm hug after his program do anything but simmer. Doesn’t make his feelings your problem, a fire for you to put out. 

When he excuses himself to the bathroom, he tries not to let the imagined possibilities of what you and Jungwon might be talking about in his absence make him do something stupid. 

Besides, everything he’s thinking of is far off the mark anyway. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jungwon turns to you and smiles. “You and Jake, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Actually,” he amends, “I can believe that. What I can believe is that you lied.” The accusation is light, teasing. It still hits you like a sucker punch. “You said you two were just friends.”

But your hurt feelings won’t help you here, and you have tracks to cover. Jake didn’t tell you what he told Jungwon, not exactly, so you’ll have to do your best not to unravel any of the lies he’s already spun. 

“It’s new,” you try to explain, thinking of something that would make sense, that would wound Jungwon the least. “I haven’t really told anyone.” You mean it when you say, “But I am sorry for lying.” You wish you weren’t doing it still. You wish you could tell him the truth.

“Fine.” It’s an apology Jungwon accepts easily, even if he pretends to hold onto it a little longer. “You’re forgiven. But only because his car is really nice.” And then, “He’s good to you?”

“Yeah,” you echo the same words you told his mother a handful of evenings ago. “The best.”

“Good.” Jungwon nods. If there’s wistfulness there, it’s overtaken by his genuine desire to see you happy. “You deserve that.”

You’re not sure why you feel like crying, why everything about this conversation, this situation, suddenly feels so wrong.

“Thanks, Wonie.” You melt a little at his earnestness, the childhood nickname slipping out with your fondness. This is what you were afraid of, what you wanted to avoid. It’s not fair for him, not okay with you that Jungwon is wasting his sincerity on a lie, a false relationship. It’s hollow when you say, “That means a lot.”

Whatever reply Jungwon has dies on his lips as Jake finds the two of you again, slides back into his seat. As the rest of the evening passes, your lingering hurt starts to make room for something else. You’re not sure what to make of how undeniably easy it all is. How natural it feels to be sat in between your childhood friend and your fake boyfriend, trading jokes and smiles and stories that take no effort and make the time fly by. 

When Jake finally drops you back off at your apartment a few hours later, your anger is mostly gone. And unlike him, you were never particularly good at physics, but you do remember the conservation of mass – how things can change and transform but are never truly destroyed. In the absence of anger, you’re not entirely sure what emotions are beginning to overflow in their stead. 

But when Jake whispers, “Goodnight” from the driver’s seat of his car, it’s a sentiment that’s easy to return. 

…

As the month just before the holidays tends to do, the rest of the semester passes in a blur of late night study sessions, half-finished assignments, and a concerning amount of caffeine. Both of you slammed with responsibilities of your own, Jake hardly even sees you in those last few weeks. Instead, the promise of the holidays and your family’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party are threats that loom on the rapidly approaching horizon. 

This, then, is a small time apart from each other before your fake-dating responsibilities kick into full gear. Before they eventually as soon as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of December and your contract dissolves just as the year does. 

And at this point, that’s a concern for the future. Right now, Jake is too busy trying to pass his classes to have any brainwidth left to worry about other things. Namely, his econ term paper. The hours that he spends alone with his laptop, forgetting to do much of anything else, veer towards a number that is more than a little concerning.

But thanks to his sessions with Jungwon, a report card without any Fs is looking like an actual possibility for him this semester. So Jake doubles down and presses onwards, goes hours and sometimes even days hardly talking to anyone, just to make sure that every last detail, every last word, is as impeccable as possible. 

And a few weeks later, just as the first half of December draws to a close, Jake finds himself back at his desk, lavender candle lit, pleading with invisible deities as he opens his laptop to check his final econ grade. 

He lets one breath pass. Another. 

Slowly, he opens one eye. 

And there it is, on the screen in front of him. His final econ grade. 

73. A solid C. A fucking C. 

He did it. He actually did it. On his third go around, Jake Sim passed econ. And that alone calls for celebration. 

It’s nearly the first time he’s seen you since Sunghoon’s competition when you and Jungwon show up at his apartment by surprise with a custom ordered cake the next day. 

Predict THIS trend, Wall Street, the royal blue icing reads. Jake Sim passed econ!!!!!!

And then it really is the end of the semester, and the three of you are parting ways for winter break. With nearly a month of rest from studies and schoolwork, you and Jake finalize the details of your last two public appearances as a couple. 

The first is set to be at Jake’s parents’ house. It’s not so much an event as it is the two of you exchanging gifts, making sure that there are witnesses around to corroborate your affection. And the second, of course, will be the New Year’s Eve party at your family's home. 

The timeline gives you about a week to finalize your gift to him, something that has proven to be much more difficult than you were hoping. Despite your suggestion that the two of you just pick out your own gifts in advance and say that they’re from each other, Jake has insisted on going the traditional route. On surprising you. 

So when you show up at his family's home a few days before Christmas, a small red gift bag in hand, it’s with a bit of trepidation that the present inside will fall flat of whatever expectations your fake boyfriend may have. 

Moments later, with the glow of the fireplace casting a cozy glow on his living room, Jake holds a self-warming coffee mug in his hands. 

You feel a bit foolish as you reach for your rehearsed explanation, cite the one time he’d complained about his coffee going cold before he had the chance to drink it. But Jake insists that he loves it, assures you that he’ll put it to good use. 

And when your turn comes to open his gift, you do your best to ignore the slight shake in your fingers as you untie the bow on the small jewelry box he hands you. 

Sliding the lid off, it’s all you can do for a moment to stare. 

“Oh.” The golden chain of the necklace is delicate, fragile. But it’s the charm at the center that has you suddenly breathless. It’s a tiny, intricate outline of a house, the same shimmery gold as the chain. The color he memorized as your favorite. And in the center of the miniature home is an impossibly smaller outline of a heart. “Oh.”

Your soft words ring in the air for a moment as your fingers hover over the gift, unmoving.

Mistaking your lack of feedback for distaste, Jake is quick to explain, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s, uh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s supposed to be like what your great aunt said. Y’know, ‘put a little love into everything you build.’ If you don’t like it, I can–”

You shake your head. “I love it.” It makes your gift to him pale in comparison. The truth rattles in your brain a little too harshly. You got him a coffee mug, and he got you this. Something so obviously wrapped up in thoughtfulness and care and affection. But comparison is the last thing on his mind. 

“I… You do?” His uncertainty is still written all over his face. “You don’t have to just say that. Really, it won’t offend me if–”

“Jake,” you look up at him, put your hand on his chest. Physical touch is the only way you can think to stop his rambling. “It’s perfect. I love it. I really, really do.” Glancing back down at his gift, you smile. His eyes are suddenly wide, from your sincerity or your touch, you’re not sure. “Help me put it on?

Jake nods, swallows audibly. You retract your hand from his chest, let it fall back to your side as you hand him the jewelry box. Carefully, delicately, intentionally,  he takes the necklace out, lets it dangle between long fingers. 

And then he’s moving to stand behind you. The sudden heat of his body is a lure for your senses, a focal point you can’t pull your thoughts away from. 

“I…” He breathes, words suddenly a little strained. You feel the warmth of his words along the length of your spine, deep in your bones. Settling somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “Could you move your hair?”

It makes you feel vulnerable, when you acquiesce to his request, exposing the bare skin of your neck as you pull your hair to the side. “Is that better?” It’s barely a whisper. He hears it regardless. 

“Yeah,” Jake returns, just as airy, just as flighty. “That’s perfect.” 

And then his fingertips are ghosting the edges of your collarbone, skimming the sensitive skin of your throat as he places his gift around your neck. You don’t think you imagine the tremble in his fingers while he fights with the clasp for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally snaps the mechanism into place. 

“There.” He exhales and it travels over your exposed nape. 

Letting your hair fall back into place, you take a steadying breath before turning to face him again. 

You mean it when you say, “Thank you.” 

Jake takes it in, all of it. The moment. The proximity. You. Warning bells are sounding in his mind as his gaze travels from your eyes to the bridge of your nose to the slight part between your lips. 

He wants it, he realizes. In this moment, there is no doubt in his mind. There’s nothing, in fact, but his desires, his wants. And what he wants is to feel your exhale against his own. To lean down and close the distance and let his fingers trace the skin of your throat again, for real this time. Without the excuse of a necklace. 

He could, he thinks. It’s a rule you both signed your agreement on, but what are rules, he reasons, if not things to be broken? And he thinks that if he kissed you, you might just let him. It’s a theory that he’s desperate to test, almost as desperate as he is to learn the exact taste of your mouth when it’s not trading insults with him. And he was never one to let hypotheses remain in limbo for long. 

There’s heat in his gaze and desire in his bones when he leans down, just a fraction of an inch. 

Your eyes widen. Your breath stutters. Under your skin, your heartbeat races. 

You say nothing. 

And then he’s inching closer. Slowly, steadily, until he’s right there, so much closer than he’s ever been. Invading your senses and mingling your exhales and clouding anything coherent left in your brain. 

His exhale ghosts across your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re nothing but a slave to sensation. 

It won’t be him that breaks the spell. Resolve slipping with every passing heartbeat, it won’t be you, either. 

In the end, it’s neither of those things. Instead, it’s the shrill ping of an incoming notification that has the two of you springing apart, cheeks flaming, heat of the moment settling in your chest like a shock from a live wire with nowhere to put all of its excess energy. 

“I…” Jake can barely breathe, much less form words. He still wears his desire in his eyes, his want across his lips. It’s a miracle he even manages to say, “I better check that.”

“Right,” you nod, as if he’s asking for permission, as if it’s in any way under your control. But you’re scrambling to fill the burning silence, to redirect whatever is still simmering in the air. “Yeah.”

Jake nearly stumbles over his own feet as he takes a step away from you, pulling his phone off the coffee table. You avert your eyes as he skims over the notification, hoping the heat in your cheeks will fade from sheer will alone. 

Glancing back at him, you notice the way he’s still reading the notification. Notice the way his brow is furrowed, 

Without really even meaning to, you ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods, but he still looks unsure. His eyes are still on his phone screen. “I think so.”

You raise an eyebrow at the vague qualifier, and he sighs before he continues, “Apparently someone submitted an anonymous plagiarism claim on my econ term paper. It went to the dean, and they’re running an investigation to make sure it’s my original work. That was just the department head letting me know that they’re proceeding with the investigation and will reach out again if any additional action is needed on my part.”

“What?” You balk, earlier tension replaced with one of an entirely different sort. You’re still stuck on his first sentence. “Plagiarism? How is that possible? You spent literal days working on that stupid paper. Even Jungwon said he couldn’t believe how much effort you put into it.”

“Yeah.” Jake shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m not really that nervous.” His expression begs to differ. “I mean, I know that I didn’t plagiarize my paper, so I’m sure the investigation won’t be able to find anything.”

Still, it can’t feel good. Not when it took him so long, so much concentrated effort to finally pass. Not when the relief of it all is now stained with the accusation that looms over his head, no matter how much it lacks in credibility. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer.

“No.” Jake shakes his head, won’t make you bear the weight or the worry of his burdens. “I’m sure they’re just going to run some more in-depth comparisons to past papers. I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” you concede, a little hesitantly. But it’s a worry that lingers, even as the afternoon ticks by. Even when Jake’s mother arrives home and wraps you up in a big hug. Even when she slips you another box of homemade snickerdoodles, this time wrapped up with a bow. 

It’s a worry that lingers when you say your parting words, wishing the two of them a Merry Christmas and telling your fake boyfriend that you’ll look forward to seeing him on New Year’s Eve. 

It’s a worry that you have no distraction from until you’re on your way out, and your least favorite Sim sibling catches you at the door. 

“Merry Christmas, ___,” James smiles, all pretenses and no sincerity. Despite his words, it’s like he’s begging for a fight when he asks, “Are you enjoying the holidays?” 

If his mother weren’t in the next room over, you might just take it upon yourself to wipe the smug grin off his face. Preferably with an uppercut. 

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, forcing a cordiality you don’t feel. “It’s the same as every year. Good but busy.” It’s more than a little vindictive when you add, “Your brother did get me the most thoughtful gift, though.”

“Did he?” James muses. He doesn’t rise to the bait as much as you’d hoped. “Looks like little Jake is all grown up. Seems like it’s a good Christmas for him too. Miracles all around. He has a girlfriend to spend it with.” Pausing a moment, he tacks on, “And I heard he even passed econ, too. It was about time.”

“Well we can’t all be stuck in our ways forever.” You smile. It’s a polite, family friendly way of letting him know you still think he’s a raging asshole. 

But if James is miffed, he doesn’t show it. You don’t like the way his satisfied grin doesn’t falter either, not even once. “No,” he agrees as you turn your back to him, leaving him behind as you walk out the front door. “I suppose we can’t.”

…

Christmas morning is an uneventful affair at your house. There are gifts, of course, ones that your mother watches you open expectantly. 

The jewelry box that sits in your hands is reminiscent of just a few days prior. A fleeting touch that leaves your collarbone scalding. A similar gift that you wear around your neck now. 

But lifting the lid on the present from your mother, the differences are stark. 

A pair of silver hoop earrings, beautiful in their own regard and undoubtedly expensive, but silver has never been your color. It’s something you wish she’d remember, something you thought she might know, after twenty-one long years. 

You thank her, words echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of your living room. 

On the table next to you, your phone lights up with a notification. 

Jake [9:23 am]: Merry Christmas, ___

You think it might be your favorite gift yet.

…

It’s three days after Christmas when you wake up to a series of texts from Jungwon.

Wonie [8:12 am]: Hey ___ did Jake ever work on his econ term paper with you? Like at your place or anything?

Wonie [8:12 am]: He asked me not to get you involved, but I’m getting really worried. This plagiarism claim isn’t going away, and he needs as much evidence as he can get that it was all his work

Despite the way your sleepiness usually lingers in the morning, your friend’s messages have you immediately feeling alert.  

Scanning the texts again, the whole thing really is such an awful twist of luck. Jake finally, finally passed econ and after turning down his brother’s proposal from months ago, he did it as a result of his own efforts. Jake might not have ever worked on his paper in your presence, but you know he didn’t plagiarize it. You can pay testament to the way he was practically a recluse the entire last three weeks of the semester, only ever taking breaks from that damn assignment to occasionally eat, sleep, or bathe. 

And it’s so bizarre, you think. Jake mentioned to you that everything blew up because of an anonymous accusation. It’s not like his paper was caught by some online plagiarism checker. No, someone intentionally went to his professor and claimed that the work was stolen. Someone who wanted to start this fire and watch Jake struggle with the flames. 

It makes no sense, none at all. Who on earth would–

Your train of thought cuts off abruptly. Alone in your childhood bedroom, you know exactly who would do that. 

And, one Google search later, you know exactly where to find him. 

…

You’re not exactly surprised that the Sim Corporation building is up and operational during the holidays. If anything, the employees’ end-of-the-year burnout works to your advantage as you sneak right by the secretary at the front desk, bypassing the appointment system that must surely be in place for the CEO-to-be. 

The elevator ride is slow. Agonizingly slow. And you should be using this time to think, just like you should have been doing on the drive here. You should be figuring out which cards you can play and how exactly you’re going to make Jake’s weasel of a brother admit to what he’s done and retract his idiotic, completely fake accusation against his younger sibling. 

But the only thing your brain has room for right now is rage. And as the elevator ascends, all your anger can do is heat further and further, releasing steam until it’s boiling over, clouding your judgment and making you see red. 

When the elevator finally lets you off on the thirty-sixth floor, your strides eat up the ground until you're standing in front of the door you’ve been looking for. 

You don't bother to knock. 

Unsurprisingly, James Sim’s office is as completely devoid of life and personality as its owner. Covered floor to ceiling with the stark furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in an upscale Ikea ad, there are little to no personal touches, no hints of anything that might make you think James has any kind of redeeming qualities. 

And the only acknowledgement your least favorite Sim brother gives you behind his desk are two slightly raised eyebrows. 

“___.” He jots something down on a notepad in front of him. Probably writing a reminder to fire the secretary that let you up without notifying him. “To what do I owe the pleasure”

You’re in no mood for games. “Cut the bullshit.”

James’ pen pauses. He glances up at you.“I’m afraid I don’t–”

You won’t hear it. “I said, cut the fucking bullshit, James. You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” Your chest is already heaving as you list your demands. “Back the fuck off from Jake, retract your stupid plagiarism claim, and let him enjoy the holidays in peace.”

James doesn’t give you the courtesy of acknowledging anything you just said. Instead, he demands firmly, “Break up with him.”

“What the fuck?” You’re not sure how it’s possible, but your annoyance multiplies tenfold. How dare he assume he has any say in your relationship, anything at all related to you or his brother. “Why would I listen to anything you tell me to do?”

“You want me to retract the claim,’ James echoes evenly, enunciating so slowly it’s patronizing. “Okay, fine.” He lays his hands out in front of him as if he’s offering some generous, benevolent deal. “Then end the relationship.”

You wonder how much damage it would do if you throw the chair sitting next to you at his head. “Are you actually threatening me right now?”

“Not a threat.” He shrugs, all too nonchalantly. “Just a deal.”

Your strides eat up the ground between the door of his office and his desk. Laying a palm down on the surface in front of you, you point an accusatory finger in his face. “Listen here, you little shit. You and I both know damn well he wrote every word of that term paper on his own, so I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off while I’m still asking nicely, or–”

“Or what? Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but between my brother and I, there’s only one person Dr. Jeong is likely to believe.”

“What are you, a cartoon villain?” Even this angry, his stupidity is astounding. “You still need evidence. Which you don’t have. Because he didn’t plagiarize shit, and especially not from you.”

James doesn’t falter. “Interesting that you mention that, actually. You know, I asked Dr. Jeong about you as well, and he said you’re not a student in his class.” Despite yourself, your features slacken slightly. “I thought that was odd, considering that’s how the two of you said you met. There are a lot of things that don’t add up about the two of you, actually.”

There’s a threat there, when he meets your eye and says, “So it kind of seems like you know already, that evidence isn’t just found. It’s made. And Jake’s term paper is different from the one I submitted, yes, but I also have a copy of what he submitted on my personal computer. It’d be pretty easy to ask my secretary to adjust a few timestamps here and there. To make it look like it was written years ago. Stolen by the younger brother that’s always been horribly jealous of me.”

“What the fuck is it to you if he passes econ?” You still don’t understand why he’s doing this. “You graduated university three years ago. Your life is here now, in this office. You’re in the process of becoming CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. Seriously, don’t you have better things to waste your time on? I mean, this is what most people call ‘peaking in college’ and usually try to avoid–”

James reveals his motivation with two small words. “Why him?”

But you still don’t get it. “What?”

“Why him?” he repeats, and it sounds so, horribly, terribly jealous. “Like you said, I’m older, smarter, more successful. So why him?”

“Are you joking?” It’s all you can do to not drop your jaw. All of this because you never let him take you on a date? When it’s his fault he missed the first one? The sheer audacity of it all is astounding. “First of all,” you refute. “I did not say any of that. And second, if that’s actually all you have to say about yourself, then put that shit in your Tinder bio and see where it gets you. I have no interest in hearing it.”

James won’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why do you even care–”

“Why him?” He won’t stop, not until he gets his answer. 

“Because I like him.” It’s spilling out before you can stop it, before you can give it permission. “Because he’s kind and funny and he listens to me and cares about what I have to say. Because I’m more than just a sum of my parts to him, and the last thing he cares about is my social status and how it stacks up against his. I’m not some tool to impress his parents or a topic of conversation to brag about with boys at Sunday morning golf.” All of the things you’re sure would be a part of any kind of relationship with James.  Because no matter what role he’s given in his father’s company or what grade he passed econ with, Jake is capable of something James never has been. “Because he treats me like a person.”

Across from you, James simmers with barely controlled rage. With the truth at his feet, he has nothing left to do but be angry with it. Destroy what he can in the wake of his fury, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Break up with him.”

“Wh–”

“Break up with him, or I swear to god I will submit plagiarism claims to every professor he’s had in the last three years.”

It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on. It’s a battle you’re afraid he’ll win, no matter how fake all of his so-called evidence is. And it will all be your fault. You will be the reason that Jake has to take econ again, and that’s only if he isn’t expelled on plagiarism claims. You will be the reason his father hands him another round of disappointment. You’ll be the reason Jake ends his day with a little more shame to tuck away and revisit on a sleepless night. 

And you were always on a timeline, anyway. This relationship was one that always came with an expiration date, even before it began. 

It should be easy to concede, given the stakes, given the alternative. You’ve known since the beginning that the rapidly approaching New Year would be the end of it all, that you and Jake would become entirely separate entities again in just a handful of days. Still, you have to force the words out through gritted teeth, “Give me until New Year’s.”

James scoffs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands–”

“I’ll do it.” You double down, agreeing to take Jake’s fate into your own hands. “I’ll end things. Just… just give me until New Year’s.” You can do it, you think. It was inevitable anyway. “And retract the claim now,” you stipulate. “If I go back on my word, you can resubmit with all your evidence once next semester starts.”

Across from you, behind his desk, James weighs your offer. He must sense the finality in your tone, the determination in your gaze. “Fine,” he finally says. “You have yourself a deal.”

You don’t take his outstretched hand, don’t seal your agreement with a handshake. He’ll have to trust your word.

It makes no difference to him. His smile is smug when you turn to leave. You hope his satisfaction burns on the way down. 

Your drive home is slightly blurry. Partially because of the rain that has begun to fall. Mostly because of the tears that gather at the corners of your eyes and threaten to fall. You won’t let them, but they cloud your vision anyway, demand your attention. 

That night, a message from Jake lights up your phone just as you’re sitting down for dinner. 

Jake [6:57 pm]: Good news! The whole plagiarism thing turned out to be nothing. Just got an email from the dean that they’re dropping the investigation. I’m officially freeeeee from econ (again)

If nothing else, you have to give James credit for efficiency. And it should feel like a war won, a job well done. But staring at the message on your phone, the only thing you can think of is how soon New Years is. How little time you have before you’ll have to say goodbye. 

…

There’s never much to do, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year’s. Minutes and hours and days blur together as the end of the year passes by, preparing to give way to a new one. 

Jake, giddy with the recent resolution of his econ grade and desperate to get away from the stifling atmosphere of his family home, tries to fill some of that time by spending it with someone he’s starting to realize he cares a lot about. Contract or not. 

First, he sends you a message asking if you’ve been ice skating this winter yet. He does his best to only be a little hurt when your rejection comes quickly, claiming in your response to have another obligation that day. Second, he invites you to drive around and look at holiday lights with him. When you tell him you already have other plans, he passes another lazy afternoon alone instead. Again, it’s a little hard not to dwell. A little hard not to let it sting. And by your third rejection – this time to take Layla on a walk with him – his hurt starts to give way to suspicion. 

But it’s not like you can avoid him forever, not with your family’s annual New Year’s Eve party quickly approaching. The last big event before the termination of your contract, you’ve been counting on him to spare you from your mother’s scathing comments and attendees’ hushed wonderings about when you’ll find yourself a boyfriend. 

And then it will be a new year, a new semester, a fresh start. As the clock strikes midnight, the end of your contract. 

Privately, Jake is a little relieved that it will be over so soon. That he won’t have to keep up pretenses any longer. That he won’t have to stick to your rules. 

He’s not sure when it happened, not exactly. Somewhere between all the bickering and arguing and fighting, but he’s come to enjoy the way you swept into his life like a hurricane and set up a home for yourself right where his heart is. 

He hopes you’ll stick around long after the ink on your contract has dried. He hopes that the two of you will get a chance to figure out what exactly those feelings between you are without worrying about how they look from the outside. How they’re perceived by James or your mother or his father. 

So Jake will be patient if he needs to be. He’ll accept your excuses, real or not, and look forward to seeing you on New Year’s Eve, relishing the fact that it’s the last time his presence at your side will be based on a lie. 

And when New Year’s Eve finally comes, he adjusts the tightness of his tie, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Midnight, he thinks. It will be here soon, quicker than he knows. And all the emotions that he’s been tucking away, all those little moments between the two of you that have fizzled and sparked and ultimately ended in nothing, will fade away with it. 

In their place, he thinks the two of you just might manage to find something solid, something real. 

…

Halfway across the city, in your childhood bedroom, you turn to Sunghoon. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods appreciatively from his seat on your bed. “Your fake boyfriend is gonna pee his pants.”

“Gross.” Your nose scrunches. “Why would you say it like that? And stop calling him my fake boyfriend.”

“Why?” Sunghoon ignores your first question. “That’s what he is, isn’t he?”

And that, you think, is another reason why you didn’t want your friends getting involved in this little scheme between you and Jake. But Sunghoon’s flight home was canceled due to inclement weather, and you weren’t about to make him spend New Year’s Eve alone. The only problem with him spending it at your family’s party is that he needs to be well-versed in the lies you and Jake have been spinning for the last couple of months to keep the last few hours of your fake relationship believable. So, a mimosa and an explanation of a contract later, Sunghoon is privy to all the gory details. But the last thing you need is reminders of that. 

Reminders of him. Reminders of what you’ll have to do in a few short hours. So you redirect the conversation. 

“Really?” You look at yourself in the mirror again. “Do you like this one better? Or should I wear the red dress?”

“No, definitely that one.” Sunghoon shakes his head. “It looks really good. And everyone knows that black is better for New Year’s anyway.”

As you give yourself another once over, Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so nervous, anyway? Trying to impress your faux beau?”

“Stop pretending to know French,” you threaten. “or you can actually be homeless for New Year’s for all I care.”

“C’mon,” Sunghoon sighs, ignoring the bluff. “You look great. I think so. You mom will think so. Jake’s definitely gonna think–”

“How many times do I h–”

“So stop worrying so much, and let’s head downstairs.” Sunghoon stands from your bed, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Do you really want to leave him to the mercy of your mother?”

Point taken. You absolutely do not. With one final swipe of lip gloss, you’re pulling on your heels. It’s just in time too. Barely is the second one strapped on before the message from Jake pings through. He’s here. 

“Is that him?” Sunghoon holds his arm out for you, jerks his chin towards your phone. “Shall we go save your man from the she-devil?”

You don’t even bother to correct him, to reiterate that Jake is most definitely not ‘your man,’ as you hook your hand around his elbow, letting him pull you out of your room and towards the stairs. 

At this point, Jake is not unused to the extravagance of your family’s events. But as he enters your childhood home, he can’t help but be a little floored. It’s a house that would be impressive in its own right. Spacious and luxurious down to every last detail, the place practically screams wealth. But tonight, it really outdoes itself. 

The black and gold decorations shimmer just the right amount – enough to catch the ambient light beautifully without being garish. Every available surface is impeccable, covered with drinks and food and decor so lavish it would be almost laughable if it weren’t so impeccably done. 

Jake strains his neck over the crowd of equally done-up party guests, tries to peer around all the gowns and evening wear until he finds the figure he has memorized. He thinks he might see your mom, over chatting with a group of attendees, but no matter where he looks,  he can’t seem to locate you. 

Not until he glances at the spiral staircase on the outskirts of the room, does a double take at where you make your way down the ornate steps in an evening gown. It’s the same inky, midnight black as his suit, hugging and flowing and cascading in all the right places. Letting his gaze linger, he would have a hard time keeping his jaw closed if it weren’t clenching so tightly. 

He doesn’t mean to let it happen, the flare of jealousy that starts deep in his gut and spreads the length of his spine like a disease. But he can’t help it. Not when you look like that, not when you’re making an entrance and you’re not alone. No, you’re walking down the stairs accompanied by, on the arm of, Park Sunghoon.

Jake decides then and there that he hates figure skating. The glass of champagne in his hand suddenly feels awfully breakable. 

But then you spot him too, and some of the tension simmers, brightens, turns to something else entirely. When your gaze lands on his, your wide, genuine smile is almost enough to set him at ease. Almost. 

Cutting through the crowd, you and your unwanted chaperone make your way over to Jake. 

“Hi,” you breathe. Your hand is still on Sunghoon’s arm. 

“Hi,” Jake returns. He can’t take his eyes off it. 

Gaze darting between the two of you, Sunghoon is the one to gently but firmly remove your grip from his elbow. If it’s any consolation, you hardly seem to notice. 

Still, Jake’s shoulders are unnaturally tense, something Sunghoon takes note of. He just rolls his eyes. It’s not like either of you are looking at him to see it, anyway. 

Finally, after the silence lingers a little too long, he says to Jake, “Yeah, you don’t have to do that around me.”

“Do what?” Jake spares him only a momentary glance before letting his gaze rest on you again. 

“The whole overprotective, jealous boyfriend thing.” Sunghoon calls his game in two seconds flat. “You’re pretty good at it, though. I’ll give you props for that.”

That grabs Jake’s full attention. “What are you–”

“I know about you and ___’s contract. Don’t worry,” he mimics pulling his lips shut like a zipper. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Jake looks to you again. “You told him?” He can’t decide if it makes him feel better or significantly worse. 

You shrug. “I wasn’t sure how else to make sure he didn’t blow our cover tonight.” Besides, you add silently, how much damage could it do? After all, it’s our last night. 

Sunghoon glances between the two of you again, decides he does not want to be a part of this particular interaction any longer. “I’ll see you two later. I’m gonna go check out the hors d'oeuvres.” Turning to leave, he claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Your girl could probably use a glass of champagne.”

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the kebabs, and then it’s just the two of you. And Jake might be hesitant to follow advice from your friend, but he grabs a glass from the next waiter that passes anyway, hands it to you seamlessly as you offer him a quiet, “Thanks.”

It’s easy, just like always, to fall into your routine. His hand finds the small of your back, and you lean into his embrace just the right amount. You can tell it’s working, that the guests you mingle with are charmed by how smitten the two of you seem, that everything you do makes them reminisce on their own long passed days of young love. 

Even the brief conversation with your mother is painless as she offers a stilted compliment for your dress and wishes you both a happy semester ahead. 

But you can’t quite get your smile to reach your eyes, can’t quell the anxiety swelling in your stomach as the night marches on and the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight. 

Jake can sense your unease, your trepidation, but he has no idea what’s causing it, can only guess at what has your eyes darting around the room like a mouse watching for a cat. 

Incorrectly, he wonders if it’s the crowd that’s getting to you, the chaos of so many bodies all in one space. Trying to offer a reprieve, he asks if there’s anywhere quieter the two of you could go. 

It’s not exactly what you’re looking for, not the solution you need, but you still lead him to the second floor, out onto the balcony that overlooks your backyard gardens. It’s similar to the place you and Jake ended your night at his family dinner a handful of weeks ago. 

Even away from the crowd, the lines in your bare shoulders are tense, fraught with unvoiced worries. The inevitability of the end. 

The music is fainter out here, but the rhythm is still easy to track. Jake thinks you just need a distraction. So he holds out a hand in invitation. “Dance with me?” He asks. 

You shouldn’t, not when it will only make all of this worse. Not when there are no eyes out here, no one to convince you that you’re still just pretending. 

But resistance has always been futile. And you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Under the glow of this year’s last bit of moonlight, you intertwine your fingers with his, let him draw you close as he wraps your hands around the nape of his neck, links his own across the small of your back. 

It’s not dancing, not really. Not as the two of you draw nearer under the pretense of staying warm. Not as your bodies barely move through space, just swaying slightly, in time with the harmonies that spin and twist and crescendo and fall below you. 

Jake knows better than to press his luck. But the day is dying, and so is your contract. What are a few minutes anyway, in the grand scheme of things? 

Leaning closer, he lets his forehead rest against your own, noses millimeters apart. “It’s almost midnight,” he whispers. The end of it all. The start, he hopes, of something entirely new. Something that belongs only to the two of you. In just a few moments, he’ll get to let his desires lead his actions, not the agreement he signed his name to.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. He feels where it vibrates in his chest. 

“Ten,” he hears the crowd inside chant in unison. The countdown has begun. The New Year is nearly here. 

“Nine.” He pulls you a little closer, hands pressed a little tighter to the small of your back.

“Eight. Seven. Six.” You sigh, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his throat. 

“Five. Four.” One of his hands begins to move, traces the length of your spine, finds a new home against the curve of your jaw. 

“Three.” Using the gentle guidance of his thumb, he angles your face, just slightly.

“Two.” Around you, the world holds its breath. The two of you do the same. 

“One.” And then he’s closing the distance, lips against yours as exclaims of “Happy New Years” are lost somewhere in the wind. 

He may have brought you here, but you’re just as greedy, hands around his neck pulling him down further until the angle has you reeling. His mouth parts against yours, and you’re not quite sure if your eyes are open or closed. You’re seeing stars either way. 

Jake pulls you closer, and it’s not enough. He’s desperate for it, for something, for closer, for more. It’s everything that he imagined. Countless times in the darkness behind closed eyelids in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s a million times better. 

He can’t focus on anything, can’t do anything but feel, give way to the shape of sensation. He wants to let his senses drown, wants to die and be reincarnated back into this moment just for the chance to live it again. Wants to wash away anything that isn’t tethered to sensation, to the urgency in his gut, to you. 

The first in a series of fireworks lights up the sky behind you. The booming echo has you jumping in your own skin, giggling against his lips at the irrational fear. Jake thinks this must be heaven. He must have died doing something wonderful, and this must be his eternal reward. 

Your amusement lasts moments longer before he’s doubling down, pulling you in again until you’re both well and truly breathless. Lip gloss a mess on both of your mouths, chests heaving as you finally break for air. The space between your bodies is miniscule, meaningless. In this moment, you’re a single entity with nothing but the desire for more. 

Fireworks continue to burst behind you as the sun sets on the contract that bound you together. His hands are still pressed against the small of your back, and you think the fabric of your dress must be nothing but a figment of your imagination. The only real thing is the heat of his skin on yours. 

The sound of your name whispered against your skin is something you’re afraid you’ll remember for a long, long time. He sounds desperate, where he repeats it. Pleading. Longing. 

But the fireworks are a symbol of a new year. An expiration date on an agreement. A deadline on a deal. 

Jake whispers your name once more, and you savor it for just a moment longer. Then, you carefully disentangle yourself from his grip. Most of it, at least. The hands against your back allow you space, but don’t stray from your spine. 

Still encircled in the arms of feelings that were never given the chance to take flight, you try to turn blows into kisses by whispering them softly, “I think we should end this.”

It’s presumptuous, on your part, to think that there is anything to end. You feel a little ridiculous saying it when you both signed your agreement long months ago. But your head is still spinning and your heart is still hurting. This is what it feels like, you realize. To mourn for the future. To grieve all of the what ifs and maybes and almosts. 

Across from you, Jake stokes your fears. “What? End what?”

“This.” You sigh. You can’t look him in the eye. “All of it. It’s officially the New Year now. We can stop going to things as each other’s plus-ones. The fake dating. Everything.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t help it. You’re afraid that if you stop to think, you’ll propose something else entirely. Something you know you can’t have. Something that will only ruin everything Jake has worked so hard for. “We can tell our families it was mutual – fizzled, like you said.”

Jake releases his grip on you, severs that last bit of connection. It takes every ounce of your willpower to bite back your tears. 

“Woah, slow down.” His brow creases in confusion. His words are still gentle; he still handles you with care. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” You trail off, doing your best to find steadiness in your voice. “This was our agreement. And it’s served its purpose. Besides, it’s a new year, you know? No point in starting it off with lies.” No matter how much he searches for it, you’re still avoiding his gaze.

Jake’s cheeks are flushed – a combination of things. The taste of champagne that’s fading on his tongue, replaced by something sweeter. The gentle midnight breeze. The aftermath of a kiss that he still wears on his lips. “I…” Suddenly, he finds it very difficult to breathe. “That’s all this is to you? A lie?”

And you wish he would just let this be a clean break, would stop pressing, stop making you say things you don’t mean. But you need him to believe it. That this is well and truly done. “I mean, we got what we wanted, didn’t we? You passed econ, and I got my mother off my back for a bit. This was the date we agreed to end things on. It doesn’t make sense to keep dragging things out.”

Jake is suddenly unsure of many things, and most immediately, himself. He’s not sure how to explain it to you, here on the balcony, with the bitter taste of something that stings all too much like rejection sitting heavy in his throat. That he’s pictured it a million times. You and him, together because it lets you both breathe a little easier, because it feels a little bit like coming home. Not because of a contract or your family or his brother. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he goes to a cafe, he marks a mental note to ask you what your favorite kind of coffee is. Doesn’t know how to tell you that every time he passes the corner table on the third floor of the library or the Student Union Building, the only thing he sees is your face. 

Doesn’t know how to thank you for helping him pass econ, for being the boost of confidence he needed to finally stand up to his brother for once, for making him think that he might not be as much of a failure as everyone else seems to think he is. For believing in him.

He doesn’t know how to thank you for being in his life, for making it a little better. For putting a little love in the parts of him that he thought would always be consumed by anger and bitterness and resentment. 

Doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s not just a contract to him. Not just a lie. That it hasn’t been for a long, long time. 

Instead, he listens, motionless while you whisper, “Thank you for tonight.”

He knows your voice is wavering. He knows your resolve is crumbling. But he doesn’t know why. 

So he watches, still unmoving, as you turn to walk away from him. Left alone on the balcony with no company but the stars, Jake Sim has nothing but a million regrets and the horrible, irrevocable feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong. 

…

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Sungoon.” Your voice is flat, no energy for any real malice. Sarcasm, though, you can muster. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”

“I’m just saying.” He’s still looking at you like you’re a particularly unsightly piece of roadkill he narrowly avoided colliding with. “Would it kill you to do something about those dark circles? I don’t know, maybe, like – and I’m just throwing out ideas here – sleep?”

You’ve tried. You have. But no matter what you do, rest can’t seem to find you easily these days. And aside from that, it’s the moments just before sleep that you’ve started to fear the most. In the dark, with your eyes closed, the only thing you see is the confusion, the unmistakable hurt on Jake’s face as you walk away from him for the last time.

“Look,” Sunghoon sighs, suddenly serious. “It’s just… I’m a little worried about you, to be honest. Did something happen on New Year’s? With you and–”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off. The last thing you want to hear is the sound of his name, the reminder of what you’ve done for the sake of preserving his future. “I’m just tired, really.” You try to smile, and it’s far from convincing. “It’s been a long few days.”

Sunghoon wears his doubts as plain as day, but he won’t press the issue for now. “If you say so.” He does need you to take care of yourself, though, at least a little. “At least come eat something.” Suddenly grinning, he whispers, “I snuck in some instant ramen behind your mom’s back. C’mon, we can go make some. We can even get fancy with it, if you want. I’ll fry you an egg and everything.” He’s pulling out all the stops, a testament to how terrible you really do look. 

But it works. Or it’s enough to get you out of your room, at least. Stomach grumbling, you’re about to tell Sunghoon to make it two fried eggs when the two of you are intercepted by your mother on the way to the kitchen. 

“Oh,” she intones, taking in your appearance. Her eyes travel from your sweatpants to your t-shirt to your lack of makeup, disapproval apparent in every glance. “You look…”

“Save it,” you grumble, not in the mood to be ridiculed. 

Pushing past her, she stops you again. “Hold on a minute. I have a question for you.”

You take a deep breath before you turn back to face her. Might as well get it over with. “Yes?”

Smoothing her hair, she tells you, “Your father and I are hosting a banquet to celebrate the firm’s most recent acquisitions. It’ll be the last weekend in January. We’d love it if you could come.” 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes, not seeing where the question was anywhere in there. To you, it sounds more like a demand. 

Sensing your reluctance, she adds, “You’d be welcome to bring Jake, of course–”

“We broke up,” you inform flatly. At your side, Sunghoon stiffens. 

“Oh,” your mother says again, not missing a beat. There’s very little sympathy when she adds, “Well, I suppose that’s probably for the best. Don’t you think so? I mean, you’ll be so busy with law school applications soon, it’s probably better to not have a boy around to distract you.”

You don’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead, you turn your back to her, fully this time. Altering your course, you set your footsteps on a path towards the garage instead of the kitchen. “I’m going for a drive,” is the explanation you throw over your shoulder. 

When Sunghoon tries to follow, you just shake your head. “I want to be alone.”

“But–”

“Please.” 

There must be something desperate in your features, because Sunghoon only nods, doesn’t argue further as he watches you climb in the driver’s seat of your car. He’s still standing there, concern apparent on his features as you open the garage door behind you and reverse your car out of it. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, driven without a destination in mind. Your playlist blares through the stereo, loud enough to drown out any thoughts that threaten to cross your mind, to consume you, to send you spiraling. 

It’s not until long minutes later, when the first drop of rain hits your windshield, that you even notice the way storm clouds gather menacingly above you in the sky. 

Whatever, you think, turning on your wipers and increasing the volume another notch. You’ve navigated worse. If anything, it’s a perfect match for your temper, for the way emotions swell and churn in your stomach. 

Mindlessly, you let nothing but intuition guide your way, turning down streets you’ve never seen on nothing but a whim and the desire to escape, even if just for a little bit. The rain continues to pour, and the storm clouds darken in time with your mood. 

By the time you do start to recognize some of the scenery around you, it’s already too late. And you’re not sure where to place your blame. Fate, your subconscious, the way you can’t seem to let him go? No matter where fault lies, you’re suddenly perfectly aware of your location. 

Mostly because you’ve been here twice in the span of a month. Because you’re only a handful of blocks, at most, from Jake’s family’s home. 

The realization makes you quick to pull over. The best course of action, you decide, is to plot your course home in your phone’s GPS, since clearly you can’t be trusted to wander. It’s in the middle of searching for a better signal that you see it. A flash of movement outside your window.

It’s hard to be sure, through the thick sheets of rain that fall from the sky. But then you see it again, see her again, and you would know that dog anywhere. 

“Shit.” Turning to scan the backseat of your car, you find neither a jacket nor an umbrella. Nothing to shield you from the wrath of nature outside. But it’s not like you can leave Layla alone in a storm. Gritting your teeth, you set your resolve. And then you open the car door, stepping outside into the rain. 

It’s the kind of downpour that’s unforgiving, that soaks you to the bone as soon as you’re in it. Hair sticking to your face and already so cold you think you might start shaking, you start Layla’s name, hoping it carries over the wind. 

“Layla!” It’s all you can do to hope she hears you over the storm. You lose her for a minute. Bringing up your hand as a makeshift visor, you force your eyes to focus. When you finally see a flash of tan again, you know it’s her. The relief is short lived. Frustrated, you watch her turn to run in the opposite direction. 

“Layla!” you call again, this time louder, so much so you’re sure your voice will be hoarse tomorrow. From the way rain soaks your clothes, you’ll no doubt be nursing a nasty cold along with it.Thankfully, though, your beckoning does the trick this time. At the sound of your voice, Layla spins around, makes a beeline straight towards your familiar figure.

“Layla,” you chide once she’s at your feet, still grinning at you like the two of you aren’t absolutely soaked through and freezing. “C’mon,” you open the back door of your car to let her inside. “Hop in.”

She does so without an argument, and you slide back into the driver’s seat just as soon as you shut the door behind her. Putting your car back into drive, you set your wipers to full speed and drive straight until you see the turn a few roads down, the one that you know leads straight to his house. 

Still, you pull over again a few houses away, hesitating. 

“Sorry, Layla,” you turn to the dog in question. She just tilts her head at you quizzically. “I’ll get you home. I just…”

Don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at him and face his anger, his resentment, his bitterness. Surely those are the only emotions he has left for you. Besides, it would be nothing but disastrous if his older brother were home. James would assume that your presence in his home means you’ve neglected to uphold your end of the deal and as such, has no reason to honor his. 

There’s a lot of damage to be done here, if you don’t go about it wisely. 

Turning back to the dog in your backseat, you point at her house in front of you. “You can make it home from here, right?” Again, Layla offers nothing but the slight perking of her ears. “Your house is right there,” you point again. “Just go up to the front porch and whine or scratch at the door and they’ll let you in, alright?” You give her a scratch behind the ears for good measure. 

You know Layla likes it, know that it’s her favorite place to be scratched. You know it because you watched him do it a few short weeks ago. Suddenly, you wonder if he’s noticed that she’s missing. If he’s frantic, going crazy trying to find her. 

A new sense of urgency motivating your actions, you turn back to Layla one last time. “Alright, girl. I’ll watch from here. I’m gonna open the door, and I want you to go straight home, okay?” 

She wags her tail at you, and that will have to be confirmation enough. 

Opening your door, you slide out of the car first. You hold your arm above your head as a makeshift shield from the rain, but it’s of little use. Reaching for the handle of your car’s back door, you’re about to send Layla home on a wing and a prayer when a voice behind you calls out your name. 

At least you think that’s what you hear. You can’t quite tell, over the sound of pouring rain, the whistling of the wind. Still, you turn with trepidation in your gut. Rightfully so, when you peer into the car that’s just pulled over next to you and lock eyes with no one other than Jake’s mother. 

She repeats your name, this time a little more frantic. “Oh my god,” She exlaims, taking in your appearance. “You’re soaking wet. Quick, follow me home and we’ll get you warm and dry.”

“That’s okay,” you try to explain over the story, “I have Layla, actually. I saw her wandering a few blocks over, and I–”

“Layla? Oh my goodness.” Concern and gratitude color every word. “Thank you, ___. I’m sure Jake is going crazy. C’mon,” she reiterates. “Follow me, and let’s get you both inside.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she rolls her window back up, driving away with the clear expectation that you follow. And it’s not like you have any other choice, not really. You can hardly drive away with her dog. And it’s not like you can let Layla out now, not when she’s seen you.  

So, hoping against all odds neither Sim brother is home, you climb back into your car and follow her command. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats when you pull into the driveway behind her, letting yourself and Layla out of your car. “You two are absolutely soaked. C’mon, quickly,” she ushers you towards the front door. 

Opening it, she steps inside first. 

And of course luck is not on your side. You hear him before you see him. “Mom,” he sounds panicked, horribly on edge. “Have you seen Layla? She’s been missing for almost an hour and I can’t find her anywhere. I called James, but he left on a business trip this morning.” He doesn’t leave room to breathe. “I’m worried she might have gotten outside–” 

Your rescue doesn’t remain a mystery for long. Layla bounds through the front door, jumping on her favorite sibling, wet paw prints staining his jeans as her sudden movement forces the door open wider. Reveals you. 

Relief washes over Jake’s features as he greets his dog just as affectionately, and then he glances upwards. He takes one look at you, soaked to the bone and shaking from the cold. Any other words he had die on his lips. 

“___ found her, actually,” his mom explains, reching behind you to usher you in fully and shut the door behind you. “A few blocks over, you said?” She clarifies, turning to you. 

Eyes not leaving Jake’s, you just nod. 

His mother glances between the two of you, your frozen, shocked stares. The tension is palpable, and she senses it as well. 

“I’m going to go get Layla dried off,” she offers. “Jake, why don’t you help ___ find a dry set of clothes.” Shuffling past the two of you, she brings Layla along with her. 

And then it’s just you and him. 

Both of you stand there a moment longer, neither of you saying anything.

When you do break the silence, it’s at the same time. “Are you okay?” Jake tries, just as you say, “I’m sorry.”

Another beat of silence passes between you. 

Jake nods towards you. “You go first.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to explain, words feeling jumbled as you give them life. “I was driving and I saw Layla all alone, and I didn’t know…” That you’d be here. That I would run into your mom. That it would hurt so much to see you again. You don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for, but your presence feels like an intrusion. 

Jake begs to differ. “Don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “I should be thanking you. I was worried out of my mind thinking I might never see her again.” He’s talking about Layla. You know he’s talking about Layla. But his eyes don’t leave you once. 

It feels like a moment that could stretch into forever, you and him. Masking your hurt, hiding wounded prides. Standing inches apart and the distance has never felt greater. 

The spell is only broken when you sneeze, an immediate reminder of the circumstances that brought you here. Of the fact that you’re trembling like a leaf in his entry way, soaked to the bone. 

It's enough to spur him to action. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the staircase behind him, voice and features still carefully guarded. “ I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

You could argue, but you don’t see a point. Not now. Silently, you follow him, all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door on the left. When he opens it, there is no doubt in your mind as to what this room is. 

It’s his. It has to be. You know it, from all the little pieces of himself he has on display. Pictures of him in his youth with friends that smile just as big and brightly as he does. Soccer trophies, a drawing of Layla done before he had well-developed fine-motor skills, a picture of him and his mother at the beach. 

All at once, you wonder what it would have been like to discover him naturally. How long it would have taken you to uncover all these little parts of him, one by one, if any part of your relationship had been given the chance to be real. 

And then you notice the mug sitting on his nightstand. The self-heating one you gave him for Christmas. There’s nothing special about it, and it’s not particularly attractive, design-wise. It’s practical. Almost impersonal. He has no reason to keep it displayed like this. Part of you wants to swell with unshed tears. The other wants to run and hide and face your shame alone. 

But Jake is already rummaging through a drawer, and a moment later, he turns to face you with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes preemptively, and you hate the uncertainty that lingers between you. The awkwardness. All the stilted pauses and unsure silences that were never there before. You hate that it’s your fault, that you have no clue how to fix it. “I’m not sure how they’ll fit.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head, ignoring the way your heart stutters suddenly at the thought of wearing his clothes. “They’ll be dry. I appreciate it.”

“The bathroom is through there.” He nods towards the adjoining room. “There are clean towels under the sink, too, if you want to dry your hair or anything.” Pausing, he adds, “Take as long as you need.”

Nodding, you walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You know he meant it, when he told you to take your time, but part of you is hesitant to linger. Somehow, this space feels even more private, even more intimate than his bedroom. Again, you feel like an intruder. An unwanted presence in a place that’s entirely his. A place you lost the right to be when you struck a deal behind his back and took his future into your own hands.  

Sighs mingling with regrets you can’t voice, you trade your rain-soaked clothes for his dry ones. You look at yourself in the mirror, and then you tuck the necklace he gave you out of sight, underneath the collar of his gray hoodie. 

A minute later, you emerge from his bathroom slightly self-conscious and significantly drier. Across the room, Jake looks up at you. You watch as he swallows audibly, eyes tracing the planes of your body swallowed by his borrowed clothes. His throat bobs before he tears his eyes away. 

“I should…” Again, you hate this tension between you, this uncertainty. “I should go. Thank you for the clothes. I’ll wash them and give them back once the semester starts–”

“What happened?” Jake couldn’t care less about your upcoming laundry plans. You can keep his sweatshirt and sweatpants and whatever else you want from him forever, as far as he’s concerned. Instead he’s still stuck on–

“New Year’s Eve. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought things were… good between us.”

And you could continue to be evasive. For his sake, you probably should. 

You could continue to make his decisions for him and decide to preserve his econ grade instead of whatever unnamed feelings might still linger between the two of you. But, the quieter parts of you whisper, that would make you no different from anyone else in his life, from the people you’ve encouraged him to break free from. The people that have molded his decisions and guided his path with a heavy hand all in the name of doing what’s best for him. All because they think they know him better than he knows himself. 

You don’t want to do that. What you want, here in the privacy of his bedroom, in the comfort of his borrowed clothes and the legacy of his youth, is to tell him the truth. You want to let him do with it as he sees fit. Taking a deep breath, you make your decision. 

And then you brace yourself for his anger, the outrage he’ll surely have at your explanation. “Your brother–”

“My brother?” Jake’s face falls, misreading things entirely as he jumps to premature conclusions. But it’s not like he’s grasping at straws. Jake isn’t blind to the way James has been gloating more than usual as of late. To the way his mood started improving right around New Year’s Eve. And he assumes the worst. “Oh. Okay.” Jake is trying to smile, but his features are completely wilted when he says, “I guess he got that second chance after all, huh?” 

“What?” Your lips twist in disgust as the implication sinks in. “No.”

“No?” Now, Jake just looks confused. 

“No,” you reiterate. “Look,” you sigh, “I figured out that those plagiarism claims about your econ paper came from him.”

Across from you, Jake’s jaw drops as it sinks in. “James was the one who…”

You nod, lips tight. You still can’t believe it either. “I went to his office to confront him about it, and he told me he’d retract the accusation, but only if..”

Jake’s eyes are imploring. You have the feeling he already knows the answer. “Only if what?”

“Only if I promised to end things between us.” And there it is. The truth. Cold, hard, ugly, and Jake’s to interpret as he will. You brace for impact. 

Jake is silent for a moment, shocked into stillness. And then, “He what?”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can see why you have such a hard time getting along with him. He’s kind of the worst.”

“Wait,” the wheels in Jake’s mind start to spin. “Did you tell him, then? About our contract and everything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “He never realized our relationship wasn't real. I just asked him to give me until New Year’s. I told him I would break up with you then, as long as he retracted the accusation.”

Jake takes a step closer to you. “And he agreed?”

You nod. 

Jake pauses.Takes another step. “Why did you ask him to wait until then?”

There are a million things you could say, a million ways you could answer.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another New Year’s alone. Because the thought of being at a party hosted by my mother without you at my side made me want to crawl out of my own skin. Because I’m selfish. Because those butterflies in my stomach have a habit of making me do stupid things. Because everything I told your brother in his office that day was true.  

You can’t give him all of it, but you can at least offer scraps of your honesty. “Because I wanted to spend my New Year’s with you.”

Jake says nothing, but his feet are moving. Each step brings him closer and closer to you. It feels a bit like it’s playing out in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. You move backwards until you run out of places to go, until he’s crowding you against the door of his bathroom, invading your space and demanding all of your attention, your focus, you. 

There’s no hesitation this time around, not when he leans down, cupping your chin in one hand to adjust the angle to his liking.

“Wait,” you breathe, lips a hair's breadth from his own. “What about your brother–”

“Fuck my brother.”

And then his lips are on yours. In the sanctity of his bedroom, in the aftermath of revelations. It’s the second time in the span of a week, and it already feels familiar. A little bit like coming home. 

His palm finds a place to land against the sliver of skin exposed just about the waistband of your borrowed sweatpants. A shiver traces the length of your spine, this time not from the cold but from the unbearable, unmistakable heat that threatens to boil over with every touch of a fingertip, every ghost of a caress. 

When you pull back for air this time, you don’t use the moment to shatter what’s just beginning to build between you. For real this time. Instead you say, “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Thanks,” Jake grins, still a little breathless. “I could use some more practice, though.”

And who are you to deny him an opportunity for improvement?

…

epilogue – one year later. 

“This looks pretty cute on you, you know.”

“Do not touch it,” you hiss, swatting Jake’s hand away from your graduation cap. “Do you know how long it took me to bobby pin it into place? You’ll rip out half my hair if you try to move it around.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jake raises his hands in mock surrender, puts them as far as he can from your immaculately done headwear. 

Unlike you, he’s dressed in jeans and a button-down. But it makes sense. After all, the only person celebrating a milestone today is you. Jake doesn’t find that he minds so much. He just submitted his final project for Advanced Typography a few days ago, and he received stellar marks on it. The best in his section, actually. Not to mention that the class has been one of his absolute favorites so far. 

Besides, his time will come soon enough. In another year or two, it’ll be his turn to have a graduation cap bobby pinned to his hair. And he thinks a Graphic Design diploma will lead him to much happier places than a Business one ever would have. Even if it does come a year or two behind the schedule he once cared a lot more about. 

For starters, it won’t let him or you fall into any more ridiculous traps set by his brother ever again. Turns out, things like photoshop and other image-altering softwares leave traces. Ones that Jake is now excellent at detecting and could use to easily work his way out of false plagiarism accusations the future may throw his way. 

Straightening your graduation gown, your eyes land on something behind Jake’s shoulder. There’s a crowd today, as to be expected at a graduation ceremony, but you’ve always been good at finding what you’re looking for. And even better at finding what you’re avoiding. 

“I think I see your family,” you nudge Jake. Even his father is here. Mostly, you suspect, because you never bothered to correct his assumption that you’re heading to law school after this. Next to him stands James, lips twisted in permanent disdain, no doubt dragged here against his will. 

Still, you propose, “Should we go say hi?” The only reason you suggest it is because you also see your second favorite Sim (and first favorite on the days that Jake is particularly annoying). Hand blocking the sun and eyes wandering, you can tell that his mother is looking for the two of you. 

Jake keeps his back to them, steps in front of you to block you both from their sight. “No,” he denies flatly. “My brother is still weirdly obsessed with you.”

You wink, nudge him as you tease, “Must run in the family.” It’s an echo of a past conversion and rings even more true this time around. 

“C’mon,” you grab his hand, tugging him along. “I promised your mom a picture. I’ll ignore him. Trust me, I’m good at it.” Glancing down at your feet, you reconsider. “Actually, I’ll step on his foot. These heels weren’t just made to look good, you know. They’re actually a pretty decent weapon if yielded properly.” 

So Jake relents, lets you pull him along. Towards an interaction he doesn't really want to have but knows he will come out of just fine. Towards a future that’s full of uncertainties and doubts, but is his alone to forge. 

He doesn’t know what life will look like in ten years or five years or even just one, but he knows that he likes the way it feels when he does his best to put a little love into everything he builds. To let it swell and overflow until it touches the world around him and smoothes over lingering remnants of the bitterness and resentment and anger that never did anything but make him miserable. 

And Jake likes the way it feels when you smile at him. He likes the way it feels when your hand is wrapped up in his own. 

And for now, he thinks that might just be all he needs. 

outtake – sixteen years ago. 

At the age of six, there is a lot you don’t know about the world around you yet. 

For starters, you don’t understand why it’s only grown-ups that get to drive. It seems awfully unfair that you’re always relegated to your car seat in the back when the front seems much more exciting, especially considering the way your mom is always yelling at the other cars. 

You’re also not sure why she always makes you wear itchy dresses whenever you go to places with a lot of other people. After all, your princess nightgown is way more comfortable, and you like the way it feels against your skin. But no matter how many times you begged, your mom still put you in one of those awful, scratchy dresses tonight. And by the time she finally finishes her first round of mingling at your family firm’s annual charity fundraiser and lets you sit down in the seat next to her for a brief break, you’ve already been poked and prodded by people you don’t know more times than you can count. 

Which is saying a lot, since you just learned your numbers up to one hundred last week.

And you’re really not sure what your mom means when she leans over to your father and whispers, “I think this could be the start of something extremely profitable. A contract with the Sims, exclusive rights to represent them legally, I mean, that’s huge.” 

You scratch at your shoulder. That’s the itchiest part of your dress. Your mom leans a little closer to your father. “I know you don’t like to, but suck up to him a little tonight, if you have to. And if he invites you to golf, you must say yes. We absolutely cannot blow this opportunity.”

At six, your interest is still a flighty thing, and grown-up conversations you can’t understand are usually quick to lose it. It’s not long before your eyes are wandering for something to entertain them, something to hold your focus. 

Finally, it settles on a boy halfway across the room from you. He’s small, just like you. You wonder if he’s six, too. If he can also count to one hundred now. 

Head tilting, you watch as he reaches for one of the delicately balanced centerpiece bouquets sitting on a table in the middle of the room.

“Jake,” you hear someone call, that edge of worry only mothers can manage clouding her voice. “Don’t touch that, sweetheart. It’s fragile.”

“Fragile?” The boy repeats.

“It could break easily,” she explains patiently, pulling his hand into hers as she guides him away from the fragile centerpiece. If he is six, you’re definitely smarter than him. After all, you already knew what fragile means. 

But watching his retreating back, you wonder some more. Wonder if he was made to wear an itchy outfit tonight too, wonder if he’s ever gotten to drive a car or if all mothers are thieves of fun, just like yours. Wonder if he also hates coming to these things, if people pinch and prod at him too. 

“Jake.” You try out his name, just to see how it feels in your mouth. 

Momentarily distracted by the reminder from your mother to keep your voice at a whisper level, you lose him in the crowd.

Jake, you think to yourself. Most of all, you wonder if he would be your friend. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: thank you for reading!! I know that this one is quite the commitment with the word count, so I really do appreciate it. as always, I love to hear thoughts, comments, screaming, etc. in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! also, like part one, this is the latest version I had saved in my docs, and I didn't reread before posting. if there's anything glaringly off, please let me know. other than that, please excuse any minor grammatical stuff.

[domjaehyun]

i ❤️ hot nerds (l.dh, n.jm) — preview

PAIRING. pervert!nerd!haechan, pervert!nerd!jaemin x popular!fem!reader  GENRE. smut, slight fluff CONTENTS. explicit smut (kissing, fingering, oral (receiving), titfucking, breast play, lots of drool and spit, overstimulation, snowballing, dirty talk, rimming, anal play, missionary, riding, mating press, breeding/creampies) WORD COUNT. 8.7k; teaser wc: 525 words SUMMARY. when your professor pairs you with the two smartest students in your class for a group project, you find yourself making an interesting deal with them. or, alternatively: the one where you have to help two nerds learn to get girls so you can pass your class. PLAYLIST. n/a NOTES. remember when i said i was up to something with these two? this is it! the full fic is already posted on my patreon here, and i’ll be posting it in full to tumblr on september 30th!

“You don’t get it—we need to be fuckable!” Haechan stresses, and you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“Haechan, you’re already fuckable.” you explain calmly, and he opens his mouth in preparation for some witty remark, but after processing your words, his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open uselessly, his accusingly pointed finger now pointing meekly at the floor at an angle. 

“I—So—so you would fuck us?” he stammers, and you nod slowly, looking from him to Jaemin.

“Why do you think I let you get away with your numerous dorm violations?” you snort in amusement, and he blinks hard.

“I thought you just took pity on us, y’know? Like you had a soft spot for nerds or something.”

“I don’t have a soft spot for nerds.” you answer. “I have a soft spot for hot nerds, though.”

His mouth opens and closes pathetically as his normally quick-witted brain scrambles to process the information you’ve just presented to him. Jaemin is quicker to act, sitting forward so suddenly the move could be considered as predatory, and you’re not sure if it’s the lighting reflecting off of his glasses or what, but there is most definitely a glint in his eye as he regards you, his lips gradually stretching into a toothy grin.

“So you let us get away with stuff? Because you like us? Like what?” he questions, and you tilt your head to the side as you think. 

“Your candles, for starters. Haechan’s tapestry, your many many noise complaints from your neighbors when you two get too heated as you’re gaming,” you start to list off on your fingers, and you cross one leg over the other, not missing the way both of their eyes shift to your newly exposed skin and how… hungry they look. “The way you—” you point at Haechan, “always try to get away with looking up my skirt.”

Haechan’s face flushes a pretty shade of red, and you smile, amused, as he scrambles to defend himself. Before he can, you hold up a hand to silence him. 

“Haechan?”

“Yes?” he replies meekly.

“If I minded, I would have said something by now. I certainly wouldn’t have kept wearing skirts and accidentally flashing you.” 

His eyes roll back into his head with a whimper and he nods in understanding. 

“And you—” you round on Jaemin, who’s still perched like a lion about to pounce, and the male just smiles wider, tilting his head to the side curiously.

“What about me?”

“You probably think you’re slick with the little lingering touches on my back and waist when you’re ‘trying to get by,’ but I only let you do that because I like it.”

His grin widens more than you even thought possible, the glint in his eye now unmistakable. “Oh, yeah? Where else do you like being touched?”

“I mean,” you hum, uncrossing your thighs and smiling as both of their gazes hone in on the space between your legs, “I could tell you, but I think you’d rather have me show you.”

“I have a better idea,” Jaemin murmurs, moving towards you slowly. “How about you let us find out?”

reminder that the full fic is already posted on my patreon if you don't want to wait!

[malfoyswand]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

summary: draco malfoy sneaks you into the restricted section of the hogwarts library, but gets a little distracted.

word count: 1.7k

genre: smut

warnings: descriptions of sex

author's note: i usually don't write smut so please don't judge if it's bad, i just couldn't not write this one!

"Draco, how exactly do you plan to pull this off?"

Truthfully, you didn't know what you were thinking either. But when Draco Malfoy tells you he wants you to go with him somewhere in the middle of the night, you don't object. How could you?

"Well, darling, there's a reason I was sorted in Slytherin." Draco whispers as you were both walking towards the Hogwarts Library on the first floor. He held a key in his right hand that you could see from the light reflecting off the candle you held. 

"Do I even want to know how you managed to get that?"

All he did was chuckle slightly as he opened the door to the library for you, looking behind you to ensure no one was witnessing what they were about to do. It was absolutely prohibited for any student to be out in the corridors this time of night. It was idiotic to do this, but you come when Draco calls.

He took your free hand in his and walked you over to the back of the school's large library. You held your light up towards the ceiling, looking up until you could read the words that laid upon the wall. 

The Restricted Section.

"Wait, why are we going in here?" You didn't mean to, but your voice quivered a bit. Of course, you had seen the entrance to this section numerous times, but never dared to try to enter. Only students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts could obtain permission, but you had heard rumors from those students who had entered that the section contained books from your worst nightmare.

"Don't be scared, (Y/L/N)." Draco said quietly, using the key to carefully unlock the door. "I'll protect you." His lips were dangerously close to your ear as he held the door open for you to enter. You knew that he meant that sincerely, it sent a slight chill up your spine. 

Draco Malfoy was perhaps the most overprotective boyfriend you've ever seen, but you didn't mind. In dark times such as this, it was welcomed even. If anyone even looked at you for a second too long for his liking, he had no problem using every spell he knew to defend you. 

Despite the fact that both of you were breaking a few school rules, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight before you. The world's most fascinating books must have been contained in this section. You put your candle on a nearby table, your fingertips grazing every spine you could manage.

You finally managed to grab a book that seemed interesting, pulling it out of the bookshelf and opening it. However, your mind wasn't on the book.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Draco leaning against the door. The candlelight reflected on him beautifully, the night seemed to become him. His blond hair was a mess due to waking up in the middle of the night, but he still managed to look better than you could ever imagine.

"Misbehaving over there?" A smirk came to his face as he began to walk towards you, forcing you to turn your full attention on him. "I thought I brought you here so you could read, not admire me."

You couldn't help but laugh softly. "That's bold coming from you, Malfoy. Don't think I didn't see the way you were looking at me over there, I thought you were supposed to be guarding the door."

You turned your head back towards the book in front of you, your eyes scanning every word on the page. You knew he must have been pouting at the loss of attention.

"Oh, I couldn't help it, (Y/N)." He sighed out slightly, his fingertips gently grazing your back. "How am I supposed to do that when you're this beautiful?" 

He kissed your cheek and you could feel yourself grin, but you still paid him no mind. "Thank you, love. Let me just finish this chapter, then we can head out. I know you must be exhausted."

You really did think that. You knew Draco had a lot on his mind this year, with all of his assignments and the pressure from his family was even more apparent.

"Oh, I'm not exhausted." He whispered into your ear as he gently pressed his crotch area against you. You could feel his growing erection and his lips slowly kiss down your neck. This earned him a soft groan from you.

"But I-" You protested until you felt his soft lips kiss your collarbone, then you were just clay in his hands. "I-um.."

"What was that?" You could practically hear the grin on his face, but you were no match for the brilliant technique he had of getting what he wants. His hands, covered in several silver rings, reached for your book to place it back on its shelf. He turned your body around to face him, his face close to yours.

You could see the passion he had for you in those gray eyes of his and could feel your body burning as those eyes made his way down your body. Somehow, in the trance you were in, he had managed to position your body to sit on the table, with him standing in between your legs.

"Are you insinuating that reading one of those old books is better than something I can give you?" His lips finally crashed into yours to end his question, his hands resting on your thighs.

At this point, how could you focus on anything else but the feelings he was providing to you? Nothing else mattered except for the way his hand now made his way up your skirt, his fingertips pressing softly against your underwear. 

"Draco, please-" He knew how to get what he wanted, didn't he?

"You didn't answer the question, (Y/N)." He pulled away from the kiss to look into your eyes, smirking as he enjoyed this game. "You're not getting what you want until you answer." At this point, his fingers had pushed your underwear aside. They were simply waiting for instructions from their master.

You knew what he wanted, he wanted to hear you plead. You spread your legs, lifting up your skirt to reveal your thighs even more. "Please."

That was all you had to say for him to make up his mind. He pressed you back into the bookshelves, two of his fingers finding their way to enter your folds. You couldn't hold back the gasp as you leaned your head back against the bookshelf.

"Be quiet, darling. Remember, we're not supposed to be here." He whispered into your ear as his body was practically pressed against yours. You nodded, although you knew that would be a hard task. Draco knew his way around your body very well, he knew how to pleasure you.

His two fingers began to pump themselves in and out at a slow pace, which you were thankful for. Any faster and you knew you would finish all too soon. You held a hand over your mouth, attempting to silence the sounds that threatened to come out. 

"You're already wet for me, aren't you? You pretend you're some sort of good girl, but I know what you are. You love it when Draco Malfoy can give you pleasure no one else could." He teased you slightly with a wide grin, as if he was proud of what he had achieved. 

He took his fingers out of you, causing you to whimper slightly. He raised his eyebrow at that, placing one of his fingers over his lips for you to remain quiet. Your eyes went down to his crotch area as he took off his belt, pulling down his pants.

This is a sight you would never get tired of. The image of him pulling your hips closer, waiting for him to make you his once more. The image of him biting his bottom lip as he enters you, staring into your eyes as to show that he loved you.

"Oh.." You let out almost a breath of relief as you finally can feel his hardness slide into you. "Please keep going." To hell with the silence rule. The professors can punish you all they want, it would be worth it just for this moment.

Draco chuckles as he looks at you, fighting back moans of his own. His hips push further until they touch yours, as he slides himself completely inside. 

"(Y/N)." That was all your lover had to say to let you know what he was thinking. You knew from all the times you had made love that he loved connecting with you in such an intimate way. Beyond the pleasures of teasing you, he loved nothing more than feeling you let him inside.

As if a switch had happened, he wasted no time. He thrusted himself in and out at a pace he knew you craved. It was at a slower pace, but rough and needy at the same time. His lips went to your ear, whispering into it.

"That's my girl, you take it so well. God, I love how you feel."

You could never get enough of his words for desire specifically for you. You were always grateful you landed a boyfriend who wasn't afraid to tell you how he felt. Your head was buried into his neck, but it still wasn't enough to silence the sounds his hardness was causing you to feel. The length and girth seemed to fit you perfectly, as if it belonged inside of you.

"Draco, if you-" You began to moan out, but he shook his head to silence you.

"Say it again." He had a wide grin on his face once again, continuing his thrusts. You felt one of his hands make its way between your thighs, his thumb slowly caressing your clit.

"Draco?" You questioned, before you began to feel what he was doing. This man was going to drive you crazy. 

You leaned your head back, the feeling of his hardness and thumb was too much to bear. Finally, you felt your legs shake as you kept repeating his name, closing your eyes as your orgasm arrived. It wasn't long before you felt him finish as well, moaning your name into your neck. He stepped closer to rest in your arms as you both breathed slowly. His skin seemed to glow in the dark with sweat, only reflected by the candle that still burned beside you. Your fingers ran through his hair as you kissed his forehead.

"I love you." You heard him whisper as he grinned. "You can get back to your little books now, but no promises this won't happen again."