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winwintea · 19 days ago

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tetris

PAIRING ↬ gamer!park jisung x fem!reader (feat. zhong chenle)

TAGS ↬ fluff, action, romance, some angst, hidden feelings, 80s au, video game competitions, unrequited love or so he thought, best friend's girlfriend trope, winwin shows up randomly i love you my winsung anon

SUMMARY ↬ living up to the pressures of becoming a famous tetris player might be hard for a guy like park jisung. but it's much more difficult when the girl he’s got a crush on may actually be his best friend's girlfriend.

WORD COUNT ↬ 10.1k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ happy birthday queen @viasdreams !!! hope you enjoy as much as i had writing this (i suffered) and thank you to @polarisjisung for usual for being my beta reader <33. also i know tetris came out late 80s and was popular during the early 90s too but for aesthetic purposes im saying 80s

PLAYLIST ↬ saturday night - bay city rollers; tetoris - hiiragi magnetite; jessie’s girl - rick springfield; working for the weekend - loverboy; shoot to thrill - ac/dc; don’t play games - martin jensen; i’m still standing - elton john; cherry bomb - the runaways; hold on tight - aespa; one way or another - blondie; i ran - a flock of seagulls; choose your fighter - ava max

THE FIRST TIME PARK JISUNG PLACED HIS HANDS ON AN ARCADE MACHINE, HE WAS HOOKED.

When he felt the rough texture of the joystick, he felt a tremor in his chest. It wasn’t fear, nor excitement, but something in between. The flicker of the screen pulled him into a world he didn’t yet understand but felt desperate to explore.

The arcade around him was alive, buzzing with the electric hum of machines, the crash of digital waves, and the clatter of coins. Yet, in this moment, all the chaos faded into one singular thing: the falling blocks on the screen.

His fingers hovered over the controls, trembling. When they pressed down, the buttons responded with a slight resistance that grounded him, pulled him into the world on the screen. The joystick was smoother than he expected, gliding under his unsure grip. The first piece—a long, yellow bar—fell into place. Then another. And another.

For Jisung, the world seemed to shift with each line he cleared. These weren’t just blocks; they were each a piece of himself, shifting and rearranging to fit into something bigger. Each ping from the machine was a quiet reassurance, telling him that for once, he was doing something right.

The weight of his usual insecurities were being lifted, then replaced by an unfamiliar confidence. His heart raced, not from anxiety but from a kind of joy he didn’t think he was allowed to feel. This machine didn’t care about how shy he was, how awkward his words sounded, or how he tended to shrink away when the world got too loud. All it asked was that he see the shapes, find the patterns, and keep going.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d found something. A purpose.

Jisung didn’t think of himself as anything special, and most of the time, neither did anyone else. He was the kind of person who slipped into a room without making a sound, his lanky frame perpetually hunched as if apologizing for taking up space. His dark hair often fell into his eyes, a convenient shield against the world’s attention. At school, he was known only as “that tall, quiet kid.” Teachers liked him for his politeness. Classmates tolerated him for his unobtrusiveness.

His best friend, Chenle, was the exact opposite. The sun to Jisung’s shadow, always shining and dragging Jisung into the light whether he wanted it or not. When Jisung hesitated, Chenle jumped in headfirst, loud and full of laughter. Their friendship didn’t make sense to most people, least of all Jisung, but somehow it worked.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” Chenle called over his shoulder, his voice easily cutting through the noise of the crowded street. “Pixel Haven’s gonna get packed if you don’t move!”

Jisung trailed a few steps behind, his hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pockets. Friday nights at the arcade were a tradition Chenle had started months ago, and Jisung tagged along because… well, because it was Chenle. He didn’t really play the games. Watching Chenle dominate the machines or charm the employees was enough for him.

Pixel Haven came into view, its neon sign glowing pink and blue against the dim evening sky. Inside, the arcade was a sensory overload of flashing lights, cheerful 8-bit melodies, and the unmistakable clink of coins being fed into machines.

Chenle pushed open the door, holding it wide. “Hurry up, man! They got a new game in!”

Jisung shuffled inside, his head immediately dropping down to look at his sneakers. Even though the arcade was bustling with busy teenagers, he felt like every pair of eyes could land on him at any moment. He stuck close to Chenle, who bounded ahead like an excited puppy.

The arcade was Chenle’s kingdom. He knew everyone. He always high-fived the regulars, playfully bantered with his street fighter competitors, and was always trying to introduce someone to Jisung. But Jisung was content being a silent observer, finding a quiet corner to lean against while Chenle made his rounds.

Unfortunately for Jisung, Chenle had other plans.

“Hey, Jisung, check this out!” Chenle pointed to the brand new Tetris machine, it’s screen cycling through vividly colored blocks. “Bet you’d be good at this.”

Jisung blinked at the machine, his lanky frame stiffening as if the suggestion were a spotlight being aimed at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Before Jisung could protest, Chenle shoved a quarter into his hand and practically dragged him toward the machine. The crowd around it thinned slightly, making space as Chenle announced, “Alright, people, make way for my boy here. Jisung’s about to show you how it’s done.”

Jisung’s ears burned as a few heads turned toward him. He could already feel the weight of their eyes, his anxiety prickling at the edges of his mind. “Chenle, I—”

“Stop overthinking,” Chenle interrupted, patting his shoulder. “Just play. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Jisung stared at the glowing screen. The cheerful music beckoned him, the falling shapes almost hypnotic. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, sliding the quarter into the slot. The machine chimed, and the first piece appeared at the top of the screen.

Although this was his first time, the controls felt familiar. The buttons responded with a satisfying click to his every touch, the joystick smooth under his palm. He hesitated for a split second before rotating the first piece and sending it down. It clicked into place.

Then another piece came, and another. His fingers moved instinctively, rotating, shifting, dropping. The lines started clearing, one after the other, and the game's upbeat sounds grew more frequent.

The world around him faded, the noise of the arcade blending into a dull hum. His focus sharpened, each piece fitting perfectly into a strategy that seemed to form effortlessly in his mind. Shapes became patterns, and patterns became solutions.

“Holy shit. He’s actually good,” someone murmured behind him.

“Good? Are you kidding? He’s crushing it!” Chenle exclaimed, his voice cutting through the growing excitement.

Jisung didn’t register their words, his eyes fixed on the screen. The pace quickened, the pieces falling faster, but he kept up. His long fingers danced over the controls, rotating pieces with precision and dropping them into place. A four-line clear flashed on the screen—a Tetris—and the small crowd erupted into cheers.

Jisung blinked, momentarily snapping out of his trance. He looked over his shoulder, startled by the group that had formed behind him. Chenle was at the front, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Keep going!” Chenle yelled. “You’re on fire!”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jisung’s lips, the rare feeling of pride warming his chest. He turned back to the game, determined to see how far he could go.

For the next few minutes, Jisung played like he was in a world of his own, the lines stacking and clearing in rapid succession. When the inevitable “Game Over” finally flashed on the screen, a ripple of applause broke out behind him.

Jisung stepped back, his cheeks flushed, his heart racing. Chenle clapped him on the back, his laugh loud and contagious. “What did I tell you? Tetris wiz, right here!”

Jisung glanced at the score on the screen—higher than he’d expected, but the number barely mattered. For the first time, he felt like he belonged, like he’d found something he was actually good at.

And judging by the awed looks from the small crowd, they thought so too.

Jisung didn’t know much about you, other than the obvious. You worked the counter at Pixel Haven most nights, moving between tasks with effortless ease. Always handing out quarters, fixing the occasional glitchy machine, and keeping the arcade running smoothly. And, of course, you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That part was impossible to miss.

Chenle had introduced you once, casually slinging his arm around your shoulders as he bragged about beating the high score on Galaga. Jisung remembered offering a small, awkward wave while you smiled politely, your attention more on Chenle than him. Since then, you’d only been a background presence, someone Jisung saw but never really thought about.

Until tonight.

He’d run out of quarters after his third Tetris run and found himself lingering near the counter, clutching a few crumpled bills in his clammy hands. Chenle was off challenging someone at Street Fighter again, leaving Jisung on his own.

You were busy at the counter, sorting a handful of tokens while chatting with another customer. The neon glow from the sign above cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Jisung hesitated. Asking you for change felt… strange. You weren’t just the person behind the counter. You were Chenle’s girlfriend. That fact alone made this simple interaction feel like crossing some unspoken line.

But he needed quarters, so he shuffled forward, his head down, and placed the bills on the counter.

You looked up, and for the first time, your eyes met his directly. “Oh, hey,” you said, your voice light and friendly. “Need some quarters?”

He froze, the words stuck in his throat. You were smiling. Warmly, like you genuinely wanted to help. Jisung nodded, sliding the bills closer to you.

You took them, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as you counted out the quarters. “Here you go,” you said, placing them into his outstretched hand. “Good luck out there.”

That smile. It wasn’t just a gesture. It felt different, even if Jisung knew it probably wasn’t. You were like this with everyone, weren’t you? Friendly, approachable, easygoing. It was why Chenle liked you so much.

But still, Jisung felt something shift inside him. Your smile lingered in his mind as he turned away, clutching the quarters tightly in his fist. His chest tightened, but not with the usual pang of nerves. Instead, it was with something he couldn’t quite name.

It was strange, the way that tiny moment replayed in his head as he walked back to the Tetris machine. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. You were just being nice, just doing your job.

But as the night wore on, Jisung found himself glancing toward the counter more often than he meant to. He tried not to think too much about it, but something small and misshapen had taken root in his chest, fragile but undeniably there.

You were Chenle’s girlfriend. He barely knew you. And yet, your kindness had left a mark he couldn’t ignore.

The arcade quickly became Jisung’s second home. Every chance he got—between school, homework, and the occasional group hangout he reluctantly attended—he found himself back at Pixel Haven.

At first, it was a way to pass the time, a distraction from the things that weighed him down. But soon, Tetris became more than that. The falling blocks weren’t just shapes anymore; they were puzzles waiting to be solved, challenges daring him to do better, to think faster. He didn’t just play the game—he immersed himself in it, memorizing patterns, calculating strategies, and finding a strange sense of peace in the rhythmic clearing of lines.

The change didn’t go unnoticed.

“Dude, you’re, like, a full-blown Tetris addict now,” Chenle teased one night, leaning casually against the machine as Jisung started yet another round. His hands were full of snacks he’d grabbed from the counter, and his grin was as wide as ever. “I should start calling you ‘The Tetris Wizard or ‘TetWiz’ for short”.

Jisung flushed, his long fingers hovering over the controls as the pieces began to fall. “I’m not that good,” he muttered, barely audible over the hum of the arcade.

“Are you kidding me?” Chenle laughed, nearly spilling his soda. “You’re insane at this. Like, next-level insane. You’ve got the whole crowd thing going on, too.”

Jisung paused mid-game, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, a few regulars had gathered nearby, casually watching his progress. Their murmured admiration sent a wave of heat to his cheeks.

Chenle clapped him on the back. “See? WizKid status.” He took a swig of his drink, then grinned mischievously. “Hey, you know what? There’s a tournament coming up. Local thing. You should totally enter.”

The words hit Jisung like a truck. No, like someone dropped a T-piece on his head. He fumbled with the joystick, sending a block spiraling into the wrong position. “What? No. No way.”

“Why not?” Chenle’s voice rose in playful disbelief. “You’ve been killing it lately. This is your chance to show everyone how good you are. Plus, think of the bragging rights. I’ll tell everyone I trained you.”

Jisung’s heart pounded, the idea of playing in front of a crowd making his palms sweat. He’d barely gotten used to the small groups that gathered at the arcade. A tournament meant real attention. Real pressure.

“I… I don’t think I can,” he stammered, his gaze fixed on the screen.

Chenle rolled his eyes but didn’t push. “Alright, alright. Baby steps, TetWiz. But think about it, okay? You’d crush it.”

Jisung nodded absently, but the thought lingered long after Chenle wandered off to bother someone else. A tournament? It seemed impossible, unthinkable. Yet, as he continued to play, clearing line after line with growing precision, a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind whispered something different: What if you could?

The flyer for the Pixel Haven Tetris Tournament taunted Jisung from his desk, its bright colors and bold letters shouting promises of prizes, glory, and recognition. He’d stared at it for days, the weight of Chenle’s encouragement and your casual, kind words tipping the scales of his indecision.

“You’d do great,” you’d said just a few nights ago when Chenle joked about Jisung’s reluctance. There wasn’t much to your comment—just a simple smile as you slid quarters across the counter. But it stuck with him, a quiet nudge in the direction he wasn’t sure he could take.

When he finally signed up, his hand trembled so much he nearly misspelled his own name.

The tournament day arrived far too quickly. Pixel Haven was louder than ever, filled with spectators and players buzzing with excitement. The Tetris machine had been moved to the center of the arcade, its screen glowing like a beacon under the dim, colorful lights.

Jisung stood at the edge of the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. His palms were clammy, his legs stiff, and every sound around him felt amplified—quarters clinking, machines chiming, people shouting.

Chenle found him near the snack counter, looking pale and uneasy. “Hey, TetWiz,” he said, clapping Jisung on the shoulder. “Don’t psych yourself out. You’ve got this.”

Jisung shook his head, barely able to meet Chenle’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course, you can!” Chenle’s voice was loud, confident, and exactly what Jisung wished he could feel. “You’re the best player here. No one’s even close. Just… pretend it’s like any other Friday night.”

“Except with an even bigger crowd watching,” Jisung muttered under his breath.

At that moment, you appeared, slipping out from behind the counter to join Chenle. Your presence was calm, grounding. “You’ve got this,” you said simply, your eyes meeting Jisung’s.

His stomach twisted. You were Chenle’s girlfriend.

Off-limits.

But your words carried a strange weight, one that settled the storm in his chest just enough.

The tournament began. Jisung’s hands trembled as he approached the machine, the controls suddenly feeling unfamiliar under his fingers. The room seemed to close in around him as the first piece appeared on the screen.

The opening rounds blurred together, a mix of adrenaline and fear propelling him forward. Each cleared line earned cheers from the crowd, but Jisung barely registered them. His focus tunneled in on the screen, every move a desperate attempt to keep the pieces from piling too high.

By the time he reached the finals, his nerves were raw, his breaths shallow. Chenle stood nearby, shouting encouragement, and you offered a quiet thumbs-up that somehow cut through the noise.

The final match was intense. His opponent was fast, their moves sharp and deliberate. The pieces fell faster than ever, the music speeding up to a frenetic pace that matched Jisung’s racing heart.

You can do this, he told himself, gripping the joystick tightly. He visualized the patterns, the strategies he’d practiced endlessly. The lines cleared one after another, the Tetris flashes lighting up the screen.

When the final piece fell into place, and the victory chime rang out, the room erupted into cheers. Jisung blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

“You did it!” Chenle shouted, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulders. “First place, TetWiz! I told you!”

Jisung stared at the screen, his name flashing in bold letters at the top of the leaderboard. His hands shook—not with fear, but with something new. Pride.

You approached him, your smile soft and genuine. “Congratulations, Jisung. That was amazing.”

He swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. But as the applause continued and the weight of the moment settled in, something shifted inside him. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, he was capable of more.

Jisung wasn’t sure when it started. The way his chest tightened whenever you were near, or how your smile lingered in his thoughts. Maybe it was during one of those small, fleeting moments when you actually listened to him. Not the way most people did, with polite nods and half-hearted attention, but really listened.

You never looked bored or impatient when he talked. Never when he stumbled over his words trying to explain a tricky T-spin maneuver or the satisfaction of a perfectly timed Tetris. Instead, you leaned on the counter, your eyes warm and curious, asking questions that made him feel like his passion wasn’t just valid but worth sharing.

And that was the problem.

Because as much as he admired you, as much as his chest filled with warmth during those rare conversations, there was always Chenle. Loud, confident, and so completely your match.

Jisung couldn’t deny it: Chenle made you laugh in a way that lit up the whole room. He’d see you together. Your arm looped through Chenle’s, his jokes drawing out those bright, unrestrained giggles. All of it felt like a sharp, twisting ache in his chest.

He hated the feeling. The guilt. The jealousy.

Chenle was his best friend, the person who dragged him out of his shell, cheered him on, and believed in him when he barely believed in himself. And you—kind, patient, radiant—you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That was the unshakable truth.

So Jisung did the only thing he could think of to cope. He played tetris.

Hours at Pixel Haven turned into entire evenings, his focus narrowing to the Tetris machine like it was his lifeline. The rhythm of the game, the familiar patterns and strategies, became his escape. When the blocks fell into place, clearing line after line, the noise in his head quieted.

He didn’t have to think about the way his heart raced when you smiled at him or the pang of envy when you rested your head on Chenle’s shoulder.

Chenle noticed, of course. “Man, you’re really going hard lately,” he said one night, watching Jisung rack up yet another high score. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re basically a celebrity here now.”

Jisung forced a smile, his hands tightening around the joystick. “Just… trying to get better.”

Chenle didn’t press further, but Jisung could feel his gaze shift, a flicker of concern hidden behind his usual grin.

And then there was you.

Sometimes, you’d wander over to the Tetris machine during a quiet moment at the counter, watching him play with that same patient interest that made his heart ache.

“You’re amazing at this,” you’d say, your voice soft and genuine.

And Jisung would mumble a shy thank you, barely able to meet your gaze. He wondered if you noticed how fast his hands moved on the controls when you were nearby, or how the screen blurred just slightly because his focus wavered.

He told himself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. You were Chenle’s, and he had no right to feel the way he did.

So he buried it, block by block, line by line, throwing himself deeper into the game as if sheer determination could erase the feelings growing stronger with every interaction.

But no matter how many lines he cleared, the ache in his chest remained.

Chenle wasn’t the type to dwell on things. He lived in the moment, taking life as it came, confident and carefree. But lately, something about Jisung had been bothering him.

It wasn’t just the obsessive way Jisung threw himself into Tetris, though that was part of it. Chenle had always known Jisung to be shy and focused, but lately, he seemed… different. Distracted. Like his thoughts were someplace—or with someone—else.

And then there were the looks.

Chenle didn’t want to read too much into it, but he’d caught Jisung’s gaze more than once when you were around. At first, he brushed it off. Jisung was awkward around everyone—why would this be any different? But the more it happened, the harder it was to ignore.

One night, after another long session at Pixel Haven, Chenle finally decided he couldn’t keep quiet.

Jisung was hunched over the Tetris machine, his face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. The arcade was quieter than usual, most of the crowd having thinned out as the evening wore on. Chenle approached with his usual grin, though this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, TetWiz,” he said casually, leaning against the side of the machine. “Taking over the world one line at a time?”

Jisung glanced at him, his hands never leaving the controls. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

Chenle studied him for a moment, his grin fading. “You know,” he began, his tone light but laced with something sharper, “you’ve been acting kind of weird lately.”

Jisung’s fingers faltered, and the game over screen flashed before he could recover. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping back from the machine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chenle said, crossing his arms, “you’ve been avoiding me, for one. And for another… I’ve noticed the way you look at her.”

Jisung froze, his heart sinking. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb, Jisung. You think I haven’t seen it? The way you watch her when you think no one’s looking? How you act all nervous when she’s around? Come on, man. You’re my best friend. If there’s something going on, just tell me.”

Panic surged in Jisung’s chest. He shook his head quickly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “There’s nothing going on,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t… I don’t feel that way about her.”

Chenle’s eyes narrowed, his usual easy going demeanor slipping away. That wasn’t what he was suspecting. He actually thought you had said something to Jisung that made him uncomfortable. But having feelings for you? Chenle forgot that was even an option. He suddenly felt a surge of jealousy. “Jisung, I’m not stupid. I know you better than anyone.”

“I don’t!” Jisung’s voice rose slightly, the desperation clear. “I—I swear, Chenle. It’s not like that.”

The tension hung heavy between them, the arcade’s neon lights casting sharp shadows across their faces.

Chenle exhaled slowly, his expression softening just a little. “Look, I trust her, okay? I trust you. But if there’s something you’re not telling me… just be honest. Don’t let this mess things up.”

Jisung’s throat tightened, guilt clawing at his insides. He wanted to tell the truth, to admit the feelings he’d tried so hard to bury. But the fear of losing Chenle—his best friend, his biggest supporter—was too much to bear.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said quietly, his hands clenched at his sides.

Chenle studied him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his posture remained. “Alright. If you say so.”

But as he walked away, leaving Jisung alone by the Tetris machine, the rift between them felt wider than ever.

For the first time in years, Jisung wasn’t sure if Chenle still believed in him—or if he even believed in himself.

The state Tetris championship was a dream Jisung never dared to dream. And now, as his name sat proudly on the qualifying list, it felt more like a nightmare.

The arcade was quiet that night, the usual hum of voices replaced by the occasional beep of a forgotten pinball machine. Jisung sat slumped on a bench near the Tetris machine, the glow of the screen casting long shadows across his face. His hands fidgeted with the crumpled flyer announcing the championships, the bold letters seeming to mock him.

State Champion. The words felt impossibly big, like they belonged to someone else.

The weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure, the growing distance between him and Chenle—pressed down on him like a heavy block he couldn’t clear. His chest felt tight, his thoughts spiraling in an endless loop of self-doubt.

He didn’t even hear you approach.

“You okay?”

Your voice was soft, cutting through the quiet like a gentle melody. Jisung jumped, his head snapping up to see you standing nearby, concern etched across your features.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

You didn’t buy it. Instead, you sat down on the bench beside him, leaving just enough space to respect his shyness. You glanced at the flyer in his hands, then back at him.

“It’s a big deal, huh?” you said, your tone light but understanding.

Jisung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s too big,” he admitted quietly. “I… I don’t think I can do it.”

The words felt like a confession, raw and vulnerable. He didn’t know why he was telling you this. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to listen without judgment, or the way your presence felt steady and safe.

You tilted your head, your eyes warm. “Why not?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because… because what if I mess up? What if I let everyone down? Chenle’s been calling me a ‘wizard,’ hyping me up to everyone. People actually watch me now, like I’m supposed to be… someone. But I’m not. I’m just…”

“Jisung,” you finished gently.

He nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. Just Jisung. And I don’t think just Jisung is good enough for this.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The hum of the arcade filled the silence, a soft, steady rhythm that seemed to match his unsteady breathing.

Then, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm. “You know, when I watch you play, it’s not just about the score or the tournament or any of that. It’s the way you light up when you’re in the zone, like nothing else matters. It’s like… you’re in your own world, and it’s incredible to see.”

Jisung blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“You don’t have to know right now,” you said with a small smile. “But Jisung, this isn’t about being a wizard or a champion or whatever anyone else thinks. It’s about you. Your love for this game, your talent. That’s what matters. Not winning. Just you doing what you love.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. Jisung’s heart raced as your words lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a lifeline. He hadn’t expected you to understand him so completely, let alone say the exact thing he needed to hear.

For a brief moment, he forgot about everything else. The tournament, the pressure, even Chenle. All he could focus on was you. The warmth in your voice, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

The weight in his chest shifted, and before he knew it, his thoughts spilled over.

“I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat.

You tilted your head, curious but patient, your expression inviting him to continue.

He could feel it, the overwhelming urge to tell you. To say something, anything, about the way he felt—the way you made him feel. How his heart ached and soared all at once whenever you were near.

But then, just as quickly, reality crashed back in.

Chenle. His best friend. Your boyfriend.

Jisung swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much his heart screamed at him to say the truth, he couldn’t betray Chenle like that.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, his voice barely steady. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. For, you know… everything.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, as if sensing that he wasn’t ready to say more. “Anytime,” you replied, standing up to head back to the counter.

Jisung watched you go, his chest heavy with unspoken words. He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the crumpled flyer in his lap.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Chenle stood near the doorway, hidden by the dim light and arcade cabinets. He had arrived just moments ago, intending to meet Jisung and hang out like they always did. But instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, watching the two of you.

At first, it didn’t seem like much—just a quiet conversation between friends. But the way Jisung looked at you… it wasn’t hard for Chenle to see what was really going on.

It wasn’t the look of someone simply grateful for support. It was something deeper, more vulnerable. Something Chenle had never seen in Jisung before.

His chest tightened, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He wasn’t angry—not yet. But there was a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar, like jealousy’s distant cousin.

He trusted you, and he trusted Jisung. But trust didn’t erase what he had just seen.

Chenle stepped back into the shadows, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the image of Jisung’s expression—the way his gaze lingered on you, filled with something Chenle couldn’t quite name but knew wasn’t meant for him.

For the first time, Chenle felt uncertain. About Jisung. About you. About everything.

And as he walked away from the arcade that night, the unspoken tension between the three of you began to grow, pulling tighter with each passing moment.

The auditorium buzzed with energy, the hum of anticipation vibrating through the air as rows of arcade cabinets lined the stage, each boasting the Tetris logo in bright neon. Competitors adjusted their machines, the crowd murmured excitedly, and Jisung stood frozen at the edge of it all, feeling impossibly small.

The state Tetris championship. He was really here.

Jisung’s stomach churned, his nerves nearly overtaking him. He gripped the strap of his backpack, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. His mind wasn’t just crowded with thoughts of the game but with everything else—Chenle, you, the weight of unspoken feelings.

Before he could spiral any further, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jisung blinked and turned to see a tall, relaxed guy about a few years older standing next to him. The stranger held a can of pop, his messy hair framing a face that somehow managed to look both half-asleep and mildly curious.

“I—uh…” Jisung stammered, caught off guard.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” the stranger said bluntly, taking a sip of his pop. “Big deal tournament jitters?”

Jisung hesitated, but something about the guy’s laid-back demeanor made him exhale a little. “Yeah, kind of,” he admitted.

“Let me guess,” the stranger said, leaning against a nearby wall. “Scared you’ll lose? Or scared you’ll win and, like, your entire life will change forever?”

“Both,” Jisung muttered.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Yeah, fair. Tetris is wild like that.”

Something about his casual tone loosened Jisung’s tongue. Before he knew it, he was rambling.

“It’s not just the game,” he confessed, the words tumbling out. “It’s everything else. My best friend…he’s been supporting me, but I think I’ve messed things up between us. And then there’s this girl…” His voice trailed off, his ears burning.

The stranger tilted his head. “Oh, so it’s love and Tetris. Double whammy.”

Jisung winced. “I don’t know what to do. I like her, but she’s with my best friend, and I feel like the worst person in the world. And now I’m here, and I’m supposed to play like none of this matters, but it does.”

The stranger stared at him for a moment, then sighed, setting down his soda. “Okay, look. I’m not great at advice, but here’s what I’ve got: You’re not gonna fix your love life today. But this tournament? It’s yours. You’ve got one job—play your absolute fucking best. Worry about the rest later.”

Jisung blinked, the simplicity of the advice sinking in. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” The stranger smirked. “Oh, and maybe stop thinking about her for like, five seconds while you play. Otherwise, you’ll never clear a line.”

Despite himself, Jisung let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks, uh…”

“Sicheng,” the guy said, giving a small wave before walking off with his soda.

Jisung stood there for a moment, the stranger’s words echoing in his head. One job. Play your absolute fucking best.

The announcement of his name jolted him back to reality. Heart pounding, he made his way to the stage, the crowd’s cheers swelling around him.

He spotted Chenle instantly, standing in the front row and waving wildly, his energy uncontainable. “Go, TetWiz!” Chenle yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

Jisung’s chest tightened. Despite everything, the tension, the doubts, Chenle was still there, cheering him on.

And then he saw you, standing beside Chenle. Your smile was quieter, softer, but it carried the same weight of belief that you’d shown him back at Pixel Haven. Your eyes met his, and you gave a small, encouraging nod.

Jisung took a deep breath, his hands gripping the controls as he sat down.

The countdown began.

Three.

The noise of the crowd faded away.

Two.

His fingers hovered over the buttons, his mind sharpening to a single point of focus.

One.

Play your absolute fucking best.

The game began, the familiar shapes dropping from the top of the screen like old friends. His nervousness melted away as he found his rhythm, the blocks slotting into place with satisfying precision.

The crowd roared as he cleared line after line, the tension building with each level. But Jisung didn’t hear it. For the first time in weeks, his mind was clear, his focus solely on the game.

This wasn’t about Chenle, or you, or even the title. This was about Jisung—the quiet boy who found a spark of something extraordinary in the chaos of falling blocks.

Then the final round began, and the stakes had never felt higher. Jisung sat at the machine, his hands steady but his heart pounding as the screen lit up with the familiar grid. Across from him, his opponent—a seasoned Tetris player with years of experience—cracked their knuckles, exuding a calm confidence that only added to Jisung’s nerves.

The crowd quieted as the final countdown began again.

Three.

Jisung tightened his grip on the joystick.

Two.

His gaze locked on the screen, blocking out everything else.

One.

The pieces started to fall, faster than in any game he’d played before. The early levels felt manageable, his fingers moving on autopilot as he cleared lines with precision. But as the speed increased, so did the tension.

His opponent was good. Better than anyone Jisung had ever faced. They kept pace with him, their screen just as clear, their movements just as calculated. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was a test of endurance, strategy, and nerves.

The minutes stretched on, each line cleared pushing Jisung further into uncharted territory. His heart raced as he reached the kill screen level—the point where the game’s speed maxed out, and most players couldn’t keep up.

Most players.

Jisung’s vision narrowed, his world shrinking to the grid in front of him. His fingers danced over the controls, rotating and dropping pieces with a precision that felt almost otherworldly. The crowd was a distant roar, his opponent a vague shadow in his peripheral vision.

He wasn’t thinking anymore; he was flowing.

When the final piece dropped into place, clearing a line and bringing his score to a record-breaking high, the machine emitted a triumphant chime.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the auditorium erupted.

The crowd leaped to their feet, cheering and clapping, the noise echoing off the walls. Lights flashed, cameras clicked, and Jisung sat there, stunned, as the reality of what he’d just accomplished began to sink in.

He’d won.

Not just the championship, but something deeper. For the first time, Jisung felt the rush of pride, not just for the victory but for the journey that had brought him here.

Chenle’s voice cut through the chaos, louder than anyone else’s. “You did it, Ji! He fucking did it!”

Jisung turned to see his best friend grinning so widely it looked like his face might split in two. Despite the tension between them, Chenle’s joy was pure and infectious.

And then his eyes found you.

You weren’t shouting or jumping like the others, but the pride in your expression was unmistakable. You clapped along with the crowd, your smile warm and genuine as your gaze met his.

Jisung’s chest swelled, the mix of emotions nearly overwhelming. He stood slowly, his legs shaky, and accepted the medal from the tournament official with trembling hands. The announcer declared his name, calling him a prodigy, a champion, but none of it felt as real as the faces in the crowd—Chenle, you, and everyone who had supported him.

As the applause continued, Jisung looked back at the Tetris screen, now frozen on his record-breaking score. For the first time, he saw himself not as “just Jisung,” but as someone capable of achieving something extraordinary.

The crowd had finally begun to disperse, the cheers fading into the background as competitors and spectators alike spilled out into the night. Jisung stayed behind, lingering near the now-quiet Tetris machine. His medal hung heavy around his neck, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just a dream.

He turned the medal over in his hands, his mind still reeling. He should have been basking in the glow of his victory, but his thoughts kept circling back to you. How your smile had stood out even among the applause. How your quiet presence had kept him grounded.

“Jisung?”

Your voice startled him, and he looked up to see you standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. The faint hum of the arcade machines illuminated your face in soft, flickering light.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, your gaze falling on the medal around his neck. “Congratulations,” you said, your smile warm but understated, as though you understood he wasn’t one for grand celebrations. “You were incredible out there.”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks. I… I still can’t believe it.”

“You should,” you replied, your tone gentle but firm. “You worked so hard for this. You deserve it.”

The sincerity in your voice sent a wave of emotion through him, and he found himself meeting your eyes. For a moment, everything else fell away. The noise of the arcade, the lingering spectators, even Chenle.

“It means a lot,” he murmured, “that you were here.”

You smiled softly, stepping even closer. “Of course I was. I wasn’t going to miss this. You’re… special, Jisung. You have something really rare. Not just your talent, but the way you put your heart into everything you do.”

Your words hit him like a gentle but powerful wave, and for the first time, Jisung felt like you saw him, not as Chenle’s shy best friend, not as the Tetris Wizard, but as him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he reached up and touched the medal lightly, as if offering it to you.

“This… it’s not just mine,” he said quietly. “You helped me get here. You believed in me when I didn’t.”

You shook your head, your smile deepening. “That was all you, Jisung. I just… reminded you what you already knew.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken feelings thickening the silence. It wasn’t the boisterous, high-energy dynamic you had with Chenle. It was quieter, steadier, like a river carving its way through stone.

You reached out then, your fingers brushing his lightly as you adjusted the medal around his neck. The small, intimate gesture sent his heart racing, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to do even greater things,” you said softly, your voice carrying a certainty that made his chest ache.

For a fleeting moment, Jisung thought about telling you everything. Telling you how much he cared for you, and how much this moment meant to him. But he stopped himself, the memory of Chenle’s unwavering cheers still fresh in his mind.

Instead, he held your gaze and said, “Thanks. For… everything.”

Your smile lingered as you stepped back, leaving a small but undeniable space between you. “You’ve got this, Jisung. Don’t forget that.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, the warmth of your touch still buzzing on his skin.

Jisung let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his hands brushing the medal around his neck. His feelings for you weren’t just a crush. They were something deeper, something that scared and exhilarated him in equal measure.

But for now, he would hold onto the moment, replaying your words in his mind like his favorite song.

As you disappeared into the crowd, Jisung stayed rooted to the spot, the medal’s weight now feeling symbolic of something much heavier. His fingers grazed the cool metal, his thoughts swirling in an uncontrollable storm.

He should have felt elated, on top of the world. And part of him did. But the other part felt like he was standing on the edge of something far scarier than any Tetris grid.

She believes in me. She sees me.

The thought filled him with a quiet joy, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Chenle had been there too, cheering the loudest, always his most loyal supporter. And Chenle was your boyfriend.

Jisung closed his eyes, trying to silence the war inside him. How could he feel this way about you while knowing it wasn’t his place? He’d spent years being the guy who didn’t take up space, who stayed on the sidelines, who let others shine. Was it selfish to want something or someone so badly now?

“Hey, champ.”

The voice startled Jisung, jerking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see the familiar figure of Sicheng standing a few feet away.

“I, uh…” Jisung stammered, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Didn’t know you were still here.”

Sicheng shrugged, “Yeah, well, figured I’d stick around and see how the hero handles his post-victory glow. Looks like you’re more ‘existential crisis’ than ‘glow,’ though.”

Jisung blinked, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.

Sicheng nodded as if he understood completely. “Love and Tetris, man. Both are way harder than they look.”

Jisung couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I didn’t say it was about that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Sicheng grinned, leaning against a nearby arcade machine. “You’ve got that look. You know, the one that says, ‘I’m hopelessly in love and it’s ruining my life.’”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone as wise and experienced as me,” Sicheng said, his tone deadpan.

Jisung peeked at him through his fingers. “What would you do, then? If you were me?”

Sicheng tilted his head thoughtfully, “I’d probably mess it up completely, to be honest. But here’s the thing—you’re not me. You’ve already done the hard part. You put yourself out there tonight. You faced something scary and came out on top. Maybe it’s time you do the same with… other things.”

Jisung frowned, the words sinking in. “But what if it goes wrong? What if I lose what I already have?”

Sicheng shrugged. “Maybe you will. Or maybe you won’t. But if you keep letting fear decide everything, you’re just gonna stay stuck at the start screen forever. And trust me, that’s no way to play.”

Jisung stared at him, the simplicity of his words somehow cutting through the noise in his head. “You’re… surprisingly good at this,” he said, half-joking.

“I have my moments.” Sicheng smirked, pushing himself off the arcade machine. “Anyway, I’m out. Congrats again, champ. And, uh, good luck with… whatever you decide.”

As Sicheng walked off, Jisung found himself standing a little straighter. The stranger’s words had left him with no concrete answers, but maybe that was the point.

Jisung glanced down at the medal one last time before tucking it under his shirt. For now, he’d focus on the present. The victory he’d earned and the path it was opening up.

But deep down, he knew that the harder game was just beginning.

Jisung didn’t see Chenle after the championship that night.

The victory should have been enough. It was everything he’d worked for, proof that he wasn’t just the quiet kid in the background. But his mind kept circling back to you—your smile, your words, the warmth in your eyes that seemed to see right through his fears.

Why does it feel like this isn’t enough?

Jisung sighed, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. He thought about Chenle. The guilt gnawed at him. Chenle had cheered for him louder than anyone, had believed in him when he couldn’t believe in himself. And yet, every time Jisung saw you two together, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. This isn’t fair to Chenle. He deserves better than this.

But the memory of your touch, the way your voice softened when you spoke to him, was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just a crush. It was something deeper, something that made him feel seen in a way he never had before.

“Hey, Wiz.”

Jisung jumped at the voice, turning to see Chenle standing behind him. His best friend’s grin was still as bright as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, something quieter, more serious.

“Oh, hey,” Jisung mumbled, trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions on his face. “What’s up?”

Chenle didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Jisung’s stomach sank, but he nodded, following Chenle out into the cool night air. The buzz of the arcade faded behind them as they walked a short distance to a nearby bench. Chenle flopped down first, his usual energy replaced by a rare stillness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jisung fidgeted with the edge of his medal ribbon, waiting for Chenle to break the silence.

“I saw you,” Chenle finally said, his voice unusually calm.

Jisung froze, his heart lurching in his chest. “Saw me?” he echoed, his voice tight.

Chenle leaned back, his gaze fixed on the starry sky. “You and her. After the tournament.”

Jisung’s throat went dry. “I—Chenle, it’s not what you think—”

Chenle cut him off with a small, tired laugh. “Relax, dude. I’m not mad. And I know you wouldn’t do anything. You’re too much of a pussy to make the first move.” He turned to look at Jisung, his expression softer than Jisung expected. “I mean, yeah, it stings a little. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Jisung blinked, confused. “Thinking about what?”

Chenle sighed, running a hand through his hair. “About us….me and her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great. But... I don’t think we’re great together, you know? We’re fun, we laugh a lot, but it’s not... deep.”

Jisung stared at him, struggling to process the words.

“And then I see the way you look at her,” Chenle continued, his voice quieter now. “And the way she looks at you.” He let out another soft laugh. “I’d have to be blind not to notice it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung blurted out, his guilt spilling over. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear, I tried not to—”

“Hey, stop.” Chenle held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not mad, okay? It’s not like you did this on purpose. Feelings are... messy. Trust me, I get it.”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Chenle’s understanding both a relief and a fresh wave of guilt. “So... what does this mean?” he asked hesitantly.

Chenle shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It means I’m stepping back. You two have something real, Jisung. Something I don’t think I could ever have with her.”

Jisung stared at him, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions. “Are you sure?”

Chenle nodded. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ll probably be a little salty about it for a while. But at the end of the day, you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.” He clapped Jisung on the shoulder, his grin returning in full force. “And who knows? Maybe this means I’ll finally have time to beat your high score.”

Jisung let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Thanks, Chenle. For everything.”

Chenle stood, stretching dramatically. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. Just... don’t mess it up, okay? She’s too good for that.”

Jisung nodded, his heart lighter but still full. As Chenle walked away, Jisung sat for a moment longer, staring at the medal in his hands.

Jisung’s heart pounded like it had during the tournament, maybe even harder. He clutched the edges of the medal still hanging around his neck, his thumb running along the engraved letters as if they could grant him the courage he desperately needed.

He found you sitting at the counter in Pixel Haven, a quiet lull settling over the arcade now that the evening rush was over. You were tinkering with a small machine part, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten at the sight.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the arcade lights.

You looked up, surprised but smiling as soon as you saw him. “Jisung! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your big win?”

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I needed to talk to you,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly.

You set the part down, giving him your full attention. “Is everything okay?”

Jisung nodded, but the lump in his throat made it hard to speak. He took a deep breath, the memory of Chenle’s words earlier that night giving him the final push.

“I—there’s something I need to say. And I don’t know if it’s the right time, or if I’m even allowed to feel this way, but I can’t... I can’t keep it in anymore.” He paused, his hands gripping the medal tightly. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know Chenle’s your boyfriend. Well, was—but I had to tell you.”

Your eyes softened, and you stood, closing the space between you. “Jisung…”

“I’m sorry if this is too much,” he continued quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I just... you mean a lot to me. More than I can explain. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just—”

“Jisung.” Your voice was steady but gentle, cutting through his nervous rambling.

He stopped, his breath hitching as you placed a hand on his arm.

“I like you too.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. He blinked at you, his mind struggling to catch up. “You... you do?”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re kind, thoughtful, and ridiculously talented. And more than that, you have this quiet strength that I admire so much. I’ve been drawn to you for a while now, even when I didn’t fully realize it.”

Jisung’s cheeks flushed, his heart soaring as your words sank in. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your smile widening. “But we’ll have to take things slow. This is all new, and I want to make sure we’re both ready.”

Jisung nodded quickly, his nervous energy giving way to a shy grin. “Of course. Slow is good.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the quiet arcade. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Jisung’s blush deepened, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to hide it.

As the two of you stood there, the arcade lights casting a warm glow, Jisung felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t just the joy of hearing you say you liked him too. He’d taken a risk and won.

And this victory? It felt like the best one yet.

This was it.

The moment he’d worked toward for months.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, “Park Jisung is on the verge of breaking the world record for highest Tetris score! Can he do it?”

Jisung’s heart thundered in his chest, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was adrenaline. Focus. Determination.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of you and Chenle in the crowd. You were leaning forward, your hands clasped tightly in anticipation, your eyes shining with pride. Beside you, Chenle was shouting encouragement so loudly it drowned out the rest of the noise.

“Come on, Wizard!” Chenle yelled, his grin so wide it could’ve split his face. “You’ve got this! Show ‘em how it’s done!”

Jisung’s lips twitched into a small smile. Chenle’s voice, your presence, the energy of everyone around him, all pushed him forward.

The final minutes were a blur of movement and sound. The blocks sped up to an almost impossible level, but Jisung’s hands didn’t falter. His brain worked in overdrive, every decision precise and calculated. He could feel the rhythm of the game in his bones.

And then, with one last perfect Tetris, the machine let out a triumphant chime.

The words NEW WORLD RECORD! flashed across the screen, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze.

Then the crowd erupted. Cheers and applause filled the arcade, the sound almost deafening. Jisung sat back, his hands trembling as he let out a shaky breath. He’d done it.

You were the first to reach him, weaving through the crowd with your face lit up in a beaming smile. “Jisung, you did it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

For a moment, he froze, still overwhelmed by everything, but then he relaxed into the hug, his face flushing as a shy grin spread across his lips. “I... I guess I did.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still on his arms. “No, Jisung. You didn’t just do it. You literally broke a world record. That was fucking incredible.”

Before Jisung could respond, Chenle burst through the crowd, practically tackling him with a clap on the back. “That was insane, dude! You’re officially a legend!”

Jisung laughed softly, his nerves easing as the weight of his friends’ support sank in. “Thanks, Chenle. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Chenle scoffed, his grin turning playful. “Obviously. I mean, who else would’ve dragged your sorry butt to the arcade every week?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “And who else would’ve cheered louder than the announcer himself?”

Chenle puffed out his chest dramatically. “It’s called dedication. But seriously, man.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something softer. “I’m proud of you. I always knew you had it in you.”

Jisung blinked, his throat tightening with emotion. “Thanks, Chenle. That... that means a lot.”

“And me,” you added, your gaze locking with Jisung’s. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Jisung. You deserve every bit of it.”

Jisung’s face burned, but he managed a small, grateful smile. “I... I couldn’t have done it without you either. Both of you.”

Chenle grinned, clapping Jisung on the back again. “Okay, enough sap. Let’s go celebrate! First round of drinks are on me!”

“Chenle, you’ve never paid for drinks in your life,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Today’s a special occasion!” Chenle shot back, already heading toward the counter. “Besides, I’ll just borrow some cash from Jisung’s prize money.”

Jisung chuckled, the sound lighter than it had been in months. He looked between you and Chenle, his chest tightening with a strange mix of gratitude and joy.

In this moment, he realized that no matter how far he went. No matter how high he climbed in the Tetris world. He wouldn’t be alone.

He had Chenle, his loud, chaotic best friend who always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. And he had you, the person who saw him, really saw him, and made him feel like he could be more than just the quiet kid in the background.

For the first time, Jisung felt like he wasn’t just playing to win. He was playing for the people who mattered most.'

Though it stung at first, Chenle proved himself to be the supportive and selfless friend Jisung had always known. It didn’t take long for him to bounce back—literally. A chance meeting at a K-TV bar introduced him to a bubbly, energetic girl named Yizhuo, whose laughter was as infectious as his own. Their chemistry was instant, and soon Chenle was filling the arcade with stories of his new escapades. He still teased Jisung relentlessly, but it was clear he harbored no ill will.

The trio’s bond remained intact, stronger than ever, though their lives began to diverge.

Jisung, now a bona fide legend in the gaming world, found himself swept into a whirlwind of tournaments, sponsorships, and interviews. Though he remained shy and soft-spoken, his quiet charisma and undeniable skill won over fans around the globe. He still made time to visit Pixel Haven, the arcade that had started it all, but his visits were less frequent now, as his journey took him to stages he’d only dreamed of.

You, on the other hand, had left Pixel Haven behind for a new chapter of your own. Inspired by the energy and community of the arcade, you decided to pursue a career in game design. Late nights were now spent sketching out ideas for games that combined strategy and storytelling, with a little bit of heart and soul, something you’d learned was just as important as the mechanics.

Jisung was your biggest cheerleader, always eager to hear about your latest ideas, even if his input sometimes boiled down to, “As long as it’s not as stressful as Tetris.”

Chenle, ever the social butterfly, had shifted his focus to broadcasting. His infectious personality made him a hit on television screens, where he’d commentate on retro games, pull off absurd challenges, and occasionally rope Jisung into appearances. “The TetWiz and Lele Show,” he called it, though Jisung mostly just sat there, looking flustered as Chenle stole the spotlight.

Still, every once in a while, the three of you would reunite at Pixel Haven, now under new management but still holding its nostalgic charm. You’d share snacks, reminisce about the good old days, and maybe even challenge each other to a game or two—though no one dared to take on Jisung in Tetris.

And as Jisung watched you and Chenle laughing over some ridiculous bet, the soft glow of the arcade lights reflecting in your eyes, he realized that life was a lot like Tetris. The pieces didn’t always fall the way you wanted them to, but with patience, a little bit of courage, and the right people by your side, you could make something beautiful out of the chaos.

GAME OVER.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct fluff #park jisung #nct jisung #jisung park #park jisung fic #park jisung fluff #jisung fic #nct fic #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #nct dream imagines #jisung fluff #jisung angst

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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This one's the first of many doozies. I recommend you clock out now if you think the following will distress you: mentions of rape, but no scenes or explicit description. If not, read on! Chapter Title is from Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Your first mission is delivered, and it goes about as expected. Contains usual tags, emphasis on mention of rape/non-con.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

When your team stepped into the safe house, you could see the moment the smell hit their noses.

“Merde,” Frenchie was the first to speak, a poor omen within itself. “What the fuck am I smelling?”

“Uh, probably the milk and meat. They’re the strongest.”

Annie said your name carefully, watching your reaction as she spoke. “What happened.”

“He wouldn’t put away the groceries.” You said with a shrug. You were over it. It was like, ten bad things ago.

“So you just. Left them out?” Hughie said, seemingly baffled.

“Yeah.”

“Mallory said she delivered them on the first night.” Annie glanced between you and Hughie.

“She did.”

Hughie’s eyes widened further. “That was almost two weeks ago.” When you just nodded in agreement, he pushed further. “They’ve been out the whole time?”

You frowned. “He doesn’t get to win.”

“What are you, five?”

You just sighed, giving Hughie a pleading look. “Don’t tell MM.”

“What?” Butcher taunted from the back of the group. “That he was right, and you can’t handle Soldier Boy?”

“I thought you were on my side about this.”

“I’m on the side of the truth, Love.”

Both you, Annie, and Frenchie let out huffs of amusement at that claim, with Hughie looking sheepishly amused.

“You can’t possibly believe that.” Annie gave Butcher a pointed look. He only winked in response, leaving her to turn back to you with an eye roll.

“Has it been like this,” Hughie gestured vaguely around him. “The whole time?”

“Nah. Worse.”

Really, hell would be a better word for it. After the knife incident, there had been the toilet paper incident, which you had won, the coffee incident, also your victory, the laundry incident, point Soldier Boy, the TV incident, point you, and the Lord of the Rings incident, another point Soldier Boy. The Elton John, Jimmy Carter, and Rockefeller Center incidents had ended in stalemates akin to the Cold War, but should those fuses reignite, you were sure you could take them home. Overall, you’d burned him seven times, he’d thrown two chairs at you, you tossed shit in his face once and threatened castration on fifteen separate occasions, and he had offered to sleep with you thirty-one times.

“He hasn’t, he hasn’t hurt you. Right?” Hughie wasn’t fully looking at you when he asked, his voice soft and nervous.

“No. I mean, he’s tried. Not in… that way, but I’ve had a few things thrown at me. All the physical violence died out around the laundry incident, though. Now we’re using psychological warfare.”

“Laundry incident?” Hughie said at the same time that Frenchie said, “Psychological warfare?”

“Don’t ask.” Was your response to both. You’d avoid revisiting the laundry incident in your mind for the rest of your life if you could help it, and the actual practice of your warfare was more childish than you’d like to admit.

“Well, as lovely as a reunion this has been, we need to talk to you both. Where’s the cunt, anyway?" Butcher craned his neck to look down the hall.

“Probably moping around in his room.” You shrugged. “Let’s talk in the living room, standing at the door is weird.”

While the living room hadn’t taken even close to as much damage as the kitchen, it had not escaped you and Soldier Boy’s sparring unscathed. Books provided by the CIA, which were mostly stereotypical classics, had been upended from their shelves and strewn across the floor. The TV was still intact, as was the sofa, but the former was stuck on PBS, and the latter was, at this point, compromised of 70% trash.

“Holy shit,” Hughie muttered as he stepped over a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You can’t plan on living like this the whole time?”

“Well, if America’s number one man-baby would stop moaning and bitching about his glory days, then maybe, yeah.”

Annie gave you a concerned look. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll castrate him.” Though the threat had now been made sixteen times, it never satisfied you less to say it.

“I’ve told you, Sunshine, if you did that, you would only be hurting yourself.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained over you with tense gazes. You turned to find Soldier Boy almost directly behind you. “I’ve told you, by definition, I’d only be hurting you.”

He gave a mocking pout. “Wouldn’t that plague your perfect little conscious?”

“I’d live.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt.”

“Prude.”

“Manwhore.”

“Whiny Brat.”

“Waste of space.”

“Waste of good pussy.”

“Waste of government money.”

“Waste of Compound V.”

“Pathetic, assfaced Dickwad.”

“Stuck up, pretentious Ice Queen.”

“Geriatric, entitled, blue-balled G.I. Joe Fuckdoll”

The room had practically vanished around you as you and Soldier Boy fell into your now well-tread path of insults. Your blood was burning with that feeling, aching to burst across the room as both of you glared hard enough to, fingers crossed, kill the other.

“Jesus Christ,” Hughie said, breaking you out of your own spell.

“What are they doing here?” Soilder Boy asked, somehow having only just clocked their presence. “Do I finally get to do my job and leave?”

“No,” Annie answered. “We have no way of knowing how long you’ll be here at this point.”

“That’s what I said,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to your team.

“Yeah,” Soldier Boy said at full volume. “And I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Will you get off my ass about it now?”

“I think you like me on your ass, Sunshine. My offer never leaves the table.”

“Cunt.”

“Bitch.”

“Helpless man-child.”

“Prissy tease.”

“Glorified propaganda poster-“

“No,” Annie cut it. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Party pooper,” Butcher grumbled. “I was hoping they’d kill each other this time. Then we could just go home.”

“Well, did you at least bring me drugs?” Soldier Boy seemed to search the room, as if a pile of weed and coke would miraculously appear on the floor amongst the mess of wrappers and fluid-filled paper towels.

“We’re not buying you drugs with government money.” Annie said, giving you a look of apology. “As I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Many times,” you affirm under your breath. You’d had to hide the glue on day five, which had let to the toilet paper incident on day six. A day had not passed since where you didn’t catch him trying to turn a new household object into something to snort.

“I thought weed was fucking legal now.” Soldier Boy glared at you, as if you were personally responsible for the CIA not buying him blunts. “It’s a free fucking country. I should be able to smoke whenever I damn please.”

“Porn is legal,” you reply. “Doesn’t mean the federal government is going to bring you some.”

“If they brought me porn and weed, I’d be far more open to whatever shit you want from me.” He winked at you.

“We gave you that last time,” Hughie pointed out, shifting nervously. “It barely helped.”

“Will you be a good little supe if we come back with porn and weed? Because we can go and-“

“No, we need to do this now.” Annie spoke over Butcher, and you noticed a line of worry on her forehead, along with Hughie’s nervous fidgeting. Though Butcher didn’t seem plagued by an anxious tell, he relented to Annie faster than you’d ever seen, and alarm bells went off in your head.

“Annie,” you bit the bullet, asking softly. “What is the ‘this’ you need us for?”

She gave you an apologetic look. “Trial run.”

“Trial run?”

“We’re giving you a test, Love.” Butcher said with a smirk. “See if your little experiment is even viable. Maybe take out a player in the process. All depends on if you and him,” he jerked his head to Soldier Boy. “Do your jobs right.”

“I don’t need your little ‘test’ to know if I can do my job.” Soldier Boy snapped.

“Last time you failed,” Hughie muttered.

Frenchie nodded in agreement. “In a spectacular manner, yes.”

“Because that bitch and that pussy stopped me.” An angry scowl was thrown at Annie and Butcher, who returned it and grinned widely back respectively.

“You were going to kill a kid,” Annie said coldly.

“He shouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

“The line of fire? Do you hear yourself? Do you really care about others so little that-“

“I’d do it again,” he snapped back, unbothered by Annie’s disgust. “You don’t get to ask me for help and get mad when I do.”

You gave Butcher a pointed look. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

Though all you got in response was a grunt from Butcher, Soldier Boy’s eyes shot to you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You returned his glare, steeling your own eyes to match his interrogating gaze. “We’re removing the ‘kill a kid’ option from your choices. You want to know why we’re stuck here? Because you fucked it last time, and we won’t let you fuck up again.”

“You won’t let me?” He sneered, leering at you coldly. “You don’t let me do anything, Sunshine.”

If the “Sunshine” thing continued to stick, you might have to throw yourself off a roof. But you didn’t flinch, just tilting your head mockingly. “You wouldn’t need a shock collar if you hadn’t bit the hand.”

“I wouldn’t bite the hand if it hadn’t tried to kill me.”

“Nobody tried to kill you, Mate.” Butcher interjected. Soldier Boy’s anger switched back to him with fists curling at his side, but Butcher kept talking with a bored drawl. “You shouldn’t have bloody fucked up.”

“And, like I said,” you shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”

“If I see the shot, I’ll take it. Whether you like it or not.”

Looking into his eyes, you believed him. No doubt fogged your brain that, given the opportunity, Soldier Boy wouldn’t hesitate to take out Ryan Butcher with Homelander. Part of you, the angry and bitter part still trapped underground, understood that. But you’d see Ryan once, from afar, and he had looked so young. You didn’t have to imagine his fear or touch him to understand what it was like. For your life to change abruptly and without reason, to have to sprint to keep up with your new one. Soldier Boy had volunteered for this life. Ryan hadn’t. You hadn’t.

So, holding Soldier Boy’s gaze, you made your voice clear and steady. “You don’t get to take the shot until it’s clear. Ryan will be out of the picture before you even see Homelander.” You turned to Annie. “What’s the test?”

“Head-popper.” Butcher answered for Annie with an odd look at you. His voice carried the usual light and oddly joyful tone he used when discussing murdering supes, but his eyes on yours were quieter, with less manic vengeance than you’d seen before. If you didn’t know better, you’d call them thankful.

“Head-popper?”

Hughie jumped in at your confused frown. “Neuman.”

“Oh,” you paused, looking over Hughie’s worried face. “We’re going after Neuman?”

“Who the fuck is Neuman?” Soldier Boy asked with a reluctant grumble. You had picked up on his consistent annoyance with new things after you’d found him screaming at the microwave three days ago, and not knowing new people didn’t seem to be any different.

“She’s a supe who can pop people’s heads like balloons.” Frenchie gestured in imitation for effect. “It’s disgusting.”

“And she’s the VP elect, which would put an ally of Homelander in the White House, one step from the Oval Office.” Annie said pointedly, giving Frenchie a look. You offered him a small smile over her head. Though the demonstration hadn’t been helpful, watching his hands fly around mimicking Neuman’s powers was undeniably entertaining.

“She's dangerous,” Hughie added. “But she’s not a bad person. We don’t want to kill her, just remove her powers.”

“What do we need her for then?” You didn’t have to look to know Soldier Boy’s accusation was directed at you. You bit your tongue, trying to ignore the way the words seeped into your skin.

Because he’s right. A cruel whisper said into your ear, and the itch on your skin began to feel like a rash. You were saved from the plague of your thoughts—the urgent feeling to fall prompted by almost nothing—by Butcher.

“If you think you’re going anywhere without her, Governor, you’d better get used to being wrong. She’s there for the same reason she’s here. So you don’t go postal.”

Soldier Boy gave you an unreadable look as the rush of your heart in your chest slowed from Butcher’s words. You turned away from him, but you could almost feel his eyes through your skull as you looked at Butcher with a blank face.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, praying it would be simple, with as few people as possible around and, ideally, in the middle of a desert filled exclusively with fire extinguishers.

“MM and Kimiko are doing recon on one of Bob Singer’s rallies. Frenchie will create a distraction for the secret service, and Neuman’s personal detail is going to suddenly disappear-“

“Disappear?” You interrupted Butcher with raised eyebrows.

“Keep your panties on, they’ve been bribed. Once she’s isolated, Soldier Boy’ll blast her, and we can all go home confident in your little gambit.”

You hesitated, trying to imagine the last political rally you’d seen. Group of people in tight groups, electrical wiring for microphones, speakers, and lights. Gates and closed doors, hallways leading out onto streets. “How are we going to isolate her?”

“Me and Butcher will work on that,” Annie said, almost reaching for you with a reassuring pat, but thinking better and jerking her arm back. She opened her mouth, an apology certainly on her, but you raised your hand to cut her off.

“How long until we leave?” You asked. Maybe they’d say ‘three hours’ and you’d get to talk to someone who didn’t think swing music was sonically viable for a bit.

Hughie checked his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Ago?” Your eyes widened.

He gave you a sheepish look. “We thought it would take less time to get you.” He turned to Soldier Boy. “Your suit’s in the van. I can bring it out-“

“I can change on the way.” Soldier Boy grumbled, ignoring Hughie’s start of sputtering protests. “Let’s get this over with.”

———-

Much to his annoyance, they had forgotten Ben’s shield, and nobody would let him change in the van. He tried several times, only to be met by a chorus of groans, shouting, and swearing. He had listened to their complaints only because she had started giving him a look he recognized as a flag for a storm of uncontrolled fire. No hot disgust or sparks of rage, only a cold and quiet, almost glassy-eyed stare. Her heart steady but her breathing too fucking controlled to be natural, measured so equally that it sounded mechanical. So, because he figured she would only become more bitchy to live with if she incinerated her alleged “friends”, Ben stopped trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Once he did, the van fell insufferably silent. The edged pleasantries and conversation he’d overheard during Butcher and his band of Assholes arrival had ceased save for tense questions and hushed conversations. Ben didn’t fail to notice all the spineless avoidance and careful words directed at them both. She, even after the foggy look faded, remained curled into a corner, trading small and toothless smiles with her team. More timid than he’d seen her before, almost like a scolded child as she looked around the van nervously. Her eyes watched the shadows as though Homelander himself might jump from them, the chew of her lip giving Ben a headache. The only words she spoke were a jab at Ben when he’d said something about political rallies post-election being fucking pathetic—giving him a lecture about American politics now heavily depending on something called “going viral”—only to fall silent once more after. Her team looked at her like a glass bomb, as if she was a delicate statue looming over their heads and not the vulgar, violent woman who slept down the hall from him. That woman infuriated him, testing his patience every time she opened her mouth, but this paranoid, skittish pussy of a girl was so much worse. So when the van halted and Butcher’s team began to filter out, he called her name. When she ignored him, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“What the fuck!” She pulled herself out of his grip in a second, staring at him with anger. She glanced down at her arms, a look he didn’t understand crossing her face, before returning her attention to him. “Do not touch me.”

“I barely touched you,” he glowered, annoyance quickly flooding him. He had only brushed skin, with a light grip she had thrown off, there was no need to be so dramatic. “When I touch you for real, you’ll fucking know, Sunshine. And you’ll fucking beg for it. I needed to make you listen, you were fucking ignoring me.”

Her brows knit, and he heard the chew of her teeth on her tongue. “I’m not going to beg for anything, and I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“I said your name, and you kept fucking walking.”

“I didn’t hear you.” She snapped, but didn’t relent. “Speak up next time.”

She knew just as well as Ben did that they were both far from quiet, pussy-voiced fuckers. And while he definitely hadn’t yelled for her attention, it shouldn’t have fucking mattered. He’d seen her pick up his grumbled insults and mocking comments just fine over the past two weeks. “Bitch.”

“What do you want?” She asked with a sigh, ignoring his jab and looking at him as if he exhausted her just by breathing. “We have to go, and you still need to change.”

“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.” He said, not hiding the contempt from his voice. He wasn’t going to skirt around his thoughts, lining them gently to help her fucking feelings.

Her body tensed, her limbs looking as if they’d locked into place. “Like what?” Ben heard her swallow as she answered, her voice not lost enough to make her sound clueless to his words.

“Like you’re a child they have to coddle. A problem they have to deal with.”

She stared at him, her glassy-eyes returning. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, cunt-face.”

Ben snorted. “They don’t treat you like the bitch you are. They always use that sweet, pussy voice, like they’re talking to a fucking puppy, when they say something to you. They’re always all fucking pouty when they look at you, pussyfooting around so they don’t make you sad.” He gave her a mocking grin, hoping the next words landed like a bullet. “They treat you like me.”

It had clearly worked, as the van had grown hot, and her eyes were clearing as her heart began to pick up. Ben felt an odd feeling cover him as he heard it, almost familiar and sparking pride in his chest. She wasn’t a jittery shell anymore, she was going to try and kill him. It made his grin grow genuine, and the van grew only more heated, the air waving around them.

Her mouth opened, and Ben hoped whatever came out of it would be vile and crude.

“Hey!” She turned her head and clenched her jaw as someone called her name from outside, the van rattling as a fist banged against it. “We need to go!”

The door opened to reveal the Cocksucker, whose face grew quickly red, a bead of sweat falling from his hairline, as he was blasted with a quickly dying wave of heat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning from Ben as the heat dropped further. “Coming.”

Cocksucker gave her a worried look, his gaze flying quickly to Ben, but just nodded and stood aside for her to move past.

As the door closed and Ben began to change, he listened for their soft, tense words.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” Cocksucker’s voice was nervous and gentle, like being suffocated by one of those fucking fluffy blankets Ben had seen in the empty bedroom of the safe house.

“No, he just grabbed me to talk. And you don’t have to keep asking me that. I’m fine, and it’s not as helpful as you think it is.” Ben frowned at her voice, the malice from it drained entirely in only a few seconds, replaced with only a tired hollowness.

“Grabbed you?! Like, he touched you?”

Having anticipated Cocksucker being more interested in the “talk” part of her sentence, or the shit that sounded like it was about feelings, Ben's brain rattled over Cocksucker’s word, his tone of panic looping in Ben’s head. He spoke of Ben’s touch as though it were a plague, and not something many people would kill to feel. Ben almost burst out of the van to say just that, but froze when he heard her answer.

“It was fast, I didn’t feel much. Even if I did, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go the rest of my life without touching people.” Her voice had a finality to it, and Ben could almost picture her downturned lips and wrinkled brow.

“You touch us when you heal us.” Even Cocksucker’s voice didn’t sound sure of his response.

“It’s not the same, and you know that.”

There was a momentary stall in their words, and Ben took the opportunity to emerge, securing his belt as he walked to the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see, but Cocksucker looking pathetically around, anywhere but the woman as she curved into herself, wasn’t it. She held a white-knuckle grip on the sleeves of her jacket, her thumb running up and down in small movements. They both turned to him as the door banged open, and Ben caught the empty look behind her eyes before her indifference slipped back into place.

“Did you hurry me just to sit around like pussies, or are we going to start fucking moving?” He asked, the air feeling too uncomfortable to sit in.

Cocksucker blinked, glancing at his watch. “We have a few minutes until they arrive, but I guess it can’t hurt to be vigilant-“

“Arrive?” The woman’s eyes widened, and Ben saw smoke curl from her hold on her jacket. “They’re coming here?”

Cocksucker nodded. “It’s a high-security escape exit-“

“It’s a fucking street, Hughie.”

“That’s used as a high-security escape exit.” After a moment of searching the area, Cocksucker pointed a few yards down, at a large door set against brick. “Neuman will come right out of there, and her guards will close her out here, where Soldier Boy will blast her.” He paused, glancing at Ben, before looking back at the door and taking small, cowardly steps away from his spot between them.

“It’s a public area, anyone could walk past! What the fuck were you thinking?!” Her voice was hushed and agitated, and Ben had never seen her face lose color at that speed before, had never heard her heart stutter and jump as if trying to escape her body.

“It’ll be fine,” Cocksucker’s voice wavered, giving them both a nervous look. “It should be fine. MM said it would be fine.”

“You heard him, Sunshine,” Ben gave her a wink, adding a half-cocked smile when she didn’t even return him with a dirty look. “MM said it would be fine. And have some fucking faith in me, I’m not a fucking monster. I won’t blast any running pussies except for this head-popper broad.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.” Her tone wasn’t quite the vicious mockery he was used to, but it was better than the apathetic, empty voice she’d been using. She was rolling on the balls of her feet, speaking without looking at him, her eyes moving restlessly from the door to the end of the street. “And I don’t believe you.”

Ben just shrugged, allowing the silence to hang. The wind was picking up, whistling through the chill of winter air, making the heat around them, emitting from both Ben and the woman, all the more obvious. Despite the biting cold, Cocksucker had taken off his stupid puffy jacket, even stepping back further from where they stood, with Ben in the center of the street and the woman off to the left. Despite her slowly stepping further and further back, her back now almost against the wall, Ben could feel her watching him, hear her heart continue its new and erratic beat.

“How long now, Hughie?” Her voice was raised to carry over the wind, though it hadn’t lost that stupid fucking weakness. Cocksucker, thank fuck, didn’t get a chance to respond with pathetically comforting words, as only one skipping heartbeat after she spoke a shrill fire alarm sounded.

“I’m assuming that’s your stupid French fuck's plan?” Ben asked dryly. “Start a fucking fire? I thought you pussies were all about minimal damage.”

“He probably just pulled the alarm.” The Cocksucker’s answer lacked any confident assurance. “And I think we’re just against needless murder.”

Ben almost started to rant about their so-called needless murder being a mighty high horse for a group of people who had manipulated him just as much as Vought, who’d been willing to help him kill all those backstabbing pussies from Payback so he’d help them. About how their stupid fucking moral purity complex seemed to adjust perfectly to aid them, and maybe he wasn’t a fucking angel, but he was strong and powerful—something they fucking needed—man, and he wasn’t a pussyfaced liar about what he was, what he did. The words died on his tongue, though, as hundreds of frenzied footsteps reached his ears.

“Fuck!” he growled, turning around and pointing at Cocksucker. “You fucking pussy.”

Cocksucker gave him an idiotically confused stare. “Dude, uncalled for.”

“She,” Ben pointed to the woman, whose heart was beating impossibly fast and looking on with a bloodless face. “Was fucking right. This is a stupid plan, because unless your head-popper walks like a human centipede, it’s not going to be just her that I fucking hit when that door opens.”

Cocksucker only gaped at him like a fish as the footsteps grew louder, annoyingly unsure stutters escaping him, and just as Ben decided it might be good to slap the idiot out of his daze, the woman stepped forward.

“We need to move, Hughie. Now.” Her voice wasn’t steady, her whole body was tensed and hyper, but it held a determination Ben almost admired. “We can’t be here.”

“He- he could be fucking lying, or wrong-“

“That’s not a risk we can afford to take.” She cut off Cocksucker’s doubts, and Ben found himself surprised at her defense of him, even if it could barely be called that. Her hands were smoking once more, but she had firmly planted herself in the middle of the road, eyes turning sharply to Ben. “If people see you, any element of surprise over Homelander would be lost. We need to fucking move, you need to get in the fucking van now-“

The door banged open, and the streets flooded as hoards of people in star and stripe-themed outfits flooded the road. Everything became so loud, and that rapt, snapping sound in Ben’s head started to spread through him, spurring the drum in his chest. They were finding rhythm so fast, everything fading as Ben tried to slow it. But there were screams and shouts, and everything was getting further and further away from him while carving into him all the same, so though Ben could hear the sounds of metal clanging and shouts of his supe name, he couldn’t think anything past the beat beat beat, until he lost it all at once.

As his vision grew clear with his head, Ben expected to see shattered bodies and bloody walls. Instead, all he saw was the woman and fire. Her face was flushed red, her eyes crazed, and her clothes had become charred with holes as the fire surged from her into a barrier, cutting them off from the crowd. Cocksucker was yelling her name, urging them both to return to the van and leave, but as Ben moved, he glanced back to see the woman frozen and heard her heart as if it were his own. The wall was growing wider and shooting high, Cocksucker wouldn’t shut the fuck up about moving, but her eyes had squeezed shut, unresponsive to anything but the growing flames.

“We need to fucking go, now!” Ben turned to see a large man he vaguely recognized barreling down their side of the street, his face twisted in anger. Butcher, Starlight, a small woman he remembered fighting, and that French prick followed him, all loading into the van as the large man stopped beside Cocksucker.

“I told you he’d fucking blow it,” the man said, giving Ben a disgusted look, so flawlessly revolted Ben wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fucking practiced in the mirror.

“Hey, I didn’t fucking blow it, you pussy-“

“You said that Neuman would come out of here, that it would just be her!” Cocksucker, much to Ben’s shock, cut him with a high voice and a wave at the wall of fire. “That’s way more than just her! Is she even there?!”

“No,” the man said gruffly. “Neuman saw Butcher and figured out something was up. She’s long gone.”

“Fuck!” Cocksucker yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Oi, we can go over how MM fucked up later,” Butcher leaned out from the van. “We need to go before she sends Homelander.”

“How I fucked up? You’re the one who disobeyed me and blew our cover-“

“What’s wrong with Madame Anomaly?” The French Prick appeared at Butcher's side.

Cocksucker glanced at the woman, calling her name before turning to the large man Butcher had called MM. “She absorbed Soldier Boy’s blast. I think it got her stuck.”

“We don’t have time for this. Get Soldier Boy in the van, I’ll take care of the Anomaly.” MM repeated the French Prick’s words, and Ben realized they were, for the first time, using the woman’s supe name.

“You heard him, Gov. Get in the bloody van.” Butcher’s words were clearly directed at Ben, but as he climbed into the van Ben saw Butcher’s attention locked on the woman.

MM had moved closer to the woman, a move Ben deemed more fucking stupid than brave. If she had “absorbed his blast,” as Cocksucker said, he wouldn’t recommend any non-supe be anywhere near her. MM seemed to realize this himself at the last possible second, taking a pathetic, stumbling step back with a pause. He and Cocksucker exchanged a look, something passing between them that Ben didn’t understand, before Cocksucker leaned down to grab a pebble from the road. Ben watched as he shakily shook out his arms, wound up, and tossed the pebble at the woman.

It was a terrible fucking idea, Ben didn’t have to be Einstein to know that, but the chain reaction that played out still managed to go worse than he might have guessed.

The woman whirled around, her eyes blazing, with a roar sounding from her chest. Fire shot from the wall directly at Cocksucker. In almost slow motion, Ben watched her face become painted with horror as she recognized her target, a different, fearful sound leaving her. She reached an arm out, her heart seeming to falter, and barely redirected the flames before they hit Cocksucker in the chest. The blaze just grazed Cocksucker’s arm, passed the van clear of anyone else, and hit the building with a boom.

The moment the bricks caught fire and the ground began to shake as the building crumbled, the woman's wall of fire fell. The woman herself remained upright, but only barely as MM shouted her name and she started to stumble to the van. Cocksucker was hauled in by Starlight and the French Prick, the former fussing over his burnt arm—Ben had seen worse at Herogasm and nobody whined about it—and Cocksucker waved her off. The woman pulled herself in, ignoring Butcher’s outstretched hand, and the door closed behind her. MM appeared in the driver’s seat, and as the engine started everyone fell into a heavy-breathed silence.

Through the ride, Ben watched the woman open and close her mouth a million times, returned to her fetal position in the corner but watching Cocksucker with a strained face. Her hands tapped against her still-smoking jacket, reaching out hesitantly before she pulled them back into herself. No words were spoken, not even the anxious whispers of the ride there. Ben felt relief as the van stopped, MM climbing out and opening the doors to reveal the exterior of the safe house, grateful for any excuse to leave these stupid, sniffing pussies to wallow in their failure.

MM led Ben and the woman to the doors, opened them by leaning oddly at the doorbell, and gestured for them to walk through. The man followed them in, shutting the doors behind him with a rough push.

“If we failed the test, I am not doing that fucking shit again.” Ben grumbled as MM turned around from the now-shut entrance.

“Butcher told me about the fucking mess you and him made in here.” MM ignored Ben entirely, speaking to the woman as if he wasn’t even there. “A team cleaned it up while you were gone, and Mallory will send more groceries tomorrow night. I saw a picture, it was fucking gross. I’m only doing it once, because I don’t want a new disease to develop in here. You’re an adult, you should take care of this place by your goddamn self.”

The woman looked at her feet, humming a small acknowledgment. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Is Hughie going to be okay?”

MM sighed. “The kid will live. I’ll look at him when we get back.”

“I could help-“

MM cut her off with her name. “He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

She gave another nervous hum, and Ben jumped in.

“Can you answer my fucking question-“

“We’ll let you know what our next steps are after we talk to Mallory and Singer. This wasn’t good, but it’s not the end of the damn world.” Once again, MM ignored Ben. It was starting to feel personal. Before Ben could push further, MM reached a hand out to rest on the woman’s shoulder, right over a hole in her sleeve. Her head shot up with her heart, but the panic in her seemed to evaporate just as soon as it appeared. Her name was gentle as MM spoke it, eyes locked with hers. “You didn’t fuck up. You did your job.” She nodded slowly. “It’ll be fine.” With those last words, he exited the building, leaving Ben and the woman in the hall.

“What’s his fucking problem?” Ben grunted, half directed at the woman, half to just say it.

She gave him a flat look. “You killed his family.” Before he could come up with a clever response, honest or dodging the annoying feeling of guilt forming in his throat, the woman turned from him and walked away.

———-

You were so tired. Your bones ached, oddly cold in a way you hadn’t felt in a while, your skin crawled with feverish chills, and when you closed your eyes, you could see the flames graze Hughie and the building turn to dust. As MM’s lingering calm he’d offered you faded, all you felt was tired. Worthless. A liability. You had fucked up, just as much as Soldier Boy. Maybe more so, because he had PTSD, even if he would deny being a “hung-up pussy”. He had lost control because he’d been tortured by Russians, you’d almost killed your friend and definitely destroyed a rec center because you’d been startled. You just wanted to sleep, to deal with the inevitable fight about groceries in the morning, running on more than quickly expiring adrenaline and caffeine pills stuck in your throat.

You made it to your room, changing into one of the pajama sets folded in your drawers, hoping someone mentioned that the allegedly fire-proof wardrobe you’d been given apparently wasn’t strong enough for the full force of your fire combined with Soldier Boy’s nuclear explosions. A shame, you’d liked the pants you’d chosen for the mission. You’d live without the jacket, though. You’d hardly pulled the shirt over your head when the door ripped open, a still suit-clad Soldier Boy standing at your door.

“What fucking happened to you?” His question was blunt and confusing as he entered your room, remaining near the door but over the threshold.

Your body was too heavy to fight with him right now. There was no tense prickling on the bridge of your nose, only the throbbing stab of a headache. “Go away, Soldier Boy.”

“All of you have a fucking thing. A weird, sad reason to whine around and pretend you’re better than me.” He didn’t budge, but rather leaned forward. “What’s yours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You said I killed MM’s family. Butcher’s always pussying around about Homelander stealing his girl. Cocksucker mentioned something about that fast asshole doing something as well. I’m not sure what the French Prick bitches about, but I’m sure it’s something.”

“First of all, you did kill MM’s family.” You really don’t want to do this right now, but maybe he’ll give up and fuck off. A fruitless wish, a small part of you knows, but you have nothing left to push back with. “And Homelander didn’t ‘steal Butcher’s wife’, he raped her.”

“Right.” Soldier Boy watched you, his expression unreadable in the shadowy room. “Those are all fucking things. So tell me what yours is.”

“I don’t have one,” even as you speak the insistence, it sounded fake and hollow.

He takes another step forward. “Yes, you do. I saw how you froze, nobody without a thing locks up like that. I heard Cocksucker ask you if I ‘hurt you’. Just for the record, Sunshine, I may not be a Boy Scout, but I’m no fucking rapist.”

“You’ve tried to sleep with me thirty-three times.”

“And I’ll blow your mind when you realize how much you’d love it, no sooner. What’s your fucking thing.”

You stare at him, the intensity in his voice throwing you off. He’s insistent, comfortable in your room but standing at his full height, attention fixed entirely on you. That impression of dissection has returned—the feeling as if he’s trying to pick you apart for him to play with. “Why do you even care?”

“Because maybe if you tell me, I can kill what supe fucked up your pretty little head and you’ll be less of a bitch.”

You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. “What a selfish fucking cunt reason.”

He shrugged in something that could’ve been an agreement. “Maybe.” He falls silent, but doesn't leave.

You collapse to sit on the edge of your bed, staring ahead as you rub your temple. “Please just go.”

“No.”

You look at him, not caring if he sees the desperation in your eyes. “Can this not wait six hours for the morning?”

“No.”

“Do you know any words but no?” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t miss his annoyed humph. “Oh, just fucking tell me.”

“No.” It was your turn to snap. Your exhaustion was becoming lined with bitter childishness, and you didn’t care enough to try and suppress your urge to sneer at him.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an idiotic, self-absorbed, sadist asshat who wouldn’t know empathy if it started sucking his dick.” You mocked.

He grinned. “Ok, now name my bad qualities.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll start guessing,” he took another step forward, now almost directly before you. “Did that red-headed lesbian steal your puppy?

You frowned up at him. “Maeve was bisexual.”

“Did Noir take credit for a college project?” He ignored your comment, leaning down with a mocking smirk.

“Trust me, I got all my dues in college.”

“Did that gay-for-Jesus blond steal your boyfriend? Did the fast asshole that stole Cocksucker’s girl break up with you? Did water-boy eat your goldfish?”

“I’ve never met Ezekiel, A-Train actually murdered Hughie’s girlfriend, and The Deep famously doesn’t eat seafood, he fucks it. But by all means, keep going.”

Soldier Boy blinked. “He fucks it?”

“Yep. It’s gross.” You shrug. “Are you done?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You give a toothless smile. “Not until you get all your guesses out.”

“Oh?” There was unquestionable surprise in his voice at your relent, only making your fake cheer grow and your immature anger fully overtake you.

“I want you to feel like a real fucking asshole when I tell you.”

His face split open with a grin. “Well then, did the Twins kick you out of Herogasm? Did that bitch, Crimson Countess, overshadow your big debut? Did a Z-lister get more attention than you from the Vought pussies?”

You just raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms as Soldier Boy continued until the list of supes ran dry. As the last jeer left his mouth, he mirrored your face of cold amusement.

“Well?”

You leaned back, watching him closely as you spoke. “Homelander kidnapped me, kept me in a dungeon, raped me in an attempt to make more mini-Homelanders, and, after you returned, started experimenting on me to try and recreate the V used on you.”

A small shock rushed through you after you spoke. You hadn’t said any of that out loud, not fully, since you’d escaped. You danced around it with Butcher and his team, with Mallory and the CIA leaders, always picking and choosing parts to omit so nobody would look at you with pity and fear. It hadn’t worked, they did anyway, but there had still been control over it. Up until this moment, nobody had known why Homelander had done all those things to you. Everyone had seemed happy to chalk it up to him being a fucking psychopath, not anything deeper. Certainly not attempting to create a small army of additional Ryan Butchers. Small things were still yours, flashes of hunger and warped sounds remaining in your head, but everything else you had just told him.

Why did you do that? A voice hissed as the high from your petulance faded. Why did you let him win? Why did you give him a weapon to use that could hurt you?

But looking at him, he didn’t appear to be a portait of self-satisfaction and heartless triumph. He was staring at you, scanning you as though the scars Homelander left would be visible on your bare legs and arms. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t weak or coddling, but angry.

“He kept you locked up?”

You nod, part of you getting ready to fight him over something.

“He hurt you? To try and recreate me?” Your repeated nodding only seemed to inflate whatever was happening. “Did it hurt?”

Your arms and face started at that, an uncertain feeling spreading through you. There had been no reverent tone as Soldier Boy had asked the last question, no sadistic for affirmation. But you didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Why he even wanted to know. But an involuntarily honest answer escaped you. “Yes.”

He stared at you for another second before he opened his mouth, only to close it without making any sound. Abruptly, he whipped around and began to leave, giving you only one more indecipherable look as he closed the door behind him, leaving you on the edge of your bed, alone in your room.

You lay down slowly, half expecting him to storm back in at any moment, but minutes passed, quickly turning into a half hour, and your body sat at the edge of collapse once more. Soon it was unbearable, and you lay down, your racing mind being forced to a halt as sleep pulled you under.

Your sleep, as had been the case for a while now, was haunted by nightmares of blue eyes and yellow, fluorescent lights. You woke up in a cold sweat, and took a long, needlessly warm shower before forcing yourself to leave your room around 9:30. Despite your lingering fatigue, no part of you wasn’t restless as you walked down the stairs. Your body tense and ready to run, your head spinning with hypotheticals and lining up words you may need—that feeling under your skin creeping up your spine and fluttering in your gut. But Soldier Boy wasn’t in the living room or the hall. You poked your head in the dining room, hoping to avoid the minefield of the kitchen, but it was empty, the plastic chandelier lights off, the table occupied only by a vase of wilted flowers. You moved to the kitchen, ringing growing in your ears, but he wasn’t there. You turned to walk away, continue your search, but double-back as it hit you.

Nothing was in the kitchen. It was empty. Of Soldier Boy, and of the groceries MM said would be delivered.

You wandered in slowly, watching the counters as if they might start to glitch and flicker, revealing hidden produce and dirty dishes. But, leaning over the sink, there was a single plate, soaking in water that was dotted with crumbs. Slowly, you moved to the refrigerator, slowly opening it as you glanced around the room. Your eyes widened at the sight inside. Milk, drinks, and produce had been placed inside, disorganized and haphazardly. There was a jar of mayonnaise in the fresh drawer, along with a box of pasta on a side shelf, but the fridge was full. You moved quickly to the pantry, which had been sorted in a similar fashion, but filled. And when you opened the last cabinet, you saw a piece of paper stuck under a jar of peanut butter.

I know I did a shit job. Clean up if it bothers you, but don't bitch to me about it. And tell Mallory to get smooth peanut butter next time, or I’m not doing anything for her but killing Homelander - Ben

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