#enflixx

[enflixx]

back at stanford - jake sim

summary: Jake visits California for Thanksgiving, hoping to reconnect, but he quickly feels like an outsider in your new life. Tensions rise as jealousy and distance threaten your relationship, leading to a painful break and Jake's return to Melbourne. Despite everything, Jake clings to the hope of a future together, unable to let go of the dreams you guys once shared.

note: this is a part 2 to letters from stanford, but could be read alone!

genre: angst

warning(s): none!

word count: 3189

Jake lay sprawled on his bed, the faint hum of the Melbourne cityscape just outside his window. His thumb lazily scrolled through his camera roll, but his mind wasn’t really there. His classes were fine nothing extraordinary. His roommates were loud, his friends were distant, and Melbourne felt smaller every day without you.

He paused on a screenshot, a familiar apartment listingl, the one with the wide kitchen and dusty morning light spilling in through the windows. He had saved it months ago, back when everything still felt possible. He stared at the photo for a long time, the weight of the silence in his room pressing down on him.

He missed you. More than he could put into words. It wasn't just the late-night phone calls or the way your laugh had a way of filling the room. It was the way you fit into his world so perfectly. And now you were across the world, living a life he wasn’t a part of.

His thumb hovered over the "delete" button, like if he deleted it, he could delete the ache in his chest.

Instead, he clicked out of the gallery and opened his browser. Typed in "flights from Melbourne to Los Angeles."

Maybe it was time. Maybe he needed to see you. Even just for a few days.

A few seconds later, he was texting you.

Jake [11:02]: thinking of flying out for thanksgiving. worth it?

You were walking back from class, the California sun streaking gold through the palm trees. Your tote bag was heavy with textbooks, and you were sipping an overpriced smoothie that Ni-Ki swore by. You read Jake’s message and stopped walking.

Your heart did a tiny somersault.

You[11:04]: yes.100%. i miss you so much.

And that was all it took. Twenty minutes later, Jake had a confirmation email sitting in his inbox.

The Melbourne airport smelled like coffee and exhaustion. Jake pulled his hoodie tighter around his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stared at the departures screen. He hated the empty feeling that came with airports. It wasn’t the same as when you were with him. It felt colder now, emptier.

His mind wandered back to when you had first left, when he stood in the same terminal, watching you disappear through security with a hollow feeling in his chest. You had promised to call as soon as you landed, but promises didn’t fill the silence. That was a truth he had learned the hard way.

He moved through check-in, grabbed his boarding pass, and shuffled to the security line. The usual sounds of the airport were distant, the buzz of announcements echoing in the background, but everything felt muted. He sighed as he stepped into line. The idea of returning to Los Angeles brought a flicker of hope, but the pit in his stomach refused to go away.

Once through security, he grabbed a seat near the gate, glancing at the board above him. His flight wasn’t for another hour. He leaned back, pulling out his phone. Without thinking, his fingers quickly typed out a message to you.

Jake: miss you. Can’t wait to see you soon.

He hit send, staring at the words for a moment before dropping his head back to the seat. He hated how much he missed you. Every second without you felt like a small eternity, but the idea of seeing you again, the real you, the you he had known so well made it worth it.

The minutes passed in a blur, and he found himself staring at the plane's gate, thinking about everything that had changed since you’d left. He couldn’t quite picture how you had adapted to this new life of yours, your friends, your classes, your new routines. He wondered if there was a version of you now that no longer needed him, that didn’t even remember what it was like before California had become your world.

He glanced at his phone again, waiting for your reply, but the thought of how little he knew about your life there made the ache in his chest deepen.

“Jake!”

You spotted him the second he emerged from the arrivals gate, your body breaking into a run. Your heart fluttered as you approached, and when you wrapped your arms around his torso, it felt like all the months apart fell away. He squeezed you back so tightly your feet left the ground.

“You smell like a plane,” you joked, muffled into his hoodie.

He laughed into your hair, his voice warm and familiar. “You smell like sunscreen and… is that coconut?”

“California does something to a girl,” you teased, pulling away and stepping back to look at him, smiling.

Before he could reply, a voice from behind you called out, "Yo! You're the Aussie boyfriend, right?"

You turned to see Ni-Ki grinning, walking over with a spring in his step. His curly hair bounced as he moved, and his wide smile made it clear he was just as excited about the reunion as you.

"That's me," Jake said, raising an eyebrow, clearly unsure of what to expect.

Ni-Ki offered him a fist bump, his energy infectious. “I’m Ni-Ki. Sorry if we’re late. We were just jamming out to ‘Teenage Dream’—you know, the usual.” He shot you a playful look, and you both laughed.

Jake blinked, still processing the introduction. "Uh, yeah. Jake," he said, offering a handshake, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of energy that was Ni-Ki.

You grinned and gestured toward the parking garage. “You’re driving, right?”

Ni-Ki tossed you the keys with a grin. “Actually, I’ve got it. You two relax.”

Ni-Ki slid into the driver’s seat and connected his phone to the aux cord. Soon enough, the car was filled with the unmistakable beat of a Katy Perry hit.

"Teenage dream," Ni-Ki sang along loudly, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm. “You remember this, right?”

You laughed and joined in, belting out the lyrics with him, the familiar song bringing back memories of simpler times. Jake, still adjusting to this new, fast-paced version of your life, sat quietly in the passenger seat, letting the wind whip through the car windows as the palm trees blurred by. He watched, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but there was a sinking feeling in his chest. You and Ni-Ki sounded like you had known each other forever. The ease with which you two laughed and sang along felt so natural, like you didn’t even need him.

He couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in this new world of yours.

“Does she always sing like this?” Jake asked, the quiet question directed at Ni-Ki.

Ni-Ki shrugged, unbothered. “Pretty much. She's got a killer voice, doesn’t she?”

You turned to Jake, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “You’ll get used to it,” you said, smiling softly at him.

Jake half-smiled, his gaze returning to the road. "Yeah, I’m sure I will."

Scene: The Awkward Ride

The conversation started out easy enough, with Ni-Ki bringing up a topic he’d been dying to talk about.

“So, Jake, what’s your favorite show? You into, like, superhero stuff?”

Jake glanced at him. “Uh… not really. I don’t watch a lot of TV. Mostly sports or, you know, whatever’s on when I’m not studying.”

Ni-Ki tilted his head, clearly trying to gauge if Jake was joking. “Wait, so you don’t watch, like, any of the big stuff? No Marvel?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve seen a few movies here and there, but not really my thing.”

There was an awkward pause. Ni-Ki shifted in the driver’s seat, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

You quickly stepped in. “Jake's more of a sports guy,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Oh right, basketball, yeah?” Ni-Ki asked. “How’s the season going? Are you guys winning?”

Jake hesitated. “We’re doing alright. Some tough games coming up, though.”

“You’re on the team at Melbourne, right? The university team?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Jake said, his tone polite but distant. He wasn’t used to talking about basketball with someone who didn’t know the team or the sport’s culture.

Another silence settled in, and Ni-Ki finally chuckled softly. “Well, anyway, welcome to LA. Tomorrow’s a pretty chill day—classes, lunch at the quad, study group in the afternoon. You’re welcome to tag along if you want.”

Jake glanced at you, surprised. “Yeah? I mean… if that’s cool with everyone.”

“Of course,” you said quickly. “It’ll be good for you to see what life here’s like.”

Ni-Ki nodded. “Just don’t judge us for drinking way too much iced coffee and complaining about professors all day.”

Jake smiled, a bit more genuinely now. “Sounds like a plan.”

Still, as the music picked back up and conversation drifted between you and Ni-Ki again, Jake sat back in the seat. Watching. Listening. Trying to understand how he fit into this new version of your life.

The dorm room smelled faintly like vanilla and something floral. Jake dropped his duffel bag by the door and scanned the space slowly. It was brighter than he expected, lit by string lights tucked around the ceiling and sunlight pouring through a small window above your desk. The room felt lived-in and warm, with textbooks stacked in organized chaos and throw pillows in soft pastels arranged across the bed.

Then he saw it.

Photos of the two of you: a polaroid at the beach, a blurry selfie from a concert, one of you hugging him at your high school graduation. It was stuck to your mirror with pink washi tape, slightly curled at the corners. Jake stepped forward and picked it up gently, his thumb brushing over your face in the picture.

“You kept this,” he said quietly.

You glanced up from where you were kicking off your shoes. “Of course I did.”

He nodded, holding the photo a moment longer before setting it back. “It’s weird seeing you here. I kept imagining this place, but…” he trailed off, eyes flicking across your wall of photos, then to your calendar filled with color-coded classes and post-it notes.

You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, your knee brushing his. “It’s been a lot,” you admitted. “Good, but… intense. The classes are harder than I thought. Everyone’s always going somewhere, doing something. It’s like, if you stop moving, you’ll fall behind.”

Jake nodded slowly. “You seem like you’ve settled in.”

You tilted your head. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it’s just… I don’t know. I guess I thought maybe it’d be harder. That you’d miss home more.”

You glanced down at your hands. “I do. I miss my room, my mom’s cooking, the quiet. I miss you.”

He looked at you then, really looked. His expression softened. “Melbourne’s not the same without you. I thought I’d adjust faster, but everything just feels off. My roommates are loud, and the city’s busy, but in a different way. It’s colder, lonelier. I’m doing the work, going to practice, but it’s like I’m floating.”

Your eyes searched his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He gave a weak shrug. “You seemed like you were doing great. And I didn’t want to make you feel guilty.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “I never asked for perfect. I just wanted honest.”

He squeezed your hand back, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want to admit how hard it was without you. Everything I looked forward to back home was with you. And now I’m waking up on the other side of the world, and nothing feels familiar.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I get it. I feel like I’m living two lives. One here, one back there… with you. And sometimes, I don’t know how to hold onto both.”

Jake nodded slowly, resting his cheek against your hair. “At least for now, we’re in the same place.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “We are.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of unspoken words, shared longing, and the comfort of just being close again.

For a moment, you both just breathed.

The next day, you gave Jake the grand tour. Or, at least, your version of it.

You started with the famous steps where students lounged between classes, headphones in, textbooks open, sunglasses catching the sun. Jake walked a half-step behind you, looking around like he was still waiting for something to feel familiar.

You pointed out the little things. The dorm building where your RA once burned popcorn and set off the fire alarm at two in the morning. The shady courtyard where you liked to read after your Tuesday classes. The fountain someone had once filled with bubbles after finals week.

You reached the library just as the bells started chiming. Inside, it smelled like worn leather and ambition. You ran your fingers along the shelves, telling Jake about your favorite hidden table near the back where you studied before your first midterm. He smiled politely, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked around the space like it wasn’t built for him.

At the coffee cart by the engineering building, the barista saw you and started your usual order without a word.

"Vanilla oat milk today, right?"

You grinned. "As always."

Jake shifted his weight and looked at the menu, though you knew he wasn’t really reading it.

"You come here a lot?" he asked.

"Pretty much every morning. It’s kind of my thing now."

He nodded and took the drink you ordered for him, but barely sipped it.

As you walked through the main quad, the sun lit everything gold. There was a guy passing out flyers in a dinosaur onesie. A girl practiced violin under an archway, and the sound floated like something out of a movie.

Then someone shouted your name.

"Yo! You coming to study group later?" a guy in a Stanford hoodie called across the lawn.

"Yeah! Save me a seat," you called back.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Friend?"

"Just from psych. We’ve got a midterm next week," you said. You tried to sound casual, but the words felt stiff.

Later, you brought Jake up to your dorm’s rooftop lounge. The twinkle lights were on already, even though it wasn’t quite dark. You told him you liked to come up here to think. The view stretched out to the hills, and if the sky was clear, you could even see the ocean in the distance.

Some of your floormates were already there. You introduced Jake, and they smiled, friendly enough. But the conversations drifted on without him. They asked him where he went to school, if he’d been to California before, and if he missed home. Jake answered each one carefully, but after a while, he fell quiet. You could feel the way he pulled back, even as you reached for his hand under the table. His fingers stayed still.

That night, Ni-Ki texted about a quick trip to Malibu. You had already invited Jake, and he said yes without hesitation. Still, you noticed the way he leaned his head against the car window, eyes distant, as you and Ni-Ki argued over which beach had the better sand. You tossed fries at each other, laughing when they bounced off your shirts. You took blurry selfies, some with the boardwalk lights glowing behind you.

Jake trailed behind as you walked along the sand. He took a few photos of the ocean and one or two of you, but mostly, he watched. You were barefoot, hair tangled from the wind, smiling so easily. When Ni-Ki wrapped an arm around your shoulder for a picture, you didn’t move away. Jake saw how your shoulders leaned in, how natural it all looked.

He didn’t say anything until later.

"You didn’t answer my call last week," he said, standing by your desk while you folded laundry.

You stopped, holding a pair of socks in your hand. "I had class. And I texted you after."

Jake looked away. "And Ni-Ki was probably there too, right?"

You turned, defensive. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I don’t know. You talk about him a lot. He’s always around. He knows your coffee order."

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Are you jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," Jake muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I just don’t know where I fit in anymore."

You swallowed. "You’re the one who told me to come here. You told me to go after it."

"I know," he said. "And I meant it. But I didn’t think it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I’m watching you move on without me."

Your throat tightened. "Do you want me to stop making friends? To stop enjoying things just because you’re not here?"

"No. I don’t want that."

"Then what do you want, Jake?"

He didn’t answer right away. The room buzzed with the silence.

Finally, you spoke. "Maybe we need a break."

The words came out soft, but they hit hard.

Jake looked like you had just slapped him. "Maybe we do."

He flew back to Melbourne the next morning.

You drove him to the airport, the ride quiet except for the soft hum of the radio. Neither of you wanted to talk about it, but it hung between you, pressing down on the space inside the car. When you reached the curb, he leaned in to hug you, and you let him. Your hands stayed clutched to the steering wheel long after he walked away.

You didn’t talk for days after that.

At school, life moved forward whether you wanted it to or not. You went to class. You sat through study group and wrote notes in the margins of your psych textbook, even when your mind wandered. You walked the campus with Ni-Ki, who didn’t ask questions but made sure to carry your coffee when your hands were full. You watched your roommate get ready for another dinner date, laughing as she changed her outfit three times before settling.

At night, you stared at your phone, your lockscreen still a photo of you and Jake at the lake. You didn’t have the heart to change it. Not yet.

Across the world, Jake sat in his bedroom in Melbourne. The sun was rising when he opened his laptop, eyes still heavy from sleep. The apartment listing was still there, the one you both had saved last summer. You said it would be your place someday, when the timing worked and the distance didn’t feel so impossible.

His finger hovered over the delete button.

He thought about how it felt to walk through Stanford with you, like he was on the outside of something you had already built. He thought about your laughter with your friends, the way you folded into that world like you had always belonged.

He didn’t delete the listing.

Because despite everything, he still hoped. And maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t let go either.

[enflixx]

what it almost was - jake sim

summary: Where first impressions were everything, until he ghosts her without any explanation. Still mourning the unfinished connection, months later fate brings them together as coworkers on a project. Facing their past, chemistry reignites and what it almost was beginning to feel like what this still could be.

genre: fluff, just a little angst warnings: small kiss at the end!

word count: 1603

First impression were everything, and you believed in it very much so. Even months later you remember his profile, it made you laugh out loud and giggle to yourself.

Not a chuckle. An actual laugh that echoed throughout your flat, with your takeout halfway to your lips.

His bio read: "If I beat you at COD (call of duty), pretend it doesn’t hurt your ego. Professional overthinker. Swipe right if you like good bad jokes and great playlists."

Scanning through his profile more in depth this time, you saw that his name was Jake. Just Jake. You liked that it wasn’t too much, no unnecessary emojis, no weird spellings. Just Jake.

The photos that accompanied his humorous bio with matched his vibe perfectly. There was one of him grinning widely with a dog. Another where he was seen mid laugh surrounded by friends. And one candid that you kept scrolling up to look at even though it was just him holding up fried chicken. You liked his collage. How simplistic everything was, nothing overly posed or screaming attention, just a genuine vibe. His profile was something you swore was perfect.

Immediately interested, you swiped right. No more than 2 seconds passed before he matched back immediately. The notification almost scaring you at how speedy he was.

Following this, his first message flowed in and you could remember it right off the top of your head.

Jake [10:48]: Okay, you’re stranded on a desert island, you can only bring three albums, one irrational fear, and one snack. Go.

You stared at it for a second, grinning. What kind of question was that? But you liked it. yourusername [10:49]: I got u. The Secret of Us by Gracie Abrams, Pure Heroine by Lorde, and the Into the Spider-Verse soundtrack. Escalators, don’t ask. And gummies by far."

Jake [10:49]: Elite snack choice. Solid music. And now I’m definitely asking. Escalators?

yourusername [10:50]: Something about standing still while moving freaks me out. It's unnatural and freakish.

Jake [10:50]: That’s fair. Mine is thunder. I know. Shameful.

yourusername [10:50]: Honestly? Valid. The sudden loud noise is insanely unnecessary for some light.

Jake [10:50]: "See? I knew you’d get it."

The conversation rolled on from there, smooth and steady. The banter felt easy. Natural. Like you’d known him longer than a handful of days.

You remember thinking, maybe this could be something.

And then...nothing.

No response to your last message. No follow up no nothing. You waited. Checked. Multiple times at that. Even told yourself you were being ridiculous, that maybe he got busy, maybe he lost interest, maybe he died (you even Googled his name just once, just to be sure).

But the truth was simple: he ghosted you.

And you were left staring at the chat that once made your day a little brighter, feeling like you'd imagined the whole connection.

Months passed. You dated other people. Deleted the app. Redownloaded it. Deleted it again. Life moved on in steps.

And then came the new job.

The office was sleek, full of exposed brick and too many succulents. Almost the epitome of millennial gray. But your new boss, Heeseung, was sharp-eyed and over-caffeinated. You liked him instantly.

"You’ll be paired with Jake for the next campaign," he said mid sip on his third celsius of the day, and already halfway through typing an email. He looked at you with a reassuring look "He's good don't worry. I'd even say he's the best at the company but he's a bit of a lone wolf, but you'll be fine."

You froze.

Jake?

Couldn’t be. It’s a common name. But a small, impossible voice inside you whispered, what if it is?

You meet him in the conference room. He’s late, of course. You’re halfway through rereading the campaign brief when the door opens and someone steps in.

It’s him.

You know it immediately. His hair's a little shorter, and he’s wearing different glasses now, but it’s him. Jake. From tinder. From the chat. From the quiet disappointment that followed you months until now.

His eyes widen a fraction when he sees you. A flicker of something passes between you. Recognition? Surprise? Maybe even guilt?

"Hi," he says. "I'm Jake Sim. Looks like we’ll be working together."

He doesn’t say anything else. Not about the app. Not about ghosting. Just offers his hand like you’re strangers. You wanted to testify this, but here you are just strangers.

You take it. Firm shake. Professional smile. But inside, you’re screaming.

The first week is awkward.

You’re polite. Distant. But not cold, just enough to keep a safe buffer and hide your recognition. He acts like nothing happened, talking to you as if you skipped your precious sleep for him. Which is infuriating. But oddly respectful, you can’t decide which but honestly you're tired from the campaign.

Your work stretches out late one evening, both of you lingering over edits and stubborn copy changes. The office is quiet, everyones gone. The city lights spilling in from the windows and the cool breeze from the wind makes a more apparent presence than either of you. But he breaks first.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

You pretend not to understand at first. "Talk about what?" A sense of hesitation was found in your words, refusing to admit to it before he did.

He doesn’t smile. Just looks at you, steady. "About tinder?"

There it is.

You don’t reply right away. The silence stretches, elastic and thin.

"Well you ghosted," you say finally.

He nods. Doesn’t argue.

"Yeah. I guess I did."

You wait for the excuses to follow. The ridiculous justification, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, he says, "I was dealing with some things all of a sudden. Bad timing. I know that’s not a great excuse. I just… disappeared. And I shouldn’t have."

You don’t know what to say. So you shrug. "It sucked."

"I know."

He means it. You can tell. There’s no smugness, no deflection. Just regret and some sadness.

The conversation doesn’t fix everything. But it softens the atmosphere. Loosens the knot in your chest you held up trying to avoid this confrontation.

After that night, something shifts. Slowly at first. Like a door creaking open, not enough to step through, but enough to know it’s no longer locked and guarded.

He starts leaving small notes on your desk, funny doodles on the company post-its, and even adding compliments on your copies. You catch him watching you sometimes during the brainstorming sessions, like he’s seeing you for the first time with that glint in his eyes, not just remembering you.

One afternoon, you’re both walking back from a client meeting. Again, he breaks the silence first."You still listen to the Spider-Verse soundtrack?" You smile, surprised he remembered. Staring up at him with a smile plastered all of your face, you begin to notice the details of him you hadn't before. The way his hair swooped like Zayn Malik, or the way his coat effortlessly drapes over his broad shoulders. It was like you were stuck in a trance, but breaking it before he noticed.

"It’s still in my rotation," you say.

He grins. "Good. I was worried you’d moved on to something less cool."

You nudge him playfully. "You’re lucky I didn’t block you across all platforms after what you pulled."

He nods in strong agreement. "I am. I really am." You could tell he was being sincere with the way he carried his tone, how you could detect some relief in his voice, and the smile he kept up.

You’re not sure when it happens, but the awkwardness fades. The space between you shrinks. The laughter becomes easier, the silences more comfortable than ever. Oh, and he's more handsome than ever. Or maybe it was just you noticing it finally.

One day he brings you sour gummy worms without a word and sets them beside your laptop. You look up. He just winks and walks off. Probably thinking he was so nonchalant, before stumbling on the cubicle trash bin.

Giggling to yourself at his foolishness,you realize: you’re not waiting for an apology anymore. He’s already giving you something better, consistency. Presence. Effort. (the trifecta)

One night, after a successful pitch meeting and too much champagne, you both end up walking the long way to the train station. The streets of Seoul are quiet. Your hands brush. Once. Then twice.

He looks at you.

"Can I ask you something weird?" He breathed out.

You raise an eyebrow. "Sure."

"Do you ever think or wonder about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t ghosted?"

You don’t answer right away. Just glance up at the city skyline. Then back to him.

"Yeah," you say. "Sometimes."

He smiles, a little sad. A little hopeful. But a smile at that.

"Me too."

You stop walking. He does too.

"I don’t want to wonder anymore," he says, then pauses. You look up at him, realizing the intent of his words. "Not if there’s still a chance."

You feel your heart beat. Then another. And you just couldn't wait for another to pass.

So... you kiss him.

It’s hesitant at first. Soft, just to test. But when he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, his hand finds your waist, and everything else fades out. The city noise, the months between you, even the ghost of what it almost was. Because now, it definitely what this is.

Maybe this isn’t where your story started. But maybe, just maybe, it’s where it really begins.

[enflixx]

Letters from Stanford - Jake Sim

summary: You and Jake always planned to go to college together at University of Melbourne. When acceptance letters arrive, joy fills the air… until a secret Stanford letter changes everything. As summer passes, love is tested, truths unravel, and promises are made with trembling hands. When the day finally comes to say goodbye, distance becomes your new reality, but love doesn’t leave so easily.

genre: angst, just a little fluff

warnings: kisses throughout the fic

word count: 3,323

You were sitting cross-legged at the bottom of Jake’s bedroom floor, controllers in hand, and eyes locked on the TV screen. The two of you had been building a massive lake house in Minecraft for the past hour, trying to distract yourselves from the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Jake’s room was dimly lit, except for the glow of the screen and the fairy lights hanging lazily above his bed. His knee was bouncing. He hadn't stopped fidgeting for the past ten minutes.

“Okay,” he said suddenly, glancing at the clock. 6:59 PM. “It’s almost time.”

You dropped your controller, heart thudding. “Don’t say that.”

Jake scrambled off the floor and flopped onto the bed, patting the space beside him. “Come on. We said we’d do this together.”

You joined him, your shoulder brushing his as you both grabbed your phones. The moment the clock struck 7:00 PM, both your devices buzzed at once.

Jake sucked in a breath. “Ready?”

You nodded, your fingers trembling as you hovered over the “View Decision” button.

“Three,” he said.

“Two,” you whispered.

“One.”

You both tapped your screens.

University of Melbourne: Accepted.

Jake let out a choked sound next to you. “I got in—wait���you too?”

You turned your screen toward him with a breathless laugh. “I got in! OMG I got in!”

Jake grabbed your free hand and pulled you into the tightest hug, both of you nearly falling back against the pillows in a tangle of limbs and joy.

“We did it!” he shouted. “OMG, we actually did it!”

You were both laughing, spinning in your own little whirlwind of excitement. He kissed your cheek, your nose, your forehead, completely overflowing with joy.

“We’re going to Melbourne!” he grinned, forehead pressed to yours. “Together.”

“Together,” you echoed, barely believing it yourself.

Then Jake hopped off the bed, still grinning. “Hold that thought. I need to pee or I’m gonna explode.”

You laughed and nodded, watching him disappear into the hallway.

The door clicked shut.

You turned back to your phone, thumb hovering over the unopened Stanford email sitting quietly beneath the one from Melbourne.

You hesitated. Then tapped it.

Your heart thudded as you clicked “View Decision.”

Congratulations…

The word blurred for a second as your vision went watery. You blinked, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Stanford.

You hadn’t thought you’d get in. You’d applied on a whim, just to see.

And now here it was, real and glowing in front of you. A future you’d never seriously planned for now opened like a door you hadn’t realized was unlocked.

Your eyes welled with tears. Not sad ones, not exactly. Just... big ones. The kind that came when the world shifted a little under your feet.

Suddenly you heard footsteps coming down the hall.

You snapped out of it and quickly swiped the tab closed, locking your phone and tossing it aside just as Jake returned.

“Miss me?” he joked, flopping back down beside you.

You forced a smile, chest still tight. “Always.”

He leaned into you, grabbing your hand again. “So, what do we do first? Start looking at apartments? I already bookmarked this tiny studio near campus with the biggest kitchen ever .”

You laughed, letting him talk about your shared future, your heart splitting in two. One part still with him. The other already halfway across the world, in California.

The summer passed in a blur of travel plans, shopping lists, visa applications. Jake was so excited, always talking about your apartment, your future, the way you’d decorate with little succulents and string lights. You smiled, nodded, made Pinterest boards with him.

But at night, you stared at the Stanford portal, wondering what it meant to choose something he wasn’t part of.

One warm July afternoon, Jake surprised you with dinner reservations at a cozy Australian-themed diner “to get a real taste of Aussie life,” he’d said with a grin that made your heart flip.

The diner smelled like woodsmoke and grilled meat, a haze of barbecue spice hanging in the air as the late July sun filtered through the tall windows. You and Jake sat across from each other in a vinyl booth, the table between you cluttered with half-unwrapped sliders, charred corn, and paper baskets of fries dusted with pink sea salt. Somewhere nearby, a child was laughing over a spilled milkshake, and the sizzle of meat on the open grill played like background music to a summer evening that felt too big to hold in your chest.

Jake reached for a fry, eyes glowing with quiet excitement. “Okay, so… don’t kill me,” he said, trying and failing not to grin. “I did a thing.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Please tell me you didn’t try to book our flights without me again.”

“No,” he laughed. “Um.. worse.”

He slid his phone across the table. The screen was lit up with a listing, the apartment. Your apartment. The one you’d found during a late-night spiral of Pinterest boards and real estate blogs. The one with exposed brick and tall windows and a kitchen that made your breath catch the first time you saw it. Big, sunlit, clean counters, even a little breakfast island with hanging lights overhead.

“You’re kidding,” you whispered, leaning in.

“I made an offer,” he said. “And… they accepted. If we want it, it’s ours.”

You blinked at the screen. The pictures hadn’t changed, but somehow they felt sharper now, more real. The wide kitchen, all open shelving and clean lines, looked like the kind of place people filmed romantic comedies in. You could see the two of you in it, Jake cooking in the mornings in his ridiculous pajama pants, you dancing barefoot to some awful playlist while coffee brewed.

You looked up at him. “Jake…”

“I know I should’ve asked,” he said quickly. “I just… I saw it again and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That kitchen, the big window in the bedroom, the campus just down the street. It felt like us, you know?”

You sat back slowly, heart full and aching all at once.

“I just thought it could be home,” he added, voice softer now. “Our first perfect one.”

You didn’t speak right away.

You stared at the image. The bright white cabinets. The tall pantry. The way the light poured through the glass every morning.

You wanted it.

God, you wanted it so so much.

But not as much as you wanted to stop time. Not as much as you wanted to silence that quiet voice that had been growing louder since Stanford sent that email.

“Maybe…” you began, choosing your words carefully, gently. “Maybe we should look a bit more. Just to be sure. It’s a big decision.”

Jake blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He nodded quickly, lips pressing together in a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re right. No need to rush.”

You reached for your drink to avoid the way his gaze searched your face. “Exactly. We’ve got time.”

He leaned back, tried to laugh. “Honestly, we might even find something with a bigger balcony. Or even a bathtub. Who knows?”

You nodded, the fry in your hand going cold.

The moment passed, at least on the surface. He picked up his burger again, and you made a joke about fairy bread being the pinnacle of Australian cuisine. The two of you slipped back into the rhythm of laughing, dreaming, talking about color schemes and who would be in charge of dishes. But beneath it all, the dream had shifted. The apartment was perfect. But for the first time, you weren’t sure if perfect was enough.

It was late afternoon, the golden sun filtering through the window and casting long shadows across your bedroom. Boxes were everywhere, half-packed and labeled in your handwriting. A quiet playlist hummed in the background while the two of you worked side by side, sorting through his books, folding clothes, and deciding what made the cut for Melbourne.

You were kneeling beside the desk, packing paperbacks into a box labeled DO NOT BEND when Jake, searching for packing tape, reached over and grabbed a slim red folder tucked behind a lamp.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked casually, flipping it open before you could stop him. His voice shifted mid-sentence, growing still. “Stanford?”

Your hands froze around a copy of The Secret of Us. The air thinned.

“Jake—”

“You applied to Stanford?” he asked again, slower this time, like he was trying to make sense of the words.

You sat back on your heels, throat dry. “I... yeah, i did.”

He looked at the folder again, then at you. “You got in?”

You nodded, barely.

A beat passed. Jake blinked, his jaw tightening, then loosening like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. He let out a short breath and took a small step back, the folder hanging limply in his hand. “When?”

You couldn’t look at him. “Same day as Melbourne.”

Silence. The kind that buzzes in your ears and makes your heart ache.

“And you didn’t tell me?” His voice was quieter now. Not angry, just... hurt. In total disbelief.

“I didn’t know how,” you whispered, fidgetting at the worn edges of the carpet. “I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

“Ruin what?” he said, then laughed short and humorless. “Us?”

You looked up. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to think I’d just get up and leave.”

“But you didn’t even give me the chance to be proud of you,” he admitted. “You didn’t even let me in at all.”

You stood slowly, heart racing, words stuck in your throat. “I wasn’t going to go,” you said. “I swear, Jake. We planned this, and I meant it. I just... I needed time to figure it out.”

Jake shook his head, eyes scanning the floor around you like he was trying to ground himself. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I was so scared.”

He looked at you then, really looked past the guilt, past the secrets. There was hurt in his eyes, yes, but something softer, too. A flicker of understanding.

“I wish you trusted me with this,” he said, voice low. “But... I get why you didn’t.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, slowly. “You should go.”

Your heart cracked. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, finally smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You got into Stanford. That’s huge. I’d never want to hold you back.”

“But…Jake—”

“I want you to go,” he repeated, gently this time. “Even if it’s the last thing I want.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until Jake filled the space between you in two steps and pulled you into his chest like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You clutched the front of his shirt, burying your face into the curve of his neck. “I didn’t want to lose you,” you choked out.

“You’re not,” he whispered, but his voice cracked. “God, you’re not.”

But it felt like you both were anyway.

His arms were wrapped around you, so tight it almost hurt, and still it didn’t feel close enough. You felt his chest hitch beneath your palms, his breath stuttering as silent tears spilled down his cheeks and into your hair.

“I hate this,” he said, his voice muffled in your shoulder. “I hate that I’m saying this.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, his eyes red-rimmed and shining. “Then don’t. Tell me to stay. Tell me that we deserve that apartment together”

He stared at you, lips parted, like he wanted to. Like the words were right there on his tongue. But instead, he shook his head slowly, heartbreak carved into every line of his face. “I can’t. I love you too much to ask you to give up on something like this.”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. “I don’t want to go without you.”

Jake cupped your face in his hands, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. “You won’t be without me,” he whispered. “I’ll be there in every facetime call. Every late-night text. Every time you drink coffee and think it’s crap without me there to make it right.”

You laughed through the tears, and then he kissed you. Slow, aching, like a promise and a goodbye all at once. You kissed him back with everything you couldn’t say, everything you weren’t ready to lose.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless and trembling, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts. We’ll find our way back.”

You nodded, eyes closed. “You and me, right?”

His arms tightened around you, like he could still protect this fragile version of the future. “Always.”

He didn’t speak to you for two days.

No texts. No calls. No shared playlists or silly memes. Just a hollow silence that made your heart pound every time your phone lit up, just to close it every time it wasn’t him.

Then, just after sunset on the second day, your phone buzzed.

Ring Doorbell: Someone is at your front door.

You opened the app instinctively, and there he was, Jake, standing on your porch in a wrinkled hoodie and basketball shorts, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His eyes were bloodshot red. Not just tired, but swollen, rimmed with tears, and haunted.

Your heart seized.

You rushed downstairs and opened the door.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should be here. Like maybe this was a mistake. Then his face crumpled.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, and his voice cracked like glass.

You stepped forward without thinking, wrapping your arms around him before the rest of his words could fall apart.

“Jake…”

He held onto you like he was drowning. “I tried to be okay. I really did. I thought maybe I could just… move on, pretend we’re still going together. But I can’t. I’m so fucking proud of you, but I don’t know how to be happy when it feels like I’m losing you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Then don’t let me go,” you whispered. “Tell me to stay. I will.”

He blinked at you, tears spilling silently over his cheeks. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” you said, chest aching. “I’ll stay. Melbourne was always the plan. We were the plan.”

Jake shook his head. “No,” he said, voice soft but firm. “You have to go. Please go.”

“Jake—”

“No,” he interrupted, brushing the hair gently from your face. “You got into Stanford. You earned that. You don’t give up a life-changing opportunity because some dumb boy can’t keep it together for a few months.”

“You’re not some dumb boy,” you whispered.

He smiled faintly, but his eyes were still sad. “And you’re not some girl who settles for a smaller school for someone else. You’ve always been more than that. You have to go.”

You stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed to his, your tears falling freely now too.

Eventually, you stepped back and took his hand. “Come inside?”

He nodded, and you led him through the door, into the quiet warmth of your house.

You sat together on the couch, knees pulled up, wrapped in an old shared blanket that smelled like his cologne and dryer sheets. He rested his head on your shoulder, and you stroked your fingers through his hair like you always did when he couldn’t sleep.

“I hate that we have to do this,” he mumbled. “The distance.”

“I know,” you said.

“But we’ll make it work, right?” he asked, more like a plea than a promise.

“We’ll try,” you whispered. “We’ll call every night. We’ll visit. We’ll find ways to stay close, even when we’re far.”

His arms tightened around you. “What if it’s not enough?”

“Then we try harder,” you replied, kissing the top of his head. “Or we wait. Or we fall apart and find our way back. But I’m not giving up on us, Jake. Not now.”

Neither of you had all the answers. Maybe you never would. But in that quiet moment on the couch, your hearts cracked but still beating in sync, you held each other like maybe, just maybe, love could stretch across the oceans and time zones.

Like maybe, it would be enough.

The airport was too quiet for what your heart was doing.

You stood with Jake in the check-in line, the weight of your suitcase nothing compared to the weight pressing on your chest. He held your hand like it was the last lifeline he had, like if he let go, he’d lose you completely.

Neither of you spoke much. There wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been whispered between your tangled sheets, or mumbled on long drives with the windows down, or even scribbled into notes hidden in each other’s bags.

But that didn’t stop the tears.

Yours came in slow, steady streams down your cheeks. His were silent, but his lips trembled every time you squeezed his hand tighter. People passed around you, families saying goodbyes, kids running in circles, airport staff calling for final check-ins, but it all felt so far away. Like the world was moving on and you were frozen in this endless moment.

“We still have time,” he murmured, though the line inched forward, traitorous.

“Barely.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. His hoodie smelled like your house, like him, like safety.

“I hate this,” you whispered.

“I know.”

He kissed your temple. “But I’m proud of you. So proud. I need you to remember that.”

You nodded, biting your lip so hard it almost bled.

When you reached the counter, your hands shook as you handed over your passport. Jake stood beside you the whole time, his fingers trailing down your arm like he was memorizing every inch. The agent smiled politely, completely unaware of the heartbreak unfolding across the glossy countertop.

As you stepped away, the intercom crackled to life.

“Final boarding call for Flight 127 to San Francisco. All remaining passengers, please proceed to Gate 7.”

Your body turned toward the gate, but your heart stayed behind.

Jake pulled you into one last hug, full and trembling. You felt his tears finally fall, warm against your neck.

“This isn’t goodbye,” you whispered, but it cracked as you said it.

“It feels like one,” he choked out.

“I’ll come back in December. I pinky promise.”

“I’ll wait,” he said, holding you like he’d never get to again. “I’ll wait for however long it takes.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him once, twice, and again like you could kiss the goodbye out of him. He smiled, for your sake, even though his lips were shaking.

“Go,” he said softly, eyes red. “Before I lose my mind.”

You took one step back. Then another. You didn’t want to look away, but you knew if you didn’t go now, you never would.

So you turned.

And you walked.

And you didn’t look back.

But Jake did.

He watched you until the very last second, until you were out of sight, until the boarding gate swallowed you whole.

And then he broke.

His body crumpled into a seat by the window, hands over his face as sobs tore out of him, raw and relentless. Strangers passed by, but none of them saw him. None of them knew the girl he loved just left for another continent, or how he’d told her to chase her dreams even if it meant tearing himself apart.

He’d been brave for you.

But now, all alone in that airport, he cried like he’d never stop.

Because he loved you that much.

[enflixx]

flickering lights - lee heeseung

summary: Years after Heeseung walked out of your life without a word, you still left the porch light on, the flickering lights clinging to memories that refused to fade. When he returns engaged to someone else and asking for your help to plan the wedding, it reopens every scar you thought had healed. As you navigate the painful process, old feelings resurface, and truths unravel between stolen glances and broken confessions. In the end, love isn't enough, and letting go becomes the only way to finally begin again.

genre: angst

warnings: slight cheating, kissing between characters.

word count: 3871

You used to leave the porch light on for him every night, even long after he stopped coming home.

It started out of habit. Then it became some form of hope. Then it turned into something else entirely, like a constant punishment. The light flicked on each evening as the sun dipped behind the buildings of your apartment. It casts a glow across the narrow alley and rusted gate, illuminating the obvious absence like a spotlight. You hear your neighbors whisper that you should move on, that the light was a nuisance. And your friends stopped bringing it up altogether. 

But the light remained, stubborn just as your memory of him. His name still hung on your lips like a bruise: Lee Heeseung. It never left, not even when the seasons changed and the leaves fell. He existed in everything. 

The sound of the rain against your windows, the melody and silence between and in every song, the space between your heart beats. It was cruel, how time moved on, how people forgot, how the world kept spinning. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. You stayed in that moment, you wanted to relive it, the one where he smiled like he meant forever and kissed you like he’d never leave.

But now, every shadow looked like him. Every silence whispered his name.

Lee Heeseung.

You wondered if he still remembered the promises, or if they vanished the moment he walked away.

It had been four years. Four years since he walked out of your life, suitcases dragging across your hardwood floor, tears hanging unspoken in the air between your silence and his. You hadn’t begged. You hadn’t stopped him. You simply couldn’t.

Because what do you say when the person you love has already made up their mind to leave? What can you even say to them?

The words had caught up in your throat, bitter and burning, too heavy to speak but too fragile to hold. And so you just stood there, arms limp, heart cracking under the weight of what you couldn’t say. Looking as he didn’t look back. But maybe he couldn’t. Maybe turning around would’ve undone him. Or so you hoped.

But the door closed quietly, without drama. Just a soft click and that was it. He walked out.

And somehow, the echo of it still lives in your bones. The click lives in your home reminding you of that moment.

And now, he was back.

You saw it first in a bookstore near Gangnam Station, of all places. The local paper, folded crookedly on a table by the register, announced the engagement with pastel-colored flair: Seoul’s best chef Lee Heeseung to wed western model star Victoria Vale, wedding to be held at Imperial Palace Hotel.

Your heart stopped mid-beat. You dropped the paper like it burned.

Imperial Palace

That was where you and Heeseung had once talked about getting married. Where you had spent your first anniversary drunk on shared dreams and hopes. Where you’d wander throughout the halls hands together. Even planned your wedding with names stitched in gold into your veil, and the city glittering beneath you guys.

You didn’t mean to go. You told yourself you were just walking, just passing time.

But somehow your feet took over, guided by muscle memory and the painful heartache. Through the streets of Hongdae you once adored together, where every alley held a story, every cafe still carried the ghost of his laughter, and every club had his energy. The echo of it clung to the brick walls, drifting out of your favorite corner shops. It felt like the city was hoping to bring him back to you, or maybe reminding you he never really left.

Your chest was tight, like a storm about to break free. The kind of ache that builds slow and quiet until it devours you whole.

Still, you followed the pull of your body. To the bench by the Han River where he first kissed you, To the spot where you shared numerous midnight snacks under neon lights, fingers brushing against each other, and smiles in between bites. To the porch of the little apartment on the hill, stuck on the forever you once believed in.

The porch light was still there. And somehow, even though it had been months since you touched it, it clicked on that night, the way it always used to. Like it remembered too.

Then came the message.

You almost didn’t believe it when your phone lit up with his name. Not a ghost, not a memory. Heeseung.

Heeseung [11:25]: Hey. I’m back in Seoul. I know it’s a long shot, but... can we talk?

You stared at the screen, a hundred answers forming in your throat, none of them kind. But you replied.

You [11:26]: Sure. When?

Heeseung [11:26]: Tomorrow? Over coffee?

You should’ve said no. You should’ve blocked him. But you didn’t. You couldn't bring yourself to the idea.

You [11:27]: Okay yeah, I’ll see you then.

He didn’t need to specify which cafe, because you knew. Of course you knew and remembered. It was the place you used to go when life felt lighter. When love didn’t ache so much. When his hand in yours was enough to make the world feel steady and perfect.

Now, the chime of the door opening sounded like ghosts.

Heeseung looked older. More mature. Not in a bad way, just different. He had sharper lines at the corners of his eyes, a little more weight in his gaze. Time had touched him gently, but you could still see the boy beneath the man. The one who used to kiss you with laughter on his lips and whispered forever against your skin.

But his smile? That was the same. Wide, honest, and contagious. It hit you like a memory you didn’t ask for. But deeply wanted.

"Hi," he said.

You nodded. No words. Just the kind of nod that says I’m here, but i don’t know why. You slid into your seat quickly.

He ordered chamomile tea. Same as always. No sugar, extra honey.

You didn’t speak right away. Allowing for the silence to stretch thin between you, heavy with things unsaid, years unspoken. Let it fill the space where the confessions lived, where promises were once kept.

"I wasn’t sure you’d come," he said.

You sipped your Americano. It tasted like ash and old regrets. You still don’t know why you get "I wasn’t sure either."

His hands fidgeted with the paper cup sleeve. A nervous tic of his you remembered too well. The way his fingers would twist and pull when he didn’t know how to say something and it usually was something that would break your heart.

"I know I don’t have the right to ask this and especially not now... but I need your help."

You looked up slowly, your eyes colder than you intended. "With what?"

Heeseung’s voice was soft. Too soft. Like if he said it any louder, it would hurt more. "The wedding."

Your laugh came out instantly. Broken. Harsh. The kind of sound that doesn’t match the warmth of the cafe. "You want me to help plan your wedding?"

"You’re the best event planner in the city. Everyone says so. And I just..." He paused, swallowing the rest of the thought. "I want it to be right. Please."

The nerve. The audacity. You could feel it rising, the heat blooming in your chest, tightening in your throat, and rushing to your cheeks until your whole face burned. You shoved the chair back with a sharp screech against the wooden floor, standing so quickly it nearly toppled over. Your palms hit the table "You disappeared. No call. No explanation. Just silence. Like I didn’t deserve even a half-hearted goodbye."

Heeseung’s gaze dropped for a second, then lifted—eyes glassy but refusing to spill. "I know," he said, voice low. "And I’ll carry that mistake with me for the rest of my life."

You hadn’t planned on saying yes. But the word came out anyway. Maybe out of spite. Maybe to convince yourself you’d moved on. Or maybe, just maybe, because being near him, even now, still felt like home. Even if it hurts.

He took a breath, his chest rising like it physically pained him. "I thought leaving without a word would make it easier. That it’d save us both the mess."

You scoffed. "Easier for who, exactly? Because it sure as hell wasn’t easy for me. I woke up every day wondering what went wrong. What I did wrong."

"I was scared," he admitted. "Of how much I felt. Of losing myself in you."

You stared at him, the silence between you loud enough to shake the walls. "That’s not love, Heeseung. That’s fear. And you let it win."

He reached for you, stopped himself. Hands falling to his sides in quiet defeat. "I never stopped loving you," he said. "Not once."

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Then why does it still feel like I’m the only one?"

Planning a wedding for the love of your life and his new fiancée, was a new kind of hell.

You told yourself you could handle it. That you were a professional. That your heart had long since mended.

But no amount of timelines, spreadsheets, or Pinterest boards could dull the edge of reality that you were stitching together the happiest day of someone else's life. Someone who had everything you once held in your hands.

You met Victoria a week later. She was kind, graceful, and all the above. The kind of woman you almost wanted to hate but couldn’t. She shook your hand with both of hers and smiled, it reminded you of spring. “You’re a genius,” she said, her eyes warm and trusting. “Everything I’ve seen of your work is just… breathtaking. I feel so lucky to have you plan this for me, even honored!”

She looked at Heeseung the same way you used to, like he hung the stars himself. And he looked back at her like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like he hadn’t once held you together when you were falling apart. She held Heeseung’s hand like she’d never had to earn it. Like she didn’t know what it was to cry in silence while waiting for him to come home. She didn’t know what his silence sounded like. But you did.

The planning began with flower consultations, menu tastings at five-star rooftop restaurants, wine pairings, and centerpiece mockups. You kept the meetings efficient. Smiled when necessary. And even bit your tongue.

Every moment was experienced in agony. Every time Heeseung looked at you, it unraveled a memory. The way he still knew how you took your coffee. The way his gaze lingered a second too long when Victoria wasn’t looking.

One rainy afternoon, as you waited alone in your studio for a client, you caught sight of an old swatch board tucked in the back shelf. Muted blush tones. Eucalyptus greens. The palette you’d once imaged, dreaming for your own wedding someday. And just like that, the past cracked open like a dam.

You and Heeseung were lying side by side on your tiny rooftop, the spring air was thick with the scent of the nearby blooming flowers. The city glimmered beneath the velvet sky, and the hum of late night scooters echoed faintly in the distance. You both had drinks in hand, a little buzzed, but a lot in love.

Heeseung pointed to the stars. "If I ever get famous for my cooking, I want to name a dish after you. Something spicy."

You laughed. "Sounds like indigestion."

He turned toward you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. "Then maybe a dessert. Something soft. Comforting. Like you."

You swallowed. The sincerity in his eyes always leveled you. Reminded you of how lucky you were to have someone always by your side, reassuring you.

"You know," you whispered, "I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked."

Heeseung leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. "I’ll ask when I deserve you."

The memory cracked something in your chest.

One night, you lingered in the venue after a long cake tasting the taste of chocolate still on your lips. The fairy lights over the ballroom glimmered like stars, reminding you again of the dreams you used to dream. Heeseung sat beside you, and the silence between you cracked with things unsaid. Everything that couldn’t be said. You couldn’t help it.

"Do you ever think about us?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. "All the time." His eyes avoided yours.

You turned to him, eyes soft and aching. "Then why are you marrying her? Why her… Why not me."

Heeseung closed his eyes, his fingers resting on his temples. "Because I thought you'd moved on. Because I needed to believe that someone else could love me without the history."

"And now?" You breathed.

He looked at you with such raw grief, you almost forgave him right then and there.

"Now, now I know I was wrong. About everything"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “You knew me better than anyone, Heeseung. And you still left. You didn’t fight. Not even once.”

“I was scared,” he whispered. “And i was tired. Of the fights, the intensity, of never knowing if I was good enough for you.”

“You were,” you said, voice shaking. “You were always enough for me. I just didn’t know how to love you without breaking myself in the process.”

He nodded, slow and hollow. “We were nothing but a mess.”

“But we were alive,” you said. “And now you’re settling for something safe. Something unlike you. Does it even feel like love?”

The silence fell again. Then, finally, he whispered, “It feels like pretending. Like i'm acting, all the time.”

The words landed like a punch, a punch of relief. You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your composure as your chest twisted.

You looked at him, almost angry and eyes glistening at this point. “Then why are you still going through with it?”

His voice cracked but louder this time. “Because I made a promise. And she doesn’t deserve to be the victim in something I should’ve ended before it ever began.”

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the golden lights into something dreamlike and distant. “So what now?” you asked. “We just keep pretending this never happened? That we never happened?”

He reached out, fingers brushing yours so gently it barely counted as touch. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I think the worst part is knowing that the right thing… doesn’t feel right at all.”

You didn’t move your hand. You let the silence settle again, but this time, it was heavier. 

“I hope she loves you the way I did,” you whispered. He closed his eyes. 

“I hope she doesn’t,” he confessed.

With the wedding date creeping up on you all, the weight of the unspoken grew heavier.

Heeseung’s glances lingered too long. And your touches lasted a beat more than they should have.

There were silences that felt too intimate. Smiles that weren’t meant to be seen.

But Victoria, graceful and intelligent Victoria, she started to notice.

She never said anything outright.

Not at the cake tastings.

Not during the venue walkthrough.

Not when Heeseung’s gaze drifted toward you and stayed there just a little too long.

But one afternoon, she asked to meet privately. No planner’s notes. No schedules. Just tea and some talk.

You met at a quiet tea house tucked behind a courtyard of flowering trees, the kind of place where the wind whispered secrets and the world slowed down.

Victoria wore a pale blue blouse, soft and elegant, her hair was pinned neatly at her nape. She looked and matched every part of the soon to be bride, serene, beautiful, and untouched by chaos. And yet, her eyes showed anything but calm.

“You and Heeseung,” she said softly, cupping the warm mug in her hands, “you guys have history don’t you.”

You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t

There was no point. The past was stitched into every glance, every unfinished sentence, every space Heeseung filled when he shouldn't have. How could you deny something so real, still real.

Victoria nodded slowly. “I knew it. I see it. Every time you look at each other. I thought I could live with it. I really did. I told myself it didn’t matter. That he chose me not you.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“But now I’m not so sure.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fingers tightening around your cup.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice strained. “I didn’t mean for-”

“It’s not your fault,” Victoria interrupted gently. “You were there first. And sometimes… love doesn’t leave just because someone walks away.”

Your breath hitched. You hated that she was being kind. That she wasn’t blaming you.

Because it would’ve been easier to be hated.

“He’s still in love with you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I think… you are too.”

You had no words. Just the sickening truth blooming in your chest like a bruise.

It throbbed, both deep and ugly.

Victoria looked down at her coffee, as if it could offer her an answer she wanted to hear.

“I thought love was supposed to be enough,” she said, mostly to herself. “But I think… It was just convenient. Safe.”

Your eyes welled against yourself. “You’re not second best, Victoria. You’re… you’re everything someone should be.”

“But i'm not everything he wants.” she whispered.

Silence settled over the table, thick as fog.

Then she looked up, eyes steady and shimmering.

“I’m not going to beg someone to choose me. I won’t be someone’s consolation prize.”

She paused.

“And you know, you shouldn’t have to pretend you’re okay with watching him marry someone else.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you didn’t wipe it away.

Victoria reached across the table, placing her hand gently over yours.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I don’t hate you. But I can’t be part of something built on lies and coverups.”

You nodded, heart breaking for both of you.

And somewhere, deep inside, something shifted.

Not hope.

Not quite relief.

Just the quiet ache of something ending… so something else might finally begin.

The night before the wedding, it rained. And it thundered.

It was as if the sky had split open under the weight of something unsaid. The venue staff scrambled to protect the arrangements, put tarp over the tables, and redirect the musicians. Inside the canopy the warm lights flickered, laughter rose from the rehearsal dinner, and somewhere beneath it all, your heart cracked, slow and quiet.

You stepped out into the garden alone, the rain soaking through your clothes in seconds, clinging to your skin like memory. The scent of wet earth and old wood curled around you.

Under the wedding canopy, the delicate silk weighed down with water as you stood, trying to steady your breath.

You didn’t hear him approach until he was already there. Heeseung.

He was soaked too, his dress shirt sticking to his chest, hair dripping into his eyes but he didn’t seem to notice.

"This shouldn’t hurt like this," you whispered, not looking at him. Not wanting to face him.

He stepped closer, voice low, full of something raw. "I never stopped loving you."

You flinched. "Don’t. Don’t say that. Not now. And definitely not here."

"I need you to know," he said. “Even if it’s too late. I need you to remember.”

You turned then, slowly, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “And what am I supposed to do with that, Heeseung?”

He reached for your hand. This time, you didn’t stop him and didn’t flinch. His fingers were warm despite the cold rain. And his lips were even warmer. When he kissed you, so desperate, slow, aching it tasted like goodbye. Because it was.

You broke it first. You always did. You always had to be the one to let go.

"I hope she makes you happy," you whispered. "I hope you don’t leave her the way you left me."

He looked down, shame covering his face. “She deserves better,” he said, voice breaking. “But… so did you.”

You stood there a moment longer, the rain dripping from your lashes. Then you turned and walked away, back into the house, back into your role. The planner. The one who made everything beautiful, even when her own heart was in ruins.

The wedding was perfect.

Guests wept as Victoria walked down the stone aisle, her pale dress sweeping the damp stones like silk across water. The sun broke through the clouds right on cue. 

Victoria beamed. And Heeseung looked radiant.

But despite it, you smiled. Like it didn’t cost you everything.

You moved through the evening like a ghost in your own body, adjusting the place cards, nodding at servers, fluffing Victoria’s train before the grand entrance. No one noticed the way your hands trembled. No one noticed the way you kept your distance during the vows.

At the back of the courtyard, you stood alone, watching from the shadows as the first dance began. You smiled when you were supposed to. You clapped when the guests clapped.

And when Victoria kissed him, your heart made no sound as it broke. It just… quietly broke, again.

You waited until the last of the lights dimmed, until laughter turned into yawns and the guests began to drift away into the cold night.

He found you by the garden path, the one lit with soft paper lanterns, the same path where you used to sit with him and dream.

He stood there, the glow of the porch behind him, the ring on his finger reflecting the light.

His face was quiet. Soft with something like mourning.

"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked.

You looked at him. At the tux. At the life you’d once pictured, but now draped over someone else like it had always belonged to them.

"I already did," you said. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll forget."

He nodded, eyes brimming but stubbornly refusing to cry.

You reached out one last time. Brushed a stray petal from his shoulder. Your touch was light.

You gave him one last, small smile that was gentle but devastating. And then you turned.

Your heels clicked softly against the stones.

And you didn’t look back.

That night, you went home. To the home that once held laughter. To the porch where you used to wait for someone who never really stayed.

You sat on the steps, your coat wrapped tightly around you, eyes watching the orange light glow through your window.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream.

You just sat there. All alone until the silence became a comfort. Until the cold became bearable.

And then…

You just stood up. Walked inside.

The porch light stayed on a little longer that night. A soft, stubborn beacon. One last flicker of the past.

And then, slowly you turned it off.

But this time, you didn’t turn it back on.

And you didn’t wait for him to come home either. 

[enflixx]

rush week - jake sim

summary: You choose UCLA over the future you once planned with your high school boyfriend. And now you're ready for something new even if you’re not sure what that is yet. But between a wild Rush Week party, a flirty basketball player named Jake, and late-night walks that turn into something more, you start to realize that letting go might lead you exactly where you're meant to be.

genre: fluff, fraternities

warning(s): small kiss near the end

word count: 6062

You always knew you were going to UCLA.

It was your first choice, your dream. You’d written your PIQ’s from a coffee shop window during the rain, imagining yourself rushing through Bruin Walk with a hot latte in hand and a tote bag full of potential. You saw yourself laying out on Janss Steps, sitting in Kerckhoff Coffee House between classes, pulling all-nighters in Powell Library with the kind of friends who became family. Even participating in the famous UCLA undie run. You belonged here.

But for a while, you almost gave it all up.

Jayden, your ex high school boyfriend of nearly three years, got into the University of Rochester. You were supposed to follow him. You told yourself you’d make it work. That maybe the snow wouldn’t bother you. That maybe love was worth putting your own dreams on hold.

But somewhere between his vague career goals and your growing resentment for cold weather, you realized he wasn’t someone you could build a future with. Not if that future meant giving up your own.

So you broke up with him before graduation. You cried in your car, he called you selfish, and then… you let go.

And now, here you are. Standing on the ninth floor of Rieber Terrace, boxes in hand, and heart racing with possibility.

“UCLA, baby!” Olivia cheers, holding a fuzzy pink pillow above her head like it’s a trophy.

Your best friend was bright, bold, and fiercely loyal. She claimed the bed by the window and already hung up her decorative fairy lights before you even finished unpacking your first box.

You laugh as you drop your suitcase on the floor. “You realize we’re gonna be sweating bullets in ten minutes, right?”

“Worth it.” She twirls like a chaotic welcome committee. “We did it. No Rochester. No regrets. UCLA only.”

A knock hits your open dorm door, followed by a familiar voice.

“You guys decent?”

It’s Jay, Olivia’s on-and-off boyfriend since her first campus tour last year. He’s a junior built like he played every high school sport at once, and has that older frat boy charm that’s both charming and intimidating. He has a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a Sigma Nu cap on backwards.

“Jay!” Olivia lights up and jumps into his arms. “You came!”

“I said I’d help you move in, didn’t I?” He kisses her cheek, then nods at you. “Hey, nice to see you here.”

“Yeah, good thing I'm not miles away at Rochester,,” you replied.

“Bruin blue looks good on you.” Jay flashes a grin, eyes trailing from your worn-in Adidas to the scrunchie on your wrist like he’s taking in your whole freshman vibe. He sets down the duffle bag he brought with a soft thud. “You girls got plans for tonight?”

“Unpacking and blasting Sabrina,” Olivia teases, tossing another decorative pillow onto her bed.

“Wrong answer.” He digs into the side pocket of his bag and tosses her a sleek gold card, its edges embossed with the Sigma Nu crest. The lettering glints in the afternoon light like it was made for VIPs. “Rush week kickoff. Big party at our house. You’re both invited.”

Olivia practically squeals. “You’re letting freshmen in?”

“Special guests,” Jay says, winking like he’s doing you both a favor. Then he leans against the doorframe, looking especially pleased with himself. “Plus… someone’s gotta meet Jake.”

You blink. “Jake?”

“Jake Sim,” he says casually, like the name should mean something to you. “Point guard. My one and only best friend.”

You exchange a glance with Olivia, but Jay’s eyes stay on you, and something about his tone makes your stomach twist.

“He’s kind of a legend around here,” Jay adds, voice dipped in something just shy of awe. “Runs the court like it’s stitched into his DNA. Frat royalty. He’s picky as hell about the parties he shows up to, but he’ll for sure be at this one.”

“What, like campus-famous?” you ask, skeptical.

Jay chuckles, pushing off the doorframe. “Let’s just say girls know who he is. Professors know who he is. Hell, even the security guards nod when he walks by.”

You raise an eyebrow and scoff. “Sounds like a lot of ego.”

Jay just grins. “Nah. That’s the thing he doesn’t need ego. He’s just Jake. You’ll see.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving behind the gold invitation, the faint scent of cologne, and a new name lingering in your mind like a dare.

Jake Sim.

You don’t know him yet.

But apparently… everyone else already does.

By the time you’re getting ready, the sun’s gone down and your nerves are creeping up.

You stand in front of the mirror, tugging the hem of your jean mini skirt and adjusting the white tube top that hugs your body just right. Your hair is curled in soft beach waves and your lip gloss is shiny enough to catch the dorm lights. Olivia leans in beside you, applying her lashes with her steady, trained hand.

“You look so cute girl.” She says as she looks over.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” She caps the glue and turns to you, lashes fluttering dramatically. “Listen. I know you’ve been all closed off since Jayden and what not. But this is college. You’re allowed to flirt. To have fun, especially how you treated your senior summer”

You give her a skeptical look.

“And don’t roll your eyes about Jake,” she adds, grinning. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“That he’s probably a player who sleeps in basketball jerseys and wouldn’t remember a girl’s name if it was tattooed on his arm?”

“Exactly.” She smirks, stepping into her nude heels. Her green satin mini dress catches the light, hugging her curves like it was made for a night like this. “Which is why you need to talk to him. You’re too in your head.”

You don’t answer, but deep down… maybe she has a point.

You slip into your platform boots, swipe one last coat of gloss, and spray some perfume at the base of your neck. The music from another dorm echoes faintly through the walls, guess someone’s already pregaming and it hits you all at once that this is your life now. UCLA. Westwood. Nights out with no curfew and no one waiting on the other end of a phone.

By 9:15, you're both heading down the elevator, giddy and glowing, your arms linked like it’s a homecoming dance. The air is warm and golden, the city buzzing even as the sun dips below the horizon.

“Sigma Nu’s like, a ten-minute walk,” Olivia says, scrolling through her phone. “Right on Gayley. We’ll hear it before we even see it.”

The sidewalks are alive with other students dressed up and headed in the same direction, laughter spilling into the air like music. You pass neon scooters tipped against streetlights, clusters of partygoers sharing disposable vapes and energy drinks. You feel a slow, humming thrill start to build in your chest.

When you reach Gayley Avenue, the street is already a scene with cars inching past with their windows down, music thumping from every direction, and the unmistakable glow of a college party in full swing just up ahead.

“Yup,” Olivia says, pointing at the white house with columns wrapped in twinkle lights. “There it is.”

The Sigma Nu house.

There are people flooding the front lawn, red solo cups in hand, a fake velvet rope barely holding the chaos at bay. Someone’s standing on the porch with a megaphone, trying to rally the crowd, and above it all, you spot the signature gold crest of the fraternity shining against the night sky.

“Okay,” Olivia says, giving your hand a squeeze. “This is it. Night one of UCLA.”

And with that, you both step into the buzz of it all heart pounding, breath held, walking straight into something that feels a lot like the beginning of everything.

You barely make it through the front hall before Jay spots you both.

“Ladies!” He grins, pulling Olivia into a quick kiss and nodding toward the back. “Come say hi to the guys.”

You trail behind them, catching glimpses of Greek letters on jerseys, someone shotgunning 2 seltzers on the kitchen counter, and a couple making out under a Sigma Nu banner like it’s a scene from a teen movie.

Jay wraps an arm around Olivia’s waist and says something about upstairs shots, then turns to you. “You good?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’ll wander.”

And you do, but out of the crowded hallway and into the kitchen, which is quieter but still buzzing.

You’re reaching for a drink when someone steps beside you.

“Water?” a mysterious voice says. “Smart move.”

You glance over and there he is.

Jake.

You recognize him immediately. Tall. Lean muscle under a vintage Lakers tee. A backwards UCLA cap over dark hair, low on his forehead. His eyes are sharp but amused, and his smile is wide, like he’s never had to try hard for attention.

“I wasn’t sure the kitchen was still part of the party,” you say.

“It’s where the real ones hide.” He bumps his shoulder lightly into yours. “I’m Jake.”

You give him your name, surprised when he repeats it back like he means to remember it.

“Jay’s been talking about you,” he says, sipping his drink. “Said you’re Olivia’s best friend. Smart. Cutthroat. UCLA top choice?”

You blink. “He said all that?”

Jake shrugs, leaning casually against the counter. “He left out the part about you being gorgeous.”

You raise a brow. “Smooth.”

“Hey, I try.” He grins and shrugs, then nods toward the living room. “Wanna go out there?”

You hesitate at first, but the music is good and his smile is infectious. So you follow him.

You dance. Not the awkward kind, but the good kind. The kind that feels like laughing. Like swaying and spinning and singing half the lyrics wrong. Jake never gets too close, never pushes it, but he pays attention. He notices when you stumble slightly, when you laugh too hard, when you mouth the lyrics to a 2000s throwback.

It’s... not what you expected.

You're mid-spin when your phone buzzes.

Olivia [10:06 PM]: Staying w Jay tonight. You good?

You stare at the message, the blue glow from your phone lighting your face in the dim living room. The text doesn’t surprise you, but it still surprises you a little. You slip the phone into your mini bag, trying not to overthink it.

Jake notices the shift in your energy immediately as he’s been dancing with you long enough to know when your mood flickers. His hands rest gently on your waist, steady like he’s done this a hundred times before, but not in a way that makes you feel like just another girl.

“You good?” he asks, leaning in so only you can hear him over the music.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of your lip gloss. “Yeah Liv ditched me for her boyfriend… again. Classic.”

Jake huffs a small laugh, eyes glinting and looking around. “Ruthless. You wanna go somewhere else?”

You glance around. The party’s still packed with the lights strung between trees, the bass rattling the air, couples swaying close, some dancing like they’ve known each other forever. But even with the crowd, it kind of feels like it’s just you and him.

“I mean… not yet,” you say honestly. “My feet are killing me though.”

“Say less.” He gently pulls back, nodding toward the house. “C’mon. Let’s grab a drink, and take five.”

You follow him inside, weaving through clusters of people until you’re tucked in the kitchen, where the noise fades just enough for conversation. He pours you a Sprite without asking hands it over without the pressure.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t take you for a mind reader.”

“I clocked you weren’t drinking earlier,” he says with a lazy smile. “Didn’t wanna assume.”

“Look at you. Respectful and observant?”

Jake grins, leaning back against the counter next to you. “Don’t ruin my reputation. I’m supposed to be the cocky one.”

You laugh into your cup. He’s not what you expected at all. For someone whose name gets tossed around like he’s a campus legend, Jake Sim is… chill. Easy. Not trying too hard to be anything.

“So…” he says after a moment. “Why UCLA?”

You pause, surprised by the question. “Honestly? It was my dream school. I almost didn’t end up here though.”

His brows lift. “Wait, why?”

“I was supposed to follow my ex to the University of Rochester,” you say, kind of embarrassed. “I thought I owed it to him. We were together for years. But it didn’t feel right. I kept picturing myself there and it felt… wrong. Like I’d be living his life, not mine.”

Jake’s quiet for a second, then nods. “That’s tough but respect for choosing yourself.”

You shrug. “Kinda felt like I was blowing up my whole life. But yeah I think I’m for sure where I’m supposed to be.”

He’s looking at you in this thoughtful way that makes your skin buzz. “You are.”

You blink, heart jumping just a little. “What about you? Why UCLA?”

He chuckles. “Basketball, obviously. But also—" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, “—LAs my home. I wanted to stay close. Didn’t think I’d like it this much though.”

The two of you linger there for a while longer, sipping drinks, talking about dumb orientation stuff, professors you’re both nervous about, the weird flex of having to buy scantrons in 2025. It’s easy. Comfortable. The kind of conversation you didn’t know you needed.

Eventually, you glance at the time and sigh. “Okay, now I should probably head back.”

Jake straightens up. “Want me to walk you?”

You give him a look. “You don’t have to.”

He tilts his head, a crooked smile displayed across his face. “I know I don’t. But I want to.”

And that shuts you right up.

He grabs his jacket off the couch before you leave, draping it over your shoulders without asking. It smells good, a little like his cologne, and weirdly clean.

The walk back is slow. Quiet. The party fades behind you, replaced by crickets and the hum of the city around campus. He asks about your major, your schedule, whether or not you’re scared of 8 a.m. lectures. You ask about his team, how often they travel, whether the pressure ever gets to him.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But it’s worth it. I love it too much.”

When you reach your dorm, neither of you moves right away. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize this version of the night.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, soft.

“Thanks for dancing,” he says back, equally soft.

You smile, pulling the jacket tighter. “Night, Jake.”

“Night.” He pauses, like he might say something else but just gives you a nod instead.

You head upstairs alone, your heart weirdly light. You don’t know if this means anything, or if it was just a one-night spark, but for the first time in a long time you’re not thinking about Jayden. Or Rochester. Or what you left behind.

All you’re thinking about… is right now.

And maybe just maybe Jake Sim.

It’s been a week since the Sigma Nu party, but your mind keeps pulling pieces of it back. The glint of string lights. Jake’s jacket draped over your shoulders. The way his voice dipped when he asked if he could walk you home, like he was trying not to make it a big deal.

You haven’t seen him since. You figured you probably wouldn’t. That night felt like a bubble, one of those weird college moments that starts and ends in a haze of music and too much Sprite.

But now it’s Thursday afternoon, and you’re making your way to Bio 5A with a textbook in one hand, Starbucks in the other just trying to stay awake long enough to survive your professor’s ramble about cell theory. The halls in the science building are buzzing, students rushing in and out of rooms, phones glued to their hands.

You’re scrolling through your Canvas notifications when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey.”

You glance up and there he is, leaning against the wall like he owns it—backpack slung over one shoulder, curls a little messier than you remember, in an oversized UCLA hoodie and basketball shorts. Jake Sim.

You blink. “Oh hey.”

He flashes that same lazy, lopsided grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you around the STEM kids.”

You laugh. “Bio lecture. Unfortunately.”

“Ohh I see.” He pushes off the wall, falling into step beside you like it’s nothing. “How’s week two treating you?”

“Chaos,” you say. “I already missed an assignment and had a full-on meltdown over my laundry card not working.”

Jake snorts. “Haha. The true freshman experience.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “What about you? Where’re you headed?”

“Practice.” He tilts his head toward the gym across campus. “We’ve got a game tomorrow. First home game of the season.”

“Oh yeah?” You pause. “Big deal?”

He shrugs like it’s not, but the flicker in his eyes says otherwise. “Kind of.”

You adjust your grip on your textbook, nerves buzzing for no real reason. “Well, good luck. Not that you need it or whatever.”

Jake stops walking, and you do too right in front of the lecture hall doors. His eyes settle on you like he’s figuring something out.

“You know you should come.”

You blink. “To the game?”

“Yeah.” His smile turns soft. “It’d be cool to see you there.”

There’s a long beat where you think maybe he didn’t mean it like that. But then he gives you a little nod, like it’s sealed.

“Tomorrow night. I’ll leave your tickets with Jayl.”

Your brain short-circuits for half a second. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” He flashes you one last grin, then jogs backward a few steps before turning down the hallway. “Later, Bio Girl!”

You walk into lecture five seconds later than you should, cheeks warm. You slide into a seat near the middle and open your laptop, but your focus is shot.

The professor launches into a rant about organelles and cellular respiration, but all you can think about is him, in that hoodie, grinning at you like the offer was just for you. Like tomorrow night might actually mean something.

And you hate to admit it, but... part of you really hopes it does.

The stadium is packed. And the whole place hums with energy with students crammed into the bleachers, gold and blue foam fingers waving, someone with a painted chest chanting “UCLA” like their life depends on it.

You’re in the second row, sandwiched next to Olivia and Jay, who somehow managed to snag prime seats. Olivia’s already cheering, bouncing on her toes. Jay, meanwhile, is practically vibrating, yelling out plays like he’s the coach.

“Let’s gooo, Jake!” he hollers when the players run onto the court for warmups.

Your eyes scan the lineup, and then there he is.

Jake Sim. Number 5. Point guard. UCLA stitched in gold across his chest.

He’s bouncing a ball between his hands, focused, all sharp edges and muscle and clean movement. There’s no sign of the laid-back guy who walked you home that night. On the court, he’s laser precision, locked in. It's... kind of insane to watch.

Jay claps his hands and looks over to you. “You’re about to see why every girl on campus suddenly loves basketball.”

“I’m just here for the student-athlete academic excellence,” you deadpan.

He smirks. “Yeah yeah, okay.”

The game kicks off, and Jake is everywhere, fast breaks, no-look passes, pulling up from the three-point line like it's nothing. The crowd loses it every time he scores. And yeah, okay, you’ll admit it, you’re losing it too. He looks so in his element, it’s impossible not to get swept up.

By the time the buzzer sounds, UCLA’s up by 12, and the whole arena erupts.

You’re lost in the rhythm of it when, out of nowhere, Jake glances up at the stands. His eyes lock onto yours from across the court. You freeze, then catch the subtle wave of his hand he’s signaling for you, then to the locker room.

Your heart skips, and you’re not sure whether you should feel excited or nervous, so you do both. You glance over at Olivia, who’s bouncing on her feet, her eyes glued to the game.

“Olivia,” you lean in, trying to keep your voice steady. “Jake… wants me to meet him by the locker room.”

Olivia blinks, looking confused at first before her eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

“I know, it’s weird,” you shrug, trying to keep your cool. “But he waved at me and pointed, so…”

Jay turns around just then, catching the tail end of the conversation. He grins, an eyebrow raised. “You should go, then. We’ll catch up with you later. You’re not gonna leave him hanging after that, right?”

You bite your lip, still feeling like this whole situation is just too surreal. “Uh, sure. But could you two walk me there?”

Olivia smirks, knowing exactly what’s going on. “Of course. Wouldn’t let you wander around alone, especially not with him.” She winks. “Go get ‘em, girl.”

Jay pulls olivia’s arm. “Come on, we’ll head down to the player’s lounge, let her do her thing.”

You give a nervous laugh, feeling the weight of their teasing, but it doesn’t matter because the butterflies in your stomach are making it hard to focus.

The three of you make your way through the crowd, navigating the bleachers and sidestepping excited fans heading toward the exits. When you finally get to the lower level of Pauley Pavilion, Jay waves at a security guard, who gives you all a nod and lets you through a small side door into a hallway.

The atmosphere changes instantly quieter here, with the occasional sound of sneakers squeaking on the gym floor and faint echoing cheers in the distance. Olivia stays close, though you can feel the air between you and her buzzing with curiosity.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

“Yeah, just… nervous.”

Jay rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice. “What, you’ve talked to him once, and now you’re acting like it’s your first date?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Shut up.”

You follow them through the crowd, down the concrete tunnels of the stadium, heart thudding for a whole different reason now. Jay gives a little nod to a security guard, who lets you all through to a hallway lined with trophy cases and championship banners.

“This is where you wait,” Jay tells you with a grin, nudging your arm. “Don’t pass out when he takes his shirt off.”

You roll your eyes, planting yourself near the wall. Jay and Olivia keep walking further down toward the players’ lounge, giving you space.

Minutes pass. You try not to stare too hard at the double doors across from you until they swing open.

Jake steps out, still towel-drying his hair. His face is flushed, skin glowing, an everyday tee shirt clinging to his chest. He’s got his jersey in one hand, gym bag slung over the other shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, smile blooming as soon as he sees you.

You smile back, feeling weirdly shy. “Hey. Good game.”

“You watched?”

“Obviously,” you say, stepping into stride beside him as he starts walking toward the exit. “You know Jay screamed your name so many times I think he lost his voice.”

Jake laughs, a low sound that makes your stomach flip. “Sounds like him.”

You glance at him. “You were amazing. Like… actually. I was kind of blown away.”

He glances over at you, eyes warm. “Thanks. Means more coming from you.”

The walk is quiet for a second. Not awkward just comfortable. The buzz of the game still lingers in the air.

When you reach the stadium parking lot, he unlocks a sleek black car and opens the passenger door for you.

“Wow,” you tease, sliding in. “Fancy rides and post-game invites. You’re really pulling out the charm.”

“Only for you,” he shoots back, smirking as he rounds the front and gets in.

The drive back to campus is short, but it’s easy. You can still feel the energy of the game buzzing in your veins, and the quiet hum of the car’s engine almost feels like it matches the rhythm of your thoughts. Jake is relaxed behind the wheel, his hands loosely gripping the steering wheel as he navigates the streets.

“So,” you start, trying to break the silence, “I think I might just be a basketball fan now.”

Jake laughs, glancing over at you for a second, his eyes soft but amused. “Glad I could make a convert out of you.”

You grin. “You were like… on fire. All those three-pointers or something?”

“Had to, or Coach would’ve killed me,” he says with a wink. “Nah, but seriously, the team was on point tonight. Felt good playing.”

“You mean you were on point,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “The rest of the team was just lucky to have you.”

Jake chuckles, but then a familiar song starts blaring from the car’s speakers, and it’s like an immediate shift in energy. It’s a classic Justin Bieber’s  “baby”—the kind of throwback song you never expect to hear on a night like this.

Jake’s eyes light up as he turns the volume up, grinning. “Oh hell yeah. This takes me back.”

You laugh and quickly join in, both of you singing along terribly, but with full enthusiasm to the cheesy verses. Jake’s voice cracks in places, and you can’t help but giggle, your nerves settling as you belt out the lyrics in the car.

By the time the song finishes, you’re both breathing a little harder, still laughing, and clearly more relaxed than you’ve been all night.

“Okay, okay, I’ll admit, I’m a little bit of a legend when it comes to this song,” Jake teases, wiping his forehead dramatically.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

He just grins, and before you can say anything else, the next song kicks in—Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” You both groan in mock horror, but Jake immediately starts singing along, doing the full Britney falsetto.

You join in, and suddenly the whole car is alive with the sound of 2000s pop. The music is loud enough that you both get lost in it, completely ignoring how ridiculous you sound. When the chorus hits, Jake spins the wheel with exaggerated gestures, “I’m addicted to youuu, don’t you know that you’re toxic?!”

You throw your head back, laughing so hard you almost can’t catch your breath. “You are so extra,” you tease, trying to recover your voice.

“You know you love it,” Jake shoots back, eyes twinkling as he holds the note, getting louder just to mess with you.

Before long, you’re both shouting along to the next song, Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie.” You and Jake start doing the most ridiculous dance moves from your seats, pretending to shimmy and shake to the beat, even though you’re both clearly off-beat.

“Okay, but like seriously could I pull off the belly dancing moves in public?” Jake says between laughs.

“Only if you want to get mobbed by girls,” you reply, giggling.

Jake flashes you a smirk. “Not the worst thing that could happen.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. This is what you didn’t expect from the guy you’d seen from a distance, the guy everyone seemed to know. But here he is, singing Britney and Shakira like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

After a few more songs, the energy starts to slow. You’ve both burned through all the 2000s hits you can remember and have settled into a more comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward, but instead just calm.

You glance out the window, watching the familiar streets of campus pass by. You’re not ready for the ride to end, but you know it’s coming soon.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you say quietly, still holding his jersey in your lap. “I needed this. Tonight. All of it.”

Jake looks over at you, his expression softening. “I’m glad you came. Seriously.”

The car pulls into the parking lot outside your dorm, and you realize you really don’t want the night to end. But you know it has to. You need to get back to your dorm, and he has to get some rest for tomorrow’s practice.

Jake parks the car, but neither of you makes a move to get out immediately. The radio plays low, some random song you can’t quite place. It feels comfortable.

“I don’t want to go,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Jake glances at you, his smile turning into something a little more genuine, \“I don’t either.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a flutter in your chest. “But we kinda have to, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, but the reluctance in his voice is obvious. He glances down at the jersey in your hands. “Take it. I know I have a bunch of them, but this one’s special. Really.”

You nod, folding it carefully, still warm from the game. “I will. Thanks.”

Jake takes a deep breath, then opens his door, and you do the same. As you get out, you hold the jersey a little tighter against your chest, reluctant to let it go.

Before you close the door, Jake calls out. “Hey, wait. Promise me you’ll wear it sometime.”

You laugh, blinking in surprise. “Are you serious? In public?”

“Yeah. Why not?” He shrugs, still leaning against the car. “I’ve got a ton of them. But this one, you should keep.”

You bite your lip, feeling the weight of it in your hands. “Alright. I’ll wear it. For you, Jake.”

He gives you that crooked grin of his. “Good. I’ll be expecting you to wear it to the next game.”

You grin back, feeling lighter than you have all night. “It’s a deal.”

You open the door slowly, still not ready to break whatever this is, but knowing you kind of have to.

“Night, Jake.”

“Night, Bio Girl.”

You close the door with a soft click and start walking back to the dorm, the jersey pressed tight to your side. You glance over your shoulder one last time to see him already getting in the elevator, giving you one final wave before the doors close.

You take a deep breath as you make your way inside, the warmth of the jersey against your side a reminder of the night. A reminder of Jake.

The next morning, sunlight filters through the blinds, soft and golden, warming the skin of your bare arms where they peek out from under the comforter. You stretch, blink slowly, and roll over toward the edge of your bed with your eyes landing on Jake’s jersey, still draped over your desk chair.

You smile, sitting up and grabbing it. It’s wrinkled now, the “UCLA” letters slightly folded, but still smells faintly of detergent and something boyish, maybe sweat, but in a good way.

You shake it out, and something small flutters to the floor.

It’s a sticky note. You pick it up, brow furrowing, and read the messy scrawl written across the back:

Jake – XXX-XXX-XXXX (only text if you liked the game )

You snort, rolling your eyes. Cocky. But the butterflies still show up anyway.

You [10:26]: I liked the jersey better than the game tbh.

Jake [10:26]:  bold start.

You [10:27]: bold handwriting.

Jake [10:27]:I take offense.

You [10:28]: you should. it’s worse than my bio notes.

Jake [10:28]:wanna tell me that to my face over coffee?

read

You meet outside the Starbucks already spotting Jake leaning against the brick wall, hoodie thrown over his head, sweatpants and beat-up Nikes completing the “effortless athlete” look. His phone’s in one hand, but he’s already smiling when you approach.

“You’re early,” he says.

“You’re wearing slippers in public.”

“They’re sneakers,” he protests, then looks down. “Okay, fine. Maybe slippers.”

You laugh, falling into step beside him as the line inside creeps forward. Jake taps the glass, studying the pastries like it’s a museum exhibit.

“You look like a caramel person,” he says suddenly.

You glance up at him. “And you look like someone who drinks black coffee and lectures people about it.”

He gasps. “I’m offended.”

“You should be.”

When it’s your turn to order, you tell the barista who was tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly too confident, that you’ll have an iced caramel latte. He writes your name on the cup, eyes lingering just a beat too long.

Jake doesn’t notice until you get your drink and there’s something else scrawled under your name.

“Text me sometime :)” with a phone number.

Right there. On your cup.

Jake freezes when he sees it, mid-sip of his own cold brew.

“Wow,” he says, blinking. “Okay. Damn. Starbucks just giving out boyfriends now?”

He turns to face the barista, “She’s good,” he says coldly, taking both drinks and your hand.“She already has someone’s number.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“Territorial,” he mutters, then leans in. “And maybe a little jealous.”

You grin into your straw.

You walk around campus after your lectures, neither of you really in a rush. The sun’s out, glinting off windows and warming your shoulders as you stroll past Royce, then down toward the sculpture garden. It’s calm. Almost too calm, for how fast your heart’s going.

Jake’s walking close, his fingers brushing yours sometimes. And even though you’re talking about stupid things like how vanilla tastes better than caramel or whether the 2000s were peak music you can feel the shift in the air.

He looks at you when you laugh. Not like a friend. Not like someone who just wants to flirt for the day.

Like someone who sees you. And likes what he sees.

You’re halfway down the steps when the conversation slows. The campus hum fades into the background. You look over at him.

And that’s when it happens.

No warning. No awkward setup.

Just silence… then lips.

His mouth finds yours like it’s instinct. Soft and steady. Like he’s been waiting for the right second. Your hand curls around his hoodie, grounding yourself, and his fingers ghost the side of your jaw, gentle but sure.

When you finally pull back, neither of you says anything for a moment.

Then Jake lets out a slow breath, eyes still on yours. “Been wanting to do that since the party,” he murmurs.

You bite your bottom lip, heart thudding. “Took you long enough.”

He grins

The walk back to your dorm was filled with laughter and smiles. But this time, you don’t head inside right away. You linger outside the door, and he does too.

“I had a good time today,” you say, voice soft.

Jake shifts his weight, hands deep in his hoodie pocket. “Me too.”

The silence that settles between you is quieter now. Calmer.

Then he says it.

“That kiss…” he trails off, eyes locking with yours. “That wasn’t just fun for me.”

Your breath hitches.

“I don’t wanna wonder where we stand,” he adds. “Or sit back while random dudes write their number on your cup. I like you. And I wanna be the only one kissing you.”

You blink, cheeks warm but not from the sun.

“Then don’t worry,” you whisper. “You are.”

His smile spreads, slow and real.

“Cool,” he says. “And by the way I’m really not trying to share you with Mr. Starbucks.”

You laugh, pulling open the dorm door.

“Night, Jake.”

“Night, Bio Girl.”

As you step inside, jersey still folded neatly over your arm, you realize something strange.

You’re not thinking about Jayden. Or Rochester. Or all the things you left behind.

You’re thinking about caramel lattes and crooked handwriting. About slow walks and quiet kisses.

You’re thinking about Jake.

And it feels good.

Like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

[enflixx]

Sunrise - kim sunoo

summary: Living your dream as a gentle daycare worker with a quiet, routine life caring for children until a kind, young single father named Sunoo and his daughter, Soleil, slowly begin to brighten your world. What begins as simple daily interactions turns into quiet companionship, shared moments, and a growing bond neither expected. Through small gestures and honest conversations, your connection deepens into something tender and real, just like the steady sunrise.

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

word count: 5,243

The morning light spills through the daycare windows like melted gold. It’s a quiet sort of morning that’s not sleepy, but not quite wide awake either. The kind that hums under your skin, where everything is still stretching and yawning into the day.

You're sitting cross-legged on the alphabet rug, carefully pulling apart a box of new crayons while the scent of cinnamon oatmeal wafts from the break room down the hall. You always get here early, even though no one expects you to. There’s something about the silence before the stampede of sneakers that feels sacred.

It’s a Tuesday. It feels like a Tuesday.

Your phone buzzes once on the desk, a reminder to water the windowsill plants. Again. You tuck it away without responding. The classroom needs you first.

You check the clipboard. Twelve kids today.

You smile to yourself, mentally running through their names. There’s Matty, who always brings a rock in his pocket and calls it his “thinking stone.” Evie, who insists on being addressed as “Queen Evie” during dress-up hour. And of course—

The door creaks open.

“Good morning, Miss !” yells Luca, already halfway in, dragging his backpack across the floor like it personally offended him.

“Hey Luca,” you grin. “Looks like someone had waffles this morning.”

“I had two!” he yells back, holding up five fingers.

His mom mouths a tired “sorry” as she signs him in, but you wave it off. You’re used to loud entrances. They’re kind of your favorite.

The others trickle in, some sleepy, some wired. You tie shoelaces, accept fistfuls of wilted dandelions, and guide them toward their usual stations. Blocks. Dolls. Coloring.

Then the room tilts a little brighter.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Good morning, Soleil,” you say, soft and warm like the name deserves.

She runs in, backpack bouncing behind her like it’s weightless. Her curls are held back by a bright yellow headband today, and her eyes shine like she’s never known a bad morning in her life.

“Miss, I drew you a BIGG SUN,” she announces, holding up a crumpled piece of paper with swirls of gold crayon scribbled in tight loops. “It’s because your voice is warm like the sun when you sing the cleanup song.”

You blink, a little stunned. “That’s… probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

She beams, completely unaware of the way she’s just carved her place into your chest.

That’s Soleil. Always a ray of light. She’s the kind of child who dances instead of walking, who makes friends with the classroom goldfish, who sings to her shoes when no one’s listening.

And somehow, she’s always the calm in the storm. Even when there’s paint spilled across the rug and someone’s in tears over the last red marker, Soleil is the one who brings you a tissue. Just in case you need one too.

The day passes in its usual blur of glitter, snack-time negotiations, and a brief moment where two toddlers declare war over a toy dinosaur. You referee with the diplomacy of a seasoned peacekeeper.

Soleil spends the afternoon making a "sunshine map" with three other kids, drawing a trail of suns from the playroom to the bookshelf to the cubbies. When you ask why, she says, “So people never forget where the warm places are.”

You write it down on a sticky note. You do that a lot, recording the things they say that deserve to be remembered.

The clock nudges 5:00. Pick-up time.

Parents start to arrive, tired and grateful. There are waves, quick hugs, and shouted goodbyes. One by one, the classroom empties.

Except for Soleil.

She sits quietly on a beanbag with her favorite book, twirling the end of her headband around her finger.

You check the clock again. 5:14.

She doesn’t seem worried, but you are.

You fish your phone from your back pocket just as the front door swings open with a rush of cool air.

“Miss, hi, so sorry,” he pants, nearly breathless.

You look up and finally get a good look at him.

Soleil’s father is flushed from the cold, his coat slightly crooked, keys dangling from one hand like he dropped them three times on the way in. There’s a paper coffee cup tucked under his arm and a traffic app still glowing on his phone screen.

“Traffic was a nightmare. And I couldn’t find my charger so my phone almost died and I couldn’t text and,” he pauses, then straightens, “I’m really sorry. I know it’s late.”

You wave him off automatically, but there’s a softness in the way he says it. He means it more deeply than most people ever do.

“She’s alright,” you assure him. “We were just reading.”

He looks down at Soleil, who stands and tugs on his coat sleeve.

“Daddy,” she says, voice small, “you didn’t get to see my sunshine map.”

His expression changes. Folds inward a little. “No? Then show me now.”

You watch from the edge of the room as she leads him by the hand, pointing out each sun drawn on the floor, narrating with quiet pride.

He listens. Really listens. Kneeling down to her level, nodding, asking questions like she’s teaching him something sacred.

It’s not your moment, but something about watching it fills you with quiet warmth. Like sunlight seeping under a door.

When they finally turn to leave, he looks back at you. “Thanks for today. And… for being patient. She talks about you a lot, you know. Says your hugs feel like warm bread.”

You laugh despite yourself, and he smiles too. Something softer this time. Something that lingers.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks.

You nod. “Always.”

They step into the cold evening air, her hand in his, his coat still crooked, and the door clicks softly behind them.

You exhale. The sun outside has dipped low, but somehow, it feels like it’s still shining in here.

By the time you get home, the sky has dimmed to a dusky lavender. You kick off your shoes at the door and flick on the kitchen light. It hums to life with a low buzz. The apartment greets you the same way it always does. Still. Quiet. Just a little too tidy.

You hang your bag on the hook and press play on the small speaker near the window. Soft piano notes drift through the air, gentle and unhurried. After a day full of voices and movement, this part of the evening always feels like breathing again.

Your coat lands over the back of a dining chair as you drift into the kitchen, already reaching for the electric kettle. Everything moves in rhythm. Peppermint tea. Leftovers if you're hungry. And a scroll through unread emails you probably won’t answer tonight.

The potted plant by the sink is leaning again. Reaching toward the window, always thirsty for light. You turn it slightly. The soil feels cool beneath your fingertips. One of the leaves is torn down the middle, the edges curling inward.

Your phone buzzes on the counter. One missed call from Mom.

You watch the screen for a moment, then sigh. You were hoping she wouldn’t notice you hadn’t called back yesterday.

Still, you swipe to redial and tuck the phone between your shoulder and cheek while pouring the water.

She answers right away.

“There she is. I was starting to think you’d fallen into the sandbox at work.”

You smile to yourself as the kettle clicks off. “Hi, Mom. Just got home.”

“You work too hard,” she says, in that way that makes it sound like an ongoing complaint. “Did you eat anything real today? You sound tired.”

“I had a granola bar and some crackers.”

“Fish crackers aren’t dinner.”

“They were the organic kind.”

She clicks her tongue, unimpressed, but doesn’t argue further. You curl up on the couch with your tea, pulling a throw blanket over your legs.

“Anything sweet happen today?” she asks. “One of the kids call you a princess again?”

You think of Soleil. Her yellow headband. The way she declared your voice as warm as the sun. The way her small hand fit so naturally into her father’s as they walked out the door.

You swirl the honey at the bottom of your tea. “There’s a little girl named Soleil. She told me I sound like the sun when I sing.”

Your mom laughs. “Well, you always did have a sunshine voice. Even when you were little.”

You let her memory settle into the space between you, the quiet hum of the call filling the room. It’s warm in here now. The kind of warm that doesn’t need a blanket or a heater. Just stillness and soft music and someone on the other end of the line who knows your stories.

Then her tone shifts.

Not much. Just enough for you to notice.

“So,” she begins slowly. “Is there anyone new?”

You blink, unsure if you misheard. “New?”

“A boyfriend. Or someone who could become one.”

You groan into your tea. “Mom.”

“What? I’m allowed to ask. You never talk about anyone. It’s always work and the little ones and your art projects and your tea collection. I know you love your job, but don’t you get a little lonely?”

You press your thumb into the side of your mug and let the heat ground you. “No. I mean… sometimes. But I’m fine. Really.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay to want more than fine.”

You don't respond right away. There’s nothing defensive in your silence, only something quiet and uncertain.

She softens. “You just have such a big heart. I know someone will see it one day and fall completely in love with it.”

You glance toward your work bag near the front door. Folded inside it is Soleil’s sunshine map. You can still hear her tiny voice narrating each sun as she led her father through the classroom. And you can still feel the way he looked at you. Like he meant it when he said thank you. Like he saw more than just a teacher with a clipboard and a soft voice.

Your mom’s voice returns through the speaker. “You’ll tell me if someone comes along, right?”

You smile without meaning to. “Of course.”

“Alright then. I won’t bug you about it again tonight. Just… keep your heart open.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, mommy.”

You hang up and set your phone down on the coffee table, screen face down. The apartment settles again into its usual rhythm. The windows glow faintly with the last bits of city light, flickering across the glass like whispers. You sip the rest of your tea and sink a little deeper into the couch.

There’s no noise now. No toys or tiny footsteps. Just you. Just your breath and the steady pulse of the world outside.

But something lingers in the quiet.

Something warm.

Something that feels like the very first sliver of sunrise, waiting just beyond the edge of sleep.

The daycare is already humming with excitement when you arrive that morning. Glitter glue lids are scattered on the arts and crafts table, someone has colored in half the alphabet rug with a crayon, and at least two children are running in uneven loops with paper ties dangling from their necks.

“Good morning!” Miss Clarisse chirps from the front, her arms already full of orange juice cartons and napkins. “Don’t forget, today’s Father’s Day picnic. The parents will start arriving after lunch.”

You nod, slipping your bag into its usual cubby and tightening the laces of your shoes. A familiar rhythm sets in as you make your way through the room, greeting the children by name, checking their forms and folders, crouching beside tiny sneakers to retie loose laces.

Soleil arrives not long after.

She barrels through the front door with a burst of energy, her yellow raincoat trailing behind her even though the skies are clear. You smile as she runs up and gives you a hug that’s all elbows and tangled hair.

“Guess what!” she says. “Daddy’s coming today!”

You kneel beside her. “Is he? I hope he’s ready for tug-of-war. I heard you’re very competitive.”

She beams, her cheeks glowing with the kind of confidence only four-year-olds possess. “We practiced at home with the dish towel.”

You laugh, helping her hang her coat. “Well, then I better stretch.”

The morning breezes by in a blur of anticipation. The kids are louder than usual, full of questions and guesses about what the picnic will include. You help them finish their cards, tape down macaroni frames, and gently redirect sticky fingers from the juice table.

When the clock strikes noon, the courtyard opens.

Picnic blankets dot the grass. Folding tables overflow with snacks and paper cups. Fathers begin to trickle in, waving awkwardly or calling out to their children, many still dressed in work button-downs or polos, some with graying temples and wedding bands that glint in the sunlight.

You see him then.

Sunoo walks in slower than the others, carrying a small cooler in one hand and scanning the crowd for someone he knows. His expression is polite, but hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure he belongs here.

He’s younger than most of the other dads, that much is immediately clear. While many of the men gather in easy groups, clasping each other’s shoulders or introducing their wives, Sunoo lingers at the edge. Alone.

You watch from a distance as Soleil spots him. She runs across the grass, her tiny legs pumping with delight, and throws herself into his arms. He kneels to catch her, the softest smile blooming across his face.

Still, even with her in his lap, you notice how his shoulders stay a little too stiff. He keeps glancing around. His posture is polite, but closed. As if he’s used to being overlooked in rooms like this.

You make your way over without thinking.

“Soleil,” you say, crouching beside her. “Did you show your dad the picture wall?”

Her eyes widened. “I forgot!”

She grabs Sunoo’s hand and starts dragging him toward the mural taped to the fence, a chaotic rainbow of finger paintings and handprints. He looks up at you, surprised, as he follows her.

“Thank you,” he says softly, falling into step beside you. “For setting all this up. She’s been looking forward to it all week.”

You glance at him. Up close, he looks a little overwhelmed. But grateful too. He’s dressed in simple jeans and a white teek, but he holds himself with care. Clean nails, hair gently parted, a threadbare bracelet around his wrist that looks like it might’ve been made by Solei.

“She talked about you a lot yesterday,” you say, smiling. “She said you’re great at tug-of-war.”

That gets a soft laugh out of him. “I have no idea where she gets that confidence. She beat me three times.”

“She must take after her dad then.”

The words come easily, but they surprise even you. He glances at you again, this time with a touch of something curious behind his eyes. As if he’s not used to being spoken to like that. As if most people see only the surface.

You both follow Soleil to the mural, where she launches into an animated explanation of her painting. Something about dinosaurs and birthday hats. Her voice is pure sunshine.

You and Sunoo stand just behind her, letting her lead the moment. There’s a natural silence between you now, not uncomfortable. Just present.

After a while, he says, “She really loves it here. I was nervous, enrolling her so young. But she talks about you like you’re her best friend.”

You glance at Soleil, who is now gesturing toward a very abstract sun in the corner of her canvas. “She’s special. We’re lucky to have her.”

Sunoo smiles at that. The kind of smile that sits in the corners of his eyes for a while.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a slow, warm drift. The games begin. There’s laughter and string cheese and haphazard soccer matches. You catch glimpses of Sunoo now and then, trailing behind Solei, letting her win, letting her pull him along.

He seems more relaxed as the day wears on. Less like a guest. More like he belongs.

When it’s time to clean up, parents begin packing coolers and gathering up juice boxes. You’re helping fold up blankets when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” Sunoo says, gently. “Before we go…”

You turn to face him. His expression is sincere.

“I just wanted to thank you. For today. For all of it.”

You tilt your head. “It was for the kids.”

He nods. “Yeah. But it meant a lot to me too. Being included. You know... some places, it’s kind of obvious I’m not what people expect when they think ‘dad.’”

You meet his eyes, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken there. A quiet understanding. A shared kind of care.

“Well,” you say softly, “you’re exactly who Solei needs. That’s more than enough.”

He looks at you then. Really looks. And the moment feels like the first glimmer of something new. Something small and warm and just beginning.

“Thank you,” he says again.

Then he takes Solei’s hand, and they walk away together. A father and daughter, silhouettes in the gold-tinged light of late afternoon.

You watch them go, the sun casting long shadows across the grass.

And you realize you’re still smiling.

Saturday mornings are usually for stillness.

You wake up later than usual, letting the soft light seep through your bedroom blinds before even thinking about getting out of bed. There’s no rush to tie shoes or answer sticky-handed questions. No juice to pour or nap mats to unroll. Just you. The hum of the city. The rustle of your sheets.

It should be peaceful.

But your mind isn’t as quiet as it normally is.

You find yourself replaying moments from the week. Not the tantrums or snack times. Not the cleanup songs or paint stains. But him.

Sunoo.

You didn’t expect to think about him so much. And yet here you are, buttering toast with one hand while remembering the way he laughed softly when Solei talked about her “T-Rex picnic hat.” The way his eyes had crinkled at the edges. The way he’d looked at you when he said thank you.

He was… handsome.

You feel warm just thinking it. Not just in that textbook way, but in the kind of way that sneaks up on you. The way that makes you feel noticed when you’re usually the one doing the noticing.

You shake the thoughts away and tie your hair up. Today is yours. You promised yourself you’d step outside. Try something new.

The farmers’ market near your building is bustling by the time you get there. The scent of baked bread weaves through the crowd, mingling with freshly cut herbs and peaches stacked in little wooden baskets. It’s noisy, but comforting. People chatter, kids tug on hands, street musicians strum on corners.

You wander through the stalls with a small canvas tote slung over your shoulder, buying a bundle of lavender from a teenage vendor and letting yourself sample more cheese than necessary at a dairy booth.

And then, just as you're rounding the corner of a honey stand, you hear a familiar voice.

“Don’t run too far, Solei. I’m right here.”

You freeze for just a second before turning.

There they are.

Solei, bright as ever in a strawberry-patterned dress, is crouched by a crate of sunflowers, her fingers grazing the yellow petals like she’s deciding which one to talk to first. And next to her, holding two paper bags in one arm and scanning the crowd, is Sunoo.

He spots you before you can decide whether to wave.

His face lights up with recognition. “Oh. Hi.”

You smile, walking over slowly. “Hi.”

Solei looks up at the sound of your voice. “Miss! Miss! We’re getting flowers!”

“I see that,” you say, crouching next to her. “They’re beautiful. Just like your dress.”

Sunoo shifts his bags in his arm and chuckles. “We came for jam, but we’re leaving with half the market.”

You stand and glance at him. “I guess we had the same idea for a Saturday.”

He nods, his gaze warm. “It’s nice, isn��t it? Getting to just… exist.”

You both fall into a natural silence, watching Soleli pick her favorite bloom and clutch it like treasure.

“Actually,” he says after a beat, a little sheepish, “we were on our way to a dog café. I thought it’d be a fun surprise for her. She loves animals.”

You raise your brows, amused. “A dog café?”

“They have cake. For people,” he adds quickly, then rubs the back of his neck. “I mean. You’re welcome to come with us. If you’re not busy.”

You hesitate.

You don’t normally say yes to things like this. You usually go home, make tea, read. You don’t usually accept last-minute invites to cafés involving fur and frosting.

But his eyes are kind. And his voice is soft. And something in your chest tugs.

“I’d like that,” you say. “Thank you.”

The café is as chaotic as you expect.

Dogs of all shapes and sizes roam between tables, tails wagging like metronomes. Solei squeals with joy and immediately makes friends with a sleepy beagle in a red sweater.

You and Sunoo find a quieter table near the window. You sip on iced coffee while watching Solei through the glass pane of the play area. She’s safe, busy, and totally enamored with a golden retriever twice her size.

Sunoo leans back slightly, finally letting himself relax.

“She’s so brave,” he murmurs. “I used to worry that growing up without a full family would make her quiet. Or unsure.”

You glance at him. “She’s the most confident kid I’ve ever met.”

He smiles, but there’s something thoughtful behind it. “That’s all her. She’s always been like this. Even when things were hard.”

You let the silence breathe before asking, “Is it just the two of you?”

He nods once. “Yeah. Her mom wasn’t really ready. I was. It wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You let the words settle. There’s no pity in you. Just admiration.

“She’s lucky,” you say softly.

He looks at you.

And then, as if the words slip out without asking his permission, he says, “So am I. I mean—”

His voice catches. His ears turn red. “Not like that. I just meant—being here. Talking to you. It’s been… really nice.”

You blink, surprised. Not by the compliment, but by how it makes you feel.

Warm. Seen. A little bit like how the first rays of sunrise feel when they peek through your curtains.

You smile, your hand brushing the side of your cup. “It’s been nice for me too.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, looking down at his lap like he’s trying to compose himself.

Before long, Solei returns, cheeks flushed from play and arms full of stickers the café handed out for free. The moment passes, easy and unspoken, but it lingers.

You say your goodbyes just outside the café, the afternoon light soft and golden.

“Thanks for letting me crash your lunch,” you say, meaning it.

“Thanks for saying yes,” he replies. Then, with Solei tugging his hand again, they disappear into the gentle tide of the sidewalk crowd.

You walk home slowly, your bag a little heavier with jam and sunflowers.

Back in your apartment, the stillness greets you again. But it feels different today. A little brighter. A little fuller.

You place the flowers in a glass jar on your windowsill and catch your reflection in the glass.

Maybe it was just a simple lunch. A few words. A smile or two.

But maybe it’s also something more.

Maybe it’s what happens when you let life surprise you. When you let someone in, just a little.

Maybe this is what stepping outside your comfort zone feels like.

The week starts as usual.

Soft sunlight filters through the trees as you unlock the daycare door, flicking on the lights and laying out puzzles and books and tiny plastic fruit. The room smells like lemon cleaner and finger paint. You hum quietly to yourself, tying your apron and checking your clipboard. Everything is in order. The routine is a rhythm now, easy to slip into like a favorite sweater.

But then he walks in.

Sunoo.

You hear the door chime and look up from where you're stacking paper cups for snack time. He’s standing there in his usual hoodie, hair a little windswept, holding two drinks in his hands one a to-go iced coffee, the other a slim energy drink can.

“I didn’t know what you’d prefer,” he says sheepishly, offering both.

You blink, surprised, then take the coffee slowly. “Thank you. This is… really thoughtful.”

He gives a small smile, and his voice drops a little as he glances around the room. “You looked tired last week. I figured caffeine couldn’t hurt.”

You laugh softly, already sipping the coffee. It’s sweet and cold and just what you didn’t know you needed.

“You figured right.”

Solei appears from behind him, arms full of a plastic dinosaur and a tiny backpack covered in glittery pins. She launches herself into the room with her usual sunshine, and just like that, the moment passes or shifts, maybe. Becomes something else. Something quieter.

The outdoor yard is alive with squeals and laughter. You keep your eyes on the group as they pedal plastic trikes across the play area. A gentle breeze carries the scent of nearby lilacs, and you’re just turning to help a little boy button his jacket when you hear it. A thud, a small yelp, and then Solei’s unmistakable cry.

You’re beside her in seconds.

A boy, too focused on racing his friend, had accidentally veered into Solei’s path, one of the plastic wheels rolling right over her foot. She’s clutching it, tears welling in her eyes, and the other kids freeze in a hush of guilt and confusion.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” you say gently, kneeling beside her. “Let me see.”

Back inside, you guide her to the first aid room. Her sock is damp with tears but her foot’s not broken, just bruised. You clean it, apply ointment, and wrap it gently with soft gauze, all while humming under your breath to soothe her.

She calms slowly, her little hand clutching yours.

You call Sunoo.

He arrives fast and breathless, his jacket hanging half on. “Is she okay?”

“She’s alright,” you reassure him as he rushes in. “Just a bruise. She was so brave.”

He drops to his knees in front of her. “Solei, baby…”

She nods solemnly, then points to the gauze. “Miss made it feel better.”

His gaze lifts to you, full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he says, voice soft but thick with feeling. “Really. Thank you for taking care of her.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course. She’s in good hands.”

There’s a pause.

“Let me thank you properly,” he says. “Dinner. At our place. Just a thank you meal. Nothing fancy.”

You hesitate only for a second. His eyes are sincere.

“Okay,” you say. “I’d like that.”

That evening, you arrive at his apartment.

It’s small but bright, tucked on the third floor of a quiet building. He opens the door with a slightly panicked smile and an apron still tied around his waist.

“Sorry, it’s still chaos in here.”

But it’s not. Not really.

The place is minimally furnished. A single couch, a wobbly bookshelf, a coffee table that looks like it was picked off the curb but the walls are full. Crayon drawings. Paint-splattered canvases. Polaroids of Solei grinning with ice cream and glitter on her cheeks. Her presence is everywhere, in every frame, every color.

You look around and smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He shrugs, rubbing his neck. “I spend more on markers than furniture.”

“It shows.” you chuckled.

Solei comes barreling in, her foot wrapped in fresh gauze and covered in stickers. “We’re making pasta but Daddy’s bad at pasta.”

“I’m not that bad,” Sunoo protests, already boiling water.

“She burns toast,” she whispers, pointing at him with wide eyes.

You laugh as you settle onto a barstool by the counter. “I’ll be the judge.”

The kitchen fills with steam and soft conversation. He cooks clumsily but carefully, while you keep Solei entertained by drawing smiley faces in flour dust on the counter. Eventually, you all sit down to eat over mismatched plates and cups.

“It’s edible,” you say with a teasing grin.

He clutches his chest dramatically. “High praise.”

Solei claps. “You did it, Daddy!”

Later, while Solei plays in her small bedroom with a talking unicorn toy, you and Sunoo linger in the living room, sipping lukewarm tea and talking.

“She really adores you,” he says, glancing down the hallway.

“She’s special.”

“You’re good with kids. Patient. Kind. They light up around you.”

You feel a soft warmth creep over you. “Thanks. I love what I do. But sometimes… I don’t know. I wonder if I’ll ever get to be someone’s mom.”

The words come out before you mean them to, and you immediately regret the honesty until you see the look in his eyes.

“I didn’t plan for any of this,” he says. “I thought I had more time. Thought I needed to have everything figured out. But life… it surprised me.”

You both sit quietly for a moment.

“She’s lucky to have you,” you say.

He gives a quiet laugh. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

You smile. And then, in an attempt to change the subject, you ask, “So. Horror movies?”

His eyes brighten. “Huge fan. The cheesier the better.”

You laugh. “Finally. Someone who gets it.”

“I was gonna suggest something scary,” he says, already reaching for the remote. “But I think Solei has other ideas.”

She runs in, holding a DVD case of Aurora, her favorite princess movie.

“We’re watching this!” she announces.

You and Sunoo share a look, amused.

“Guess this is the reality of parenthood,” you joke.

He chuckles. “Pretty much.”

As the opening credits roll, Solei curls up between you both, already singing along.

And though the movie is made for someone much younger than you, there’s a sense of peace that settles around you, a quiet comfort.

You help carry Soleil to bed once she dozes off halfway through, her small arms clutching her unicorn. He tucks her in gently, brushing her bangs from her forehead, and you watch the tenderness in his every movement.

When it’s time to go, he walks you to the door.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, rubbing his palm nervously. “And for today. For everything.”

“I had a really nice time,” you reply honestly. “It was… different. In a good way.”

He smiles, that same slightly crooked grin you’re beginning to look forward to.

You hesitate for just a second, then add, “See you Monday?”

“Definitely.”

And then you step out into the night, the city quiet, your heart a little full.

It’s funny, you think as you walk home, how unexpected joy can feel. Like sunrise on a weekday. Like laughter in a stranger’s kitchen. Like something just beginning to bloom.

[enflixx]

let loose - park sunghoon

summary: Routinely working your job, you’ve always kept your distance from the skaters, watching them glide effortlessly across the ice. But when one particular skater, with a dark, magnetic presence, catches your attention, the lines between professional and personal blur. As your connection deepens, he offers more than just a taste of something forbidden. And you begin to question whether you're falling for the thrill of the chase or something far more dangerous.

genre: suggestive

warnings: lots of kissing and touching

word count: 1,936

You’ve worked the check-in stand at Ice Rink for almost a year now, and nothing ever really changes. Parents drag their kids in for lessons. Teens show up in packs, squealing over rented skates. The occasional serious skater breezes through, headphones in, eyes focused on the ice. It’s routine. Predictable. Safe.

You’ve been working here ever since you moved to this city to start fresh. It was supposed to be a temporary gig while you figured out your next move, but something about the rhythm of it felt comforting. The hum of the rink's lights, the soft scrape of blades against ice, the familiar faces that come and go. It didn’t require much. You just checked people in, handed them their skates, and occasionally fielded questions about when the rink would be free for open skating.

You had your little corner of the rink, your small space behind the counter where the smell of fresh wax and chilled air was a constant. And you, well, you became part of the background noise. There were no exciting conversations, no long-lasting connections. Just the occasional smile exchanged with a regular or a polite “have a good time” to a family on their way out.

But then he walked in.

It was late one evening, after most of the kids had left, when you saw him. He slid across the ice effortlessly, his movements fluid and controlled, like he belonged there. It wasn’t a practice session or a casual skate. This was something else entirely—an artist performing for an audience that didn’t exist.

You had seen him around before, occasionally, but tonight was different. Tonight, he wasn’t just a guy skating. He was that guy, the one focused on the rhythm, and somehow a little untouchable. He wore the same hoodie and sweatpants he usually did, but there was something about the way he moved that made it seem like the rink was his world, and everyone else was just a visitor.

At first, you didn’t even realize you were staring. It was hard not to. But when he skated over to the edge of the rink, and his eyes met yours, you quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with the next person in line.

“Got a minute?” His voice was soft but direct, and you didn’t need to look up to know he was talking to you.

You glanced over at him, your heart beating a little faster than it should. You nodded, unsure of what to expect. He was standing there, dripping sweat, still looking way too good for someone who had just skated for an hour.

“Can I rent the ice for a bit?” he asked, his voice still calm, but his eyes…those were different. There was something in them, a challenge maybe, or a question, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” you stammered, tapping away on the computer, trying to seem professional. You handed him a ticket with a small smile. “That’ll be twenty for the hour.”

He took the ticket, but instead of walking away, he leaned on the counter a little, eyes glinting with something mischievous. “You know, I could use some company. I don’t usually skate alone.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, I’m not really supposed-”

“You look like you know your way around the ice,” he interrupted, his tone playful, but there was a spark in his gaze that made you pause.

“I mean, I can skate,” you said slowly, feeling a little hesitant. You weren’t a professional by any means, but you could hold your own. Still, the idea of skating with him, especially after seeing the way he moved... well, that was intimidating.

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I’ll go easy on you. Pinky promise.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite yourself. “You’re a confident one aren’t you.”

He shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” His eyes twinkled. “So, what do you say? Let’s make it interesting.”

The challenge in his tone was undeniable, and you found yourself drawn to it—drawn to him. Before you knew it, you were lacing up your skates, the rink lights casting long shadows over the ice. He was already gliding in small circles, waiting for you.

“Come out here,” he says.

“I’m working.”

“It’s dead. No one’ll notice.”

You hesitate. Then unlatch the half-door and step onto the rubber mat.

“I don’t skate a lot,” you admit as he helps you into a pair of rentals.

“You don’t need to.” His voice drops low as he guides you onto the ice. “Just hold on to me.”

You do. And he pulls you in, hands on your waist, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. His fingers tighten. Your cheeks flush. You slide, clumsily, but he doesn’t let go. You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the way he looks at you, but your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“You’re not so bad,” he murmurs. “You just needed someone to hold you steady.”

Your lips part, a sharp inhale, and before you can stop it, you're wondering how steady he’d hold you off the ice.

The ice is quiet, the rink nearly deserted. Just you and Sunghoon, breathless and flushed under the hum of overhead lights. His hands stay on your hips a moment too long, thumbs brushing over your jacket like he’s memorizing how you feel. You’re not skating anymore. You’re just standing there, holding onto him like the world might tip sideways if you let go.

“You cold?” he asks, but his voice is already dark, teasing.

You shake your head. You’re burning.

Sunghoon eyes drop to your mouth. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m not gonna let you go back behind that counter.”

The heat between you snaps tight.

You try to laugh, to play it off. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

He skates you both toward the boards, backing you into the wall with slow, easy confidence. One arm braces beside your head. The other slides down, catching your waist, steadying you on the ice. His breath is warm, lips inches from yours.

You whisper, “What are you doing?”

“What I’ve been thinking about every night since I saw you behind that glass.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just press a little closer.

And that’s all he needs.

His mouth finds yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens fast like he’s starved for it, like he’s been holding back for too long. Your fingers clutch at his jacket, nails digging in as his tongue brushes yours and a low sound rumbles from his chest. The kiss grows messier, more desperate, like you’re both skating the edge of something you can’t name but don’t want to stop.

The cold disappears. All you feel is him and the way he tastes, the way his hand slips beneath your jacket, fingertips grazing your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

“You’re sure?” you mutter against his mouth.

“I haven’t even started,” he murmurs, lips trailing to your jaw, your neck, where he lingers just long enough to make you tremble.

You shiver. Not from the chill, but from the way his voice wraps around your spine like silk and sin.

Then you hear a door slam in the distance.

You both freeze. He groans, resting his forehead against yours, lips still brushing yours.

“Your shift’s over in twenty minutes, right?” he asks.

You nod.

“Good.” He kisses you again, slow and lingering this time. “Meet me at my car.”

Your pulse races. “And then what?”

His smirk is wicked. “Then I’ll teach you what it means to lose control.”

You pull away from him just enough to catch your breath, your pulse racing wildly in your chest. His eyes are dark, intent, but you hesitate, suddenly unsure. The heat between you both is undeniable, but something about being so close to the edge—something about it just doesn’t sit right. You swallow hard, still feeling the thrum of desire that pulses through you, but you take a step back, gently pulling your hand away from his.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, but firm.

He raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin dancing at the corner of his lips. “No? You sure?”

You meet his gaze, the fire between you both undeniable, but you shake your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the tension building. “I think it’s better we stay on the ice, you're the ice prince aren’t you?”

He pauses, studying you. There’s a brief flicker of confusion in his eyes, but then it softens into something else, something deeper. His breath hitches, and he steps closer to you again, this time slower, more deliberate.

“You want to stay here, on the ice?” he asks, his voice quiet, almost reverent, as if he’s waiting for you to confirm what he thinks he heard.

You nod. “I want to feel you here, in the place where everything started. Not in your car, not anywhere else… here. On the ice.”

A low growl escapes him, but there’s a tender edge to it, a softness that you hadn’t expected. He steps closer, both of you now back on the rink, the cool air swirling around you as you glide effortlessly, the weight of your words hanging between you like the tension in the air.

“You’re making me lose control,” he murmurs, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

You feel the electricity course through you again as your body brushes against his, his warmth seeping into your skin. Your breaths quicken, mingling in the cold, but it only seems to heighten the intensity of the moment. You lift your hands to his chest, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his jacket as you look into his eyes.

“I want to keep it this way, just for a little longer,” you say, the words slipping out before you can think.

His lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. “You want to stay on the ice? Then let's see how long you can last.”

With a sudden movement, he pulls you even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands slide over your hips. The cold air feels sharp against your skin, but it only adds to the fire simmering between you both. The rink beneath your skates feels like a world of its own, everything else fading into the background as the two of you share this moment, this dangerous connection.

You don’t need to say anything more, he understands. The glide of your skates across the ice becomes a rhythm, as natural as breathing. You skate together, side by side, the tension building with each movement, the sound of your breathing mingling with the soft scrape of blades against ice.

And as the world around you blurs, the only thing that matters is this moment, this feeling of being close to him, completely alive in a way you’ve never known. You want to keep it here, in this space, where everything feels just right.

“Stay with me,” he breathes, his voice low and urgent, the words resonating in the quiet, the only sound left on the ice.

You nod, not needing to say anything else. You stay close, the air between you crackling with something that neither of you can deny. And as you skate together in the dimming light, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the perfect place to let loose after all.

[enflixx]

NAVIGATION

enflixx

links:

info masterlist

© enflixx

[enflixx]

enflixx's masterlist

SERIES:

N/A

BY MEMBER:

Heeseung:

flickering lights - (ex-heeseung x wedding planner reader)

Jay:

N/A

Jake:

what it almost was - (jake x co-worker reader)

letters from stanford - (high school sweetheart jake x reader)

back at stanford - (part 2 of letters from stanford)

rush week - (frat boy & basketball player jake x freshman reader)

Sunghoon:

let loose - (ice skater sunghoon x worker reader)

Sunoo:

sunrise - (single father sunoo x daycare teacher reader)

Jungwon:

N/A

Ni-ki:

N/A

[enflixx]

enflixx's blog info

I currently write for all members of enhypen on this account. Anyone is welcome, but minors please be aware with my warnings!

taglist: OPEN requests & inbox: OPEN (please request!)

about me: ┊ elizabeth | viet | '06

currently focusing on college, but writing in my freetime

my favorite groups are nct & enhypen

i love writing from requests, so please feel free to request anything!