#five elemental idols | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

studioeisa · 3 days ago

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we both 🐚 joshua x reader.

you're stuck in a car with a beautiful boy, your glorious history, and eight hours of road. what else is there to do but talk about the deepest of truths?

🐚 pairing. exes!joshua x reader. 🐚 word count. 12.9k. 🐚 genres. romance, friendship, light angst. 🐚 includes. mentions of food, death; cussing/swearing. alternate universe: non-idol; joshua is a marine biologist. bad-at-being-exes/exes to ???, breakup dynamics, road trip shenanigans, dialogue heavy. loosely based on a musical (title lifted from there, too), synopsis references richard siken's you are jeff. one scene parallels tlfy's goodbye until tomorrow / i could never rescue you. 🐚 footnotes. when i joined caratblr, @chugging-antiseptic-dye was the very first friend i made. i would not have it any other way. a: i will adore you for as long as there are waves pulling to the shore. shubho jonmodin ‹𝟹 much gratitude to my beta readers: @heartepub for her eye, @chanranghaeys for her wit, and @lovetaroandtaemin for her kindness. my masterlist 🎵 when i am with you (i am real)

You find him in his element—knee-deep in saltwater, sleeves rolled up, clipboard tucked precariously under one arm as he gestures toward a tank brimming with juvenile stingrays.

You wait behind the glass where the public is meant to stay. Leaning against the railing, you watch him without meaning to. It used to be that this was your favorite version of him: ocean-brained and utterly focused, calm in a way most people aren’t allowed to be in their everyday lives. It still is, you suppose, though now there’s a knot of something bittersweet twisted through the feeling.

It’s been five months since the breakup.

Two months since you moved most of your things out of the apartment. And four days since you both agreed that, yes, you still needed to drive down the coast and meet with the landlady to finalize the lease termination in person.

She doesn’t do email. She barely does phones. You’d considered cancelling, asking a friend to go in your place, but the truth is: the car is his, the rent is in both your names, and the landlady likes you best.

So here you are.

Joshua’s hair is darker than you remember, still damp from a rinse or maybe the ocean itself, curling slightly where it clings to his neck. His voice carries over the burble of pumps and the low hum of fluorescent lights.

He’s explaining something to a group of interns. Something about migration patterns and how the moon affects spawning cycles. You can’t hear the details, but you recognize the rhythm of his teaching voice, the way he softens facts with metaphors, how his hands move like punctuation marks.

When Joshua finally steps out from behind the staff door, he looks surprised to see you already waiting. He does that thing. That thing, with his eyes and brows—an upward arch, a spark of recognition beneath the doe-like brown.

“Hey,” he says, wiping his hands on his khaki pants. He doesn't hug you, doesn't reach out, but his smile is familiar. A little tired. A little sad. “You came early.”

You shrug. “Was in the area. Figured I'd save you a text.”

He nods, like that makes sense, like there’s no undercurrent tugging beneath the ease of it. Like this isn’t the first time you're seeing each other outside of grocery store collisions or terse text threads about forwarding addresses.

“Car’s in the back lot,” he says. “I just need to clean up. Shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

You follow him down a hallway that smells like seawater and bleach. He walks ahead, and you let your eyes fall to the way his shoulders move, broad and careful. You still know the shape of them beneath your palms. You wonder if he still sleeps on the right side of the bed, if he still keeps his entire body under the covers because he’s scared something will pull at his feet while he’s asleep.

It’s going to be a long drive.

You both know it. Neither of you says a word about it.

Joshua’s office is tucked just off the wet lab, behind a sliding glass door smudged with fingerprints and the unmistakable trail of saltwater. You slip inside while he ducks into the locker room to change, the lingering scent of ocean and coffee grounds curling in the air.

It’s a cluttered little box of a room—papers stacked like tiny towers, annotated marine maps tacked to the walls, a few photos of past dives and coral surveys pinned up like trophies. There’s even a Polaroid of the two of you on the shelf beside his monitor, buried halfway behind a half-drunk bottle of electrolyte water.

You don’t move it. But you don’t look away either.

“Hey, stranger.”

You blink, turning toward the voice. Seokmin’s already grinning at you, his damp curls flattened beneath a backward cap, a towel slung around his neck. Behind him, Jeonghan lounges in the doorway with all the idle elegance of someone who’s been doing absolutely nothing for the past hour.

“Hi, Seokmin,” you say, mustering a polite smile. “Jeonghan.”

Seokmin bounds in with too much energy for someone who’s allegedly been tagging sea turtles since 4 a.m. “Wow, it’s been a while. You look great. Seriously. Like, breakup glow-up levels of great.”

You blink, startled. “Thanks?”

Jeonghan’s mouth twitches like he’s holding back a laugh. He doesn’t say anything right away—just folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head, like he’s studying you. You don’t like it. That look. Like he knows something you don’t. Like maybe he knows everything.

You’d been friends with them once, although it was probably more out of association than anything. They were Joshua’s co-workers. You were the girl he brought to company events; the wallpaper of his phone once you got past the lockscreen of Dolphy the dolphin leaping into the air.

When you and Joshua broke up, you figured you might never see the duo again. Until now, that is.

“Are you two really going to drive all the way to the coast together?” Jeonghan asks, voice light. “Sounds... cozy.”

“We’re saving gas,” you say. Too quickly. “And rent affairs don’t settle themselves.”

Seokmin nods far too earnestly, eyes wide with some strange sympathy. “Right, totally. Very environmentally conscious. That’s great,” he babbles. “And practical. And—wow, honestly, I just think it’s so mature of you both.”

You glance at Jeonghan, but he’s looking at you like he can read between every word. Your mouth goes dry.

“It’s not like we’re sharing a hotel room or anything,” you add, heat prickling your neck.

“Of course,” Jeonghan says, a little too smoothly. “Of course not.”

You open your mouth to say something—what exactly, you’re not sure—but the locker room door swings open, and Joshua steps out, shrugging a hoodie over his shoulders. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s wearing that faded t-shirt you used to sleep in on cold nights. It’s the smallest detail, and it punches the air from your lungs.

“Guys,” he calls, eyes flicking to his friends, then to you. “Are you hounding her already?”

“Never,” Seokmin says, scandalized.

“We were just saying she looks great,” Jeonghan adds innocently. “Glowing, really.”

Joshua rolls his eyes and crosses the room, not bothering to hide the way his hand brushes the small of your back as he stops beside you. It’s not quite possessive, not quite apologetic. It’s almost like a habit, even, and that somehow makes it infinitely worse.

“You ready?” he asks.

You nod, stepping away from Seokmin’s saccharine smile and Jeonghan’s knowing smirk. “Ready.”

Joshua gives his workmates one last look. “Try not to make it weird next time.”

“No promises,” Jeonghan calls.

You don’t look back. You can still feel their stares long after the office door swings shut behind you.

The walk to the parking lot isn’t awkward, not really, but it sits heavy on your shoulders like a coat you forgot you were wearing. Joshua doesn’t fill the silence with small talk the way he used to. You’re grateful and uneasy about that in equal measure.

When you reach the car, it’s like stepping into a memory. The same beat-up Hyundai with the faded blue paint and the bumper sticker that says, Protect Our Oceans— slightly peeling at the edges now, with the art faded. The salt air and the sun hasn’t been kind to it, but it runs fine. Always has. You remember that stupid sticker because you bought it at an aquarium gift shop on a whim, and Joshua had kissed you breathless when you slapped it onto his car without asking.

He unlocks the doors and, like always, walks around to open the passenger side for you.

You blink at him. “Still doing that, huh?”

Joshua glances up at you, a wry little smile playing on his lips. “Muscle memory.”

“Chivalry,” you correct, sliding into the seat. “Or remorse. One of those.”

He huffs a soft laugh and closes the door behind you.

Inside, the car smells the same—like lemon air freshener and something slightly sulfury. His dashboard is still cluttered with receipts and paper coffee cups. There’s a pair of sunglasses perched haphazardly on the dash. One of the little rubber sea creature figurines you used to collect is still wedged in the air vent.

You reach out and flick the tiny plastic octopus. “Wow. Can’t believe you still have this. I figured you’d Marie Kondo everything I left behind.”

Joshua settles into the driver’s seat, buckling in. “It didn’t spark rage, so I kept it.”

You snort. “I think you’re misusing the philosophy.”

The GPS clicks on, a familiar robotic voice announcing the route. Estimated time to destination: eight hours and seventeen minutes.

You glance at Joshua. “Still time to turn back. We can Venmo the landlady and call it a day.”

He shakes his head, pulling out of the lot. “You know she refuses to use the app,” he grumbles. “Thinks it’s a government tracking device.”

You lean back in your seat and sigh. “Perfect. Just what this trip needed: more analog bureaucracy.”

Joshua laughs again, softer this time. You both stare straight ahead, the road stretching long and wide before you. Somewhere in that space, the heaviness begins to lift.

You think the first hour will be easy.

Of course you do. You’ve done long drives before, with less than eight hours of fuel between you. And besides, this is Joshua.

You’ve survived all sorts of terrain together—coastal roads with the windows down, long drives through the mountains while his hand rested on your thigh, that one disastrous trip to Jeju where it rained so hard he missed a turn and the GPS rerouted you onto a cliffside road you’re still convinced was cursed. That one ended in tears. And a kiss. And a long night spent in a guesthouse where the power went out twice.

But this is different.

Now, you’re in the passenger seat of the same car, the leather warmed by the late morning sun, and Joshua isn’t even humming. You keep your eyes on the road or your phone or the shifting landscape outside the window. Anywhere but on him.

He drives the way he always does—left hand on the wheel, right hand fiddling with the AUX cable when the Bluetooth fails (as it often does). You’d always liked that about him. That he never filled silence just for the sake of it, that he gave it space to stretch out, to become something sacred.

Now, it just feels like distance.

“You okay?” he asks in an even voice.

You glance at him. The highway curves, and so does his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

He nods, then looks like he regrets it. “Yeah,” he echoes, but you know he’s lying, too. His nose scrunches up for a half-second. It only ever does that when he’s faking.

Another few minutes pass. The GPS chimes a reminder about your next turn in 112 kilometers. You both pretend like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

You used to talk about everything in the car. Plans, dreams, where you’d want to settle down when Joshua got a more permanent assignment. You’d nap on the longer drives, and he’d let you sleep, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t catch him.

Sometimes, he’d narrate the scenery just to hear you groan about how sentimental he was. There’d be music, sometimes arguments over the playlist. But even the fights were better than this new, tentative silence that makes your lungs feel tight.

You wish the GPS had a button for: Take me back to when it was easy.

“Want some music?” you ask finally, reaching for the console.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s all.

You put on a playlist and settle back, biting the inside of your cheek when the first few notes of a familiar song play. One he used to sing absentmindedly while driving. One that used to make you smile.

He doesn’t sing now.

The song ends.

The road stretches on.

Joshua doesn’t say much for the next half hour, and neither do you.

You try not to count how many times you look towards him. You lose count anyway. The GPS announces that there are six hours and thirty-nine minutes left in the trip. That’s plenty of time, you think, for things to get worse.

When Joshua speaks again, it’s so civil that you contemplate getting off at the next stop and walking the rest of the way instead. “There’s a diner up ahead. You wanna stop for lunch?”

You know the place—he’s taken you there before. Vinyl booths, terrible coffee, and pancakes that somehow taste like grilled cheese. It had always been charming in a very Joshua kind of way.

But a sit-down meal feels intimate. Too intimate. Like pretending nothing ever ended. You don’t have the energy to put on a show, to act like a couple, or friends, or strangers who were forced to be there together for the sake of a meal.

“Can we just get takeout?” you ask. “Eat in the car?”

Joshua glances at you, brows lifting. “You don’t wanna sit down? Stretch your legs?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Your neck does that thing when you’re annoyed.”

“It’s not annoyance. I just don’t think lunch should feel like a date.”

That lands a little too sharply. Joshua blinks at the road ahead, exhales slowly through his nose. “Wasn’t trying to make it one,” he murmurs, the edge of his petulance in his voice reminding you of days where you might’ve willed his upset away with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Silence stretches between you, taut and cold. You rub your hands together in your lap.

“I just think,” you say more carefully, “eating in your car is a good compromise. Halfway point.”

Joshua doesn’t respond at first, but then his lips twitch. “Halfway point. Like everything else with us.”

You laugh despite yourself. “You make it sound poetic.”

“It kind of is.”

The tension eases just a little. Enough that when he pulls into the diner lot, you go in together, order your usuals with barely a glance at the menu. When the cashier asks if it’s for here or to-go, Joshua looks at you before answering.

“To-go, please,” he says, smiling faintly.

Back in the car, you pass him the paper bag and slide the drinks into the cupholders like you’ve done it a hundred times before. Maybe you have. He gives you your fries without asking, and you split the last onion ring exactly like you used to—right down the middle, no more, no less.

“We’re ridiculous,” you say through a mouthful of burger.

Joshua leans back in his seat, chewing. “Speak for yourself. I’m extremely dignified.”

“Right,” you say with an eye roll. “That’s why you ordered a chocolate milkshake with extra whipped cream.”

He lifts it like a trophy. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of diabetes?”

Joshua laughs, full and bright, and for a second, you forget that you’re not supposed to still be in love with him.

For a second, it feels like that chapter never ended.

Joshua wipes the last of his fries against the inside of his sauce carton before tossing it back into the paper bag, eyeing your half-eaten sandwich like he’s tempted to finish that, too. You don’t point it out. He’s always been the type to clean plates, especially yours, when you left food untouched for too long.

The silence feels less sharp than the last one, but not yet comfortable. It’s the kind that sits in the middle seat like an awkward chaperone.

He slurps down the rest of his milkshake, the straw giving an annoying little gurgle. Then, just as you’re debating how soon you can ask to queue up a podcast without it sounding like a lifeline, he speaks.

“We can’t spend the rest of the trip like this.”

You blink. “Like what?”

Joshua lifts his gaze to meet yours, pointed and unflinching. “Like we’re walking on eggshells. Like we didn’t share an apartment, a bed, a life for two years.”

He’s right, of course, but who were you if you weren’t arguing for the sake of it? “I’ve told you everything that’s happened to me since the breakup,” you shoot back. “If you want the weather report from last Tuesday, I can give that too.”

“I don’t want the weather report.” He levels you with a stare, then softens. “I want more than just a status update.”

You open your mouth, but before you can speak, he leans back with a little sigh and an even smaller smile. “Do you remember our first date?”

You do.

Too well, in fact.

An indie cafe with too many hanging plants and not enough tables. You’d sat across from each other with your knees knocking and your drinks forgotten. He’d suggested the list, half-sincere, half as a joke. You had humored him because his eyes crinkled so sweetly when he grinned, and you liked how he said your name like a song he already knew the melody to.

“Pull it up,” he says now. “Let’s revisit it.”

Your mouth curls into a grimace. "Joshua—"

“Pull it up,” he repeats, firmer. He’s already gathering up your trash along with his, crumpling napkins and squashing cartons, as if taking away your excuses along with the waste.

“This is stupid,” you huff, not bothering to hide your exasperation.

“Probably,” he shrugs, stepping out of the car. “But so are we.”

As the door shuts and he heads toward the garbage bin, you pick up your phone with reluctant fingers. It takes only a few taps to find it again. A New York Times article, a psychologist’s experiment, a curated path to intimacy in less than 40 questions.

The title glares up at you, both a threat and a promise.

The 36 Questions to Fall in Love.

Joshua merges back onto the highway, one hand steady on the wheel, the other fiddling with the A/C knob until the air turns from too cold to just bearable. You hold your phone in your lap, glaring at the list he told you to pull up.

“You’re impossible,” you say flatly.

“Come on,” he grins, eyes now on the road. “It’s been four years. Think of it as a science experiment. Research question: Have we changed? Independent variables: us, circa year one.”

You exhale slowly, scrolling down to the first question. “Fine. But if I cry, I’m blaming you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You read: “Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

He hums. “Still Adam Levine.”

“You said that last time.”

“Yeah, and I still want him to serenade me over dumplings. What about you?”

You pause. “I said Robin Williams.”

“You did.” He glances at you briefly. “You still would?”

Your voice softens. “Yeah. More than ever.”

Joshua nods, not saying more. The next question: “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“God, no,” he answers. “The idea of people knowing my grocery list terrifies me.”

“You said that exact sentence before.”

“Then I’m nothing if not consistent.”

You consider. “I think... maybe a little. Not movie-star famous, but like, niche-famous. Someone kids cite in their thesis papers.”

“I always said you’d be a terrifying cult classic.”

“And you’d be the first of my followers.”

He just laughs.

You ask the next question. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

Glancing over at Joshua, you sound almost accusatory. “You said no.”

“Still true.”

“Still sociopathic,” you mutter. “I rehearse everything. Even pizza orders.”

“You did. And you still turn red when they ask if you want extra cheese.”

You try to glare, but he looks too pleased with himself. That’d been his role, way back when. Designated orderer, designated caller, designated voice at the counter saying We asked for no pickles. ‘We’, because he never threw you under the bus when it mattered—every time else was fair game.

You read on. “What would constitute a 'perfect' day for you?”

Joshua’s voice mellows out. “That one I might change. Used to be pools, no tourists, good weather. Now... I think it’s waking up late, coffee with someone I like, doing nothing important.”

You stare out the window. “You said hiking and tide pools,” you recall, tone just a little too wistful.

“Yeah. That was when I thought I had something to prove.”

“Mine’s the same. French toast. Blankets. A book.”

His smile is small. “Still easy to please.”

You persevere. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

“I sang to the clownfish this morning. They’re judgmental bastards.”

“That counts. And to yourself?”

He falters. A beat. Another. “I don’t remember,” he says, like singing was now something he could only give to others and not to himself. You try not to overthink it. He goes on to accuse you, “You used to sing in the shower. Loudly.”

“Still do. But I sang to my niece last week. She made me do six rounds of Baby Shark.”

“A timeless classic.”

You grin despite yourself, heart ticking a little faster. You knew this would be strange. You didn’t expect it to feel so oddly comforting.

He breaks the quiet. “Told you it wouldn’t kill us.”

“We’re only five questions in,” you warn. “Plenty of time to implode.”

He just smiles, knuckles brushing the gearshift.

“Onward, then.”

Questions six and seven are easy. Your answers to those haven’t changed much. You would rather live to the age of 90 and retain the mind of a 30-year-old; Joshua’s secret hunch about how he might die would always be something about the water, knowing how he could never stay away from it. There’s a pang of something in your chest. This sinking feeling caught between disappointment and relief, over the fact that there were still some things that stayed the same.

You stall a little at question eight.

“Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”

Your phone screen lights up with the prompt, and you roll it over in your palm like it might yield an easier answer if you look at it long enough. Next to you, Joshua keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel slackens.

He must remember, too.

The first time you answered this question, you were strangers seated across from each other. A mutual friend had sworn you'd get along. There had been no pressure—just coffee and curiosity, laughter over things neither of you really understood yet.

“We both like documentaries,” you had said then, too quickly, a little flustered.

“We’re both good listeners,” he had added.

The third one had taken a while. You remember biting into your food, chewing slowly, the hum of the café’s playlist blending with the chatter around you.

“I think,” Joshua had said, after a beat, “we both really want to be understood.”

You remember the way your gaze had lifted then, meeting his across the table. You hadn’t said it, but you’d thought it: That’s not a guess. That’s a direct hit.

Now, four years later, a breakup and a road trip between you, the question lands differently.

“We both like silence,” you say eventually, to break it.

Joshua lets out a small huff of a laugh. “You used to say that was a bad thing.”

“It was. When we didn’t know what the silence meant.”

A nod from him. “But now?”

You glance sideways, catch the way his profile is lit by the late afternoon sun. “Now, I think we know.”

You don’t have to expound. He knows. You know. Silence is not your enemy, the same way you are not each other’s enemy.

“We both overthink everything,” he adds next. “Especially what the other person is thinking.”

That makes you grin, despite yourself. You always thought of yourself to be a bit of a people pleaser, while Joshua just so happened to lack a proper brain-to-mouth filter. You tap your finger against the phone, as if tallying it up. “Documentaries still count?”

“You tell me.”

You think about the way you’d fall asleep to David Attenborough narrating sea creatures. How Joshua would shake his head, but stay up beside you anyway. The way your conversations would spiral into philosophical debates over conservation, ethics, humanity.

You had learned to love the things he loved, learned to love him by seeing the world through his eyes. And he had loved you back. Loved the intent, loved the work, loved the way you overstayed your welcome every single time.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Guess so.”

Silence laps at the car again, but it’s softer now. Not a chasm, just space.

Then Joshua speaks again, voice low and steady.

“If it doesn’t count,” he says slowly, as if each word is a minefield to navigate. “We could just say we both still care for each other.”

You don’t protest. You don’t need to.

You both go through the next four questions with twin wavering resolves.

You ask, For what in your life do you feel most grateful?, and you do your best not to flinch when he squeezes your name between mentions of waterproof dry bags and mechanical pencils.

When you read out If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?, you tell him about wishing you had better examples for love—but you don’t quip that maybe it would’ve saved your relationship.

The two of you sidestep and navigate like your lives depend on it. Joshua’s tapping the steering wheel like he’s in rhythm with a song only he knows. A comfortable lapse hovers for the next few minutes as the miles disappear into the road behind you. You think you’re in the clear. That the minefield is behind you.

Then, the GPS voice gently announces a turn. A new fork, a new direction.

The second set of questions.

You scroll down the list, phone warm in your hand. “Thirteen,” you say. “If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away.

You look towards him. He’s biting at the inside of his cheek, eyes still trained on the road. He exhales slowly, the sound more tired than thoughtful.

“If I made the right call,” he says. “About us.”

It twinges like a pinched nerve.

You wish you had something eloquent to say, some wry comment about him never trusting the scientific method, but all you manage is a short, “Oh.”

Oh, because the breakup is an unwelcome third guest chaperoning you in the car. Oh, because you had both told your friends it was mutual—but if you were to get technical about it, Joshua was the one who brought it up. Oh, because that would have been your answer to the question, too.

Instead, you choose to say, “I think I’d want to know if I’ll ever feel like I’m doing enough.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything to that.

“Fourteen,” you try again. “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“You already know mine,” he says. “Marine biology, living near the coast, helping with coastal restoration programs. I did it.”

You nod, expecting the conversation to move on, but he doesn’t let it.

“What about you?”

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “Same answer as before, I guess. I always thought I’d do something with my psychology degree. Make something that helps. You know. But money talks.”

Joshua snorts, but this isn’t like the small, amused sounds of earlier. No, this is preemptive of the Joshua you’d always loathed a little bit. The one who could be derisive, the one buried underneath the gentleman.

“You said the exact same thing two years ago,” he points out, and the tone of his voice grates.

You bristle. “And your point is?”

“My point is,” he says, voice sharpening, “you keep talking like you’re stuck, but you’re the one who won’t move."

The air tightens between you. He takes one hand off the wheel, gesturing vaguely.

“I’m not judging. I just don’t get it. You said you wanted more.”

“And you wanted me to upend my entire life for an ideal,” you shoot back.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Your voice is louder than you intended. The words are more pointed than they needed to be. This is too familiar—this twisting spiral of disappointment and miscommunication, the way your arguments always started from a flicker and turned into a full blaze.

Joshua exhales. “I just want you to be happy. You used to talk about doing something meaningful with your life.”

“Well, maybe I changed my mind.”

He looks like he wants to challenge that—but just as he opens his mouth, the car jolts.

Hard.

Something thumps beneath you, loud and jarring. Your body lurches forward with the sudden stop, but before you can react, Joshua’s arm darts across your chest, steady and instinctive.

The car groans. You both freeze.

“What the hell,” Joshua breathes, flicking the hazards on as he pulls over.

You’re stunned, held in place by his outstretched arm. It’s only when he turns to look at you, concern overriding the tension in his expression, that you realize he’s still bracing you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.

You nod, lips parted but unable to speak.

Because even now, after all this time, his first instinct is to protect you.

Five hours away. That’s how far you are from your destination.

It’s nothing major. Something about the floor of the car, something that will need repairs so Joshua can drive safe. But the nearest repair shop isn’t going to open until seven in the morning, and Joshua bitches about sleeping in the car for 15 minutes before you finally agree to a motel. Which, of course, has only one room available.

The door creaks open with a wheeze of rusted hinges, revealing a room that looks like it time-traveled straight out of a 70s crime thriller. You both pause on the threshold, blinking at the single bed in the center of the room. The comforter is a paisley fever dream, the walls painted a suspicious shade of beige. A ceiling fan wobbles threateningly above.

And then, as if on cue, you both burst out laughing.

You lean against the chipped door frame, wiping tears from your eyes. “Jeonghan cursed us,” you proclaim. “I knew it. He saw us in that hallway and whispered some old-timey hex under his breath. Probably used sea salt and seashells.”

Joshua drops his bags with a thud and grins, running a hand through his hair. “You’re giving him way too much credit. If anything, this is God. This is Him writing fan fiction. You know—slow burn, exes to lovers, only-one-bed trope.”

“Ah, right,” you say, nodding solemnly. “God’s on AO3 now. What’s next? Coffee shop AU?”

“Don’t tempt Him,” Joshua laughs, flopping onto the bed with a bounce that makes the entire frame groan. “He might give us matching aprons tomorrow morning.”

You look around and spot the world's saddest mini fridge and a TV that probably doesn’t work. There’s a vending machine outside humming like a chainsaw. The neon sign of the motel glows red through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a faint hellish light.

If this was hell, it wasn’t all that bad.

“Well,” you say, toeing off your shoes and sitting at the edge of the bed. “At least it’s clean.”

“That is a bold assumption,” Joshua mutters, inspecting a mysterious stain on the carpet.

Another beat passes. You're both still chuckling softly, disbelief softening into something warmer. Something easier.

You lie back beside him, careful to leave a healthy, polite distance between your bodies. “You know, for all the fights, I missed this part. The chaos. The way the universe used to screw with us.”

Joshua turns his head, gazing at you with a tenderness that nearly knocks the air from your lungs. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a while, you both just lie there, listening to the ceiling fan squeal and the cars woosh pasts on the highway. Laughing quietly at the impossible, fanfictional mess you’ve found yourselves in yet again.

Loving Joshua had felt a bit like that. A fairytale. A song. And so the ending of it all—the last chapter, the final notes—had left you feeling cheated. There was a time where you believed the love might have lasted; it sucks to be proven otherwise.

Joshua pulls himself up, socked feet nudging yours underneath the yellowing duvet. He looks up at you with something reverent in his eyes, the kind of look that used to come just before he said something dumb and sincere all at once.

“You know we can’t stop now,” he says. “It’s not every day we get to be stranded in a town with population thirty and a single bed between us.”

You shake your head, still smiling from earlier. “You’re really pushing the limits of what counts as a romantic setting.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues. “We made it this far. Might as well keep going. Question fifteen.”

What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

You settle into the other side of the bed, cross-legged, careful not to brush against his knee. “Finishing grad school while holding down a full-time job. That, or not screaming at that one VP during our quarterly meeting.”

Joshua laughs. “Oh, I remember that guy. You hated him with the passion of a million suns.”

“That hasn’t changed. You?”

He thinks for a moment. “Publishing my research paper last year. The one on coral regeneration. That felt big. Like it could actually change something.”

It’s a good answer. You nod. “Alright. Question sixteen. What do you value most in a friendship?”

Joshua leans back, hands behind his head. “Loyalty. The kind that doesn’t flinch when things get hard.”

You hum. “I get that. And maybe the ability to sit in silence without it being weird. Just… coexisting.”

You both fall quiet. That used to be the two of you. Afternoons of independent hobbies, evenings of parallel play. You were both perfectly fine, fully functional people outside of your relationship. You were not two halves of a whole.

A part of you wonders if that’s where you went wrong. If completion was precedent to a proper romance. But you also know that’d been your strongest suit—letting the love guide, not consume. Letting it linger, not fester.

“Question seventeen,” you say, scrolling down your phone. “Most treasured memory.” You steal a glance. “Back then, yours was that beach day with your mom, right?”

Joshua nods slowly. “Still important. But… I think it’s changed.”

He looks out the small motel window, takes a deep breath like he’s getting ready to plunge into the deep end of something. “Remember the time we got caught in that summer storm in Jeju?” he muses. “We were soaked, freezing, and the only place open was that sad diner with the flickering lights. You looked miserable. But you laughed anyway. God, you laughed so hard. I think I knew I loved you then.”

Your throat tightens. You hated that night. Everything went wrong, and you thought it was a sign this new boyfriend of yours wasn’t meant for you. But Joshua had been an even bigger diva than you—enough to make you forget your misery, to have you giggling despite the fact you were borderline pneumonic, showering in ice-cold water.

“That was a good night,” you say.

He offers you a half-smile, one that communicates just how aware he is of your indulgence. He knows you complained to your friends, that you logged the entry into your diary with notes of Never again!!! and The Jeju curse is real. But he also knows you loved him, even then, even with your shoes full of water and your lips too chapped to press against his.

“Your turn,” he urges.

You shrug, suddenly aware of your hands in your lap. “There’s a lot. But… that one birthday you surprised me with the rooftop dinner. I had the worst week, and you just… knew.”

Neither of you have to expound. Not on the work week that had wrung you dry, not on the chocolate chip cookies he had learned to bake especially for that evening. You had burst into tears when you saw the candlelit dinner and the monstrous bouquet of mismatched flowers; Joshua had cooed reassurances into the top of your hair, whispering sweet nothings like Pretty girls shouldn’t cry on their birthday. Come on, love, smile.

“Question eighteen,” you continue, because dwelling on the way he looked then is almost enough to have you relapsing. “Most terrible memory.”

You don’t answer right away.

“Back then,” you say slowly, “it was something stupid. Failing my first stats exam. But now…”

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you.

“It was the night we decided to end it,” you admit. “The part where I packed up and left. Closing the door. That part hurt the most.”

Joshua exhales. “Ditto,” he says, and you don’t call him a cop out. You don’t accuse him of not being as hurt as you. You just—you let him have that, too.

It’s a terrible memory.

The room is quiet again. Outside, the neon motel sign flickers. Inside, two people who once knew each other like the back of their hands try to find their way back through questions that are starting to feel like maps.

Joshua doesn’t hesitate to read out question nineteen.

“If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

You shift slightly on the edge of the bed, knees curled toward you like you could fold yourself into a simpler version of this night. “I’d probably quit my job,” you say slowly. “Travel. See my parents more often. Start writing again. Not wait for the perfect time to do everything.”

He hums. “I’d probably take a few sabbaticals. Go diving in the Galápagos,” he says. “Set my mom up with a good house. Maybe... I don't know. Make a documentary. Something that puts all the little things I love in one place.”

You glance at him, watching the way he fidgets with a corner of the blanket between his fingers. He’s leaning against the headboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent. A familiar pose, from when he used to read in bed. The memory tugs, and you almost say something—almost add what neither of you have said.

You’d want to call him. One last road trip, maybe. One last laugh over something ridiculous.

A kiss, if he were feeling particularly generous. Not to see if it could salvage, but just to remember the way it’d made you feel alive.

But you don’t say it. And neither does he.

Instead, he offers you a smile that doesn’t look real at all. “You tired?”

You nod. You lie. “A bit.”

Joshua pushes himself up from the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright. You get the bed. I’ll take the cockroach-infested couch chair.”

You glance at the lumpy thing in the corner and raise an eyebrow. “You’ll get scoliosis.”

“I’m a marine biologist, not a chiropractor,” he quips. “I’ll survive.”

You roll your eyes, already pulling the blanket over you. “Fine. But if you wake up tomorrow and can’t feel your back, I’m not driving.”

He chuckles. “Forever a passenger princess.”

As he dims the lights, he adds, “The experiment continues tomorrow.”

You don’t answer. You let your eyes fall shut, the room quieting into the rustle of sheets and soft motel noises. Since the breakup, you’ve been having trouble with sleep. The melatonin gummies have helped somewhat; you don’t have any on hand, though, after expecting the two of you would make the trip a one-and-done.

Now, though, your breathing slows quicker than it has in weeks. You have a fleeting thought that it has something to do with Joshua being in the same room—as if your body is fine-tuned to relax and uncoil in his presence, so used to the notion that he would always keep you safe.

In your dream, you are somewhere coastal.

The salt air clings to your skin. Joshua is there, too.

Older and sunburned, wrinkled and still yours. He’s smiling at you like nothing ever hurt between you, his eyes curled in those crescents you were always so weak for.

Knee-deep in the water, he reaches out a hand.

You take it without thinking.

The mechanic gives Joshua the all-clear just before nine in the morning. The two of you make do with a gas station breakfast—powdered donuts and hot coffee that taste vaguely of cardboard—and then you’re back on the road.

The sky is clear, and the early morning light softens the world around you in a way that makes it feel like yesterday’s sharp edges never happened.

You think, maybe, that Joshua’s forgotten about the questions. Maybe last night was a fluke. A relic of nostalgia mixed with insomnia. Maybe the two of you can ride the rest of the way in companionable silence, listening to acoustic playlists and the occasional podcast.

Except Joshua is a bitch who never forgets.

“Okay,” he says, fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. “Where were we?”

You sigh dramatically. “We’re still on that?”

“Of course,” he replies cheekily. “We’re in too deep to give up.”

You scroll back on your phone, eyes scanning the familiar list. You breeze through questions 20 and 21—both of you agreeing that you value honesty in relationships and sharing that you talk to your family almost every week. It’s easy. Almost comfortable.

Then comes question 22.

“Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.”

You remember how this went the first time. How clumsy and awkward you both were, strangers trying to map out the shape of each other with vague guesses. You’d said something like, You seem like a good listener, and Joshua had commented on your style.

All surface.

Now, there’s too much underneath.

Joshua clears his throat. “You go first.”

You consider calling him a narcissist, but you opt out. “Okay. Uh,” you start. “You’re—steadfast. Once you decide something matters to you, you stay. Even when it’s hard.”

He hums. “You’re perceptive. You always notice the things no one else does.”

“You’re thoughtful,” you go on. “You remember things—like people’s favorite snacks or how they take their coffee. It’s never loud, but it’s there.”

“You’re funny,” he says, a little more quickly. “In a smart way. You don’t always say the joke out loud, but when you do, it lands.”

You laugh. “That’s the first time you’ve called me funny.”

“I call you funny in my head all the time,” he replies.

You don’t quite know what to say to that, so you look down at your phone.

“You’re earnest,” you offer. “Even when you try not to be. Especially then.”

His grip on the wheel tightens for a split second before relaxing again. “You care deeply. About people. About doing the right thing. Even when it tears you up.”

Joshua drives just a little below the speed limit, as if trying to stretch this moment out. You don’t say it out loud, but you both know you’ve passed five.

You wonder if that’s the point.

The hum of the car is soft under the quiet that settles again between you. The GPS chirps—still three hours to go. Still three hours of pretending it doesn’t sting to sit this close to him. Still three hours of pretending like this is just a ride and not a slow unraveling of everything you’d packed away.

You read the next prompt aloud, your voice only slightly more confident now: “Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling...’”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Three each? That's excessive.”

You shrug. “Take it up with Dr. Arthur Aron.”

Joshua rolls his shoulders. “Okay. One: We are both doing our best to not make this weirder than it already is.”

“One: We are both extremely bad at not making things weird,” you counter.

He laughs, and it's the kind of laugh that softens something in your chest. “Two: we both care more than we probably should.”

You hesitate. Then, “Two: We both don’t really know what to do with all the leftover feelings.”

Joshua exhales like you had punched the air out of him.

So far, everything has alluded to this. To the eventual conclusion that you both had things you still wanted to say. Joshua was never slick; you know why he’s insisting on playing this game.

He’s hoping to find closure—some twisted semblance of it—in between questions one to thirty-six. Or maybe he’s hoping to find something else. A hint. A reason. An opening. You don’t know for sure, but you know Joshua Hong is the type of person that always has a motive.

Leftover feelings is just a nice way to put it.

“Three,” he goes on, as if he physically can’t bring himself to address your second statement, “We both remember everything. Even if we pretend we don’t.”

You look at him. His hands on the wheel, that little crease between his brows that forms when he's thinking too hard. You say, quietly, “We are both still here. In this car. On this trip. That counts for my last one, right?”

He doesn't answer right away. Then he says, voice lighter than it’s been all day, “Are you still okay with all this?”

It feels like the first real question he’s asked you—not part of a list, not pulled from a script, not something rehearsed. It’s a moment of benevolence, an offer for an out. If you told him your heart was cracking open, he’d find one of his own playlists and you would throw in the white flag at the start of set three.

You turn toward the window. “I’m okay if you are,” you say, because it’s true, because you’re indecisive, because you kind of want answers, too.

From the corner of your eye, you see him nod. “Okay.” A pause. “Then we keep going.”

You move on to question twenty-six.

“Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’”

Joshua shifts his grip on the wheel. The road outside blurs into long stretches of beige and green, but neither of you is looking at it.

He exhales. “...small wins.”

You think of the refrigerator in your shared apartment, the one with fish-themed magnets and Joshua’s accomplishment reports pinned up like kindergarten drawings. You think of his evening prayers, the sleepy mumbles of Hey God, it’s me, Joshua, and the gratitude for no traffic or healthy corals. You think of the crumpled look on his face when you couldn’t quite understand why he was so happy over something, the way his shoulders would fall when you couldn’t share in his small but certain happiness.

You give your own answer. “...my fears.”

It lands heavier than it should. There are notebooks full of pages upon pages of writing, words you should have probably divulged to Joshua but chose not to. There are sweaters, and hoodies, and jackets with loose threads around the sleeves, from all the times you’d gotten scared but took it out on yourself instead of saying something. There are memories of Joshua—on his knees, slamming the door—asking for you to give him an inch. You never did budge.

The car suddenly feels small. Too small for the weight of things unsaid.

“Twenty-seven,” you announce, voice wavering. “If you were going to become close friends, please share what would be important for him or her to know.”

You look at Joshua. His jaw tenses. It’s a query that works best in the context of the study. The questions are a first-date gig, meant for strangers looking to be friends or friends praying to be lovers.

Not exes. Not you and Joshua.

“That I get quiet when I’m overwhelmed,” he responds. “That it doesn’t mean I’m shutting people out. I just need space to think.”

You give a jerky nod, then answer, “That I overthink most things. That I’ll ask for reassurance even when I know the answer.”

He glances at you. “You still do that?”

“Yeah.”

The silence this time is different—not the awkward kind from the first hour of the trip, but something rawer. Tension prickles at the base of your neck.

You tap the GPS map. “Can you pull over at the next gas station? I have to pee,” you say, even though your bladder is the furthest from full.

Joshua grunts his approval.

A few minutes later, he turns off the road. You murmur a quick thanks before slipping out of the car.

The restroom is fluorescent-lit and smells faintly of soap and old tiles. You grip the edge of the sink and lean forward, staring into the mirror.

“You’re fine,” you tell your reflection. “You’re fine. Don’t go there again.”

You splash cold water on your face, the shock of it grounding. You know what this is starting to feel like. A ledge, a pattern, a memory dressed up like something new.

You’re not sure if you can fall again and survive the landing.

Behind your reflection, the bathroom door creaks open. You dry your face and brace yourself to step back into the heat of the day—and into a car that feels more like a confession booth with every mile.

Joshua drums his fingers along the curve of the wheel, elbow resting by the window as highway signs blur past. Your hair is still slightly damp at the edges from where you splashed your face. The radio hums low between you, some soft indie band murmuring about lost time.

“Two more hours,” he informs you. Not quite a warning, not quite a relief.

You nod, thumbing through the article on your phone. “Eight more questions.”

He exhales a laugh. “Maybe space it out? Take your time with the hard ones?”

“I’ll take a break after the next one,” you say. “Number twenty-eight.”

There’s a half-smile on his face, like he remembers the first time twenty-eight was posed. “The big one.”

You clear your throat and read aloud: “Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time.”

You both laugh, maybe a little too hard. You’re thinking of the first date—how you’d nervously said you liked that he was punctual, how he’d said he liked your jacket. Neither of you were very brave, then, or honest.

Will you be now?

“Okay,” he says, tapping the wheel in rhythm to the Billy Joel song that has started to croon. “I’ll go first.”

You don’t stop him.

He speaks slowly, at first. As if he’s the weight of each word. You had expected maybe one or two big things, but the fact that there’s an upcoming break seems to embolden him.

He says he likes how you read people before they know they’re being read. He says he likes how you tilt your head when you’re thinking too hard. That you always ask baristas how their day’s going. That you cry during movies, but always pretend it’s allergies. That you never half-listen to someone when they talk.

Each word feels like it’s making the air between you warmer. Thinner. More charged.

He goes on, and on, and on. Some things, you already know. Some things, it’s the first time you’ve heard.

Some things, you thought he had hated—only to find out it was the complete opposite.

Some things, you’re surprised he even noticed.

When he patters off, he looks a bit sheepish, like he hadn’t expected to ramble. Neither of you steal a glance at the car’s analog clock. There’s no need to check, to confirm he spent perhaps a little too long extolling your virtues and waxing poetics you no longer felt like you deserved.

You inhale.

“I like how you look like you’re trying not to smile when you are,” you start. “I like that you leave voice memos instead of texts when you’re tired. That you care about fish more than people sometimes, but you’ll never admit it. That you always carry two chargers. That you know the scientific names for all your favorite corals but still call them ‘little guys’ when you talk about them.”

Your list goes on, and on, and on. You like the calluses on his fingers from the years of guitar-playing. You like the soothing cadence of his voice when he’s reading something out loud. You like the slightly absurd way he sits, and the empathy he gives out as easily as one gives out gum, and the expressions he makes when somebody does something questionable.

You stutter to a stop, knowing you’ve said as much—maybe even a little more—as him. The entire time, you’d kept your eyes on the road, but now you dare yourself to look. You regret it immediately.

He’s gnawing at his lower lip, fighting back a smile. You don’t know how long he’s been trying to hold it back, but from the ruddiness of his cheeks, you’d say it’s been a couple of minutes. “Don’t say all that,” he manages.

“Why not?” you say defensively.

“Makes me want to kiss you,” he says outright, so softly it folds itself between the cracks of your ribcage. “And I’m not supposed to want that anymore.”

His eyes flick over to you. You meet his gaze for half a second longer than is wise.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Hong,” you say, voice steady even as your pulse wavers.

He does as he’s told, but the smile on his face still tries its damnedest not to break.

The silence between you now is lighter, almost companionable. The kind that doesn’t need filling. You’re both tired, but not from each other—at least not in the same way you were when the drive began.

There’s still an ache, a wariness, but it’s no longer sharp. Just an awareness of proximity and time passed.

Outside the window, the highway begins to bleed into coastal roads, winding through the kind of sleepy seaside towns that barely show up on a map. You catch a whiff of salt in the breeze when Joshua cracks the window open. The air is briny and cool, and your landlady’s city can’t be more than ten minutes away now.

“Bring up the next one,” Joshua prompts. “Question twenty-nine.”

You unlock your phone and read aloud, “Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.”

You think for a second before answering. “One time during a client pitch, I said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism.’ Completely straight-faced. No one corrected me. I didn’t even realize until hours later.”

Joshua barks out a laugh. “That’s… incredible.”

“Corporate girlie era. Not my best work.”

The road narrows, bending toward the sea. Then, he says, “A few weeks after the breakup, I accidentally called you during a team meeting. Like, I butt-dialed you. I was underwater a lot at the time, so I’d listen to your old voicemails whenever I could. Guess my phone got confused. Everyone heard it. The voicemail. You were talking about soup.”

You blink. “Soup?”

He nods solemnly. “Tom kha kai. You were mad I ate yours.”

You stare at him. He tries to act like it’s nothing, like the voicemail wasn’t from very early into your relationship, but his ears are pink.

“That’s…” You want to say sweet, or something else foolish. “Embarrassing. Yeah. I get it.”

He nods, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

Neither of you speak after that. The silence returns, soft and warm. The car turns down a familiar street, and the ocean gleams in the distance like it remembers you both.

Your landlady—sorry, ex-landlady—Minjung lives in a cheerful, sea-salted bungalow at the end of a sloping road. The pavement gives way to pebbles and gull cries. It’s the type of house you and Joshua once joked about retiring in.

There’s none of those jokes today.

The two of you pull up just after one in the afternoon, both exhausted but trying not to show it. The air smells like fried dough, and there’s a breeze that tangles your hair the second you step out.

Minjung opens the door almost as soon as you knock. She’s wearing her usual floral house dress, grey hair pinned up in a neat bun, and when she sees you both standing side by side on her porch, her eyebrows lift so high they nearly disappear into her hairline.

“Oh, you both made it,” she says. Her voice is kind but pointed. “Together, even.”

You and Joshua smile politely, murmuring greetings as you step inside. The living room is exactly how you remember it: mismatched furniture, a faint smell of liniment, crocheted doilies covering every available surface. She ushers you in, offers you barley tea you both politely decline, and sits with a huff in her favorite armchair.

The conversation is short and mostly administrative. Paperwork is signed, keys are handed over, deposits are discussed. She asks if you've found new places to live, and you both assure her you have. When the last form is signed, she takes a long look at the two of you.

“I’m surprised,” she says plainly, “that you two didn’t make it. I had a good feeling about you.”

You glance at Joshua, whose smile is tight but not insincere. “We had a good run,” he says, voice gentle, and that’s somehow the part of this whole endeavor that tears you up the most.

Minjung hums, not quite convinced. But she pats your hand and says she wishes you both well. You thank her.

It’s done. After everything, it’s finally done.

No more shared bills or split chores. No more arguing about groceries or laundry schedules. Just clean breaks, and quiet endings, and another eight hours back home you’ll probably sleep through.

You’re on the porch again, about to step off the last stair, when Minjung opens the door behind you.

“By the way,” she calls out. “You two didn’t have to come all this way, you know. I have a—what do you kids call it? Van-me? Venmo? Yes, that. I have that now.”

She shuts the door in your faces before either of you can respond.

You and Joshua stare at each other. For a beat, silence.

Then, laughter. Real, deep, absurd laughter.

You double over, hands on your knees. Joshua leans against the porch rail, laughing so hard he wheezes. Your cheeks hurt, your eyes blur, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re laughing with him like you used to—like nothing ever changed.

“I hate us,” you manage between giggles.

“She really let us suffer through all that,” Joshua gasps. “An eight-hour drive, a motel with one bed, all for... this.”

You can’t stop laughing. Not for a while. And when you finally do, breathless and dazed, you’re not sure what the ache in your chest means anymore.

Joshua invites you to the beach after Minjung’s door shuts behind the both of you. He says it casually, like he’s not asking you to walk across a tightrope of memory, but just to sit, to rest, to let the waves be the only thing talking for a while.

You agree. Because it’s the least you can give him, considering the fact he’s in for another long drive. Because Joshua said that nothing in the world made him happier than the beach, and you.

“We should finish the questions,” he says, already headed toward the shoreline. “Might as well. Before we have to get back in the car.”

You follow him. It’s easier to, now.

The wind’s picked up, but not so much that it makes the air cold. Just enough to push your hair around your face and coat your skin with salt. The two of you find a smooth stretch of sand near the water, a small incline that gives you a view of the waves curling back on themselves. The city behind you is quiet and gray, the kind of place where time seems to wait a little longer between minutes.

You settle in beside him, knees pulled up to your chest. Joshua stretches his legs out in front of him, leans back on his palms.

You open your phone and pull the list up again. “Alright,” you say, trying to make your voice light, “question thirty. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

He hums. You think he's stalling, but when he answers, it’s immediate.

“By myself? Last month. One of my undergrads turned in a paper about the death of coral ecosystems and how they linked it to their relationship with their dad. It hit me. I cried in the breakroom.”

“And in front of someone?”

He glances at you. “Right now doesn’t count, right?”

You smile. You don't answer.

“You?”

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “By myself, probably... a couple weeks ago. Work stuff. And in front of someone?” You give him a look. “When we broke up.”

He nods like he remembers, and you know he does.

Question thirty-one. “Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

Joshua chuckles. “This is like the third time they’ve asked this.”

“Reinforcement is key.”

He looks at you. Not in the way he used to—hungry and open—but with a quiet sort of affection, like he's memorizing without needing to possess. Really looks at you.

“I like how you look when the wind hits your hair. Like you're always on the verge of something. Running or staying,” he says.

You roll your eyes, but your heart doesn’t get the memo.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You used to like that about me.”

“Still do,” you mutter.

Joshua doesn’t press it. You give him your answer—something about the way his eyes light up when he’s watching the sunset. He takes it with grace, angling his face a little more towards the horizon like he’s trying to remind you of what you love about him. As if you’d need a reminder.

Question thirty-two. “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

You take longer with this one.

He answers first. “Grief. Not because it can’t be joked about, but because not everyone gets to laugh about it. You have to earn that.”

You look at him.

“What?” he says.

“That was... insightful.”

“I’m a marine biologist, not a clown.”

You huff out a laugh. Your chest is tight, and your heart is full, and your throat is dry with words you shouldn’t say.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

You tell him you agree with him, and he doesn’t claim you’re trying to field the query. He knows you’ve earned the right to say the same thing.

The waves crash in slow rhythm, and the sun slips further down the sky. Joshua turns his head slightly toward you, just enough for the breeze to tousle the hair at his temple.

“We doing all thirty-six today?” he asks, a small smile playing on his lips.

You shrug. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

The wind answers for you both.

It tugs at your sleeves and hair, but not enough to be cruel. Just enough to remind you where you are: a little too far from home, and closer to something else you can't quite name.

“Alright,” you murmur, tapping into your phone. “Thirty-three. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

You expect him to hesitate. Instead, he answers softly, “That I forgive my dad.”

You glance at him. He stares out at the water, eyes glazed over and jaw tense, but his voice is even. “I kept waiting for the right time. For him to earn it, maybe. But some things... you give, not because they deserve it, but because you need to let it go.”

You nod, even though he isn’t looking. You don't ask questions. You don’t press. It feels sacred, what he said.

He turns to you. ��What about you?”

You think for a long moment. The waves come in, and the waves go out.

“That I’m proud of myself,” you say, eventually, your voice cracking around the confession. “That I spent so long trying to be someone worth loving, I never stopped to tell myself I'd made it.”

Joshua’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m proud of you, too,” he says.

He says it not because it’s some concession, not because it’s a consolation prize he wants to give you in the face of your honesty. He says it because he means it, the same way he probably meant it when he said he was proud of you for starting your corporate job, proud of you for opening a jar without his help, proud of you for this, and that, and simply existing.

You smile at him. He smiles back. It’s the moment you will carry in your pocket when it’s all over, the one you’ll replay when the morning comes and no trace of Joshua is left.

“Question thirty-four.” You clear your throat. “Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

“This feels like a game show.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Final answer, Hong?”

He grins, but it fades quickly, as if he’s realizing just how serious the question is. “There’s this box,” he says, “in my closet. Letters, ticket stubs, Polaroids. I guess I thought I’d forget otherwise.”

You know the box. You’d added to it once. Movies you had watched. Grocery receipts. Post-Its with crude drawings of sea animals that he deemed worthy of keeping despite your disgruntled protest.

That had always been Joshua’s way—loving every part of you, every scrap and morsel, even the ones you didn’t think deserved love. Especially the ones you didn’t think deserved love.

You turn back to the sea, silence stretching between you. You’re not sure what your answer to the question is. Everything you own feels replaceable lately.

You open your mouth. Then close it.

And then, softly, “There’s a necklace. My mom gave it to me before college. It wasn’t worth much, but... it made me feel safe. Like I was tethered to someone.”

He knows the necklace. He’d fixed it once. You were hysterical when it broke, and he painstakingly gathered every broken charm, every loose bead. He watched three YouTube videos and treated the necklace with such care that it came back to you good as new.

You stopped wearing it shortly after, though, out of fear that it would snap again. That Joshua might some day not be around to fix it one more time.

Joshua reaches across the space between you and takes your hand, gently, as if asking permission without words. You let him.

For the first time in months, you feel tethered again.

The question lingers between you like sea mist: soft, hazy, impossible to ignore. Joshua is still holding your hand, thumb barely moving, but the warmth of it spreads up your arm like it's been waiting all this time to find a home there again.

You read out loud thirty-five. “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

You share a look, then, simultaneously—the same way you had when you first encountered the questions—you both say, “Skip.”

“Thirty-six,” you go on, voice a little thinner than you'd like. “Share a personal problem. Ask for advice. Then—”

“—have the other person reflect back how you seem to be feeling,” Joshua finishes for you. His smile is faint but real. “I remember that one.”

The tide hums its low lullaby, and for a while, you pretend to be thinking.

You both stare out at the ocean instead of each other, even as the last question hovers between you, even as his fingers shift—no longer just clasping, but sliding between yours, interlocking like they used to.

Like it’s the last time he'll get to do it. Maybe it is.

Then, you crack. Partly because the entire trip has been absurd, because thirty-six questions got you here in the first place and was now bringing you back.

Partly because you think it’s the last time you’ll have this, too.

You laugh. It escapes like air from a balloon, breathless and tinged with disbelief. “I have a personal problem,” you admit, looking down at your joined hands. “It’s really serious.”

Joshua tilts his head toward you, brows raised.

You meet his eyes. The world around you fades into pale sand and blue waves. “I really, really want to kiss my ex right now.”

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t look away.

And then, softly, like it's the simplest thing in the world: “I can fix that.”

He leans in, and you meet him halfway.

His free hand slides to your cheek, yours to his chest. His heartbeat—usually so certain and steady—hammers underneath your palm. There is nothing scientific about the way it undoes you.

Whatever comes next, you’ll figure it out later. For now, the question has been asked.

The answer is this.

Four years ago, you sat in front of Joshua with your heart on your sleeve.

After running through the thirty-six questions, you had asked him between giggles whether he was in looove with you now. He had looked at you like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

You got some ice cream for dessert. You had felt like you were floating, as if your feet weren’t touching the floor, and the feeling only worsened when he tried and failed to be cool about holding your hand.

At the door of your dormitory, he had kissed you good night. A proper kiss. And when he’d leaned in, you put a hand to his chest and told him to leave the night clean and quiet. Leave it at that, you had said against his lips.

That one, perfect kiss. We’ll have more, you had promised, and he responded with I’m going to collect.

You had watched him turn the corner and go. Right before disappearing, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed you a giddy smile.

The ocean gives—

Five months ago, you sat in front of Joshua with your heart in his hands.

The conversation ended with less than thirty-six questions. There is only so much times you can argue, and compromise, before the spats threaten to spill into resentment. In a small voice, you had asked him if he still loved you. Yes, he had said breathlessly, but you and I both know love isn’t always enough.

In the freezer, a tub of his favorite ice cream waited. One you had picked up in the grocery store, remembering him. It would remain there, cold and sweet and untouched, because the argument started mid-dinner and ended with you feeling like you were an astronaut jettisoned into space. One that would never come back down to Earth.

At the door of the apartment, he had kissed the crown of your hair with quivering lips. You were the one with a friend nearby, the one with a place you could stay at before the two of you had to figure out the shared apartment. Joshua had tried to kiss you properly, but you shook your head wordlessly.

Clean and quiet.

All Joshua could do was love you hard. All you could do was let him go.

You had gotten into a cab. Right before you turned the corner, you twisted in the seat to look in the rear window.

Joshua had been by the gate, watching you leave.

The ocean takes away—

It was easier than you thought, quitting your job.

After the roadtrip, that seemed like Joshua’s parting gift. The realization that you had wanted to do something meaningful with your degree, that running or staying was always a choice you could make.

And so you put in your two-week notice, and looked up Master’s programs, and got a part-time job at a non-government organization with an advocacy you believed in. You had been looking for an excuse to change your life, anyway, and here it was.

It was not like anything happened after the kiss by the beach. Somehow, it had reminded you of that first night—how you had advised Joshua not to push his luck.

He knew, you knew, that the kiss was perfect as is. To try and steal another would do neither of you any good.

He hadn’t answered question thirty-six. The kiss took away that opportunity, and so the two of you simply got back into his car without another word.

You slept the entire ride back and woke up to Joshua listening to some podcast about investigating subtidal zone organisms using a light source. He dropped you off at your apartment, wished you well with a one-armed hug, and drove off into the night.

It’s not like you’d been expecting a follow-up text, but it sure would have been nice.

You don’t dwell on it. You transition your replacement and tie up all loose ends. On your last day in the office, you pack up your desk. Whale-themed calendar, coral-shaped push pins, blue Post-It’s.

“I’ve always loved that about you,” a co-worker says in passing as you rearrange your belongings like a perverse Tetris game. “All the sea stuff.”

It hits you, only then, that you’d been a walking, talking documentary for all the things Joshua Hong loved. You could almost cry at the realization. Instead, you laugh politely.

You’re logging out of your work computer for the very last time when the Mail app pings. You’re inclined to ignore it, to just open it up on your phone and be done with everything, but the preview in the notification has your brows furrowing.

You open the email.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: RE: My personal problem

I never got to answer thirty-six. It’s because my ‘problem’ is this: I have a couple of questions I want to ask you.

For your reference and kind consideration.

Have you eaten today?

Did you remember to water the plant on your windowsill?

What time did you wake up this morning?

Are you sleeping okay lately?

Did you bring your jacket today like I told you to?

What song have you been listening to on repeat?

Is your favorite mug still the blue one with the chip in it?

Did you ever replace the broken lamp in your room?

When was the last time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt?

Are you still drinking your coffee with too much sugar?

What’s the last book you finished reading?

Do you still cry at that one movie you always cry at?

Have you called your mom lately?

Do you still keep emergency chocolate in the freezer?

What’s the newest dream you’ve had for your life?

What do you miss the most about living with someone?

Do you ever think about our old kitchen, and how the faucet always leaked?

Are you still scared of thunderstorms?

When was the last time you let someone take care of you?

What’s the one thing you wish you could say without it sounding like too much?

Do you remember how we used to dance in the living room when it rained?

What memory have you been holding onto lately?

Have you forgiven me for the words I didn’t say when I should have?

Do you think it’s possible to love someone differently, but just as much, the second time around?

Do you think timing is a real excuse, or just a convenient one?

What did I do that hurt you the most?

What did I do that made you feel safest?

What was your favorite version of us?

What do you think we did right?

What do you think we got terribly wrong?

What did you learn about yourself when we were apart?

What made you fall in love with me, back then?

What did you fall out of love with?

What’s something you wanted to ask me, but never did?

What would you do differently, if we had a second chance?

Could we have a second chance?

– J.

#joshua x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svthub #keopihausnet #joshua imagines #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #joshua hong x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt

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busylazy · 6 months ago

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SB19 101 + Songs to Listen to

SB19 is a trailblazing Filipino PPop (Pinoy Pop) group, making waves both locally and internationally with their unique blend of Filipino and Korean pop influences. Formed in 2016 under ShowBT Philippines, the group comprises five talented members: Pablo, Josh, Stell, Ken, and Justin. They are known for their powerful vocals, intricate choreography, and heartfelt songwriting, quickly rising to fame with their uplifting and relatable music.

Must Listen to SB19 Songs

"Go Up" (2019)

Their breakthrough hit, this upbeat song about perseverance catapulted SB19 to fame, earning them wide recognition.

The dance practice:

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The official MV:

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"Alab (Burning)" (2020)

A vibrant and energetic pop song with a catchy hook, "Alab" is a fan favorite for its infectious energy and danceable beat.

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"Hanggang Sa Huli" (2020)

A ballad about unrequited love and heartbreak, this song highlights SB19’s vocal harmonies and emotional depth.

I can only add 10 videos to a post so I selected 10 to share. I didn't include this track but you can watch this song's animated music video here. ⬅️

"Tilaluha" (2019)

SB19’s debut single, a sentimental ballad about longing and heartache, setting the stage for their success with its powerful vocals and emotional resonance.

Watch the music video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Fqszuma1zQ

"Mapa" (2021)

A heartfelt tribute to parents, "Mapa" combines "Mama" and "Papa" in its title, symbolizing gratitude and love as well as "mapa" for map, showing gratitude to those who guide us.

The song’s touching lyrics and soothing melody make it a fan favorite. It's their most-viewed video to date, with over 104 million views as of this post.

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"WYAT (Where You At)" (2022)

This upbeat, disco-pop track captures the excitement of reconnecting with loved ones after a long time apart. Its retro vibe and feel-good energy make it a standout. Its energy and catchy hook make it a great introduction to SB19’s style.

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"What?" (2021)

This powerful anthem speaks about identity and pride, blending rock and pop elements with explosive choreography.

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"Bazinga" (2021)

A hard-hitting track with themes of resilience and confidence. It topped Billboard's Hot Trending Songs chart, emphasizing the group's growing international fanbase.

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"Gento" (2023)

Known for its hard-hitting beat and confident lyrics, this song symbolizes change and progress. The title is a play on "ginto" (gold) and "ganito" (like this), signaling excellence and ambition. It’s an anthem of self-empowerment and worth, emphasizing the group's hard work and resilience.

It's their second most viewed video after "Mapa" and has been making the rounds on social media for its iconic dance moves. Several Korean idols and other celebrities did not escape the challenge to try the trend.

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"I Want You" (2023)

A sultry, smooth track with a slow, sensual beat. This song showcases SB19's ability to blend R&B influences into their music while maintaining their signature style.

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"CRIMZONE" (2023)

A powerful anthem of defiance and resilience, this track has an intense energy with a rebellious tone, demonstrating SB19’s versatility in both sound and performance.

This track stands out with its intense beats and themes of perseverance, encouraging listeners to remain steadfast despite challenges. The energetic delivery and impactful lyrics give it an empowering feel.

Here's a link to the official lyric video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-Nh623g0-Y

"Liham" (2023)

A moving ballad about unspoken feelings, "Liham" captures the pain and longing of words left unsaid in a heartfelt letter. It's themes of love, longing, and vulnerability, highlights SB19's emotional depth.

The lyric video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orU-h3eX-Gc

"Ilaw" (2023)

A more emotional, introspective track, "Ilaw" represents hope and guidance, showcasing SB19’s ability to convey deep feelings through gentle melodies and touching lyrics.

Here's a link to the official lyric video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Ns8DztSfwo

"Moonlight" (2024)

Moonlight has a dreamy, mellow feel, combining smooth melodies with reflective lyrics. It’s particularly appreciated for its atmospheric and soothing vibe.

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They have collaborated with Ian Asher and Terry Zhong in "Moonlight." Other collaborations include "Ready" with Apl.de.Ap of Black Eyed Peas and "Kalakal" with Gloc-9, the latter is often dubbed as the fastest rapper in the Philippines.

Other Must Watch Videos

Apart from their official music videos, it's worth watching live performances and one-take recordings such as from The First Take and Wish Bus.

SB19 offers a dynamic and diverse discography, blending pop, ballads, R&B, rock, and hip-hop, making them an exciting force in the PPop industry and beyond.

Members

Pablo (John Paulo Nase)

The group’s leader, main rapper, and lead vocalist, Pablo is also a talented songwriter and producer. He is credited with writing most of SB19's songs.

Josh (Josh Cullen Santos)

Josh serves as the lead rapper and sub-vocalist of the group. He's the eldest member of the group, but true to his name, Cullen, he's like a vampire who doesn't look his age.

While all of them struggled before reaching where they are right now, Josh's life story is probably the most interesting one (IMO). It could have easily landed an episode of biopic (often dramatic but with life lessons to serve) shows like "Magpakailanman" or "Maalala mo Kaya."

Stell (Stellvester Ajero)

Known for his powerful vocals, Stell is SB19's main vocalist. He is also involved in vocal arrangements and harmonies, bringing emotional depth to the group's music.

Ken (Felip Jhon Suson)

As the group's main dancer and sub-vocalist, Ken has a distinct low vocal range that adds texture to their songs.

Justin (Justin de Dios)

The youngest member and sub-vocalist, Justin is also the creative mind behind much of SB19's visual content, contributing to their music video direction and concepts.

Solo Music

SB19’s members have ventured into solo projects, further showcasing their individual artistry alongside their group success.

Pablo

Pablo's solo single, "La Luna" (2022), is a deep, introspective track that explores themes of inner battles, freedom, and identity, set against a dark, moody backdrop.

He continues to explore deeper themes in his solo work with two recent albums, "Alon" and "Laon" (2024). These albums are a reflection of his growth as a songwriter and producer, tackling topics like personal struggles, introspection, and resilience.

Laon (long time, old, ancient; you get the point) is more upbeat and often edgy, while Alon (waves, like ocean waves) is inspirational but sometimes heartbreaking.

"Butata" from Laon is easily the top track with it's basketball-themed lyrics referencing the anime Slam Dunk, which was a hit in the Philippines back in the 2000s. "Butata" literally means getting zero points or losing a game. It's a gritty, hard-hitting track that reflects Pablo’s ability to mix emotional vulnerability with strong, impactful lyricism.

I like all the songs in Alon, especially "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" and "Drowning in the Water." The former (TBWCW) is surprisingly not about the boy who cried wolf but about the boy who is also the wolf at the same time, and he's having a dialogue with himself. The latter is a song he wrote about a decade or so ago. Let me add "Wala" as well.

Josh

In 2023, Josh launched his solo single "Wild Tonight," which blends dark, edgy themes with electronic pop influences.

Josh later released "1999" this year, which reflects his personal memories and nostalgia of growing up in the '90s. The song blends retro vibes with modern electronic beats, celebrating the simplicity and joy of youth.

Other notable songs from both the first wave of singles and the current ones include Yoko Na featuring Al James, Get Right, No Control, and Sumaya. The entire Lost and Found album (2024) is bop to be honest, but my personal favorites are Silent Cries, See Me, and Honest.

Felip / Ken

Under his solo name "Felip," he has released tracks like "Palayo" and "Bulan," which explore his creative individuality and experiment with contemporary R&B and hip-hop with some traditional elements. Fake Faces easily makes him a "Rocksta." Let me add Kanako too. It's in Bisaya (another language in the Philippines).

Apart from the singles, he has released the 7 Sins (2024) album. I love the entire album, especially the rage song "envy" and the inspiring "ache." The kids choir at the song's bridge can melt your heart further amid the already heart-melting lyrics. His collaboration with Dutch-Filipino R&B singer Cyra Gwynth "lust" is a must-listen to track as well. The entire album is a must-listen to, actually.

Stell

Stell's songs combine a mix of ballads and pop tracks that allow him to express his personal experiences and artistic growth beyond his work with SB19.

(GIF is in his The Voice Philippines coach era)

One of the standout songs from Stell’s solo project, "Room" is a heartfelt ballad that focuses on the themes of love, vulnerability, and personal space. Stell’s rich vocals shine, creating an intimate emotional connection with listeners.

Speaking of that GIF, Stell became a coach for the Philippine franchise of The Voice Generations (2023) and The Voice Kids (2024). His rendition of All By Myself with David Foster further proves his vocal strength.

Justin

Justin’s recent solo releases have also gained attention for their unique storytelling and personal touch.

"Kaibigan" is a touching song about friendship and love (or more like friendzoned). It highlights Justin's lyrical ability to convey warmth and connection, blending gentle melodies with heartfelt lyrics.

"Surreal": This track dives into dreamlike themes of wonder and imagination, offering a smooth, almost ethereal sound that showcases Justin's creativity and softer vocal tones.

These solo efforts from SB19’s members, alongside their group discography, illustrate the depth of their musical abilities and their desire to push boundaries within PPop and beyond.

Erratum: this post is constantly being updated

DAM

Like, damn! The music video for SB19's new single, "DAM," for their upcoming comeback album SAW (Simula at Wakas, translates to "the Beginning and the End" or "Start and Finish") is so damn lit! It has surpassed 4 million YouTube views within 24 hours. That's the second highest record in the Philippines to date.

SAW World Tour

Like, damn! The SAW World Tour Philippine leg at the Philippine Arena (with a capacity of 50,000+ seats) got sold out in just 7 hours! Other tour locations also got sold out! Some even within several minutes! 😱

#sb19 #sb19 pablo #sb19 justin #sb19 stell #sb19 josh #sb19 ken #ppop #music #youtube videos #simula at wakas

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03jyh23 · 10 months ago

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🌷⌇confessions finding our way back part 4; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend!idol!jongho x ex-girlfriend!single-mom!reader

│series masterlist│ │next│

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: unplanned pregnancy, illegitimate child, single parenthood, mentions of panic, stress, mentions of boys loving boys, i did not proof-read it😭

│words: 8.3k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! i'm back with another chapter! this one is more of an add-on than a full part, but it was necessary to include it to move the story forward and to establish the mood and dynamic between the characters. i also included some elements you wanted to see happening!

love, mon ♡

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr @DALSUWAHA @treehouse-mouse

@ateez-atiny380 @sleepy-kat-here @sndeoki @bomi-ja

@dearinsaniiiity @vixensss @all-fandoms-rise @finnydraws

@hyuckiesgf @ateezswonderland

│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

Jongho stood in the kitchen, finishing up the dishes after their meal. He felt happy and light. The laughter from earlier still echoed in his mind, filling him with a sense of warmth and belonging. The words of encouragement and support from his bandmates had lifted a weight off his shoulders. From now on, he knew he was supported and was certain that no matter what, his members loved him. As he rinsed the last plate and placed it in the drying rack, Jongho took a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He could proceed to fight for his little family, confident that he wasn't alone on this journey. The bond with his bandmates had only grown stronger, and their unwavering support gave him the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead. He was thriving, ready to embrace the future with open arms and a determined heart.

Lost in his thoughts, Jongho didn't hear Wooyoung approaching until his voice broke the silence. "Jongho?" Wooyoung called out, his voice echoing through the room.

Jongho turned around, surprised to see Wooyoung standing in the kitchen, a concerned look on his face. "Oh, hyung," Jongho replied, wiping his hands on a towel. "What's up?"

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment before speaking, his eyes searching Jongho's face. "I just wanted to check on you," he said softly.

"Thanks, Wooyoung," Jongho replied, offering a small smile. "I'm doing better now, really. Your support means the world to me."

Wooyoung nodded, his expression softening. "Just remember, we're all here for you, no matter what."

"I have something for you. Can't believe I almost forgot," Jongho said with a grin. He jogged to Hongjoong's room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Even though Jongho knew his hyung was taking a shower, he knocked on the door before entering, his eyes scanning the room momentarily before he spotted what he was looking for. He quickly straight crossed the room and grabbed a purple box from Hongjoong’s desk.

"I wanted to give this to you earlier, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind," Jongho explained as he returned, holding the box out with a smile. Wooyoung looked slightly taken aback and glanced at Jongho with a mix of curiosity and surprise. "It's from Nari," Jongho said with a warm smile, his head gesturing towards the purple box. "Go ahead, open it," Jongho encouraged, his eyes filled with a knowing anticipation. Wooyoung hesitated for a moment, then carefully lifted the lid of the box.

Wooyoung's eyes widened in surprise as he carefully opened the box. Inside, nestled among delicate, purple tissue paper, was a small assortment of homemade cookies, each one meticulously decorated with colorful icing and sprinkles. "Cookies?" Wooyoung exclaimed, a delighted smile spreading across his face. "Did Nari make these?" he asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.

Jongho nodded, an affectionate smile playing on his lips. "Yes, she wanted to make something special for you," he explained, his voice filled with pride

Wooyoung's expression softened as he carefully picked up one of the cookies, examining the designs. Jongho's smile widened as he watched Wooyoung take a bite of the cookie, his eyes lighting up with delight. "These are amazing," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "Please tell Nari that I absolutely love them and that she's an incredible baker."

"Or maybe you could do it yourself?" Jongho suggested, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "You know, instead of me playing messenger, you could thank Nari directly. She'd love to hear from you."

Wooyoung's eyes widened in surprise, then softened with affection. "You're right," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "I should thank her personally. She put so much effort into these cookies, and it's the least I can do." He looked at Jongho, his gaze filled with gratitude.

Jongho's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief as he watched Wooyoung savor the cookie. "You better not disappoint her," Jongho said, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness. "She's my daughter, after all, and if you ever let her down, you'll have to answer to me." He finished with a playful smile, but the protective glint in his eyes made it clear he meant every word.

Wooyoung chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Don't worry, Jongho. I'll make sure to stay on her good side," he promised, a grin spreading across his face.

Jongho laughed, shaking his head. "Good. Because if you don't, you're going to have to deal with my wrath," he teased, flexing his arms in an exaggerated manner. "And trust me, you don't want that."

Wooyoung pretended to shiver, dramatically clutching his chest. "Oh no, not the wrath of Jongho! I'll be on my best behavior, I promise."

Jongho couldn't help but laugh at Wooyoung's antics, the atmosphere lightening even more. "Alright, alright. I trust you," he said, patting Wooyoung on the back.

Wooyoung grinned mischievously at Jongho, a playful glint in his eyes. "Aren't you a bit jealous I'm her favorite?" he teased, taking another bite of the cookie.

Jongho rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Nope, not at all," Jongho replied confidently, his grin widening. "I know eventually she will love me the most. I'm her dad, after all." He winked at Wooyoung, who couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright, you win this round," Wooyoung conceded with a chuckle. "But don't be too sure, I'll always be her favorite uncle."

Jongho shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "We'll see about that, Wooyoung. We'll see."

Wooyoung munched on another cookie, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "So, Jongho," he began, adopting a more serious tone, "what's the deal with Y/N? You haven't really talked much about her."

"She... she was my first love," Jongho replied softly, his expression turning wistful as memories flooded back. He paused for a moment, lost in thought, before continuing. "She was everything to me. She was kind, smart, and incredibly loving. I remember how her eyes would light up whenever she talked about something she was passionate about."

"How did you end up together?" Wooyoung asked, his curiosity evident.

"Y/N confessed first; she was furious that I was taking so long to do so," Jongho chuckled, a fond smile playing on his lips. "She always had this fiery spirit, never afraid to speak her mind. I admired that about her, even if it sometimes meant I had to face her anger. But it was that same spirit that made me fall for her even more." Jongho smiled, his eyes reflecting the fondness of the memory. "After she confessed, I realized I had been a fool for not telling her sooner. We started spending even more time together, whenever I had time between practices, I would be with her, and it just felt right. She supported me through thick and thin, and before long, we knew we were meant to be together." He paused, looking at Wooyoung with a thoughtful expression. "It wasn't always easy, she was living as my secret, we were stealing moments but the love, it made everything worth it."

Wooyoung's eyes softened with empathy, his gaze filled with understanding. "So, what happened?" he asked gently, wanting to offer his friend some comfort.

Jongho sighed deeply, "We were stupidly in love, you know, head over heels for each other. But then Hongjoong found out about us and forced us to break up. He thought it was for the best. But now, when I found out about Nari, I-" Jongho's voice trailed off, filled with a mix of regret and confusion.

"Wait, hold your horses, Jongho," Wooyoung interrupted, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. "What do you mean Hongjoong made you break up?"

Jongho took a deep breath, his eyes clouded with a mixture of regret and sadness. "I was practicing on my own, the studio was empty, and as usual Y/N came to see me." he began, his voice tinged with melancholy. "Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Hongjoong came back. The look on his face when he saw us together—it was like a dagger to my heart. I knew in that instant that it was over for us." He paused, running a hand through his hair as if trying to find the right words to convey the weight of the moment. "I was a coward," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just stood there, frozen. Hongjoong was furious, and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He didn't even give me a chance to explain. He said that we couldn't afford any distractions, that our careers were at stake. He made it clear that I had to choose between my love for her and my commitment to the band. And she… she just looked at me, waiting for me to do something, to say something." Jongho's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, "But I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to fight for her, not in that moment. I just stood there and watched her go, watched her walk out of my life." He sighed deeply; the sound filled with a sense of loss. "I watched her go, knowing that I was letting go of the one person who made everything worthwhile. And now, I have to live with that choice, knowing that I broke her heart and mine in the process."

Wooyoung sighed, his brow furrowed, the cookie in his hand long forgotten. "I just don’t get it. If Hongjoong knew I had a boyfriend and didn’t do anything about it, then why when he found out about you and Y/N, he lost his mind over it? It's so confusing and honestly, it feels unfair. I mean, what's the difference between your relationship and mine? Why was it okay for me to have a boyfriend, but not for you to be with Y/N? It just doesn't make much sense." Wooyoung's eyes searched Jongho's face for answers, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

Jongho shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I wish I had an answer, Wooyoung," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Maybe Hongjoong saw something different in our situation, or maybe he was just trying to protect us in his own way. But it doesn't change that I lost her."

"I couldn't help but overhear my name," Hongjoong stepped into the kitchen, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. His sudden appearance caused both Jongho and Wooyoung to turn towards him, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt. Wooyoung's eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words. Hongjoong glanced between the two of them, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together what he had walked into. "What's going on?" he asked his voice calm but tinged with an undercurrent of worry.

Jongho hesitated for a moment, then spoke up, his voice steady but filled with a mix of emotions. "We were just talking about... the past, and some decisions that were made." He glanced at Wooyoung, who nodded in silent support.

Hongjoong's expression shifted, a hint of regret appearing in his eyes as he took in Jongho's words. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair before responding. "Jongho, I already told you; I did what I thought was best at the time."

"But was it really the best for everyone involved?" Jongho questioned, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I lost someone I truly loved, and it feels like that decision was made for me."

Hongjoong's shoulders slumped slightly, "All of us signed the contracts, Jongho," Hongjoong replied, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. "I was only following the rules, as a good leader should." He paused, looking down as if the weight of his own words bore down on him. "You have to understand I was trying to protect the group, to make sure we stayed focused on our goals."

"But in doing so, you took away something important from me," Jongho replied a bit harshly, his eyes reflecting the pain of the past.

"It just seems unfair," Wooyoung chimed in, his voice filled with frustration. "Why was Jongho's relationship treated differently? Why did you never approach me about mine?"

"Jongho was in a relationship during our rookie days," Hongjoong began, his voice tinged with a mix of regret and determination. He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "It was a crucial time for us. We got our first prize with Wave, and we were preparing for our Answer comeback." Hongjoong's gaze softened as he looked around the kitchen, searching for understanding in the faces of his bandmates."You must remember the pressure we were under. We were just starting to gain recognition, and every move we made was scrutinized." He sighed, running a hand through his hair again as he continued, "I felt like I had to make a tough decision for the sake of the group. I thought following the rules would help us stay focused on our goals." Hongjoong's eyes scanned the room once more, searching for understanding. "I know it seems harsh, but I was trying to protect what we had worked so hard for. I didn't want any distractions to take away from our success. Do you really not understand my point of view?" His voice softened, filled with a mix of regret and hope that his bandmates would see where he was coming from. The room fell silent, both Jongho and Wooyoung processing Hongjoong's words. "And when it came to you, Wooyoung, your relationship was almost two years after I made Jongho break up with Y/N," Hongjoong continued, his voice softer but still firm. "We were in another place with our career by then. I felt like you were mature enough to navigate both your career and your relationship." He looked at Wooyoung, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I didn't want to do what I did to Jongho, so I decided to trust you and believe that you could handle it without it affecting our goals."

"I know I was young," Jongho admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of regret and longing. "But I just wish you could have put some faith in me back then. I understand you were trying to protect the group and our dreams, but it felt like my feelings and my relationship didn't matter. Y/N meant the world to me and losing her was one of the hardest things I've ever had to go through." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I know that we were under a lot of pressure, but I believe we could have found a way to make it work without sacrificing our personal lives completely. I just wish there had been more trust in my ability to handle both." His eyes met Hongjoong's, filled with a mix of hurt and hope. "I needed your support back then, not just as a leader, but as a friend and a brother."

Hongjoong's eyes softened, his expression filled with a mixture of regret and understanding. "I wish I had handled things differently." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I want you to know that I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you."

Jongho's expression softened as he listened to Hongjoong's words, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and forgiveness. "Thank you, hyung. That means a lot to me." He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Alright now as we finally cleared the air, it’s bedtime," Hongjoong smiled, "We have early practice tomorrow, so let's make sure we're all well-rested and ready to give it our best."

"Yeah, San's already asleep. I just came to check up on our maknae," Wooyoung smiled, his eyes filled with warmth and reassurance.

"I think you should learn how to say no to San and finally send him off to sleep in his own bed," Hongjoong nagged, shaking his head slightly. "What's the point of him living in a separate dorm when he's spending almost every night here?"

Wooyoung chuckled softly, shaking his head. "San's always been like this. Besides, it's not like I mind," Wooyoung smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I actually enjoy having him around, even if it means sharing my bed most nights." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "He's just so clingy, but in a way that makes you feel needed and appreciated. It's one of the things I love about him."

"You are too soft when it comes to San," Jongho pointed out, a teasing smile on his face. "You always let him get away with everything. One of these days, you're going to have to put your foot down and make him sleep in his own bed."

Wooyoung chuckled, shaking his head. "I know, I know," he admitted, his eyes twinkling with affection. "But honestly, I don't mind. As I said before, San just has his way of making me feel needed and appreciated. It's hard to say no to that."

Hongjoong smirked, crossing his arms. "Well, just don't come complaining to us when you wake up with no space on your own bed," he teased. "San's a bed hog, and you know it."

Wooyoung laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, he is. But he's my bed hog, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I am just wondering how you are going to explain your relationship with San to your future boyfriend," Jongho joked teasingly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I mean, it's not every day you have to tell someone you're dating that you share your bed with your bandmate because he's too clingy to sleep in his own dorm."

Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head. "Well, I guess I'll just have to find someone who understands the unique dynamics of our friendship," he replied, his voice filled with amusement. "Besides, anyone who wants to be with me will have to accept San as part of the package."

Hongjoong smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Good luck with that, Wooyoung. Just make sure your future boyfriend knows what he's signing up for. Sharing a bed with San is no small feat."

Wooyoung chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Well, if they can't handle San, then they probably can't handle me either. So, it will be a good test of their commitment."

Jongho nodded, a playful grin on his face. "Just make sure to give us a heads-up before introducing them to San’s nightly cuddles. We wouldn't want to scare them off too soon."

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to ease them into it. Besides, who could resist San's charm once they get to know him?"

Jongho chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You know, Wooyoung, your future boyfriend might feel a bit threatened by your charming best friend who happens to share a bed with you," he teased, nudging Wooyoung playfully. "I mean, it's not every day someone has to compete with San for your attention."

Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head. "Well, if they can't handle a little competition, then maybe they're not the right one for me," he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Anyone who wants to be with me will just have to get used to it."

Jongho grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Just make sure to warn them about San's nightly cuddles."

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Oh, shut up, Jongho."

The three of them shared a laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating as they enjoyed the light-hearted banter. "Alright, enough teasing for tonight," Hongjoong said, clapping his hands together.

Wooyoung glanced at the cookie box in his hands, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "I'm keeping this," he said with a wink, his tone light and teasing. The boy hugged the cookie box tighter, as if it were a precious treasure. "You know, these cookies are really something special," he added, his voice softening. "I will tell Nari she's an amazing baker." With a final nod, Wooyoung exited the kitchen, the cookie box still clutched tightly in his arms. He walked down the hallway, a sense of contentment settling over him. As he reached the door to his room, he glanced back one last time, his heart swelling with affection for his bandmates. "Goodnight," he called out softly before disappearing into his room.

Jongho and Hongjoong now stood in the kitchen alone, the silence between them comfortable and filled with understanding.

"Goodnight, Nari's dad," Hongjoong said with a warm smile, patting Jongho on the shoulder. "You've done a great job today."

Jongho chuckled softly, "Thanks, Hongjoong. It means a lot coming from you." He returned the smile, the weight of the past conversations lifting slightly. Hongjoong nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of pride and affection. "Goodnight, hyung."

With one last pat on the shoulder, Hongjoong turned and left the kitchen, leaving Jongho alone with his thoughts. The room felt quieter now, but in the silence, Jongho found a sense of peace. As Jongho turned off the kitchen lights and made his way to his room, a small smile played on his lips. The journey might be tough, but with his little family by his side, he was ready to face whatever came next.

"I think you are overreacting a little bit," you said as you looked at the man sitting beside you on the couch. His brows were furrowed, a sign that he was deep in thought. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled over your words.

"No, I'm not," Hyunwoo finally replied, his voice firm. He turned to face you, the seriousness in his eyes took you aback. "This is important," he added, taking your hand in his.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to ease his worries. "I know it is," you said softly, "and I also know that what I did was right."

Hyunwoo sighed, his mind was racing with all the what-ifs and the potential outcomes of the situation. "It's just... I thought I was important enough for you to let me know you decided to tell the guy about Nari," he sighed, his gaze focused on a wall in front of him.

His feelings were valid, and you understood where he came from, after all you’ve been best friends for years now. "Hyunwoo," you started, your voice soft, "you are important to me. You always have been. But this... this was something I had to do on my own." Your friend remained silent, his gaze shifting to meet yours. You could see the hurt in his eyes. "I should have told you," you admitted, "and I'm sorry I didn't. But I hope you understand why I did it."

Hyunwoo sighed again, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed to carry the weight of his thoughts. "Actually, no, I don't understand why you did it," he admitted, his voice firm. "You don't need him," he stated, his gaze unwavering as he spoke his mind.

You could see the frustration in his eyes, a testament to the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling. "Listen," you began, your voice steady but filled with empathy, "I know you're trying to protect me. And I appreciate it, I really do. But this isn't about needing Jongho. It's about Nari. She has a right to know her dad."

Hyunwoo was silent for a moment, his gaze still fixed on yours. You could tell he was battling with his emotions, trying to make sense of the situation. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. "I just... I just don't want you to get hurt," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Why don’t you understand this isn't about me and Jongho," you responded, your voice slightly raised, your frustration growing. "Nari deserves to know her dad. And Jongho deserved to know he has a daughter." Your words resonated in the room, a silent plea for understanding. "Plus, Jongho would never hurt me,"

"Oh, but I thought he already did hurt you once?" Hyunwoo scoffed, his words heavy with accusation and hurt.

You rose from the couch, hands running through your hair in frustration. "That was very low of you," you shot back, your voice filled with hurt and disbelief. "We were just a couple of teenagers back then."

"Why are you defending him?"

"Because people change, Hyunwoo," you found the strength to reply, your voice steady and unwavering. "They grow, they learn, they evolve. Jongho is no exception." You paused, letting your words sink in, your gaze never leaving Hyunwoo's. "Even if I spent such a short time with him, I could see that he has changed, he's matured. He's not the boy I once knew, he's a man now." You swallowed hard, your next words coming out in a whisper, "Yes, he messed up, a big time. But he's more than his past mistakes. He's changed since then. He's grown, just like all of us."

"He didn't fight for you! He didn't do anything to find you again, to contact you again! You deserve better than someone who just gave up!" Hyunwoo shot back, his voice echoing in the room. He rose from the couch, his entire body tense, neck flushing red from the surge of emotion. His words hung heavily in the room, echoing the hurt and frustration he had been bottling up.

"He was scared, Hyunwoo," you replied, your voice filled with empathy. "He thought he was doing what was best for me, for us. Can't you see? He was protecting me, in his own way." You took a deep breath, steadying your voice before continuing, "And now, he's ready to make amends, to be a part of Nari's life."

"How can he be a part of Nari's life though?" your friend scoffed, a hint of mockery in his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest. "He's an idol, for God's sake. His life is all about concerts, photoshoots, fan meetings... Where does he think he'll find the time for Nari in all of that?"

"He'll make time, Hyunwoo," you responded, your voice filled with conviction. "Jongho wants to be a part of Nari's life and he'll do whatever it takes. Yes, he's an idol. Yes, his life is busy. But that doesn't mean he can't be a father. He's ready to make the effort, to make the sacrifices necessary." You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "And I believe him."

"Why do you believe him?" Hyunwoo asked, his voice still tinged with doubt.

"Because I've seen the change in him," you said softly, your eyes meeting Hyunwoo's. "When he found out about Nari, he was shocked, yes, but he was also determined. He could have easily walked away, but he didn't. He's shown me that he's willing to fight for his daughter, and that means everything." You paused, letting your words sink in. "People do change, Hyunwoo. And sometimes, they just need a reason to show it."

"Is this about money?" Hyunwoo put his hands on his hips, frustration evident in his voice. He was trying to understand why you would do it, but he simply couldn't find a reason. He had always been there for you; he should have been enough for you.

Your blood boiled, your eyes wide with disbelief. "You're really going to accuse me of that!?" You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. The accusation felt like a slap in the face, a betrayal that cut deep. "Yes, I'm struggling," you admitted, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "But to think that I would stoop so low as to seek money from Jongho? That's a low blow, even for you." Your words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his accusation causing a rift between you.

Hyunwoo's expression softened, regret flashing in his eyes as he realized the impact of his words. "I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean it like that. I just... I'm worried, okay?"

"I know you are," you replied, your voice softening. "But you must trust me. This isn't about money or anything else. It's about giving Nari the chance to know her father and letting Jongho be a part of her life."

"Y/N, I need to know... do you still love him?" Hyunwoo asked suddenly, his voice filled with a mix of hesitation and urgency. His eyes searched yours, seeking the truth behind your words.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. Hyunwoo's question hung in the air, demanding an answer that you weren't sure you were ready to give. You met his gaze, searching for the right words. "Hyunwoo," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't know if I still love him in the way you might mean. But what I do know is that he's Nari's father, and she deserves to know him. This isn't about my feelings. It's about what's best for her."

"Jongho is not what's best for her," Hyunwoo stated firmly, his eyes filled with determination.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "That's not for you to decide," you replied, your voice steady. "Nari deserves to know her father, and Jongho deserves a chance to be in her life. You may not agree with my decision, but it's not your choice to make."

"Nari deserves a father who won't disappear for months because he's touring outside the country," Hyunwoo voice was laced with frustration. "She deserves a father who will be with her when she suddenly gets sick, a father who will be there in case of an emergency. Not one who will be too busy pleasing his fans." His words were harsh but held a truth that was hard to ignore. You could hear the concern in his voice, a concern for Nari, and you knew he was right. But you also knew that Jongho had changed and that he was ready to be there for his daughter, regardless of his hectic schedule. "A father like me." The words hung in the air, Hyunwoo's confession echoing in the silence. His eyes bore into yours, filled with sincerity and resolve.

You were taken aback by his words, the weight of his confession settling heavily between you. "I’m not sure if I understand what you mean, I..." You began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words.

"I know it sounds crazy," he interrupted, his voice filled with a desperate sincerity. "But I've been there for Nari since she was one. I love her like she's my own daughter. I just want what's best for her, and I truly believe that I can be the father she needs."

You stared at him, your heart aching with the complexity of the situation. "Hyunwoo, you've been an amazing friend and a wonderful figure in Nari's life. But this isn't about replacing Jongho. It's about giving Nari the chance to know her real father."

"It frustrates me," Hyunwoo said, his voice filled with restrained emotion, "to hear how you defend him, how you try to justify everything simply because he's Nari's biological father." His gaze bore into yours, a mix of hurt and frustration evident in his eyes. "I've been here for you, for Nari, through everything. I've watched her grow, taken care of her, and loved her as if she were my own. And now, suddenly, he's in the picture, and you're ready to give him a chance just because of biology? What about everything we've built together, the bond we share?" He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. "I get that Nari deserves to know her father, but it hurts to see you so willing to let him in, after all the years I've been by your side. I'm not saying this out of jealousy or spite. I just... I want what's best for both of you. And I'm scared that he won't be able to give you the stability and support that Nari needs." Hyunwoo's words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his feelings pressing down on both of you. His voice softened, filled with sincerity, "I don't want to see you, or Nari get hurt, Y/N. I just want to protect you both, like I always have." He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to continue, "Because I love you, Y/N. I have for a while now," Hyunwoo added, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down as if the weight of his confession was too much to bear. "I've tried to ignore it, to push it aside because I didn't want to complicate things. But seeing you defend Jongho, it's tearing me apart. I can't keep it inside any longer. Every moment we've spent together, every laugh, every tear, has only made my feelings for you grow stronger. I always thought that one day, maybe you'd see me the way I see you. But now, with Jongho back in the picture, I'm afraid I'll lose you both." Hyunwoo's eyes were filled with a mixture of hope and despair as he looked at you. "I don't want to make this harder for you, but I can't stay silent anymore. You and Nari mean everything to me, and I want to be the one who's there for you, who supports you, who loves you. Not just as a friend, but as something more."

His words hung in the air, filled with raw emotion and vulnerability. "I'm not asking you to make a decision right now," he added softly, "but I needed you to know how I feel. Because no matter what happens, I want you to be happy. And if being with Jongho is what makes you happy, then I'll find a way to accept it. But I had to be honest with you, Y/N. I had to let you know."

You were speechless, Hyunwoo's confession leaving you overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you processed everything he had said. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air; the room filled with a tense silence.

"Hyunwoo," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "I had no idea you felt this way." You paused, searching for the right words to convey your thoughts. "You've been such an important part of my life, of Nari's life. I can't imagine going through everything we've been through without you by our side." You took a step closer to Hyunwoo, his hand brushed against your arm. The warmth of his touch was comforting, you were about to speak again, to find the right words to address his heartfelt confession, when you heard Nari's cry piercing through the apartment,

"Mommy!" The sound of her voice jolted you back to reality. You turned your head toward her room, your heart pounding in your chest. The urgency in Nari's voice was unmistakable, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade into the background. You shared a brief, conflicted glance with Hyunwoo, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and resignation. "Mommy!" Nari called out again, her tiny voice echoing through the apartment. You could hear the fear and confusion in her tone, and it tugged at your heartstrings. Hyunwoo stepped back, giving you space to move, his expression softening as he watched you.

"I... I need to go to her," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Hyunwoo nodded, understanding the urgency of the situation. You gave him a small, grateful smile before turning and hurrying toward Nari's room. You pushed the door open gently, finding Nari sitting up in her bed, her eyes wide with fear, filled with tears. Her small frame was trembling, and she clutched her favorite stuffed animal tightly.

"Mommy," she cried out again, her voice breaking your heart. You rushed to her side, scooping her up into your arms and holding her close.

"It's okay, sweetheart," you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Mommy's here. It was just a dream." You rocked her gently, feeling her body slowly relax in your embrace. As you comforted Nari, your mind drifted back to the conversation with Hyunwoo. His confession, his raw vulnerability, and the depth of his feelings for you weighed heavily on your mind. You knew you couldn't ignore it, but right now, your focus was on your daughter. Nari's tears were flowing down her rosy cheeks, you patted her back gently, the rhythmic motion of your hand a comforting presence against the backdrop of her quiet sobs. You began to swing left and right, a soothing motion meant to calm her racing heart. "Shhh, my sweetheart, Mommy's here," you whispered, your voice soft and filled with love. She clung to you tightly, her small fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt as if letting go would mean losing her anchor. You continued to whisper sweet reassurances, each word a promise that you would always be there for her. The warmth of your embrace gradually began to melt her fears, her sobs slowing to small, hiccupping breaths. As you held her, you felt the tension in her body slowly ease, her muscles relaxing as the nightmare faded into a distant memory. "It's just a bad dream, sweetheart," you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Mommy's here, and nothing will hurt you." Nari's breathing began to even out, the rhythm of her chest rising and falling in time with yours. You continued to rock her gently, the motion a lullaby that coaxed her back towards the safety of sleep. "You're safe, my love," you continued, your voice a soothing, "Mommy will always protect you." With each passing moment, you could feel her grip on you loosen, her small body growing heavier as sleep began to claim her once more. You stayed with her, holding her close until you were certain that the nightmare was truly gone. Only then did you carefully lay her back down, tucking her in. "Sweet dreams, my little girl," you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She mumbled something in her sleep, a soft and contented sound that made your heart swell with love.

You made your way back to the living room, your mind still swirling with the events of the night. Hyunwoo was sitting on the couch, deep in thought, his hand resting on his chin. He seemed to sit completely still; his gaze fixed on the window as if searching for answers in the darkness outside. The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, the weight of his confession still hanging in the air. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, and the furrow in his brow. It was clear that he was grappling with his emotions, just as you were. As you approached, the floor creaked softly beneath your feet, breaking the heavy silence. Every step you took felt measured, each one drawing you closer to a conversation you weren't sure you were ready to have. Hyunwoo didn't immediately turn to look at you; instead, he remained lost in his thoughts, the distant look in his eyes betraying the turmoil within him. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had suddenly formed between you. Finally, you took a deep breath and walked closer, your presence a silent offer of support and understanding.

"Hyunwoo," you said softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room. He blinked, as if pulled from a trance, and turned to face you. His eyes, filled with a mixture of hope and resignation, met yours. The vulnerability in his gaze was palpable, and it struck a chord deep within you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I didn't mean to complicate things," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just couldn't keep it inside any longer. Seeing you defend Jongho, it tore me apart. I needed you to know how I feel."

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words. "I didn't realize how you feel about me," you admitted, your voice equally soft. "You've always been there for Nari and me. I can't imagine going through everything we've faced without you."

Hyunwoo's lips curved into a small, sad smile. "That's because I care about you both more than anything," he said. "I just want to protect you, to be there for you in every way possible."

You sit down beside him, your body turning to him. "And you have been, Hyunwoo. You've been our rock. But this situation with Jongho... it's new and it’s complicated."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I know, and I don't want to make it harder for you. But I couldn't stay silent anymore. I want to be the one who's there for you, who loves you." His words hung heavy in the air; the intensity of his feelings evident in every syllable. "I'm not asking you to make a decision right now," he added softly, "No matter what happens, I want you to be happy. And if being with Jongho is what makes you happy, then I'll find a way to accept it."

"Hyunwoo, it's too soon to think about me and Jongho, and talking about it with you now seems... wrong," you said, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I try to push my emotions aside; I can't afford to be distracted. I need to keep my guard up to make sure Nari is okay with all of this." You took a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. "My priority right now is Nari. She needs stability, and I have to be strong for her. I can't let my emotions cloud my judgment. Jongho being in our lives is already a big change, and I need to focus on how it affects her."

Hyunwoo's gaze softened as he listened to you, his eyes reflecting his understanding and concern. "I get it," he said quietly. "I know how much Nari means to you, and I don't want to make things harder."

You nodded, appreciating his empathy. "I know this isn't easy for you either. But right now, I need to put Nari first. I need to make sure she's okay with all of this before I even think about anything else." You paused, your eyes meeting his. "And I need to figure out my own feelings too. This whole situation is overwhelming, and I need time to process everything."

"I'm sorry if I've only added to your overwhelm," Hyunwoo said softly, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't mean to make things more complicated for you." He got up from the couch, it felt rushed as if he needed some physical distance from you right now. "I'll give you the time you need, Y/N. Take care of Nari and take care of yourself. I'm here if you need me."

You nodded, gratitude welling up inside you. "Thank you, Hyunwoo," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "I appreciate everything you've done for us."

"I should get going, it's already late," Hyunwoo said, his smile tinged with sadness and resignation. You nodded, understanding the need for him to leave but feeling a pang of sorrow at the thought of him walking out the door. He hesitated for a moment as if wanting to say something more, but instead, he turned and headed towards the door. You watched him go, the weight of his confession and the night's events settling over you heavily. As the door closed behind him, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your swirling thoughts.

Jongho was abruptly woken up by a sound that was nothing like his alarm. Disoriented, he squinted in the dim light of his room, trying to pinpoint where the ringing was coming from. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, darted around the space. The persistent noise continued, pulling him further out of his groggy state. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and fumbled through the mess on his nightstand until he finally found his phone.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice low and rough from sleep.

"Jongho, I am so sorry to be calling you out of the blue like this," your voice filled his ears. You sounded stressed, and the urgency in your tone made his heart race. "I know it's so early," you continued, your words tumbling out in a rush. Jongho glanced at his clock; it wasn’t even 6 am. The sky outside was still dark, the first hints of dawn barely visible on the horizon. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "But I need you," you finished, your voice trembling slightly. Jongho's mind raced, a hundred scenarios flashing through his head. He could hear the desperation in your voice, the way it wavered as if you were on the brink of tears. He sat up straighter, all traces of sleep forgotten as he focused on you.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. "Is everything okay?" He could hear you take a shaky breath on the other end, the sound amplifying the tension between you.

"It's just... I know it's Saturday, but something came up at work and my mom's not picking up. She must have put her phone on silent by accident. And I need to rush to work now. Nari... I can't bring her with me," you were talking fast, messily, your words tumbling out in a rush. Jongho could hear the stress in your voice, the way each sentence seemed to blend into the next. "I tried calling mom multiple times, but there's no answer. I don't know what else to do. I can't leave Nari alone, and I can't miss work. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important. Can you come over and stay with her? I know it's a lot to ask, especially so early in the morning, but I really need your help." Your voice wavered, the desperation clear as you pleaded for assistance.

"Hey, calm down and breathe for me, yeah?" Jongho's voice was soothing, a gentle reassurance that cut through your panic. He could hear the sound of your ragged breaths on the other end, and after a moment, they began to slow and even out. "That's it," he encouraged softly, "just breathe." He waited until he was sure you had calmed down a bit before continuing. "I know you're stressed, but we'll figure this out together." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, already moving towards his closet. "I'm getting dressed right now. I'll be there in no time to pick her up, okay?"

Jongho could hear the relief in your voice as you responded, the edge of desperation giving way to gratitude. "Thank you so much, Jongho. I really appreciate this."

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, his movements quick but deliberate. "It's no problem at all," he assured you, slipping on his shoes. "I'm happy to help. Just hang tight and I'll be there soon."

Hearing the calm confidence in his voice made you feel a little more in control. "Alright," you said, your voice steadier now.

"She's going to have a fun day with me," Jongho assured you. "I have a practice today, but she can dance around with us. She'll love it." His voice was filled with warmth and excitement, and you could almost picture the smile on his face. The thought of Nari dancing and having fun with Jongho brought a smile to your own face, easing some of the tension that had been weighing you down.

"You sure it's alright?" you felt the need to ask him again, your voice tinged with lingering concern.

''Y/N, I'm absolutely sure,'' Jongho replied, his tone unwavering and filled with warmth. ''I'm really happy to spend time with her today. You don't need to worry about a thing.'' His voice carried a calm confidence that was deeply comforting, and you could almost picture the reassuring smile on his face. ''This is an opportunity for us to bond and for me to be a part of her life in a meaningful way,'' he added, his words filled with a genuine eagerness that touched your heart. ''I've missed so much already, and I don't want to miss anymore. Spending the day with Nari is something I'm looking forward to, and I promise we'll have a great time together.''

You took a deep breath, Jongho's words slowly dissolving the knots of anxiety in your chest. ''Thank you, Jongho. It means a lot to me,'' you said, your voice softening with gratitude.

''It's no problem at all, Y/N,'' Jongho replied, his tone gentle. ''I'll be there soon. Just focus on what you need to do, and leave the rest to me.''

Knowing that Jongho was so willing and eager to help made you feel a sense of relief that was almost overwhelming. ''Alright,'' you responded, your voice steadier now. ''I'll see you soon.''

''See you soon,'' Jongho echoed the warmth in his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

#ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez series #jongho x you #jongho x reader #jongho x y/n #jongho mini series #jongho fluff #jongho angst #jongho fanfic #jongho fanfiction #finding our way back series

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shima-draws · 1 year ago

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I've been teasing her for months!! But at long last her ref is complete 🌷

I actually DON'T have a 5 page essay on her backstory this time (like I did for Ilari LMAO) but I do have some info about her if anybody is curious!

Name: Ione

Age: 25

Hair color: Silver

Eye color: Orangish-yellow

Element: Light

Grabbing info from the few posts I've talked about her already, Ione was originally a very famous singer, pretty much an idol within the world of ATS. She'd hold huge concerts that were always sold out and people from around the world would flock to see her perform. Eventually tho all of the attention started to attract the wrong kinds of people, and sooner or later Ione was "scouted" by a very rich man who wanted her all to himself. She was manipulated and blackmailed into signing a contract with him that would essentially end her touring and make it so that she would become a private singer for him. He basically chained her with this contract and so she disappeared from the public eye.

Ione soon discovered that other people with similar talents had also been gathered and trapped by this man's contracts. Among them was a prodigy violin player who she grew very close with. The two of them struggled under the demands of this man, and eventually violin boy started to get physically abused by him 😭 Things escalated to the point where Ione decided she wanted OUT and was determined to do anything to escape. This led to a very...traumatic event that caused her to go mute by choice.

When Ione finally makes her escape, thankfully she's changed so much that people don't recognize her in public (mostly her hair! It used to be short and didn't cover one of her eyes before). Shortly after she runs into Nahu and his group, and is unceremoniously recruited to join them lol (Nahu can be VERY persuasive). Ione communicates with them through sign language, which luckily a couple of them are fluent in--Ezio and Sage to be specific. They then teach the others in the group sign language too. It takes Nahu a bit to get the hang of it bc he has like, no attention span whatsoever, but being a dragon elemental helps since his senses are super attuned all the time, so he can generally tell what Ione is feeling and what she's trying to convey when she talks to him :")

Over time Ione grows closer with them, and like everybody else is hit with the Found Family, and realizes that yeah. She'd do absolutely ANYTHING for this group of crazy weirdos. She starts to fall in love with Nahu (bc who WOULDN'T), and slowly gains the courage to use her voice again. This leads to secret meetings with Sage, who helps her relearn how to use her vocal cords.

Eventually her past catches up with her, of course, but the group all bands together to set her free from it. She has to face off against violin boy, who thought she'd abandoned him and got Messed Up Mentally as a result, so THAT'S a thing she's gotta deal with. But she's able to reach him by singing for the first time in over five years, and everyone absolutely loses their shit at how beautiful her voice is and they all cry and it’s very emotional!!

Even after regaining her voice she still prefers to stay quiet most of the time, as that is what she's comfortable with, but she's totally okay with speaking when she needs to. Also I need to mention this but bc she used to be like. An idol. Obviously her routines consisted of both song and dance so she's a pretty good dancer. Out of everyone in the group, Ione is the ONLY person Ezio will dance with (and he is a very VERY good dancer himself, but will only dance with someone who can keep up with him, which Ione can). Everyone is very jealous of this, ESPECIALLY Nahu lol bc he wants to dance with Ezio too 😂

Ione's a light elemental! I haven't given a LOT of thought into her powers yet but I do know that her singing makes her stronger and also gives her powers a boost, which in turn helps the rest of the group. She also can ride on these light waves--I will have to draw them sometime bc I can't really explain them in words, it'd be better to show them visually lol

And that's her!! My flower light mute girl <33333

#Original character #Character art #Character design #Fantasy #Flowers #Character reference #OC art #Art #Digital art #Shima arts #Shima's OCs #Among the Stars #ATS #Ione #IDK HOW ELSE TO TAG THIS ONE LOL #shima-draws

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kkami-writes · 2 years ago

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⛤ Black Blood ⛤

pairing. ot8 x fem!demon!reader synopsis. It was an accident, really. They were just messing around with the Ouija board - nothing was supposed to happen. They definitely didn't mean to summon a demon, let alone bound one to them. Now you're stuck with 8 chaotic idols, having to navigate this new life that's been thrust upon you while they try to find out how to break this curse. No one had planned on getting attached, especially to someone like you. genres. written series + half text fic, idol!au, angsty, fluff, supernatural elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, porn w/ plot lol, semi-slow burn cw/tws. tags contain spoilers! member x member relationships, polyamory/polycule, implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced suicide, undisclosed terminal illness, mentions of heaven + hell (no references to any particular religion, mostly my own "lore" to fit the story), cameos from seventeen a/n. quick disclaimer that this is fiction!!! any actions or personalities of the members is not meant to reflect the very real people. I take a little bit of creative freedom in terms of the timeline as it starts from 2020-to present and I can only assume when things were filmed. anyway buckle up, this is supposed to be a very long haul fic lol. status: on hiatus. | taglist: open! sign up here. | AO3 link

wanna support my work? consider buying me a coffee?

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six / chapter seven / chapter eight / chapter nine / chapter ten / chapter eleven / chapter twelve

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #poly!stray kids #stray kids au

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escapismbook · 1 month ago

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ESCAPISM

Chapter Five | I Walk the Line

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)

→ AUs: non idol!au→ Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia

→ Trope(s): professor-student, forbidden romance, dark, slow-burn, seductive, mafia

→ Rating: mature/explicit (this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)

→ Word count: 5.6k

→ warnings + triggers: explicit smut, (female) OC is innocent and pure and Yoongi is desperate for her. Drug use, Strong language, Explicit scenes, Mentions of S.A, Violence, Dark Themes, Crime Elements, Alcohol, Club setting, Obsession, Possessive, Protective Love, Emotional.

→ Author’s note: Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden. This story contains mature themes, including:

This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.

(Don't forget to like and comment.)

A small note: When you see the italic font, it means they are speaking in Korean.

CHAPTER FIVE | I Walk the Line Song for chapter: Chase Atlantic | Swim Halsey | I Walk the Line

June arrived with the slow burn of early summer, the days stretching longer, the air thick with warmth. Two weeks had passed, and Yoongi had made it his personal amusement to give Aalia a hard time. Nothing she did in class seemed to be correct in his eyes. Her answers were never quite right. Her interpretations of the material were always slightly off. Even when she approached him for guidance, her voice careful, almost hopeful, he barely spared her a glance.

“Who needs help?” he would ask the room, and before anyone else could react, Aalia’s hand would shoot up, her desperation barely concealed. But Yoongi would only let his gaze flicker past her, settling on someone else instead. And then another. And another. He wasn’t just ignoring her. He was punishing her.

He could feel her frustration mounting with each dismissal, each subtle slight. She wasn’t the type to complain outright, but he saw it in the way she tried to catch his eye, the way her lips pressed together when he walked past her like she didn’t exist. She was unraveling under his silence, and he liked it. He liked the shift in her expression when she realized he wasn’t going to acknowledge her. He liked the way her fingers curled into fists on the desk. He liked seeing her upset. Seeing her desperate.

“Aalia, can I see your – wow!” Jungkook whistled. He had only seen her this angry when he accidently ate her blueberry Magnum ice cream a few days ago. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I. Am. Fine,” she gritted her teeth.

Jungkook tilted his head as he slowly reached for her notebook and took it to his table.

The clock was nearing seven o’clock, the once-bustling classroom now eerily silent. The last of her classmates had trickled out long ago, their laughter fading down the corridor, leaving Aalia alone beneath the dim glow of fluorescent lights.

Her fingers hovered over her laptop’s trackpad, frustration tightening in her chest. No matter how long she stared at the final part of her assignment, the words blurred together, stubbornly refusing to make sense.

‘Come on!’ she mentally screamed at herself. ‘Work brain! Work!’

But nothing. If anything, she could almost hear her brain laughing at her.

She dropped her head in her hands, her fingers tangeling in her hair. Her eyes were locked on the screen, her eyes reaking over the one sentence of an introduction she could not finish. Her gaze shifted to the top corner of the screen and she looked at the time. Her hands dragged down her face as a deep sigh left her lips. She knew there was only one way to do this. She closed her laptop and stood up.

The hallways were quiet as she made her way to his office, the heels of her shoes clicking softly agaisnt the polished floors.

Yoongi was skimming through paperwork, his pen gliding across the surface before he moved to the next paper. And then, a knock pulled his attention away just as he marked the last paper. He looked up as the door opened, and there she was standing in the doorway with her laptop cradled against her chest.

He leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest as he tiled his head slightly. “Well, well,” he mused, amusement lacing his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Aalia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, holding back the impulse with a slow inhale through her nose. She had to keep herself in check. She was already at a disadvantage, standing there in his office like this, seeking his help after two weeks of being ignored.

"I'm stuck on my assignment," she said, her voice clipped, controlled

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. He simply watched her, that same insufferable smugness curving his lips. His gaze was slow and deliberate as he took her in—her dress, soft white with delicate green, yellow, and blue flowers, flowing just past her knees. It wasn’t particularly tight, but the way it hugged her waist didn’t escape his notice. Nor did the way her long hair cascaded down in waves, slightly disheveled from her frustration.

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "And you waited until now to ask for help?" His tone was almost mocking, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Aalia blinked. Her irritation sparked instantly, heating beneath her skin.

"I've been trying to get you to help me for days," she shot back, her voice sharper now, edged with frustration.

Yoongi could see it—the way annoyance tightened her expression, the way her lips parted as if she had more to say but bit it back. And it amused him. More than it should. There was something satisfying about how easily he could get under her skin.

"Maybe if you were prehaps more persuasive, I’d help you," he murmured, his voice infuriatingly nonchalant.

Aalia scoffed. "Persuasive?"

"Mmm," Yoongi hummed, leaning back in his chair. "A little convincing."

Something in her snapped. The frustration of the past two weeks, the way he had deliberately ignored her, the smug amusement in his expression—it all simmered over. And for the first time, her attitude surfaced, sharp and unfiltered.

"Charming," she said, a tight, insincere smile curving her lips. It pained her face to even hold it. She tilted her head slightly, voice dipped in saccharine venom. "Do you fuck all your students?"

For the first time, Yoongi was genuinely taken aback. It was subtle—the faint shift in his features, the slight widening of his eyes, the momentary pause in his breath—but it was there. No one had ever spoken to him with such audacity before. "Do you always speak to all your professors like that?" His voice was low and measured.

Aalia’s gaze dropped to the floor. "No," she admitted, her voice smaller now. "I do not."

Yoongi smiled softly, a dark gleam in his brown eyes as he watched her. "Then why is it," Yoongi asked, his voice lower, quieter—almost curious. “That you find yourself speaking to me in such a manner?”

Slowly, she looked up again. Aalia held his gaze for a moment, and for the first time, she faltered. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

His smile merged into a smirk at her apology. The quiet submission in her voice pleased him. His lips pressed together as if in thought as he studied her for a moment. Then, slowly he nodded. “Let’s try again,” he said. “Politely this time.”

Aalia inhaled and steadied herself. “Would you please help me with my assignment, sir?”

Something inside him shifted at the way the words left her lips, slow and sweet. Like honey dripping into his ears, warm and indulgent. “That’s better,” he said, more pleased now. “See how much better it is when you behave?” She wanted to snap at him with a sharp retort, but she swallowed it down. Instead, her fingers curled against the edge of her laptop, tense with restraint.

Yoongi watched as she walked towards the larger table in the room and placed her laptop down. He stood from his desk and went over to sit next to her. “I have chosen to speak about music label companies,” she explained. “How they make money and everything. I've written the essay, but I'm not sure what to do for my introduction. I cannot have a thousand word introduction. It needs to be two-hundred words."

He nodded as she explained her essay topic, before he took the laptop and began to read silently. The usual sharp amusement in his expression softened, his gaze narrowing slightly as he focused. Aalia, for once, did not fidget under his scrutiny. For the first time tonight, they were both genuinely invested in the assignment, the charged air between them settling into something quieter, something almost... normal.

The only sounds in the room were the faint ticking of the clock and the distant murmur of the university’s nighttime staff moving about. The glow from the laptop screen illuminated his face, shadows carving sharper angles along his jawline. Aalia watched as his eyes scanned each line, the small furrow in his brows revealing his meticulous nature.

When he finally turned to her, his voice was measured, thoughtful. "Maybe you could focus on the main functions of a music label company and the role they play within the music industry," he suggested. His tone lacked its usual edge, slipping into something more academic. "The introduction should grab the reader’s attention and make them want to read the rest of the essay, so don’t feel like you have to include everything in the intro. Just focus on the most important things."

Aalia nodded, lips pressing together, but there was still hesitation in her expression. "Well, I'm talking about how Korean music labels work," she said, tilting her head slightly. "So should I say, ‘In this essay, I will be talking about korean music lables?”

He hummed, considering her words, before nodding again. "You can phrase it better than that. Try something like; This essay will examine the inner workings of Korean music labels and their role in the music industry." He gave her a more refined sentence, something precise yet compelling, and as soon as the words left his lips, something clicked in her mind.

"Ahhh," she gasped, her eyes lighting up. The pieces were falling into place now. “Okay, okay. Got it. Thank you.”

Without another word, she closed her laptop and left his office. Yoongi watched her go before the door shut.

His paperwork was done, but he found himself scrolling through his phone, aimlessly flicking through articles and emails, his mind elsewhere. His thoughts, unbidden yet persistent, wandered back to her. Aalia. The way her lips had tightened when he teased her, the way her frustration had given way to understanding. The way she looked when she realized she was speaking out of turn and faltered.

And then, just as if summoned by his thoughts, she walked back into his office. This time, she didn’t hesitate at the door. She moved with purpose, her steps softer but more certain, making her way directly to his desk. She placed her laptop down in front of him, the screen turned his way.

He arched a brow but said nothing as he took the laptop, his eyes moving over the newly written introduction. The words were better now, structured, engaging—he could see her thought process aligning properly. He nodded approvingly. But he noticed one thing. “The citations?”

"Ohh, um—" Aalia glanced at the screen, ready to answer, but then her eyes flickered to the time in the corner, and suddenly, something shifted in her expression. “Aish,” she muttered under her breath, just barely audible, but Yoongi still caught it.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She hesitated before answering, as if debating whether to even tell him. “I need to go home.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched as she pulled out her phone, her fingers tapping quickly against the screen. His eyes didn’t leave her—not once. The way her brows knitted together, the faint frown on her lips.

He knew what she was doing before she even said it. She was looking for an Uber.

Something inside him coiled, tight and unrelenting. The thought of her getting into a car—alone, with a stranger—made his jaw clench. The idea of another man being near her, even in something as simple as a ride home, was unbearable.

No, that was not happening.

“Cancel it,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No need-“

He stood up and towered over her small frame. “Cancel it,” he repeated, slower this time.

Yoongi sat in the driver’s seat of his black SUV, the engine humming beneath him as his fingers lazily scrolled through his phone. There was no real purpose to it—just a way to pass the time. The screen’s glow reflected faintly in his dark eyes, but his mind was elsewhere.

When he finally looked up, he saw her.

Aalia stepped out of the building; her bag now slung over her shoulder. Her movements were hesitant, like she was still processing the fact that she was getting into his car. The streetlights above painted her skin in silver, her dress catching the glow as she approached. When she opened the passenger door and slid inside.

He placed his phone down, shifted gears, and pulled out onto the road like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Aalia, however, wasn’t nearly as composed. Her hands rested tensely on her lap, fingers clutching onto the fabric of her dress. The air inside the car felt heavier than it should have, charged with something she couldn’t name.

“I do not live in Seoul,” she said, her voice breaking the silence.

Yoongi turned the corner, navigating through the glowing streets, his curiosity piqued. His grip on the steering wheel remained loose, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of intrigue in his gaze. “Where do you live?” he asked.

“Yongin,” she answered. “It’s about a forty-minute drive.” As she spoke, she reached for her phone again, fingers tapping against the screen. “I can still take an Ub—”

“No.” he shook his head once, firm, cutting her off before she could even finish the sentence. His eyes flickered toward her briefly, sharp and final.

The car merged onto the highway, the city lights fading into a blur as they left Seoul behind. He drove in silence, calm and certain, while beside him, Aalia sat still, her pulse loud in her ears.

The hum of the engine was low, steady, a rhythmic vibration that filled the silence between them. Outside, the streets blurred into a wash of neon signs and dimly lit alleys as Yoongi maneuvered the SUV effortlessly, his hands relaxed on the wheel. Occasionally, his eyes flickered to the passenger seat.

She sat quietly, her gaze trained on the road ahead, lost in thought. He glanced at her, subtly at first, but his eyes betrayed his indifference. The passing streetlights created a soft, golden glow on her skin, illuminating her features in the darkness. It was almost ethereal, almost saintly—the way the light cradled the soft curves of her cheeks, accentuated the delicate angle of her jawline, and melted into the cascade of her long, dark hair. A cruel irony. She looked like something untainted, untouched by the sins of the world. Yet, she had been in Kitty Gang and he had kissed her.

The angel who had wandered into the devil’s playground. His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel as his curiosity gnawed at him. He wanted to understand her.

“How long have you been living in Yongin?” he broke the silence. His voice was deep and calm, but his curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know more about her.

She blinked, as if pulled from her thoughts. “I moved to Korea when I was fifteen with my parents.” He nodded; his eyes still locked on the road. But then her voice cut through the air again, this time almost rushed. “You didn’t have to drive me,” she said.

He exhaled a short breath, almost amused by her persistence. “It’s fine,” he said simply. “I am not letting you take an Uber this late.”

She listened to his words, letting them settle into her chest like a weight. She knew it was wrong. Everything about this was a sin waiting to happen. She exhaled softly. “It’s wrong,” she murmured, her voice barley above a whisper.

Yoongi turned his head slightly, an arched brow lifting in quiet amusement. “And why is that?” his tone was unreadable.

“You’re my professor,” her voice was firm. “And I am your student.”

He didn’t respond at first. He had heard her say it before, but hearing it again, the words didn’t deter him. If anything, they made his hunger for her grow. The forbidden had always been the most tempting.

He remained silent for a moment before speaking again. “Is that the only reason?”

She turned her gaze to the window, watching the neon-lit city blur past. “It should be reason enough,” she exhaled.

He let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no humor in it. He understood her reasoning. But desire was never logical. And his desire for her—this fascination, this insatiable curiosity—was something far beyond reason. It only grew stronger with every second she sat beside him in the dim glow of the car.

He stole another glance at her, taking in her side profile, the way her lashes fanned against her skin, the way her lips pressed together in thought. He wanted to know what was running through her mind. If she was as tormented by this as he was.

“You do not like me very much, do you?” he asked, his voice tingled with a hint of amusement.

“I do not have to like you,” she answered without missing a beat.

He smirked, but he did not push the topic further. Instead, the car fell into silence again, the tension growing in the air between them. He inhaled, and that’s when it hit him—the scent. The scent. Dior Hypnotic Poison.

It was the same perfume she had worn that night at Kitty Gang. The same scent that had clung to his clothes after he had kissed her, after he had tasted the innocent of her lips. It was intoxicating. A scent crafted for temptation. The memory of her lips, her breathless gasps, the way her fingers had clutched his shirt as she straddled him. It was a drug, laced into his system now, impossible to rid himself of. He forced his breathing to remain even.

His fingers flexed subtly against the steering wheel. He looked at her again, and then he saw it the golden chain around her neck, catching the dim light of the car. A crucifix. A delicate, holy thing resting against the pulse of her throat, right above where his lips had once been.

His fingers twitched against the steering wheel again. What a cruel contrast. An angel wearing the mark of God, yet he wanted to ruin her. His smirk deepned. ‘Oh, Aalia,’ he thought to him

The drive stretched in comfortable silence, the low hum of the engine filling the space between them. Outside, the city blurred into streaks of amber and silver as streetlights flickered past, casting fleeting halos of light that illuminated her face in the darkness.

She tilted her head, and strands of her dark hair fell like silk around her shoulders, framing a face too gentle for the unerworld he belonged to. She looked ethereal—like something he had no right to touch. An angel sitting beside him, veiled in innocence.

Aalia shifted, reaching for her cardigan and draping it over her legs, as if shielding herself from unseen eyes. It wasn’t the cold—he knew that. The flowy summer dress she wore rode up just enough to reveal the soft skin of her thighs, and she had noticed it too. She was praying in her mind, he could tell.

Yoongi let his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, something stirring deep in his gut. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You’re religious,” he pointed out, eyes flickering to the necklace. She didn’t respond. She kept her eyes locked outside the window, her lips slightly parted, lost in silent words.

His lips curled slightly. “Touchy subject?” he asked, voice teasing, laced with curiosity.

“Shh.” Her voice was soft, almost breathless. “I’m praying.”

He blinked, a little surprised. He hadn’t expected that. His lips twitched into a small smile, though he wasn’t sure why. Something about being in such a confined space with her, being this close yet forbidden, was pushing him on the brink of madness.

He kept his eyes glued to the road, tamping down the growing desire in his chest. Then she exhaled—a deep, soft breath, one that sounded far too much like a moan. She tilted her head to the side, fingers brushing against her neck, rubbing it absently.

A jolt of desire shot through him, and his mind ran with sinful thoughts. The things he could do to her. The things he could teach her.

“How religious are you?” he asked, voice lower now.

She didn’t answer.

He glanced at her, then spoke again. “What were you praying about?”

She hesitated before speaking. “That is between me and God,” she said simply. “And I’m committed to my faith.”

He nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. Her defiance, her stubbornness—it both frustrated him and aroused him. Her commitment to her faith clashed violently with his own desires, and it only made him want her more. “Committed, huh?” His voice was low, teasing. “I suppose that means I should stay in my lane, then.”

“You finally understand,” she said dryly, sarcasm dripping from her tongue.

Her wit, her sharp tongue—it was both infuriating and intoxicating. “Watch it, darling,” he laughed slightly, “or I might just have to teach you a lesson in obedience.”

She scoffed softly, turning her gaze back to the window.

He could sense the defiance in her, the way she refused to even look at him. It was maddening. His mind wandered again—to her mouth, the way it curved into a smirk when she was being witty. He could almost imagine the way it would feel against his own—

He shook his head. No.

“You really never had a boyfriend?” he asked, steering the conversation elsewhere, though the hunger still lingered in his chest.

For a moment, she was afraid he was going to bring up the make-out at Kitty Gang. Her pulse quickened, fingers curling into her lap. She turned her head, rolling her eyes slightly before shaking it. No, she had never had a boyfriend.

Yoongi felt it like a spark of satisfaction, small but searing. No man had ever had her before, and the fact that she was religious only added to it. It was admirable—pure, delicate, like something that should be worshiped. But fuck—it was also intoxicating. The innocence, her defiance. The temptation was too great.

His mind flashed back to Kitty Gang, to the moment when she had confessed that she had never done anything with anyone. “Nothing either?” he asked again, needing to hear it. “Never?”

She leaned back against the seat, tilting her head to the side with a sigh. “Nope,” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “Only you.”

Only him. Only his hands, his lips, his touch. No one else had ever gotten close. And no one ever would. “Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “Because I have no intention of sharing you.”

Her laugh rang through the car, full and unrestrained—the same laugh he had heard the first night at Kitty Gang. And fuck, he loved the way it sounded.

“Nothing is happening between us,” she said, as if it were an undeniable fact.

“Why?” he asked, raising a brow, his eyes shifting to the necklace. “Is it because you made a promise to God?” She didn’t answer, and he hummed, low and knowing and taunting. “What if the waiting period is longer than you expect?”

“I do not mind,” she said with a small shrug. “But clearly you do. If I must wait for someone, then I shall.”

The thought of someone else touching her, someone else earning the right to break through her innocence—made something dark and feral rise within him.

“What?” she snapped, pulling him from his thoughts. He blinked, refocusing. She turned sharply toward him, brows furrowed. “You keep looking at me. What?!”

He cleared his throat, feigning indifference, though the tension in his chest was anything but. “Nothing,” he said smoothly. “Just admiring the view.”

She scoffed. “Stop the car.”

He lifted a brow. “What?”

“I’ll walk.”

He let out a small laugh, amused by her ridiculous demand. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The silence in the car was thick, charged with something heavy, something unspoken. It coiled around them like a serpent, tightening with each passing second. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the distant rush of cars speeding by on the highway, yet Yoongi barely heard any of it. He was too busy watching her—watching the way her chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, watching the way her delicate fingers curled against her lap, watching the stubborn set of her jaw as she continued staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

Fuck, he wanted her so bad. He had never been the kind of man to lack self-control. But this girl—this stubborn, defiant angel—was tearing through his restraint like it was paper. And God, she didn’t even know it. She sat there, oblivious to the way she was driving him insane, unaware of the war raging inside him. She was pure temptation wrapped in innocence, and it made him feel utterly unhinged.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he exhaled sharply through his nose. She looked so fucking sexy when she was angry. Her brows were slightly furrowed, lips pursed, her posture stiff with frustration. It shouldn’t have turned him on, but it did. And it was becoming too much. If he didn’t feel her against him again, he would lose his goddamn mind.

Without a second thought, he pulled the car to a sharp stop on the side of the highway, his movements swift and decisive.

Aalia’s head snapped toward him in alarm. “Um… what—what are you doing?” Her voice was slow, uncertain.

Yoongi didn’t answer. He was done thinking. He had already sinned the moment he laid eyes on her two weeks ago.

‘Fuck it,’ he thought. He reached over and undid her seatbelt with a firm, deliberate tug. Before she could react, his hands were on her, pulling her toward him over the center console, forcing her to straddle him in the driver’s seat.

Aalia gasped, her hands instinctively pressing against his shoulders, trying to push away. “Let me go.”

But Yoongi was stronger. His grip was unyielding as he grabbed her wrists, bringing them behind her back and holding them in one hand, effectively trapping her in place. His other hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath her dress.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, writhing in his hold, but her movements only made things worse—only made him harder.

His gaze burned into hers, dark and unreadable. “I’m taking what’s mine.” His voice was rough, laced with need.

Her breath hitched. “Yoongi.” It was the first time she had said his name in two weeks—since that night at Kitty Gang—and the way she said it sent a shiver down his spine. There was a warning in her tone, a final plea for him to stop.

Without another word, he cupped her cheek with his free hand and he kissed her hard. He pressed his lips against her in a ferocity that surprised even him. Finally, he could taste her, feel the warmth of her breath against his mouth, and it only made him want more.

She slowly stopped struggling, her body going slack against him, and his hands dropped to her hips, guiding her onto his lap fully. That’s when she felt it—the hard, unmistakable press of him against her, straining through his slacks. She gasped, a sharp, breathless sound, her body tensing as a wave of heat flooded through her. The moment he saw her reaction, his lips curled into a smirk against her mouth.

He rolled her hips over him in a slow, deliberate motion, dragging a moan from deep within her throat before she could stop it. The friction, the heat—it was intoxicating. She gasped again, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, claiming her completely.

“Feel that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough as he continued guiding her hips against him, making sure she could feel every inch of him.

“We need to stop,” she said breathlessly, her voice weak, unsure.

But her words were lost to him. He was too far gone, too consumed by her warmth, the sweet little sounds she made. His right hand slid up from her hip, finding the curve of her breast, squeezing it softly through the thin fabric of her dress. Aalia let out a soft whimper of a sound, her fingers twitching against his shoulders.

“No,” he said, his voice rough, dark. “I can’t.”

“Please,” she breathed out, a quiet plea laced with desperation.

And that—God, that nearly destroyed him. The way she said it, the softness of it, the way it broke through the haze clouding his mind. He didn’t want to stop, but for her, he would. Because she was still trembling, still inexperienced, still looking at him with wide, innocent eyes even as she sat straddling him in the middle of the night, her lips kiss-swollen and her breaths coming in soft little pants.

He forced himself to still, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he fought for control. His forehead dropped against hers. He wasn’t ready to let her go—not yet.

The dynamic between them didn’t matter. Not to him. If anything, this only played in his favor—he would get to see her every day. He was a professor for only a year, and she was in her final year at the university. She would graduate, and then there would be nothing standing in his way.

He was a Min after all. He never let anything slip through his fingers once he wanted it.

His dark eyes met hers again, holding her gaze. He was not a religious man, but he understood restraint when necessary. He knew he had to be patient with her, knew he had to respect her boundaries. And he was more than willing to do all of that—for her.

“I will be patient,” he said, voice firm, unwavering. “But I won’t pretend that I don’t want you, Aalia.”

He looked into her eyes, making sure she understood the gravity of his words. His gaze was hard, serious, leaving no room for doubt. He wanted her to know—this was not a passing desire. This was not something fleeting. This was inevitable.

He held her there, his grip firm yet not cruel, his gaze dark and unwavering. "Do we have an understanding, Aalia?" His fingers tightened on her hips, his thumb tracing lazy circles against her skin, sending shivers up her spine. "You're mine. Mine to touch, mine to protect and love. I won't share you with anyone. You belong to me. You know that. I know that. Do you understand?"

Aalia didn't respond. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her mind was a battlefield, torn between the undeniable truth in his words and the moral war waging within her soul. How could she belong to someone who embodied everything she had been warned against? He was sin and temptation personified, a shadow that threatened to eclipse her light. And yet, when he touched her, when his voice wrapped around her like silk, she could feel herself slipping, sinking into him like he was the very thing she had been created for.

He gripped her hips tighter, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh, his patience wearing thin. "Do. You. Understand, Aalia?" His voice was rough, demanding, each syllable punctuated with authority. And before she even realized what she was doing, her head gave a small nod, as if her body had surrendered before her mind could catch up.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. His free hand, still cupping her cheek, traced his thumb across her skin with a tenderness that contradicted the storm raging inside him. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, thick and heavy with unspoken words. The city lights blurred past in a golden haze, casting fleeting halos of light over Aalia’s delicate features. She kept her gaze fixed outside the window, her fingers clenched tightly in her lap, as if she were praying once more, clinging to the last remnants of her resolve.

And then, finally, they arrived.

Her home stood before them in the moonlight, an expanse of grandeur and wealth. The mansion was pristine, towering with marble columns and sprawling glass windows that reflected the night sky.

She didn't wait for him to say anything. The moment the car rolled to a stop, she shoved the door open and rushed inside without looking back. She didn't stop until she was past the gates, up the grand staircase, and into the sanctuary of her bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Yoongi watched her go, amusement dancing in his eyes. She moved like a cartoon character, a flustered little thing, fleeing from the villain of the story.

His gaze flickered to the now-empty passenger seat, and there, draped over the leather, was her cardigan. She had left it behind in her hurry, her scent still clinging to the fabric. A smile curled at the corner of his lips.

With a quiet chuckle, he started the engine and drove back to Seoul, the cardigan resting on his lap like a souvenir. A piece of her. Something to remind him that no matter how hard she ran, she would always leave something behind for him to follow.

She was light. He was darkness.

And sooner or later, she would realize—she belonged to him.

(You can read ESCAPISM on AO3 so you can read the chapters there in order)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64009903/chapters/164201557

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flooffybits · 5 months ago

Text

Wish You Were Closer

Idol: Jennie Kim (Blackpink)

Fate will always be a tricky fellow. Sometimes you either run from it or take the opportunity.

Word count: 2.9k

Warning: past relationships, angst, sad jennie, ambiguous ending, hurt reader, brief panic attack

☕buy me a coffee☕

A/N: soooooo remember that poll where you all voted for Jennie?

Staring at the text on her phone screen for what seemed to be five minutes, the rapper silently wishes that the message changes or a follow up joke comes in, but there's none of that and she's only left to give an affirmative to the request.

It wasn't like she had a choice either way.

“Hey, everything alright?"

Looking up, the brunette frowns before passing the phone for her older member to see.

Squinting, the actress reads the content before her mouth slowly forms into a small o before she's looking back up at her friend. “... will you be okay, Jennie?”

It's a dumb question, they both know, but Jennie only chews at her lower lip as she tries to think of all the possibilities this scenario would go through.

"I don't know. What if they don't agree? Will they change my partner?”

In hindsight, that would be much better and less stressful, but Jisoo knows it was unlikely.

"The performance is a month away. I'm sure you can pull it off.” But seeing the look on the older woman’s face, the brunette wasn't so sure if it really was a good idea.

"It's so good to see you two. I'm sure you already know about each other and I know that you'll be the perfect match for this performance.” The dancer clapped happily while Jennie stood awkwardly to the side, eyes trained in front of her to ignore the third person in the room for as long as she could.

"The fans will eat this up for sure." The dancer cheers before he's waving his hands. “Come on, Y/n, no need to be so awkward. Relax." The man claps you on the shoulder, laughing before he's gently shaking your arms in an attempt to soothe your nerves, but your expression gives nothing away as you stare at him.

He only rolls his eyes in good nature. “Okay, so before we go ahead and start preparing for the dance, I'm going to let the two of you get to know each other better so we can build your chemistry."

Jennie winces a little when she sees the way your eyes narrow. It makes her ten times more uncomfortable as she fidgets with her fingers.

Chemistry.

She doubts that you'd have that together. Not after the history you both shared.

And almost as though she were being mocked, music blared through the speakers though it wasn't loud enough for her to not hear either you or the dancer.

“We’ll bring some spice into this so behave~” He teases before jogging off to one side of the room, grabbing his phone to try and see what steps he could come up with.

With the lyrics of Closer by The Chainsmokers echoing inside the practice room, you can't help but roll your eyes while Jennie bites her lip, hoping to somehow start a conversation for the sake of this performance.

“So…” Rocking on her feet, she silently curses herself for being so out of her element at that moment. "You've been pretty busy lately.” She comments and you don't even spare her a glance when you start to stretch your legs. "Doubt it's as busy as you.” You answer curtly and her lips pressed together, pouting slightly before she averted her gaze to the floor.

“I guess so-"

“We don't really have to talk." You're quick to cut her off when you stand back up, now stretching your arms. “It's just a dance. After that, we can go back to pretending the other doesn't exist." She bites her tongue to stop herself from retorting. Instead, she sucks in a deep breath before slowly nodding her head.

“Okay."

It hurt, but she wouldn't tell you that.

Just like before.

The second week rolls by and Jennie feels nowhere near motivated to go to practice today and spend another six or so hours with you. It wasn’t as though you were horrible, in fact you were pretty professional, going through the routine without an issue and acting as though everything was fine.

And that was her problem.

Jennie was anything but fine, not with having you so close where she can practically hear the sound of your breath as it teases her skin when you’re just too close to her. She’s not fine when she can smell the same cologne that you always used before you cut her from your life - the same smell that she would often look for in the shirts she used to have you wear, in the sheets of her bed until she decided it was time to let them go. She’s not fine when she can feel your heart beating just under her fingertips when the choreography tells her that she has to do it, just to remind her that you truly were in front of her and not just a figment of her imagination.

She’s not fine when she feels your warmth wrapped around her when all she knows is that your heart was wrapped in nothing but ice because of her. She hates the way you stare at her like she means something to you while you’re dancing because she knows it’s all an act for the performance.

It wasn’t real.

“Unnie, have you tried talking maybe?” Chaeyoung knows that it’s a sensitive topic, but seeing the distress on the older woman’s face urged her to ask. Maybe they could think of a way to help.

Blinking slowly, Jennie shakes her head while letting out a breath. “Y/n always makes sure to leave before I can even try.” She grimaces when she remembers calling your name once, only to see your back facing her before you had shut the door behind you. “Even during breaks?” The Australian inquires and the rapper only shakes her head once more. “They’re making it very obvious that they don’t want to talk to me.” She says softly and Lisa frowns from her side before crossing her arms. “How are you even managing to do a dance like this if neither of you are talking to each other?”

Honestly? Jennie didn’t know the answer either.

It just felt like a long forgotten rhythm that both of your bodies merely remembered after years of being locked away. And as soon as the song played, it naturally came out.

“Can we talk?" She knows it's a long shot, but she was growing desperate. Despite knowing you'd rather be anywhere but here, the words come out of her mouth before she can even think when you already have your back to her.

"If you didn't want to be around me so much, why did you agree to do this?”

There's silence when you pick up your phone and the rapper doesn't even realize that she's held her breath until you finally turn around to look at her.

"If I knew it was you, I wouldn't be here.” You state simply but it's not enough as she persists. "Then how about after we met? Before we started practicing? Why didn't you back out?"

"Because I don't give up.”

Your tone cuts through her and Jennie’s mouth winds shut when your gaze pierces her soul. It's filled with so much raw emotion that she almost suffocates.

“I wanted to turn back as soon as I found out it was you I was being paired up with, but that would only make me a coward. When I do things, I make sure to get the job done even when it's killing me."

She says nothing more as you finally turn on your heel, grabbing your things to leave once more, but at the last possible second, she finds her voice again.

“I'm so sorry for what I did." Her voice is so soft, so delicate that you most likely didn't hear her, but seeing the way your hand stops on the knob is a clear indication that you heard her loud and clear. “I never meant to hurt you, but I just-"

“You didn't mean to… but you did it anyway so you could focus on yourself. It doesn't change what happened." You cut her off in a low tone. “It takes you four years before telling me that you're sorry? Only because we happen to be in the same space?" You turn to face her again and Jennie feels so small under your stare. “If you were sorry you would have tried a little sooner."

“I couldn't-"

“-risk your career.” You finish for her with a cold look. “You already made your decision, but a single call or text wouldn't have hurt." You spat bitterly, letting your calm facade break for a moment as you finally allowed your emotions to reach its peak. “I would have understood, but you left me all alone like I was a toy that you were done playing with, Jennie. You made me look like an idiot, embarrassing me like that and for what?”

Jennie’s lips pursed together as she listened to you rant, feeling her heart thumping against her ribs as the ache spread throughout her body.

She never meant to abandon you. But she felt as though if she were to keep communicating with you after the breakup she would eventually cave and run back to you. That would ultimately put the two of you in a difficult position that could throw all your hard work away.

“I'm sorry… “ Is all that she can really utter out and you just shake your head. "It's a little too late for that."

And with just a few steps, she was all alone in the practice room again.

She wonders if this is how you felt when she left you all those years ago or was it worse than this?

“You mean… they just left?” Jisoo asks with furrowed brows and Jennie nods while hugging her knees to her chest. “I don't blame them though… I fucked up.” She's ashamed of what she's done. She hates herself for the decisions she's made in the past.

If only she were wiser.

But she was just a kid in love when it all happened. When she thought she was doing what was right then, she realizes it's different now that she's older.

“They're right though. If I had just… been more mature about it, maybe they wouldn't hate me like this.”

"Come on, unnie, I don't think they hate you.” Chaeyoung cuts off her troubled rant. "Y/n is hurt like any other person out there. And from what you've told us, you're basically their first everything.” She adds on, Lisa nodding as the light haired female continued. "If they did hate you, they would have asked to be replaced for this performance you're both having."

Jennie's frown only deepens at that. "They're committed." Is all she can say and Lisa sighs in exasperation. “Unnie, put in a little more effort! The whole reason you guys really broke up is because neither of you decided to. You broke up with Y/n because it was easier-”

"It wasn't-”

"And they just accepted it because of whatever reason, I don't know. Did you bother asking?” Jennie goes quiet when the maknae continues. “If this so-called relationship really meant anything to both of you, you guys would have done at least something instead of giving up the way you both did.”

Jisoo looks at the brunette with a small nod. “They're right, Jennie. We get that we make mistakes, but this just shows how neither of you were actually ready for a real relationship.” She added, causing the rapper to sink further in her seat. "How can I ask them when they avoid every conversation that isn't about the performance?"

The two maknaes share a look, silently communicating through their eyes before nodding their heads.

“Leave it to us."

Jennie isn't sure what the pair were scheming, even Jisoo couldn't guess what they were up to, but whatever it was, she trusted that they would be of help and not the other way around.

Serious times often forced them into serious minds.

However Jennie was not prepared to be shoved in a recording booth with you like some high schooler. She could only mentally curse at her two friends before she heard your voice.

“Is this supposed to be some sort of prank?" The disdain is laced into your tone and Jennie panics at the small space between you. “I've been locked in here for nearly fifteen minutes." Jennie's eyes widen before she's shaking her head. “I swear I didn't do anything."

Spinning on her heel, the brunette quickly knocks on the door while trying to pry it open. “Guys! Let us out!" But you're both only met with silence, leaving the two of you alone and Jennie can feel the panic setting in. She tried desperately to pry the door open but that only proved to be futile when it barely even budged.

“Seriously you guys, this isn’t funny!” Sensing the anxiety in the woman’s voice, you purse your lips together before letting out a sigh and reaching out, hand coming in contact with her shoulder before the rapper flinches. “Jennie, calm down.”

But as she turned to look at you, you can't help the worry that sets in when you see the look on her face.

“You need to take a breath.” You know about her anxiety and the panic attacks, so you let your defenses fall as you gently tug her away from the door and sit her on the only stool inside the room. “You’re fine. They’ll let us out eventually.”

You were talking to her.

Even as embarrassing as the situation was, you were actually talking to her.

“I…” But her voice is stuck in her throat as her hands tremble. She was more terrified than elated. This method was far beyond what she wanted, even if it did manage to bring you closer to her.

Seeing the way her hands begin to shake, you mentally curse before carefully reaching for them, doing your best to ground her back to reality. “I need you to breathe." You say sternly, making eye contact with her in an attempt to catch her attention. Fortunately enough, the contact is enough to do just that and her eyes are connecting with yours.

She follows your breathing pattern, watching the rise and fall of your chest until she's hearing you more clearly. By the time you notice that she's more than calmed down, you finally take a step back to give her another once over.

“You know this is very high school for your members to do.” You can't help saying as you cross your arms over your chest and Jennie is able to gather her bearings before she finally looks at you. “I promise you, I had no clue that they were going to do this.” She swears wholeheartedly and you can see it in her eyes that she absolutely means it.

Sighing, you just shake your head and turn away. “I'm assuming they're aware and this is their form of an intervention?” Her silence is all the answer that you needed. “You know that what happened between us can't happen again.”

She definitely wasn't expecting you to finally talk to her, but something in her comes to life and she quickly shakes her head. “It doesn't have to be.” You look at her in confusion. “We don't have to go back to the way things were. We can be better.”

“Jen-”

“Please.” She knows if she doesn't say what she has to say, she might not get another chance like this again. “Please let me make it up to you. Please let me treat you better.”

She can see the emotions shifting in your expression this time. Your walls are cracking the longer you're together like this. She just needs a little bit of a push.

“Why now?” Your voice is barely a whisper when your shoulders grow slack. “I don't think I can go through that again.” You quietly admit and Jennie sucks in a deep breath as she takes a small step closer to you. “I promise I've changed.”

“If you feel like I'm lying then you can cut me from your life. You'll never hear from me ever again.”

It's not as though your life wasn't already like that before this performance, but you knew Jennie. And if she aims to simply be a ghost from your past then she will make that promise come true.

She knows it in herself that if you tell her no, then she'll walk away. But deep down she hopes that she can mend the connection you've both lost or at least make a new one.

Seconds tick by as you stare at the brunette, apprehension clear on your face as you try to weigh the pros and cons of letting her back in. The tension between you is palpable and Jennie fidgets in place the longer you don’t say anything.

She doesn’t know what’s going through your head anymore.

She used to be able to read you like an open book, but you were different now.

And so was she.

“My name is Jennie.” She finally says after sucking in a deep breath and extending a hand in your direction. “I hope we can get to know each other better.”

She holds her breath when you stare at her hand, registering her actions before realization soon falls upon your face. She isn’t sure what to think, but when you slowly lift your head to look at her, she sees the way your eyes soften a little before carefully taking her hand in yours.

“Y/n. It’s… nice to meet you.”

#girl group #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #jennie blackpink #jennie imagines #jennie scenarios #jennie x reader

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lua-magic · 1 year ago

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Numbers secrets that brings good luck.

Avoid using numbers eight and four in your mobile, or even in bank account number because eight represents 🪐 SATURN and Saturn has the energy to slow down things, avoid using symbols of Saturn as well ie infinity ♾️ because it represents loop, it will keep you in a loop and give you result after hard work.

Four is the number of Rahu, Rahu is an illusion, it keeps you stuck in desires without giving you result, Rahu is smoke, so Rahu makes you hallucinate and delusion which keeps you away from reality. Avoid using symbols of Rahu such as snake and Dragons, as I have observed many people get such tatoo and Rahu turns their life upside down.

So, avoid using numbers like 888 and 444 because you are only giving strength to Rahu and Saturn, as I have seen Many people uses such numbers thinking it is good luck, but until and unless Rahu and Saturn are well placed in your chart avoid eighth and four.

You can choose numbers like one(sun) which represents success and authority.

Two(Moon) which is your creativity and imagination.

Three(Jupiter) which knowledge and higher learning.

Five (Mercury) which skill and travel.

Six(Venus) Which luxury and beauty.

Seven (ketu) Untill and unless you want to go deep into Astrology and occult don't use this number as ketu gives you isolation but great idea comes only when you are isolated.

Nine(9) Nine is number of Mars, Mars is good as it gives you lot of energy and passion but also makes you accident and injury prone so don't overuse this number.

Certain combination of numbers you need to avoid that is 24 because two is moon and four is Rahu and moon and rahu are enemy planets. Again this number when add comes on six which is number of Venus, but instead you can use 51.

Next is 26 because when you add two and six it will come on eighth which also represents Saturn.

Avoid using 🖤 black colour, because it is colour of Saturn.

Blue is Rahu, and Red is Mars, use in minimal quantity, especially in your House.

Don't use red bedsheet and black bed sheets it will effect your sleep and married life negatively. Avoid using blue and grey as well, as grey is ketu.

Your bed room is Venus, so use more white colour in bedroom and rose fragrance.

If you facing problems with liquid cash then your moon is afflicted, increase water elements in your house, like keep an Aquarium, or a fountain.

If you want name and fame then use picture of sun in your house.

If you want to increase energy of Mars, then use tortoise symbol at home, because tortoise symbolises strong back which can take the load.

Tortoise symbol is good, if you are facing problems in job.

If you want to increase Jupiter energy that for knowledge and guidance then use more yellow colour in house and keep temple inside your House and keep it clean.

Avoid using half cut photos or symbols because it represents ketu.

If you have any idol or there is someone like whom you want to become, keep his/her photo in North eastern corner, because north east is your subconscious mind

Keep north east corner always clean and avoid keeping anything there

Remember, choose your idols wisely our subconscious mind is extremely powerful so if your idol's married life is mess even your married life will go for a toss, so choose very wisely whom you follow, don't follow any successful person mindlessly.

If you want to increase energy of Mercury, or if you are facing problems in your business then keep more green plants at your home and use more green colour..

#numerology #vedic astro observations #spirituality #astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #vastutips #vastushastra #vastu

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agustdef · 2 years ago

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Will You

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Black!Reader

Genre: Fluff; Idol AU/Idolverse

Word Count: 3k

Warning: Light Language

Rating: PG-13

Beta Reader: @hobeemin

A/N: This was due to idk and I have so many ideas that I simply didn’t write a ff that ended up posted for much too long. So here’s to hoping to finishing these ideas.

“And without further ado, I am more than happy to introduce you to our keynote speaker Ms. YN LN.”

Clapping fills the room, and Jungkook joins in a beat late. His mind wandered as he’d listened to the other speakers for almost an hour. They’d all had interesting things to say, but something about being in a room with all these people with a person at a podium felt too much like school. Plus, a few of them seemed just to enjoy hearing themselves talk.

He refused to admit that to YN, though.

His beautiful girlfriend tried to give him an out when he said he’d come with her for this event. Told him how boring it would be and that she didn’t mind if he just did something else until she was done. Of course, he pushed for it, and she relented with one final warning about how he’d be bored as hell. To a degree, he’d known that going into it, but he wanted to support her. And to see her in her element.

Though they both work in the same industry, they’re on different ends of it. Jungkook as an artist and occasional writer, while YN worked legal. Their first encounter was when an American artist friend of his invited her out to dinner as a thank you for helping him with a contract issue with his label. They’d made him promises and tried to backtrack when it was time for the new contract. YN worked at a firm that specialized in that kind of thing, though they usually worked with smaller artists. His friend had been her big break, bringing in business and a promotion.

Of course, Jungkook was too much of a punk to ask her for her number at that meeting. He was too nervous about if it was forward, and he didn’t want to mess with the mostly professional nature of the event. But he got her card, and that was enough.

Until they kept bumping into each other at the more business-like industry events. Well, half bumping into each other and the other half him hunting down her name on programs and making sure to show up to those panels or events. It made him feel like a little bit of a stalker, but to combat that, he finally got his shit together and asked her out after running into her at a restaurant.

Grateful to not be turned down was an understatement.

As they got to know each other, he felt himself fall hard and fast. She was perfect. Not in how one thinks when they hear the word, but in how that worked for him. That made their relationship work through the lows as well as the highs.

I love you slipped out of his mouth five months in.

If that didn’t explain why he put himself through this boredom, nothing, else would at least not in a way that made sense. His members still sometimes looked at him crazy with how he felt about her and how he could only sometimes find the words to explain it in a coherent way.

“I promise to try not making this too boring for y’all. I can not, however promise it won’t be boring at all. My line of work has to have some pitfalls besides all that paperwork,” YN joked.

The entire room laughs. It’s not the funniest thing in the world, but the way she delivers it and the energy she exudes as a person gets to people. It’s why Jungkook lets out a laugh that’s a little too loud and draws the attention of those around him. And of YN, though she doesn’t look his way to make that clear. He just nose from the way she pauses for a second longer, and her smile widens.

Embarrassed isn’t even the right word for him at the moment. Part of him wants to flee the room, but he stays in his seat. It helps that anyone who side eyes him switches to being shocked to see him there. Being identified as a member of BTS is what he can handle; being embarrassed is not, despite what his variety show content and the lives over the years might suggest.

To let the feeling pass, he focused on the stage. Well, on YN.

“For those who don’t know me, I’m YN LN, and I've been working at Heights Law for the last six or seven years,. We specialize in fair contracts for indie artists. From things with their label to tours, merchandise, the people they hire, and even contracts between members if it’s a group. About thirty-five percent of those we work with don’t even have a label they’re signed to and don’t want to. And then about twenty percent of our clients are more mainstream artists looking for the same services.

We don’t work with any sort of label because we feel it ties us to worrying too much about keeping on their good side when trying to figure things out. And while we are not on a mission to do anything that would be, for the lack of a better word, line crossing with the people we are trying to get to sign the contracts, our clients come first. That’s made us stand out in a way y’all may have heard about a time or two. I’d like to personally apologize for making you sit through articles about a certain label trying to screw over up and coming artist Minx and all the weird things that were honestly not so weird about her tour rider.”

Again laughter, but with some whispers and grumbles thrown in. That entire situation had everyone in the industry confused as hell, and for the last few months, they thought Minx was trying to be greedy until everything was settled and it was shown that all her asks weren’t as crazy as they’d seemed. Even Jungkook found himself looking at YN like she’d lost it with every new bit of information that was released. He’d asked her about it, but she gave him a look, and he had to wait out the outcome like everyone else.

“And for this, I think Minx is the perfect situation to discuss. I mean, when else will you see how things can go when a former lawyer turned pop star wants to sign with the label she used to work for but knows all their tricks.”

That was all it took to have people enthralled. After everything settled, everyone still had a million questions about it, but they were still waiting for someone at the firm to answer them. Jungkook had the fortune of dating YN around the time, so he got her to tell him, and Minx had invited them somewhere and told him more. So, he knew everything.

Which meant he could just stare at her. He didn’t think of himself as the type to be much of a creepy person, even if him trying to run into her wasn’t a clear indication of that. That and that looking at her was one of his favorite pastimes.

YNs cute.

He would and did use a million words to describe her. But the first thought in his brain when he saw her was how cute she was, and he felt his heart triple in size from that alone. Her genuine smile and soft features do a lot to counteract the fact that she’s only an inch shorter than me, which throws people off when they meet her and had only seen her face before.

Those legs of hers, when she wears heels, drive Jungkook absolutely feral. And he has to fight off the thought of them as his mind spirals. He focused instead on the light tint of pink pushing through the brown skin because of all the bright lighting, the way there’s a stray piece of hair not as curly as the rest that she swears isn’t from heat damage, and she can fix, the soft red of her lips, and the way every part of her body seems light and open as she talks about a subject she loves. A look he’s familiar with and is how he knows she looks at him.

More than anything, Jungkook is sure that YN loves him as much as he loves her, and like a revelation, he knows how much that is. How much space that love takes up in him, to the point that sometimes it feels like it’s overflowing. Right now, it feels like it’s overflowing.

“Questions?”

That one word pulls him out of his head, but he looks at YN with a clarity he didn’t have a few minutes ago, let alone a few hours ago.

Someone clears their throat, but his eyes don’t leave her.

“Why not just go with what the label wanted? I mean, sure, Minx had the background, but that shouldn’t make her any different than any other artist. Should she not be thankful to get into the place twice on different sides of it?”

There was agreement in the crowd, but it died out quickly with everyone else's quietness drop quiet.

Despite the shift in vibes, there’s a smile on YN’s face.

“Why do you think that? Is it because others don’t have that same knowledge? I can see how that could be seen as unfair because it is. But because she has the background,, she used it to help herself best,, which made it so we could best help her and those in the future. However, I can assure you that they changed their contract language a lot since then. Height and many other firms who deal with them and this kind of thing all saw a shift for the better and for the worst with them. So, while you may wonder why Minx didn’t simply take what she should be lucky to have gotten from them, I hope you’re settled by the fact that unless the rare thing happens. Someone else does the same thing, no one else will be able to give the insight on how to best make the next contract work for the client in the way she did.”

The response is assertive, sarcastic, and professionally annoyed. It doesn’t leave room for anyone to say anything that doesn’t make them look any more like an ass. But the man at the podium opens his mouth a few times to try and figure out what to say. In the end, he walks away from the mic with his head down. Jungkook is sure that if it weren’t for pride, he would walk out of the room altogether.

“Any more questions,” YN said after a moment.

There’s one that Jungkook has. One he needs answered, but he finds himself glued to his seat.

Several people go up and ask their questions, all of them better than the first one, though some of them toe the line. There are also a few that Jungkook would deem flirting, but they don’t bother him. Not with the thoughts swarming around in his head.

Before he knows it, she answers the last question, and everyone is dismissed. A few linger to talk, but with this day being so packed, everyone wants to rush off to the next talk or event happening.

He sits in the seat for about fifteen minutes before she walks up to him, and when she puts her hand on his shoulder, he looks up at her startled, even though he watched her approach him.

“Ready to go?”

Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes as he stares at her. He feels all over the place, but none of it’s uncertainty or doubt.

“I have a question,” he managed.

“Huh?”

“I have a question. I didn’t get the chance to ask it in there. I was… I’m nervous to ask it, and I couldn’t do it in there.”

YN frowned. “You can always ask me anything, my love. No need to be nervous about it. Plus, I’m sure yours is better than some of the bullshit I get asked in general when it comes to work.”

For a moment, Jungkook says nothing. All he can do is stare at her and try to keep his breathing normal. The latter is the hardest part, but YN takes his hand in hers and squeezes it tight.

Taking a breath, he gets to his feet, takes both of her hands in his, and stares into her eyes. He’s more than sure about what he has to say.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Question nor answer was said with any hesitation. However, Jungkook could tell that YN was still trying to process what was happening. He was too, but that wasn’t important now.

After a second, Jungkook released one of her hands, and with the other firm in his grasp, he led her out of the room. He hears her ask a question, but it doesn’t fully register in his brain. All his focus is on weaving through the crowd of people and out the door of the convention center. The place isn’t as isolated as some can be, so he walked past the parking lot where his car is and made his way past the hotel they were staying at.

“Where are we going?”

“Jungkook?”

“Jay?”

There’s a loud exhale too, but Jungkook paid it no mind. He’s on a mission.

“For goodness sake, Kookie.”

YN matches his pace though she’s clearly confused by what the hell is happening. He knew he should say something, but couldn’t find his words just yet, so he kept walking until ten minutes later, they were in front of a popular celebrity-use jewelry store.

A few of the things he bought for himself and others - YN included - were from here, so he had a code that they gave him to get in. The door buzzed them in, and the moment that they walked in, there was a person there and ready to help. Though it might not be obvious to most, it was clear from the knowing smile on the woman’s face she knew what was up.

Didn’t stop Jungkook from being so flustered, though.

“Hi. Engagement rings. I mean, we would like to see engagement rings.”

Without a word, she directed them to the back of the store. They followed close behind her, and when they entered the room, she’s taking them to another person is setting down a tray of rings, with others sitting on a cart behind him.

Yeah, she knew.

Once everything is on the table, the man leaves, and they’re directed to sit. The woman who welcomed them stands on the other side of the table.

“This is a collection of all the rings we sell in the store. Though there are others, we can have custom made if what you see in front of you isn’t the right fit or you want a mix of styles. There’s a mix of the traditional sort and the non-traditional. Some are even without diamonds. Please, take your time to look through them and see if something catches your eye.”

Then she’s gone, and all the sound goes with her.

“We’re doing this?”

“You asked me.”

“True.”

Jungkook finally turns and looks at her, and despite all the nerves he’s feeling about if she’ll take it back, there’s a smile on her face. And a lack of anxiety like what’s going through him. Though he can tell, she’s a little thrown off by it all.

“I did. And I want to.”

“Then we better start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

All the tension that was once there leaves the room, and they both turn their attention to the hundreds of rings in front of them. It’s an overwhelming site, but they dive into them. Jungkook tries to get YN to try some on, but she says that she doesn’t want to just yet, so they set them on the empty tray right in front of them.

Each one feels perfect to Jungkook, but not right. More of the diamond rings that look how he’s used to seeing American engagement rings look like end up on the tray, which isn’t much of a shock with YN’s usual preferences.

A tray marked as morganite is second to last, and Jungkook almost avoids it, but then one ring calls to him. His eyes zone in on it, and he reaches for it just as YN gasps. His neck nearly breaks when he turns to look at her, but the slight pain means nothing as he follows her gaze to the ring he was reaching for.

Without another thought, he picks it up, takes her hand, and slides it into place. Though it’s a little loose, it fits her finger. The oval champagne colored gem is on a white gold band and surrounded on either side with diamonds that fan out, almost like leaves on the stem of a flower. They wrap perfectly around her finger and stop before they reach the palm side. Everything about it is YN. Is them.

“Perfection,” YN whispered.

“Yeah.”

And like the whirlwind that this was, Jungkook was happy to find that they had the same ring, the right size, on the premises, and he paid for it right then and there. It only left YN’s finger so they could clean it, and then it was on again.

They walked out of the room, and both were on a cloud. All those nerves Jungkook felt before were gone, but something else replaced it.

“I guess we have a wedding to plan. I can’t imagine when we’d even have it,” YN said.

“Now.”

Not the least bit startled, she turned to him with a raised brow.

“Now?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Silence sat between them for what felt like forever, and then YN turned her attention back to the jeweler.

“We need to see wedding bands, too,” she said, then turned back to Jungkook. “And you need to start making phone calls.”

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