#fluff with a pinch of angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mistressandry · 7 months ago

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Expeditions and Expectations ⛺

———— Rook and Harding take their new friend Emmrich camping.

the most vanilla shit you've ever seen ⎮ 7k ⎮ AO3 link ————

Day 1

“Right…” Harding slapped the top of her rucksack to verify its integrity. “All ready to go?”

She turned around to see an eager, yet haphazardly packed Rook and far too clean Emmrich, fretting over last minute necessities with Manfred.

“Oh, but.. maybe I was too hasty in getting rid of the letter opener—”

“Emmrich.” Harding snapped, making his shoulders jolt up, caught trying his luck. “It’s two nights! Your letters can wait!”

“We also have like.. so many knives”, Rook chimed in an attempt to help. This tangent that didn’t actually address the overpacking issue at hand, but was much more interesting to her. “So many weapons in general! Axe, daggers. Bet we could even carve you a letter opener!” she continued, though she didn’t seem to expect a response.

Harding watched as Emmrich’s pristine posture deflated with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Harding. I just wanted to get this right! I’m so grateful and filled with excitement to ‘rough it up’ with you two in the great outdoors. But such activities aren't in my usual repertoire, and I’m afraid I might be foolishly trying to overcompensate for inexperience.”

Harding’s stern expression softened into a smile. At least he was aware of it!

“You’ve been too good at too many things for too long. It’s only natural for you to get a bit antsy.”

“Aren’t academics supposed to be comfortable with learning new things though?” Rook added, in her continued less-than-successful attempts to help.

Emmrich looked down at her in doe-eyed, devastated shock. “Oh, please don’t make this worse. Insights into my prideful failings as a scholar are not appreciated at this time.”

The two dwarven ladies immediately looked at each other with glee, unable to stifle a few giggles at the fancy man’s pathetic words. Everything was so promising. They couldn’t wait to see the professor so outside his usual areas of expertise.

Harding smiled up at him. “Oh, Emmrich.. it’s not that bad! You’re excited and that’s a good thing! I know it’s been a while, but you can handle being a novice for a few days.”

“If you want to experience camping, the Inquisitor’s top scout’s the one to do it with. No one can put a tent up as fast as Harding!” The other dwarf reassured him.

“Exactly! And Rook will probably be able to keep you alive while I’m away”.

Rook gave him a thumbs up and wink. It was a bit much, but the intention was there! Their efforts seemingly paid off as Emmrich gave in. “Perhaps I don’t have to do everything perfectly.” “Oh Maker, no.” Rook exclaimed, visibly terrified at the concept.

“That’s the spirit! But we're losing daylight. Can I trust you’re able to carry your bags?” Harding asked so kindly you could barely hear the smugness in her one-rucksack needing voice. That’s including the tent.

“Of course! I am nothing if not independent!” the professor asserted, only slightly struggling to take an assortment of gilded bags from Manfred. Though Emmrich was a bit rattled, Harding knew her new friend wasn’t going to let a little embarrassment keep him from new adventures.

“Manfred! Please make sure to accurately store all my correspondences. Keep track of your tasks in the itinerary and don’t get too rowdy!”

His ward hissed gleefully as he scurried off with the letter opener.

While Rook bent down to hoist up her things, she complimented Emmrich’s creative use of the side pockets on his rucksack.

“I brought a few field guides for our expedition!” Emmrich explained, “I’ve heard such lovely things about the local flora in the Frostback Mountains, and I thought to cross reference them to their Nevarran varieties.” “That’s cute! I’ve got a few books with me too. It’s been a while, but I could vaguely help you with plants in the area.”

“That would be most delightful!” He lit up clapping his hands together as he was one to do. Seemingly wary of their eyes on him, the giddy man gathered himself, announced he was ready, and began walking towards Harding and their exit. Rook patted down her pockets with a look of amusement. Emmrich was fun!

“Pretty, sure I’m good to go too!” Rook called out to Harding.

“Packed all the essentials?”

“Toilet paper? Yes.”

“Then let’s move out!” The trio walked through the Lighthouse’s eluvian and into the Crossroads. Harding was used to Rook’s various loose tools creating a ruckus, but it paled in comparison to the cacophony of jingling coming from their newest colleague. Each step was scored by a symphony of metal singing and colliding with each other. “I’m never taking you two on a heist” she teased, which was met with shocked offense and excuses. “We could be SO stealthy if we wanted to!” Rook contested, defending herself and her fellow slander victim. That they had allerted more elven constructs than usual was apparently unrelated.

After an hour of travel, feigned indignation and a significant dent in their snack inventory, they reached their next destination. As they passed through the final eluvian and into the greenery of Ferelden, Harding asked Rook, “Just like old times?”

“Like we never left.”

After a moment of silence Rook hurriedly added:

“Alright, there might have been slightly less Blight back then.”

“Just a smidge.” ———— It was mid-day when they stepped out into the small and aged elven shrine, nestled in the cliffside just above the tree line of the Frostback Mountains. If Harding squinted and deluded herself enough, she could swear Lake Calenhad was on the horizon. The remnants of a descending path had eroded over the millennia, but were easily overcome by light stone shaping and gentlemanly hands offering support over the larger jumps. Having left their armour back at the Lighthouse, the trio were sprier than usual.

Rook looked particularly more lively as she jumped along a rocky outcrop, even though they had made it down to a comfortable game path. “You must feel light as anything without your armour and hammer,” Emmrich mused as a challenging leap had Rook furrowing her brow and sticking her tongue out for top-tier concentration.

“You can say that again! Not to mention the weight of responsibilities. I’m off-duty!”.

“Hey!” Harding playfully exclaimed. “You’re not off that easy! You’ve got very important tasks.” “Yeah, yeah, but these are things I’d happily do anyway: Take care of the camp and keep Emmrich alive.”

“Please…”, Emmrich prayed looking up to the sky in desperation.

“We’re basically the hired help!” Rook added before jumping down with a hefty thud. ”Oh no, I sure hope we don’t have to do any whimsical exploring!”

Harding continued forward with a smile on her face. “Heaven forbid.”

They wandered some more looking for a place to set camp. Harding surveyed the topography and consulted her maps, Rook mined whacking enemies and dangerous trees with her axe, and Emmrich trailed behind, drenching himself in fresh air.

Nice as the Lighthouse was, it was refreshing to have reliable, non-floating ground under their feet. The next few days promised rest, reflection and levity. Even though Harding would have to work, this was still her home and her bedrock. A return to her basics, with friends old and new. She wanted to see Rook unwind and was desperate to see what “letting loose” looked like for Emmrich.

Harding’s bag hit the ground with a thud. “Perfect! This’ll do nicely.” Rook and Emmrich nodded in approval.

“Yep.” Rook affirmed. “Good trees. Great branch. Nice brook.” Rook helped Harding set up the tent. You could tell which knots were Rook’s and which were Harding’s. In between jabs, they kept eagerly glancing over at Emmrich as he reshuffled his essentials: Several sets of clothing, the infamous shaving kit, alchemical bowls, plant samples... He’d brought a lot but been surprisingly compact!

“How many books did you get him down to?” Rook whispered.

“Five!! I was quite proud of myself.”

They pulled at the ropes and gave the tarp a big thwack to finalise the tent. To account for their esteemed guest, they had even propped up a lean-to for.. pondering? The women weren’t quite sure, but it felt like the sort of a thing a senior necromancer would enjoy.

Their instincts proved correct, as he already started placing various knick knacks under it. Mysteries abound as to where he’d managed to store that quilted blanket.

The blanket made a comfortable place to sit as Harding passed around her pre-prepared sandwiches for lunch. Emmrich whipped out a teapot.

“This is really good!” Rook declared between scoffage. “It really is remarkable how a bit of jam can elevate the palette”.

Harding blushed but warmly welcomed her friends’ approval.

“I’ve got to start heading out soon. Didn’t note anything dangerous in the immediate area—”

”Aside from the bears?” Rook chimed in, careful not to let Emmrich see her grin.

“Oh, I only saw tracks for two or three of them around here.” Emmrich’s look of horror shifted into narrowed eyes and a slight frown.

“But beyond those very real concerns, we’ll be alright to conduct ourselves freely?” he grumbled.

“Yeah! You should be able to explore to your heart’s content.”

“Excellent!”

“Just try to keep screaming and fires to a minimum.” It was Rook’s turn to narrow her eyes and frown. “Fine..”

Harding unhooked a smaller kit from her rucksack and convened with Rook on the points of interest she’d be scoping out. Rook promised to save Harding some dinner and wished her luck.

“You’re quite sure she’ll be alright out there?” Emmrich asked Rook.

“Of course! She’s an expert scout and you’ve heard her.. Daughter of Titans.”

————

Warm sunlight dappled the mossy forest floor as Rook and Emmrich admired another flower for his collection. Rook tried to recall its name for her studious companion.

“Thaaat.. is a Lily of the Valley! No, shoot, it’s.. it’s closely related to it. Mostly grow on cliffs? Look it up in your book!”

Emmrich excitedly flipped through the pages, bangles jangling upon success. “Aha! I’ve found it! Solomon’s Seal.”

“That’s the one! I’m not sure what medicinal uses it could have, but it is quite pretty.”

Emmrich carefully placed the flower in his designated plant sample satchel. Rook’s eyes roved the forest floor for the next hit of dopamine. She’d given him the pinecone with tiny mushrooms on it. Pointed out the very cool lichen formation on a boulder. Found some really interesting scat and explained what could be deduced from it. It was nice having someone enthusiastically involved in this part of her life. It was nice to bond outside of destruction. There!

“This one’s called… fox.. bread…” Fuck did she hate not remembering official terms in a field she was supposedly good in. At least Rook and Emmrich had settled into a solid groove with her giving hazy details on a specimen, and him finding it in his field guides within two seconds.

“Something vaguely related to the words ‘fox’ and ‘bread’! Basically a clover but that’s not the important bit. Taste it!”

Emmrich smiled and didn’t waste a second taking the plant from her outstretched hand and placing it in his mouth. Rook munched on her own collection while staring intently, eager for his reaction. He regarded everything so genuinely.

“My! What a delightfully sharp flavour…”

“It’s something to do with the acids in it. Goes well in a salad!” ———— The sky dimmed and the campfire crackled as a chill began to set.

Rook offered Emmrich some of her peppermint liquor. “It’ll keep you warm.”

She’d handed him many new things that day, and each was cheerfully accepted. Taking a swig from her flask, Emmrich began forming the words to thank his travelling companions for humoring him as a guest on this trip. “Rook, I wanted to thank you for being so accommodating.”

“Don't sweat it.” She interrupted before he went further. “This is much more for my benefit. I needed to get away from it all and Harding knew it.”

Emmrich raised his eyebrow in concern, returning the flask. He did not fill the silence, instead waiting for her to continue. Rook flicked at embers along the edge of the fire with her expertly sharpened stick.

“Truth be told, approved leadership has avoided me all my life. I'm pretty sure Varric appointed me on a fluke. He would have given the same pep talk to any chump who happened to be about. Use his words to mold them into the person he needed. I just happened to be in the vicinity. Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. What I’m contributing..”

He could not comment on the intentions of a fallen compatriot he’d never met, but her words sounded like the harsh internal thoughts of a heavy heart and a tired mind.

Continuing her monologue, she chuckled, ”But! even if I don’t believe in myself anymore, I'm not giving up my shot just yet.”

“When I left Redcliffe I thought I'd be able to make a name for myself. Influence our history. Uncover our past. A bit hard for a surfacer, obviously! Maker, the way my mom and her dad would talk about Orzammar.. It was hard not to want that connection. But what have I truly accomplished? Harding’s made more of an impact than I ever did. Stone save me, she spent years with Dagna and is on a last name basis with the Inquisitor. And now... Now this.”

Now this was a feeling Emmrich was well acquainted with. “I can empathise basing your value on external standards of accomplishment.” He revealed, careful not to share too many of his insecurities.

Rook smiled and looked at her flask. Silence set again.

“Did you know she can dream now..?” She said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

Over his decades of research on the Fade, he had wondered about the psychological impact caused by a race being completely disconnected from it. Learning that the lyrium dagger in their possession was the tool and that Solas was the perpetrator for this severance had certainly brought it top of mind again. Especially with the revelation that those severed Titan souls had morphed into the Blight. The prospect of reconnecting the tranquilized Titans with some kind of purified blight... Perhaps there were some papers he could revisit? Another day. Potential research and unsubstantiated promises were not what Rook needed right now. She needed a tether.

"You're not missing out on much. Mine are usually just about being chased by a faceless specter." Emmrich shared, attempting to make her feel less alone.

"Vorgoth?"

"Hush!" His bracelets jingling as he instinctively smacked her with a chuckle.

Rook’s demeanour lightened as she poked at some charcoal. She looked over at him with a smile and a shrug. "I just need some time to get out of my head. Forget the task at hand and return to my foundations. I am more than happy with your added company!"

Emmrich was thrilled for verbal confirmation that he wasn't making a fool of himself out here.

"Rook, your enthusiasm and care for others is infectious. I may preach the study of the unknown, but in my personal life I am a creature of habit held back by fears of external perceptions. I've travelled more around Thedas in the past month, than I have the past decade, gaining a treasure trove of experiences. I can not speak for the past intentions of others, but thus far your curiosity and compassion have been the best guide I could hope for. I think you've got what it takes."

Visibly flustered, Rook momentarily struggled to reply. "You’re a very kind man, but I have to wonder how much that liquor is sweetening your words!”

Emmrich scoffed at the deflection and implication. "I could drink you under the table.” Remembering the contents of his bags he happily added “However, I did bring some sherry should we run out."

————

The stars were out and their tent had long since blended into the dead of night. Harding discreetly opened the flap and slinked in without a sound.

“Boo!”

"Shitfuc—” Harding’s head flew up, narrowly managing to not bring the whole tent down. Heart recovering from the scare and eyes adjusting to the darkness, she could now see Rook sitting up wrapped in a blanket. Emmrich continued his slumber, apparently none the wiser.

“...Couldn't sleep?"

"Naah.” Rook replied at a more appropriate volume “Get into any trouble?"

"Not too badly! Blight's getting worse, but I managed to find an Avvar camp I can report to Cadash." The warmth of the tent and Harding’s friend were a welcome relief after the chill of the night. She’d been out longer than expected, but achieved results.

"One’s better than none! Left some now-cold stew by your roll."

"Thanks, Aldwir." Harding said, desperate for proper food, regardless of temperature.

"What kind of hired help would I be otherwise?" Rook teased.

As Harding slurped away at her meal, Rook caught her eye and nodded towards the sleeping professor's legs.

"... I miss Varric."

Harding giggled, reminiscing over the advantages of an all dwarf party.

"We did use to have decidedly more leg room with us three." “How was he?” Harding asked mid-chew, with some concern, but mostly just interest in Emmrich’s potential camping antics.

“He's like a very smart puppy. Kept me company. I showed him good rocks.”

“Highest caliber, I’m sure.”

“I’m not an animal.” Rook assured, laying her back on her mattress, while Harding finished her meal. Bowl emptied and discreetly placed at the end of the tent, Harding scooched over to Rook, gave her a kiss on the forehead before snuggling up in her sleeping bag. Rook let out a light-headed sigh. "Minrathous wasn't your fault, Rook."

"... Yeah..." Rook replied begrudgingly. Harding wasn’t convinced her friend believed it.

Emmrich shifted and muttered in his sleep.

"... He brought a nightgown." Rook revealed, in a familiar attempt to change the subject.

"He did not." Harding jeered.

"And a little hat."

Harding shot up to squint past Rook at their intrepid adventurer's night time attire.

————

Day 2

Emmrich emerged from the tent, arms outstretched mid-yawn. The pompom at the tip of his hat jolted at an unexpected greeting.

“Goooood morning, Professor!”

“Harding!” He cheered, placing a delicate hand on his chest. “What a relief. I must admit, I was quite worried about you last night.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Had a little hiccup, but nothing I couldn't handle. I’m not some delicate lace!” She giggled, amused by her own pun. Emmrich cheerfully accepted a bowl of porridge and cup of tea she’d prepared.

“It was witless of me to cast doubt on your abilities. I should know better by now.” he replied with a light smile, adding a spoonful of jam and a pinch of salt. They sat together and watched as the early morning sunlight slowly awoke the forest.

“Nice slippers.” Harding noted.

“Why thank you! I acquired them from a delightful travelling vendor a few years ago.” Delighted by the interest, Emmrich went into great detail explaining the lining. Harding seemed very amused by his storytelling as she sipped her tea.

“So what’s on the itinerary for you two today?” Harding asked.

“We’re going on a hike!” Emmrich identified the correct map, found their location after a few moments of squinting, and began tracing his fingers along their planned route. “Rook spotted a promising path that’d take us higher up this mountain. With any luck the terrain will allow us to meet with the river that flows down towards us. We’ll then follow along the waters, until we reach the riverbank just north of here.”

Emmrich was glad to receive Harding’s nods of approval, while she scraped the final spoonfuls of her porridge. She wished she could go as well, but still had a few more locations to report on. Laying the map flat to show the larger area, Harding showed Emmrich where she’d been yesterday.

“I don’t like what I’m seeing down this direction, but over here wasn’t as bad as we’d expected,” Harding detailed, circling general areas and showing some of her initial notes. Emmrich listened as she explained how yesterday would inform her route choices. She proudly showed the mage where she’d been able to use her new stone shaping magic to avoid long detours.

“It’s all quite fascinating, Harding.” Emmrich proclaimed, thankful for the insights she was sharing with him. His studies had not required the practical application of such things and now he found himself lacking. While he hated looking foolish at his age, he still loved to learn and was grateful for kind teachers.

“I’m glad you think so! When me and Rook were younger, we’d run away for days to explore these kinds of parts of Ferelden. After all the travelling trying to find Solas.. It’s nice to be home.”

Emmrich felt fortunate he had been trusted with such a meaningful location to his new friends. “This is a special place. There is a magic to the nature and serenity of it all. Different from the peace I might usually find at the Necropolis.”

“I haven’t found the likes of it anywhere else!” Harding shared, loudly inhaling the crisp air, before tilting her head with a caveat. “Arlathan Forest did come close, but the birch trees were a bit too creepy.”

They sat and listened to the early morning bird songs.

“Right! I’m off.” Harding said, abruptly picking herself up and packing up her document pouch.

“So soon? Should we wake Rook before your departure?”

“Don’t you dare, Volkarin!” Harding playfully warned, while shuffling her bow on to her back. “She needs the rest. And you, my junior scout, can update her on my route.”

“I shan’t let you down, Scout Harding.” Emmrich vowed, already refiling his mental notes for best recollection access upon Rook’s stirring.

“Good man! I’ll be back earlier this time, I promise.”

Emmrich changed into more appropriate clothes, placed his quilt on an even surface and began his morning exercises with relish. The peaceful setting melted away anxieties and fears that had previously denied him new experiences. ———— Rook and Emmrich made their way higher up the mountain following a winding path. Still below the treeline, they went at a slow pace. It wasn’t for lack of energy, but because the two kept being distracted by plants, rock formations, passing squirrels and the scenery.

A beautiful pine with a low tree fork was practically begging to be climbed, and Rook would not deny it. Hands covered in sap and sticking to the loose bark, she yelled down to her companion from several branches above: “When was the last time you climbed a tree?”

Rook could only imagine his expression as he indignantly replied. “I'm 55 years old!”

She sighed and looked out wistfully towards the horizon. “People should climb trees more often…”

Her contemplation was interrupted by a slightly judgemental probe from below.

“Is this a Ferelden thing?”

For someone so seemingly kind, Emmrich could be quite bitchy! Aghast, she dropped the matter and herself shortly after, though her knees didn’t care for the impact. Rook wiped the sap off on her trousers.

Maybe it was the rings? Rook had clocked that Emmrich had removed most of his jewellery, opting to carry them in a cushioned embroidered purse instead. She still wasn’t sure how a grave dowry works, but loved the romance of the ritual, and she definitely wouldn’t be the reason said dowry got scratched. As they trundled along she noticed his lighter outdoor attire revealed even more gold around his neck. The loose collar suited him. If the joys of tree climbing didn’t interest Emmrich, Rook would have to find another topic.

“So what do you think? Natural, Avvar, or Dwarven?” She asked after some consideration.

“The path? I was wondering the same! Perhaps it is a combination of the three? We’ve found no real markers other than our cultural knowledge of the area.” Emmrich energetically replied.

Rook delighted and continued, “There could be carvings further up? Depending on how high this goes. Those would be more likely to stand the test of time, even in harsher conditions.”

This came dangerously close to proposing an extension to their route and after consulting the prickling in her thighs, Rook decided: No. Better to speculate about the cultural origins of the ancient path without an increased incline. For now at least.

Their perfectly adequate high vantage point helped Rook identify the perfect location for coupling up with the river. Before beginning their descent, they sat on the edge of their moss covered cliff for lunch. Rook kept an eye out for harts along the water to point out to Emmrich. A couple of fallen trees almost had her fooled.

She settled for pointing out various birds.

Suddenly aggravated, Emmrich began to rave about a swallow that had refused to leave his study. Hands in the air he described in animated detail how this bird had “besieged” his sanctuary for days on end. While visibly worked up about the incident, he would smile whenever Rook laughed. It was nice seeing him like this.

————

The melting ice from the mountains now rushed down the river in a brilliant blue. Sandstone had melted like butter under its weight, while granite stood fast and bit back at its aggressor. Millions of pebbles littered the river bed, broken off and smoothed out by the rushing waters polishing them against their kin.

Rook tasked Emmrich and herself with finding five really good pebbles and then “comparing notes”. She had tenuously convinced him this was in fact a Dwarven thing. Emmrich took his task very seriously, selecting pastel colors in interesting shapes, and a strikingly black and white specimen.

He turned around to find Rook precariously balancing on a rocky offshoot.

“Surely that surface is far too slippery? That algae looks slick as anything! What if you fall and hurt yourself?”

"It's fiiiine." Rook insisted, taking another step. She immediately slipped and fell into the water, bashing her body into the rock.

“I have new findings”, she croaked.

Emmrich rushed over to help and scold her, though she maintained she was fine and laughed it off.

Once they got back to the camp, she was eager to show off her new underlayer.

“It's merino wool.” ———— Emmrich watched as Rook’s taut body split the firewood. There was an instinctive artistry in the motion. Her brow and shoulders crinkled up as she gathered momentum. The axe would fall with such a satisfying thunk, it didn’t really matter when she missed.

“It’s because of the angle of the stump, to be clear.” She’d explained, unsolicited. It probably didn’t do well to have mages witness error in her hand-eye coordination.

In all honesty, connecting the axe with the wooden logs was of secondary interest to him. Brutishly hitting it against anything looked beautiful. Emmrich had never been one for weapons, but there was something quintessential about an axe and the outdoor experience. It called for a rough sort, perhaps clad in plaidweave. It was not the sort of thing people would expect him to wield.

“Rook… would you allow me to have a go?”

Lost in determined thought, she looked stunned for only a second, before offering him the axe with a smile. While Rook and Harding seemed quick to make fun of their friends, he had learned a greater appreciation for the comfort this provided. They didn’t mock a person’s inexperience. They mocked the anxiety that comes with it. Turning it into a joke made it easier to overcome. After much study, he was pleased to confirm their badgering was thinly veiled affection.

Rook stood behind him and showed him the proper stance. His legs had to be properly apart, and the axe held just so. He controlled his posture very well, but his momentum had something to gain.

“You’ve got to really give it some! Dig deep! Find something infuriating inside you, channel it through to the hilt as you raise the axe, then…. Whack!” Rook giddily described. He furrowed his brow.

CRACK.

Filled with pride, they celebrated his firewood feat. Emmrich finished up the final lot, while Rook sat on the side sharpening her sticks, occasionally sharing words of encouragement as his technique improved.

Despite a few splinters, his hair being out of place, and getting sweaty, he found it exhilarating. Emmrich wiped the sweat off his brow and placed Rook’s axe carefully against the stump. “What a thrill.”

Rook looked up at him with a chuckle. Emmrich was too pleased with himself to worry about his appearance. Nearly. He straightened his tunic.

“It’s much more physical than our process for the veilfires of the Necropolis.” Emmrich continued.

“I know veilfire has lots of benefits, but I still love a proper fire, ya know? The color, the smell, the ritual of it all.. ”

“While the green glow will always make me feel at home, you do not need to convince me of the joys of ritual.” Emmrich looked at his books and Rook pondered her growing pile of sticks. His contemplation was interrupted by a tangent query.

“So, what was your go-to angry thought?”

Though he felt safe, Emmrich panicked about how much he dared reveal his insecurities. Insecurities about insecurities were like that.

“I… thought about how my fears have kept me from so many things I’ve desired.”

“Ooh, yes that’s a good one. Real tasty.”

Though occasionally stumbling, Rook had a validating way with words. If you spoke from the heart, she’d greet it like an old friend.

“What about you?” he wondered.

“Oh, Emmrich, what aren’t I mad about?” she laughed.

“Currently? I can’t get the fuck over the fact that the dagger I’ve been carrying at my side for months now, is the one Solas used to tranquilize the titans. This dagger euthanized an entire race ‒ MY race ‒ and that damage is barely considered as a footnote in its crimes.” She was trying to say it calmly, but Emmrich could hear the anger bubbling underneath. His gaze fell on the dagger, now shaped like a large gold bangle, attached to her belt even at this moment. It looked light, but dug into her side with the weight of much more.

“Ah. Yes. That is. Hm.” his usual talent with words evading him, as he wondered how awkward he must look standing here. Every response he tried to compile felt lacking.

“Yup.” Rook concluded, returning to her sticks and giving him an exit from the conversation. After a moment of reflection, Emmrich decided to sit next to her.

“I haven’t wanted to intrude, but I assume you and Harding have talked about—”

“NOPE.” Rook slashed deep into the wood.

“Or, I mean, she did. And she can’t find it within herself to be angry. These things. Apparently. Just. Happen.”

The stick was scarred beyond comprehension.

“May I?” Emmrich gently asked, gesturing at the dagger. Rook seemed surprised by the interest, but obliged, unhooking it off her belt. He turned the dagger over, examining it thoughtfully. He could feel Rook analyzing his every movement. He did not wish to trivialize any element of it.

“You’re not only carrying the tool for our demise, but the loss of your ancestors as well. The weight and pain must be immense.”

“So much was taken from us, and no one seems angry enough.” She sounded so fragile.

He thought he heard her whisper: “If I had just picked it up a bit earlier…”

He inspected the bright blue lyrium embedded in the dagger. The blood of titans was ripped out to mold physical bodies for the first elves, and when the elves could not calm their anger, titan blood was corrupted again into a weapon to kill them. Lyrium’s song must be a sad one.

Emmrich placed a sympathetic hand on Rook’s shoulder and heard a vulnerable thanks. With a loud exhale, Rook finished her final carving, got up and began picking up the scattered wood shavings.

“Sorry, Emmrich, I’m just not in a great head space right now. I’m struggling, but I’ll be alright.” He did believe Rook, but all the same he wished he could comfort her more.

“Would some more wood chopping help your mood?” He asked, looking up at her as he handed back the lyrium dagger. With just a hint of hesitation she laughed. “I think I’ve massacred enough wood for one day, but thank you for the care!”

“My door is always open, should you wish to talk, Rook. It doesn’t serve to hold these things in. I may specialize in speaking with the dead, but I do practice with the living as well.”

“Thanks, Volkarin. I might take you up on that.” She said and began gathering the fire wood.

Emmrich pondered Rook’s words and her habit of expressing emotions in short, powerful bursts. Her hair snagged on the logs as she picked them up. He didn’t realize he was staring, until Rook ushered him to look away. ———— Harding returned with a bright smile and a pouch full of dandelion leaves.

Given the company, dinner was unsurprisingly loaf-based. Sauteed mushrooms, garlic and onions over soft slices of bread, accompanied by wild herb salad flavoured with cheese, preserved radishes and roasted nuts.

The trio sat around the campfire laughing at nonsense like past misadventures and whether or not Emmrich could take on a bear. Harding filled out her reports, Emmrich sketched his plant finds, and Rook avoided slicing into her fingers with a carving knife.

A proven creature of habit, Emmrich brought his night-time routine outside to remain with good company. He emerged from the tent wearing his truly delightful cap, striped nightgown, and slippers, with a decanter of sherry and several intricately detailed boxes in tow. Out of respect for the professor and hopes he’d still appreciate their company after this trip, Rook and Harding tried their best to ignore all the ripe material in front of them. After the third step of his skincare regimen and several delicate sips of sherry, they finally broke.

Jab after jab had Rook gripping Harding’s thigh in a fit of wheezes.

“Are you sure you’re not in your 90’s?” Harding cackled.

“You two are insufferable.” Emmrich scoffed with a barely concealed smile. Seemingly undeterred by their antics, he carefully placed the last of his jewellery into their designated boxes.

“Sorry, Emmrich… it’s just all a bit too Emm-RICH for us.” “HA!” Rook shrieked, tightening her grip.

Emmrich rolled his eyes and grinned, massaging the joints of his now exposed hands with moisturizer. The ladies performed their comedy routine for the rest of his. The sherry helped.

Despite their fascinating topics, Emmrich was fast asleep before the other two. Though drunk on joy, Harding and Rook finally calmed down enough to wrap up the night.

"Get some sleep." Harding weakly grumbled, nuzzling her pillow.

"Yeah...... Sweet dreams." Rook replied, eyes closed and cozied up, eager for the embrace of some actual sleep. ———— It didn’t last. The night offered fleeting respite, as Rook found herself awake once again. Curled up, she fought the urge to toss and turn about, reasoning that stilling her body might still mind.

She watched Harding’s occasional twitches and tried to match her friend’s breathing.

Maybe if Rook matched the basics, everything could be different. Maybe she’d be better. Do better. Maybe whatever wasn’t good enough inside of her could be fixed. But Rook doesn’t twitch in her sleep. Shouldn’t lying still as stone make her closer to the titans? Maybe stone wasn’t meant to be still. Maybe there’s a reason sleeping dwarves are confused for the dead.

The silence of the night wasn’t kind. Her body overflowed with feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Conflict electrified every inch of her skin. Her mind wouldn’t stop. Cut from the same stone, but her faults were too deep. A constant comparison she could never escape. Maybe Harding would have done this better.

A slim arm wrapped itself around Rook. Its slender fingers and wrist, naked without their usual adornments. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, as Emmrich muttered into it in his sleep. The heat from his breath did little to stop the chill down her spine. The knuckles of his other hand pressed against her back and his chest as he slowly filled his lungs. Warmth emitted from the soft fabric of his nightgown.

The moment was quiet and tender. Every muscle in her body stiffened in panic.

Rook inhaled sharply and found herself overwhelmed with notes of incense and clover from Emmrich’s perfume, closely followed by the sweet smell of sherry on his breath. Frozen in place, her mind raced to figure out what was happening. She couldn’t move — wouldn’t move. If she did, it might cause him to readjust his position again. Away from her. Why that mattered, she didn’t know. Hot blood rushed through her veins fighting the frost up and down her skin.

Asleep. He was definitely asleep. A quiet snoring escaped his lips.

The hand on Rook’s back gently wrapped itself around her hair. His other arm tightened around her waist. Stubble nuzzled against her neck. A richness overpowered her frantic mind and her heartbeat began to slow. At some point, she must have started matching his deep, calming breathing. It was comfortable in his arms. Safe. Quiet. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

Just as Rook was on the cusp of sleep, Emmrich muttered something and turned over to his side of the tent again.

Eyes still closed, Rook chuckled. She might not be able to dream, but she could still imagine. She went to sleep with a smile on her face. ————

Day 3

Rook wasn’t sure why she didn’t mention anything over breakfast. Perhaps she was saving it for the perfect clapback at a later date. Perhaps she needed to figure out why she felt a bit embarrassed by it first. Deciding it was probably unimportant, she waved the worry away. What mattered was that she’d finally gotten a good night’s sleep and the fresh air of home was starting to light her soul.

The morning sun dappled a symphony of rustling alders, splashes on the riverbank and gleeful screams.

Harding and Rook fought for glory and dominance over the waters.

“Give up, Aldwir!”

“Not on your life!”

Stubborn, rested and in good spirits, both parties were destined to battle till the end of time. Water rose in the air, as if reaching for the snowy peaks they’d descended from. The Frostback Mountains might never recover from the carnage. The only witness tried desperately to ignore them, so he could concentrate on the task at hand. Shaving.

A well placed splash bashed Rook’s defenses, causing her to turn away from her competitor, laughter interrupted by sporadic choking. Her gaze landed on the old man trying to angle his reflection in the mirror he’d tenuously balanced on a large rock. His hair was still in a damp curl from bathing. His loose linen tunic clung to the lower part of his back. Rook stared blankly as he arched his neck preparing his blade.

She decided to consult her partner in crime. "Do you think we could do it again?" Harding shimmied over, a glint in her eye, piecing together the potential for mischief in record time. "Now, wouldn't that be fascinating?" Hands cupped around her mouth, Rook shouted "Oi, Emmrich!” The old man startled, and turned towards the silly women he’d been efficiently tuning out.

“You'd look very dignified and rugged if you grew a beard!" Harding hollered. The women turned to look at each other and nodded fervently.

“Varric got SO much more respect when he grew his out.”

“It’s true!” Harding giggled.

“It really is remarkable how a bit of a beard can elevate the face!” Rook loudly mused, still impressed they’d been able to pressure the old dwarf into growing hair somewhere other than his chest. Sure the respect had mostly been from them, but that still counts!

They watched as Emmrich sighed a heavy sigh and put down his razer. Victory, so soon? Or had he just grown tired of them already?

"You ladies jest, but truth be told, your words carry a great shame. You see, I tried growing a beard but a few years ago and it was… Patchy". He looked broken with the admission.

Rook and Harding gasped, not sure to what extent any of them were playing along or being deeply serious. The two women rushed through the water towards him, drenching Emmrich with consolation and affirmations.

“Moustaches are severely underrated forms of facial hair”, Rook began.

”It’s not just any man who could pull off a look like that!” Harding added.

If he had genuinely been upset by his subpar beard growing capabilities, being complimented for his moustache styling seemed to do the trick. Rook and Harding made a good team when it came to overwhelming others.

If he couldn’t grow a beard, the stubble wasn’t a bad look either. Rook felt it rather suited him.

“You’re both too kind”, a bemused Emmrich sheepishly smiled as he placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you for accepting me in my great shame.”

“That’s what expeditions are for”, Rook grinned. The fancy man really did have a way with words. ———— Campfire cleaned up and tent put away, Harding slapped the top of her of her perfectly organized rucksack, pleased with her results and grateful for the past few days.

“Right!” She proclaimed, calling for attention and hoisting her things on to her back. “Ready to go?”

She turned around to see a happy, yet haphazardly packed Rook and a slightly disheveled Emmrich, fretting over his plant samples.

As Harding had hoped, Rook seemed calmer and more confident. Her friend had a tendency to get in her head and… the voices weren’t always kind. The break seemed to have done her good.

As for Emmrich: he had definitely loosened up and behaved much more comfortably in their company now. He seemed to have really enjoyed his time experiencing new things with new friends. He’d even agreed to keep the stubble for a few more days.

It had been a good trip.

———————————————— Notes: That's it's that's the thing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This was my first fic and first time writing something that wasn't a script or some quippy post, so it was mega spooky! The lovely and talented @bharv gave me so many tips and was ever so patient and kind. My other writer friend Frank also helped a ton, despite knowing nothing about the game. Tinttu has thus far only made it to Day 2, but has the very important task of helping me figure out wtf I need to tag this as when I finally get it on ao3!

I think writing is fun! Very scary, but fun! It is nice expressing myself in a new way! I hope you liked it!!!!!!! Please tell me you liked it!!!! I crave validation in such a pathetic level!!!!

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #It's just a bit of pre-relationship fluff mixed in with slight toxic yuri vibes and a PINCH of dwarf angst because god did I want to scream #I HAVE A LOT OF DWARF FEELINGS #Ellie Aldwir #dwarf rook #Why's he gotta be vegetarian? Can we still go fishing?#Ferelden is Alberta Canada.#plants are suomi though becuase... that's all I know.#Lace Harding #Elsa Writes

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joelsgoldrush · 10 months ago

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“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him.

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces.

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions.

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you? “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos.

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?”

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time.

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds.

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes.

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.”

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?”

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t.

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers.

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation.

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs.

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is.

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off.

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you.

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are.

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to.

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open.

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length.

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while.

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

9K notes · View notes

jeonginsleftcheek · 3 months ago

Text

Promised you forever

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: fluff, smut, pinch of angst

wc: 24.7k

warnings: multiple sex scenes, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampies, oral (m and f), fingering, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy

synopsis: after 6 years of being away from the village you grew up in, you're finally visiting your grandparents. you're excited to spend time with them, but your heart beats faster at the thought of seeing your first love.

a/n: this fic is for my twin from another continent @jehhskz 🩷 thank you for always supporting my works, being on this journey with me and yapping about our sweet hyune and whatever else!! i hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it, happy birthday🥹🩷🫶🏻

~ divider by: @sweetmelodygraphics

their song🩷

A long exhale left your parted lips, right as you pressed your forehead against the cold window of the car, shutting your eyes tightly.

'Get it together, y/n!', you thought to yourself.

But how could you get it together when you were currently driving towards the place you left almost 6 years ago, the place you haven't even stepped foot in while you finished college and tried to build the career you always wanted in the city?

How could you get it together when you couldn't stop replaying the song that once brought you happy memories that were now just a part of your past, filling you up with melancholy?

How could you get it together when you know he still lives there and it's inevitable that you will run into him? Your heart skipped a beat the moment you thought of that.

How would he react? Would he ignore you as if he never knew you? Would he run into your arms, like you knew you'd feel the urge to do as soon as your eyes land on his? Would he just greet you politely, like you haven't already exchanged your breaths, your innocence, whispers of love, tangled your tongues and your hearts?

Did he move on?

You wouldn't blame him if he did, after all, you were the one who left him when you had promised to always stay by his side.

You called your grandparents earlier to let them know you'll be visiting, finally after so many years, you had to be there to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary, you wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. They practically raised you while your parents worked out of the village and you always admired the tender love they had for each other, spending so many years together and going through so much that just made their bond stronger.

You were tempted to ask your grandmother about Hyunjin, what he was doing now or if he had a significant other. But, you had bitten your tongue, too scared to find out the answer to your question.

You only hoped he didn't hate you.

Hyunjin. The boy that smiled shyly at you when you were just five years old, when his mother had brought him to your house for a play date while the parents have some 'grown up time'. You returned the shy smile, playing with the fabric of your nice dress, the one your mom made you wear, saying something about a 'good impression'. The awkwardness between you disappeared pretty quickly, as soon as you showed him your favorite toys, the two of you started playing together in your yard, between all the dirt and the flowers. Your mother had scolded you later for ruining your dress but your grandmother calmed her down, telling her how the dress paled in comparison to having a good time with a new friend.

Hyunjin and you had at least two play dates a week which turned into three, then four, soon you became inseparable; especially when you started going to school together. Both of you were pretty frightened about that change, standing in front of the school gate so Hyunjin reached out to hold your hand, squeezing it reassuringly as your little cheeks became rosy.

He was your best friend, your first and last crush.

Years of being by his side, watching him grow and growing with him, you couldn't imagine your life without him. Hyunjin knew almost everything about you as you did with him and when both of you started high school, something changed.

He was growing up, he was different than before and you started looking at him differently. Before, you were used to the feeling you got when he touched your hand but now it seemed more electrifying. Hyunjin felt the same, suddenly becoming a stuttering mess next to you, staring at you with shiny eyes and a dumb smile on his face while you'd come home from school every day with butterflies in your stomach and a new diary entry to write.

You noticed how pretty his smile was, how gentle his voice sounded when he spoke your name, how his eyes were trained on your lips one too many times. Hyunjin noticed how your silky hair fell over your shoulders, the way you'd flip it back when he called out to you, how you'd smile at him with rosy cheeks.

Then one night while you were sleeping, Hyunjin couldn't hold back anymore. He sneaked out of his room, stalking down the road quietly to your house, you were only a few minutes away from his place. He stood beneath your window, his palms clammy, heart pounding against his chest, his throat completely dry. There was no going back now. You were awakened by the sounds of little stones hitting your window and confusedly you sat up, squinting towards the direction where the sound was coming from.

"What the-" you started as you stood up. You quietly walked over to your window and peeked down.

"Hyunjin?" you wondered to yourself before opening the window abruptly just as he lifted his hand up and threw another little rock, almost hitting you straight in the face but you dodged with a gasp as it landed behind you.

"Bunny! I'm so sorry!" he panicked immediately, flailing his long arms, the nickname he always used for you making your stomach flutter.

"What are you doing here? It's 2am." you asked confusedly.

"Let me come up please. I need to talk to you." Hyunjin looked nervous, shifting from one foot to the other, chewing on his lip and playing with his fingers.

"Can't this wait until the morning?" your brain was still half asleep and the chilly air from the outside made you shiver in the little nightgown you had on.

"I mean... I guess it can. It's just I don't know if I will have courage tomorrow." he mumbled, looking down and kicking around the little rocks with his foot.

"Fine. Come on up." you said and Hyunjin climbed quickly even though you scolded him, reminding him to be careful and quiet.

"Sorry." he sheepishly smiled at you when you grabbed his wrists and pulled him inside, but his foot got stuck which ended in you falling backwards on your butt and him sprawled on the floor on his hands and knees, hovering over you.

"Hyunjin!" you grunted in pain. "If my grandparents find you here-"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!" he whispered and the two of you just sat there quietly, trying to hear if there was any indication that someone was coming to your door.

But it was dead quiet, except for the crickets outside of your house and the loud thumping of your heart so both of you let out a breath of relief.

"What did you need to tell me?" you asked after the two of you sat down, you on your bed and Hyunjin on the chair. He stood up abruptly, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Hyunjin rubbed his hands together as he looked away from you. You were suddenly worried, knowing he rarely gets this serious.

"I've been hiding this from you for a while but I can't hold it back anymore, even if you don't feel the same about me I need you to know how I feel because otherwise my chest will burst." he babbled, looking at you nervously.

"Jinnie, what are you talking about?" you asked with brows furrowed, your heartbeat picking up speed.

"I like you. More than friends. As in I'd like to kiss you and hold your hand and have it mean something more than just 'best friends'. I want to be your boyfriend." he blurted out, heart wilding in his chest as he scanned your face, looking for a reaction.

Your lips parted as you stared at him quietly for a moment, trying to process what he was saying. Your dear, sweet Jinnie who you were in love with for years was confessing to you? Looking so nervous and adorable, telling you he wants to kiss you and be yours?

You wished you could scream. So, you did just that. You grabbed your pillow and muffled your excited scream with it as Hyunjin stared at you with wide eyes.

"Um. Are you okay?" he chuckled awkwardly.

"Not really." you shook your head. "Sorry, it's just... I like you too, Jinnie. And I'd love to kiss you and be yours."

"Oh." he stood awkwardly in place like he wasn't expecting a positive answer.

"Are you gonna kiss me now?" you asked sheepishly after a moment of silence.

"Can I?" he looked excited and nervous as he came closer to you and you stood up slowly, nodding at him.

"I- You know I've never kissed anyone before." he said quietly.

"Me neither. It's okay." you gently took his hand in yours and Hyunjin felt the familiar comfort you always gave to him, reaching into his soul even now.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment, letting the dust settle and the reality sink in, smiles creeping up on your faces as you slowly leaned in. Lips against lips pressed together and your eyes fluttered shut, your entire body buzzing.

Hyunjin squeezed your hand, his other hand tentatively touching the side of your waist as you placed your hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath your fingers.

Everything fell into place then, you were his and he was yours-

"Miss? Miss, we're here." you snapped out of your reminiscing session as the driver pulled up to your grandparents house. You almost forgot how tiny the village is, how cozy and familiar all of it is. The dirt roads you walked on, mostly with Hyunjin by your side, the little forest that led to a clearing you used for picnic dates and stargazing, your grandmother's colorful garden, the porch she always sat on, admiring the flowers she helped grow. Even the air smelled familiar and it was almost as if you had never left.

"Let me help with your bags." the man said as you walked out of the car, taking a deep breath of fresh air into your lungs.

"Thank you." you said as he pulled out your suitcase. "Careful with those, please!" you added as the driver struggled, finally managing to put both of your suitcases down.

You missed the annoyed look he gave you while you put on your lipgloss, making sure your lips were nice and plump as you checked yourself out in the little pocket mirror.

"Oh, right." you remembered. "Here." you opened your wallet and grabbed some bills, paying the driver and leaving him a nice tip.

Before you could close your wallet, something caught your eye. A little picture of you and Hyunjin, where he was holding you from behind, both of your faces rosy with big smiles as you were chuckling together. You sighed and closed your wallet quickly, shoving it into your bag.

"Thanks for the tip, miss. Have a nice day." the man rounded his car.

"You too." you waved and he turned on his car while you stepped back as the screeching tires lifted up the dirt.

"Ugh." you made a disgusted face, turning around to pull your suitcases with you. After a struggle with the luggage, you managed to finally make the little wheels roll as you walked into the driveway of your childhood home.

"Shit!" your heart leaped out of your chest when your foot got stuck and you pulled, gasping once again when you realized your heel broke.

"Great. Just what I need." you rolled your eyes. Not a good beginning to this visit, you thought.

"Oh, she's here!" you heard the warm, familiar voice belonging to your grandma.

"Nana!" you called out to your grandma as she made her way to you, surprisingly agile for her age. "Oh!" you gasped when she gave you a bone crushing hug.

"Oh, how I missed you my child!" she was already pinching your cheeks as you groaned, noticing your grandfather had just walked out on the porch.

"There's my favorite grandchild." he said with a wink and you shook your, chuckling.

"Of course I'm your favorite when I'm the only one." you laughed quietly and grandma shushed you.

"Don't ruin his jokes, it makes him happy." she nudged you with a wink and you nodded.

"Come here." your grandpa kissed your cheeks, taking a moment to look at you.

"You look all serious and business-y." he said and you chuckled, looking down at your attire.

You were still wearing the suit you'd usually wear to work and the heels that were now broken.

"My heel broke." you remembered and you grandma started laughing.

"Honey, you can forget about heels here. I hope you brought some comfortable shoes that are dirt friendly." she joked as your grandpa helped with your luggage.

As soon as you walked into the house, you were hit with an even bigger wave of nostalgia than the one slowly building in your soul while you drove towards the village. They haven't changed almost anything, all the decoration was the same, everything smelled the same and familiar, like the home you grew up in never changed.

Like you never changed.

"Are you hungry, my child?"

"Oh yes." you nodded at your grandma eagerly, happy to be eating her home-cooked food.

"Good, wash your hands and join us for dinner."

She gave you some house slippers as you threw your poor broken heels aside and after washing your hands, you joined them at the table.

"So, how is the big city treating you?" your grandpa asked and you caught them up on your work, friends, your apartment, anything about the city you thought was worth mentioning.

"How are things here?" you asked after they listened to you, interested in your new experiences.

"Oh, you know. There is always something to do here. We have the house, the garden, the chickens, the goats. We are not as young and strong as we were once before but we are used to working. Plus, someone always comes to help out." nana explained.

"Like who?" you asked absentmindedly, chewing on the salad.

"Well, do you remember Chan? He was always a nice boy, that one. He got married recently but he still comes to help out with some repairs the house needs."

"Chan got married? Wow." you chuckled, it made sense. He had the same girlfriend for years and he was older than you so you weren't that surprised.

"And of course, Hyunjin." you grandma gave you a knowing smile as your entire body froze and you almost choked on your salad.

"Hyunjin got married?!" you spat out and your grandma gasped and then started laughing.

"No, dear, no." she chuckled at your reaction. "I meant Hyunjin comes here to help a lot. He repainted the entire kitchen and living room. Helps out with the animals and the garden when he isn't working on his farm. Or working around with other people, helping them build their houses and things like that."

"Oh..." you swallowed. "So, you see him a lot?"

"Yeah, almost every day!" grandpa chuckled. "He even joined us for breakfast this morning."

You suddenly felt a knot forming in your stomach. Hyunjin spent more time in your home, with your family than you did.

"Does he... does he have someone? You know. A partner." your voice broke a little as you blinked your tears away. You hated how you always cried easily, especially when it's about Hyunjin.

"No, he only works." your grandma frowned. "That boy never stops from early in the morning until late night hours. He just works and works his days away."

Somehow, that made you feel a little more at ease even though your heart still hurt.

"He asks about you, you know." grandma added.

You almost choked on your food again.

"He does?" you swallowed quickly, deciding that your appetite is now gone.

"Yeah. He asks if you're healthy, if you're doing good."

"Oh."

The weight of your grandma's words settled in your heart, heavy like a rock even as you tried to distract yourself with washing dishes and helping her clean up.

"Your room is the same as it was always. We never touched or removed anything." your grandma smiled at you, her hand gentle on your cheek.

"You should go see Hyunjin." she added.

"I- Maybe later." your throat dried up and you needed a moment to yourself, a moment to gather your thoughts. You walked up the stairs to your room as soon as you finished cleaning up, pulling your suitcases up with you. When the door creaked open, you were greeted by your past.

Your grandparents really left everything intact.

You stopped in your tracks after closing the door, too scared to move so you wouldn't disrupt the memories you were witnessing in your mind. Countless times Hyunjin and you spent here, ever since you were kids all the way up to the end of high school and the summer before you left for good. He was everywhere in that room. He sat on your windowsill, he paced around the floor, he swayed backwards on your chair (falling on his butt one too many times), he laid on your bed, kissing you and telling you how much he loves you.

There were polaroid pictures of you on the left side of your table, the drawings he gave you as a gift, your favorite teddy bear he got you for your one year anniversary still propped up against your pillows... You opened your drawer and found your diaries, his name scribbled on the pages, on your heart. You picked up one of the polaroids as your other hand automatically went to your chest. The couple necklaces you shared, one half of a heart was still around your neck, hidden under your shirt and close to your heart, the other one was still with him or maybe it wasn't. Maybe he threw it away after you left and never came back, not even returning his calls or texts.

"Hyunjin..." you whispered as you smiled at the picture, him with his hair over his eyes trying to make a scary face and you in the back, your hands on his shoulders as you stood on your tippy toes and put your tongue out, making a silly face.

Suddenly, you were overcome by emotions and tears spilled from your eyes. You loved him your entire life. And even if you tried to escape that feeling, you never really could. Hyunjin grew roots inside your heart and he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. You let yourself cry for a moment, hugging the teddy bear as you sat on your bed.

Should you go see him?

He has every right to be mad at you and you were scared of him turning a cold shoulder. But then again, your grandma said he asks for you. Maybe he is just curious?

Either way, you weren't ready to face him yet.

You decided to unpack and shower, change into something more comfortable and hopefully catch up on sleep.

But as soon as you got into your bed, sleep wouldn't come to you, no matter how quiet and peaceful the village was in comparison to the city and how comfortable your old bed was. Your mind drifted off to that night when Hyunjin snuck in, right before your prom.

Six years ago

"Hey, little bunny." Hyunjin had climbed through the window that you left open for him, knocking down one of your books from the shelf next to it in the process.

"Hyun!" you scolded him with a chuckle.

"I know, I know. I'm trying to be quiet." he whispered, lifting his arms up in defeat.

"Come here, clumsy." you giggled and he practically skipped to you, his long arms wrapping around your smaller frame and pulling you into him.

"I'm so excited for tomorrow." your voice was muffled by his chest and he chuckled.

"Me too. I hope I don't step on your toes." he grimaced and you looked up at him, your fingers tangled in his long dark hair.

"You won't. You're a great dancer and we practiced a lot." you smiled, caressing the back of his neck and Hyunjin melted, his arms tightening around you.

"Yes, but when I'm nervous I can't control my body." he whined with a pout. "There will be other people there, looking at us and-"

"You'll do fine, trust me." you interrupted his nervous babbling. "Just imagine it's the two of us, like right now." you swayed slowly and he followed you, exhaling and pressing his forehead against yours.

"I love you, little bunny." he whispered.

"I love you too, Jinnie." you whispered back and his lips were on yours instantly. Hands explored awkwardly as you were backed into your bed, falling down with Hyunjin on top of you. You had messed around like this before, his hands under your nightgown, fingers dipping into your underwear, your hand wrapped around his length.

"H-Hyunjin?" you whimpered as he slowly pumped his fingers inside you, kissing your neck.

"Yes, doll?" he whispered back, the nickname giving you shivers.

"I'm ready. For... you know. I wanna go all the way with you." you bit on your lip as his eyes widened.

"Are you- are you sure? I can wait for you for however long you need. You don't have to feel pressured." he shook his head, pulling his fingers out.

"No, no. I am sure. I love you and I want to be yours completely." you gripped at his shoulders and Hyunjin's heart leaped out of his chest as he smiled sweetly at you.

"I want to be yours completely too. Be your first and your last. And you mine."

"Jinnie." you almost started crying from the overwhelming feelings, your lips quickly finding his. Hyunjin was a little awkward, unsure of himself and scared that he'll hurt you or do something wrong but he was still gentle, trying to put you first even though he was more excited than ever to have you like this and be connected with you.

"I have condoms in the drawer." you pointed at the nightstand and he narrowed his eyes at you.

"You were planning this?" his face became as red as a tomato.

"I mean, yeah." you nodded, the color of your cheeks matching his. "I've wanted this with you for some time but I was nervous to tell you." you admitted.

"You're so cute, bunny." Hyunjin giggled, caressing your cheek gently with his knuckles.

"Ugh." you groaned in embarrassment while he kept chuckling, reaching for the drawer.

The moment he started pushing in, the world around you disappeared and you were concentrated only on him.

"Does it hurt?" Hyunjin asked as he kept filling you up gently.

"A little." you gasped, it was definitely a bigger stretch than his fingers.

"I'm sorry." he looked guilty immediately. "Do you want me to stop?"

"N-no. Keep going." you whispered, holding onto his upper back.

Hyunjin's eyes fluttered shut when he bottomed out inside you, his entire body was buzzing, his heart was beating fast and he was trying to gather all the mental and physical strength not to finish too quickly.

"Y/n." he gasped when he finally opened his eyes and looked at you, a sweet lovestruck expression on your face, your eyes sparkling, all for him, all his.

"Hyunjin." you moaned at the way he felt inside you and the way he looked at you, like you hung all the stars in the sky just for him.

"I adore you, bunny." Hyunjin said gently and your heart bursted right then and there.

"I adore you too." you whispered back.

He slowly started moving inside you, whispering words of love and praise the entire time as you clutched onto him and returned his praises.

You've never felt like that before, completely and utterly loved by him, connected with him.

Which made it harder for you to give him the news you were supposed to tomorrow after prom.

Present time

You were rudely awakened at 5am when the rooster in your nana's backyard started crowing loudly.

"Ugh!" you forgot about all the charms of living in a village as you grabbed the pillow and put it over your face, a muffled 'shut up' pressed into it. You waited for a few moments, throwing the pillow aside and turning to your left, coming face to face with the teddy bear Hyunjin gave you, which of course you named 'Jinnie' back then, making your boyfriend laugh adoringly at you.

"Good morning, Jinnie." you said to the teddy, pulling the plushie closer to you as you hugged it and sighed. "Guess I should get up." you added with a shrug before stretching and then getting up.

You opened up your wardrobe, choosing to wear a red dress with a dainty floral print on it and got ready in your room, listening to music just like you did every day before school or a date with your boyfriend years ago. You opened up another drawer in your table and gasped when you saw the corsage that Hyunjin gave to you when he came to pick you up before prom.

You clutched it in your hand and thought back to that night, when Hyunjin came to pick you up.

Six years ago

To say Hyunjin was nervous was an understatement. He felt as if every atom of his being was about to burst into little pieces when he rang your doorbell. He was a wreck as he kept wiping his sweaty palms against his jacket, annoyed at the fact that no matter how many deep breaths he took, his heart was still hammering against his chest, ready to burst. Why was he so nervous? It was just you, his little bunny.

Oh, but he wasn't ready and he was right to be so nervous because as soon as your grandma opened the door with a smile, ushering him in, his eyes landed on you and they widened. Hyunjin felt as if the world stopped spinning, all the clocks stopped ticking, his heart quit beating and his breath got stuck in his throat. You became the only center of gravity, pulling him in towards you and nothing else around the two of you mattered.

He was completely and utterly floored and whipped for you.

Hyunjin finally understood the meaning of the word 'breathtaking' because that was the only thing that came to mind as you smiled at him so beautifully, so in love, so happy, wearing the most gorgeous dress he'd ever seen you in.

"Y/n." was the only thing he managed to say and you chuckled, your heart swelling at his reaction.

It was your turn to gawk as he came closer to you, you'd never seen him wearing a suit before and he looked even more handsome than he ever did. Your knees buckled when he stood close to you, the smell of his cologne was intoxicating but his lovestruck smile was even more mesmerizing.

Your grandparents smiled lovingly at the two of you before glancing at each other knowingly as Hyunjin gave you your corsage, gently putting it on your wrist. So many pictures were taken before you had to rush out so you wouldn't be late to the dance.

The night was magical and everything seemed possible under the fairy lights as Hyunjin and you swayed to the gentle melody of the familiar song coming from the speakers.

"Do you want to slip out after our song?" Hyunjin's plump lips brushed against your ear as he pulled you tighter into his heated body.

"Won't the chaperones notice?" you asked as you looked up at him only to find him smirking.

"We'll be stealthy." he said and you giggled.

"Right, stealthy."

"Yes, see I didn't even step on your foot!"

"Not yet." you teased him and Hyunjin pouted, whining and burying his face in your shoulder.

"Mean bunny." he tickled your sides, making you squirm and squeal.

"Fine, sorry." you giggled, knowing he wasn't actually offended. "You did a great job." you added and Hyunjin looked up at you with a sweet smile, his cheeks rosy.

"Thank you, doll. You did too." he smirked, brushing his lips against yours.

You managed to sneak out somehow while everyone was dancing to a quicker beat and you knew exactly where you were going; to your favorite spot with Hyunjin, the path to it so familiar that you could walk through it blind, the soil remembering all your footsteps.

"Hyune, um... I'm wearing heels." you whispered as he shined the path ahead with a little pocket flashlight.

"Oh, right." he thought for a moment before kneeling down. "Get on my back, doll."

"Are you sure?" you asked and he chuckled.

"Of course." he nodded eagerly and you climbed up on his back, feeling light and happy, giggles spilling from both of your lips. "Hold this." Hyunjin gave you the light and you shined it ahead as he gripped the back of your thighs and carried you.

Being a little tease, Hyunjin pretended he was going to drop you a few times only to have you almost scream as your arms wrapped tighter around him.

"Stop that!" you whined.

"Sorry, sorry bunny. I'll stop. You're just so cute." he smirked.

"If you weren't carrying me right now, you'd be in big trouble." you scolded and Hyunjin let out a laugh, your favorite tree coming into view.

"Yes, I know. Biiiig trouble." he kept chuckling and you were this close to biting his shoulder.

"Here we are, bunny." he gently put you down and wrapped his arm around you as the two of you stared at the carving in the trunk.

Hyunjin + Y/n.

Both of you laughed then, you had carved your names in when you were barely 16 and seeing it now was equally as embarrassing as it was sweet.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" you looked up at Hyunjin and he smiled sweetly at you.

"I promise I'll love you forever." he whispered, lifting his pinky and you giggled.

"I promise I'll love you forever too, my sweet Jinnie." you whispered back, your pinky curling around his.

Hyunjin chuckled in delight and pulled you into a sweet kiss.

You didn't have the heart to tell him you got into uni and would be leaving the village in September.

Present time

You had to go visit the tree.

"Fuck." you cursed, angrily wiping your tears away, before putting the corsage back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

Too many memories.

You quickly made your way downstairs where your nana was already serving breakfast.

"Oh, I thought you'd be sleeping more, dear." she lifted her brows in surprise.

"I thought so too." you joked, giving her a pointed look and she laughed.

"I see you forgot how it is here." nana shook her head. "When you haven't been around for so long."

"I'm sorry." you grimaced, sitting down to eat with her. "I know I should've visited more. I got caught up in studies and work and-"

"Breathe, dear." your grandma squeezed your hand with a chuckle. "It's not me who you should be explaining this to."

You gulped, knowing she was referring to Hyunjin.

"Where's grandpa?" you asked.

"He's out back, working."

"I was thinking of going for a walk before lunch. I'll make sure to come back though to help out."

"Sure, dear. You haven't been here for so long, you should catch up with the place and the people." grandma nodded with a wink and that was exactly what you planned to do.

It was around 7am when you finally walked out of the house, inhaling the fresh air you were deprived of in the big city. It was a bit chilly in the morning so you draped a light jacket over your shoulders and let your legs lead you through the familiar streets.

You still didn't want to see Hyunjin so you went the opposite direction of his house, trying to stick to the shadows for now, just to have a little more peace to yourself and mentally prepare for the inevitable encounters of everyone you grew up with.

It was painful. Walking all the familiar paths you walked through before with him, it was as if you could hear his laughter echoing down the street. Your heart squeezed in your chest when you realized just where your legs had taken you.

The tree.

It was still there, as tall as ever, its branches familiar as you and Hyunjin had laid under them multiple times, kissing, talking, laughing, holding each other close. You walked closer, your eyes brimming with tears when you saw the carving. Hyunjin + Y/n. Forever.

The word you had added that night after prom.

You cursed yourself mentally for crying again and being so overcome with emotions. You couldn't stand there for too long and were about to leave when something caught your eye. Another carving, smaller and almost unnoticeable on the right side of yours. You leaned in closer to inspect it and your heart almost stopped.

Hyunjin.

Nothing else, just his name was carved into the wood and you felt fresh tears forming in your eyes. Leaving was definitely a mistake, maybe the biggest mistake you ever made, especially after the let down you experienced in the city. You wiped your tears away again and decided to leave the tree be, your heart hurting at the thought of Hyunjin sitting under the branches alone, carving his name and wondering why you had never called back or came to see him. You walked away, back down the path and into the village, deep in your thoughts. Lost in the memories of what once was you didn't even realize where you came, as your legs walked on autopilot.

Only when the familiar light blue house came into view, you snapped from your thoughts, eyes wide and heart dropping into your stomach.

"Shit!" you whisper-yelled. This was the only house you wanted to avoid and yet you were standing right in front of it. As far as you knew, Hyunjin's parents didn't live there anymore, he was living in the big house completely alone, his only companions his animals.

Your knees almost gave out as you stared, before getting spooked when you heard barking. A big black dog ran to the fence, barking at you in warning. You had never seen it before so Hyunjin must've gotten it after you went to the city. You backed away as the dog kept barking at you in a not-so-friendly manner. You turned and started walking away, hoping Hyunjin didn't hear that or wasn't home because you still weren't ready to see him let alone talk to him.

Then, you heard a familiar voice.

"Easy girl, easy." you assumed he was talking to the dog as the barking subsided immediately and you stopped in your tracks.

"Well, well." you heard then. "If it isn't little bunny."

Your heart leaped out of your chest. You hadn't heard that nickname in years.

"Don't even wanna say hi?" Hyunjin continued and you heard the sound of the little fence door opening. Slowly, you turned around and basically almost fainted.

This wasn't your sweet, shy and little Jinnie. You almost didn't recognize him as you stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape.

His long hair was gone, replaced by a neat buzzcut that was also bleached, he had piercings on his ears, his arms were big and muscular, a few tattoos here and there, visible in the tanktop he wore. He looked taller, bigger, more manly. Your knees buckled and the more you looked at him the more you felt lightheaded.

Hyunjin smirked, noticing how you were salivating and a little chuckle escaped his lips.

"Gonna catch flies like that." he teased and you closed your mouth, attempting to compose yourself as you stood up straighter. His eyes then traveled all over your frame, the teasing glint inside them turning into something softer until they fell on the necklace and he felt as if the ground underneath his feet almost gave out.

You were still wearing it. Just like he was, his half heart hidden under his top.

"Hi." you said quietly. "You look different."

"A lot can change in six years." he stated, still keeping a good distance away from you.

"It can." you stepped back, feeling suffocated by his presence as you tried to read his face and tone of voice. Was there anger? Regret? Did he resent you?

"You're different too." a small smile appeared on his lips.

"How so?" you tilted your head to the left, thinking how you pretty much looked the same since the end of high school.

"You've gotten even more beautiful." Hyunjin said like it was nothing and you were sure you were having a heart attack in that moment.

"I- That- Thank you." you had no idea what to say. "I have to go... Help nana with lunch. And stuff."

Hyunjin smiled wider.

"I'll see you later then, bunny."

"Sure." you turned around so quickly that you almost snapped your neck. Hyunjin watched with bathed breath as you scurried away from him.

You finally came back.

"Did you see Hyunjin?" nana asked as you helped her clean around the kitchen after lunch.

"Accidentally, yes." you said and she chuckled.

"I never understood why you broke up, you two are made for each other." she said and you almost dropped the plate you were holding.

"We didn't... actually break up. I just left."

"I thought you were still together back then, I was wondering why he never went to visit you or you him. I only realized you weren't together once he asked me if I knew where you lived in the city. Which I forgot the address, dear, so I hope I didn't do anything wrong by not telling him."

"No, no, nana. You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I'm not so sure anymore." your eyes welled up with tears as you clutched onto the counter.

"Oh, honey." your grandma was instantly by your side.

"I told him I would come back. I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me now and wanted nothing to do with me." you sniffled as nana wiped your tears away.

"Oh dear, Hyunjin doesn't hate you. He talks very fondly of you always. That boy still loves you."

"He- He does?" you thought back to your encounter today.

"A love like that doesn't disappear overnight. Or over the span of six years." your grandma teased, making you chuckle through your tears.

"If you say so."

"Talk to him. He is coming to dinner tonight anyways." she announced.

"He is what?!" you almost yelled.

"He usually joins us for dinner. At least a few days in the week."

You panicked immediately.

"I have to go get ready then!"

Nana bursted into laughter as she watched you frantically run up the stairs.

"What was that about?" grandpa came in, looking up at the metaphorical dust that you left behind after running.

"Oh you know. Love." grandma winked at him and he shook his head with a smile.

Shit.

Hyunjin is coming over for dinner. You had to look your best.

You've gotten even more beautiful.

His words rang in your head and your cheeks became red instantly, heart beating hard in your chest. You quickly opened your wardrobe and began throwing clothes everywhere, your room soon looking as if a tornado had passed through it. You tried on multiple outfits but with every single one you found something wrong. The color was too bright, the shirt was too big, the pants looked weird...

So you settled on another dress, a pretty and white flowy one with yellow flowers on it, the shape of it accentuating your frame, your bare legs on display. You decided to wear heels too and put on some makeup. You were so nervous as if you hadn't already been his.

While you were doing your hair, you stared into your reflection and remembered that warm summer night when you told Hyunjin you were leaving.

Six years ago

Hyunjin and you sat on a blanket, staring up at the stars shimmering in the dark sky.

"Jinnie." you swallowed nervously.

"Yes, bunny?" he smiled, playing with your fingers.

"I have something to tell you."

"Oh? Okay." he nodded, sitting up.

"Um. It's been weighing on me since prom."

"You sound serious." Hyunjin's expression turned into one of worry.

"It is serious. And I didn't tell you earlier because I was afraid of how you'd react." your heart started beating fast. "I got into my uni of choice."

"Bunny! You did?" he smiled wide. "Why didn't you tell me that? You know I support you and I'm proud of you."

"I know. It's just that... I'm leaving and I don't know when I'll be back." you said. "We talked about this briefly before but... I don't want to stay in the village. There is nothing for me here, I mean career wise. Meanwhile... You decided to work with your father and build your life here."

Hyunjin's smile dropped.

"What are you saying?" his voice sounded strained.

"Are we... Are we breaking up?" he asked, tears forming in his eyes.

"No. No. I don't want to. I don't know." you bit your lip and looked away from him.

"Y/n. Please, don't do this. I've known no one but you my whole life. You're the one I love and the one I promised forever to. We even talked about building a life together, getting married, having kids."

"I know, I know. You're my first love, Jinnie. And those were all nice daydreams but there comes a time when you need to grow up."

"Daydreams? Bunny. Those were plans." his bottom lip trembled and he frowned. "This really sounds like you're breaking up with me."

"No, no." tears started spilling down your cheeks when you saw the hurt in his eyes and realized how harsh your words sounded. "Just... I'm confused. I don't know what to do." you put your hands over your face, a sob escaping your lips.

Hyunjin's eyes softened and he put his hand on your upper back, gently caressing you.

"Hey, look. I know you're scared now, this is a big change. But, we'll figure it out together. You go finish your studies, do what you always wanted to. But please don't throw away what we have. I'll always wait for you, I'll wait until you come visit or I can visit you. We can call each other, we don't have to grow apart in order for you to grow."

"I guess not." his words hit you hard as you looked up at him.

"Don't cry, baby. I love you and I'm so happy for you. I'm so proud of my little bunny." he talked, wiping your tears away.

"Jinnie. I love you too." you clutched onto his shirt and cried into his chest.

Oh, how you were going to miss him.

Present time

But after you left, you never even contacted him.

You knew how cruel that was but you thought it was for the best. If you were going to build a life in the city and he was going to stay behind in the village, it was better off like this.

Childhood crushes and high school sweethearts don't always last, do they?

But, your heart hurt so badly every day you were away from Hyunjin. You wanted to forget him, stop loving him but you couldn't no matter how hard you tried. Every time you thought you were ready to take off the couple necklace, your hands would stop functioning. You couldn't bring yourself to do that, the necklace felt as if it was a part of you and despite being away from Hyunjin you knew your heart would always belong to him.

With a sigh, you finished getting ready, wondering if he could really still love you after you'd hurt him like that.

Before you could come down, you heard voices under your window and you stalked towards it curiously. It was closed so you couldn't understand what they were saying but Hyunjin stood there with your grandpa, his back turned to you. You gasped a little, noticing then how his shoulders and upper back also got wider, the black shirt he wore almost ripping at the seams.

"Give me strength." you prayed to whoever was listening before you decided to stop hiding and finally made your way downstairs.

"Yes, I'll definitely ask Chan to help out with the fence, I think he won't be busy this weekend." Hyunjin said to your grandpa as they walked into the kitchen.

"Great! That's settled then!" grandpa clapped his hands with a satisfied smile. Hyunjin looked up at you then and stopped walking, giving you the elevator eyes.

"Good evening." he smirked a little.

"Evening." you said breathlessly and you grandma chuckled.

"Why are you two acting so formal?" grandpa asked as you sat down.

"Leave them be. They just encountered each other after a long time." nana scolded him and he gave a little shrug.

Hyunjin was sitting right across from you and you felt as if there was nowhere to hide. He kept looking at you curiously and you felt so awkward, trying to avoid his eyes as all of you started taking food out on the plates and eating.

Hyunjin couldn't calm his heart down. All the feelings that he carried inside of him every single day, from dawn to late night, were now amplified a thousand times. All those nights he had thought about you and seen you in his dreams couldn't compare to you actually being in front of him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, he missed you deeply. The love he always had for you never subsided, it only grew more even while you were apart.

Though, he knew that there were things the two of you needed to talk about, he decided not to think about the hurtful side of it, tossing it in the back of his mind as he continued to bask in your presence. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, your hands, the way your brows creased when you asked a question to your nana, the way you looked up at him timidly only to look away, the way you nervously chewed on your bottom lip, the way that necklace he gave you laid on your skin, still there, as if you had never left, a sign that you perhaps still loved him as much as he loved you.

"So, how is the city treating ya?" Hyunjin asked you suddenly, eyes trained on you as they have been the entire evening.

"It's... okay." you answered but Hyunjin knew you were lying. He knew when you wore a fake smile and he knew the tone of your voice once you tried to convince yourself you're fine.

"Oh yeah? Got that job you always wanted, hm?" he asked and you looked up at him, trying to see if he was mocking you or resenting you but he looked genuinely curious.

"I did." you answered shortly, a knot forming in your stomach. "I got what I wanted." you forced another smile.

"I'm glad you did." he smiled and you felt the urge to cry again. You wondered what was wrong with you and shook your head, trying to will yourself to smile back at him.

"I always thought the two of you would get married." your nana chimed in, making you almost choke on a piece of bread. Hyunjin chuckled and looked at you.

"We're still young." he smirked a little and you started praying that the floor opens up and swallows you whole.

"You two remind me of us when we were younger." grandpa nodded with a smile.

No, you thought, please stop.

You were really going to start crying.

"Excuse me. I need some air." you stood up abruptly, the chair almost falling over behind you.

Hyunjin watched as you ran out of the front door and he stood up too, excusing himself and following you.

You stood on the porch, hugging yourself and sniffling.

"Y/n?" Hyunjin approached you cautiously. You quickly wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your cardigan before turning to look at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Sure." you nodded but he knew you were crying.

"You wanna take a walk?" Hyunjin asked, biting on his lip and you chuckled, shaking your head.

"Yeah, why not." you nodded, maybe it was time to stop avoiding him.

You didn't even discuss where you were going to go, you just started walking together in the same direction you always did while you grew up here. It was quiet for a while, only the song of the crickets filling up your ears, a few distant barks and the breeze rustling through the leaves.

"So, what have you been doing?" you asked, trying to break the ice. You couldn't believe you felt so awkward with someone you could talk to the easiest with, out of anyone in your entire life.

"Me? Oh, you know... Working around the farm. I repaired the entire house with some of my mates. It was in a really bad shape, if you remember. We re-did everything, even the roofing and the pipes. Repainted the entire place, changed the furniture... So, it's now like a new house. And I have horses and chickens. A garden. I mean, I work all day, help out others too." he chuckled. "My parents are in the city, they visit sometimes. But, mostly I'm here with Rina, she has been my best friend for three years now."

"Rina?" your stomach dropped instantly.

"Yes, that overprotective black dog that barked at you." Hyunjin smirked at your expression.

"Oh... That's Rina." you said absentmindedly, finally glancing at him.

Your heart stopped.

The necklace. He must've unbuttoned one more button while you were walking, making the other half of the heart visible under his collarbone. He never stopped wearing it either. Suddenly, your stomach filled up with butterflies.

"She's wary of strangers coming near me."

Ouch.

"Yeah." you turned away, the butterflies turning into a feeling of nausea.

"I mean, strangers to her." Hyunjin clarified, realizing how he sounded.

"Yeah, I understand." you gave him a smile you hoped looked real, because you were seconds away from crying. "You still paint?" you decided to change the subject.

"Oh yeah, all the time." he smiled. "Enough about me. What about you?"

"Me? I also work all day. In the office. It's... interesting, I guess. I bought an apartment recently, it's really modern." you talked, realizing how empty your words sounded then. You had no idea what to tell Hyunjin. He had all these projects and people who care about him, animals he cares for and his hobbies. Meanwhile, all you had was a job you ended up hating and no one to come home to.

"I travel a lot." you added, trying to fill up the silence. "For work but also for fun, with some of my coworkers. We went all the way to Bali last year. It was a fun trip, you know. Stuff like that."

"Sounds exhilarating." Hyunjin said, sounding anything but. "Anyone special in your life?"

Why did he ask that.

"No, nobody." you quickly answered.

Hyunjin was hoping you'd say that.

"Good. I mean- Me neither." he coughed awkwardly and stopped walking. You were about to ask why he stopped when you noticed where you were.

"Oh." you let out a chuckle, your face warming up.

You hadn't even realized you came to the only park in the village, and not just that, you were standing in front of your and Hyunjin's bench, where you used to sit after school, talking and kissing.

And well, you sat here on many evenings just like this one, making out. Your face started burning suddenly.

"Shall we sit?" Hyunjin asked and you nodded reluctantly as you felt like you were going to throw up from nerves. The two of you sat down, the silence stretching between you again.

"I-" Hyunjin opened his mouth, then closed them, repeating the action a few times, his brows furrowing and cheeks rosy, his hands gripping the edge of the bench like he was struggling to get his words out. You were almost swallowed by the nerves you felt in that moment, you were scared that he was going to tell you off, just what you deserve.

"I tried to find you." he let out a shaky exhale. "You covered up your tracks pretty well." he scoffed. "I mean, I got the message. You didn't want to see me ever again. And I'd be fine with that if only you gave me a reason, told me why you just disappeared from my life when you've been a part of it since forever. I thought for some time that you have completely abandoned me. But, somewhere deep in my soul I knew you'd be back one day, Y/n."

"Hyunjin..." your bottom lip trembled as your eyes watered. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I made a huge mistake. And I would totally understand if you hated me or resented me and never wanted to forgive me. Just know I felt bad the entire time and I still do." you were full on crying and feeling embarrassed, you looked away from Hyunjin.

"I could never hate you, little bunny." his voice sounded soft and you willed yourself to look at him while you wiped your tears away even though they kept coming. "And I forgave you a long time ago." he whispered. You noticed he was sitting closer to you and your body trembled.

"You did? Why?" you asked quietly.

"Because it's you." he answered simply and you felt annoyed, wanting to hear more. But, before you could ask Hyunjin stood up abruptly.

"Let's meet up tomorrow. Have a picnic like we always used to." he said and you stood up too.

You stared at him and kept thinking, could things go back to how they were before?

You felt as if there was something he wasn't telling you yet, there was no way he forgave you so easily for abandoning him.

"What do you say?" Hyunjin looked at you hopefully.

"Sure. Yeah." you nodded, your body swirling with feelings of confusion, excitement, nostalgia, happiness, sadness... You had no idea how to explain it.

"Great. I'll come to your house around 10am."

"Sounds good."

"Let me walk you home." he added, the two of you walking and talking about the village, who stayed and who moved, which new stores opened and all the other insignificant little things just to avoid the big elephant that needed to be addressed.

"I'll see you tomorrow, bunny." Hyunjin put his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to look nonchalant.

"See you." you hurried inside.

"And that smile?" your nana's voice scared you.

"Oh, nana! Ugh, nothing. I'm just going to see Hyunjin tomorrow." you answered quickly.

"Oh. Hyunjin." she smirked knowingly. "Well, have a good night." she winked before leaving to her room.

You hoped you were going to be able to sleep tonight.

You managed to sleep through the rooster's wake up call, opening your eyes just in time to get ready for your picnic date.

Was it a date? You had no idea what was going to happen but still you wore another pretty dress and put on your makeup. You decided to wear extra shiny lipgloss to make your lips stand out, hopefully get Hyunjin's attention. You felt giddy, like you were that same school girl meeting up her boyfriend, the love of her life.

"Oh, dear you look so pretty." your grandma noted when you came downstairs.

"Thank you, nana." you smiled.

"Are you gonna eat anything?"

"No, Hyunjin told me not to worry and that he'd bring everything."

"Okay, well have fun you two!" she winked at you and you kissed her cheek before skipping out of the house and towards the street where Hyunjin said he'd wait for you.

He wasn't there yet so you stood in place, shifting from foot to foot and wondering why he is late since he'd always been punctual. It was already almost 10:15 and you were beginning to think he had played a cruel joke on you. You were already tearing up at the thought of that but maybe you deserved it after the way you treated him.

You were about to turn around and leave but you heard heavy footsteps running towards you.

"Y/n! I'm so sorry for being late!" it was a breathless Hyunjin, leaning his palms against his knees as he scrunched his face up and tried to calm his heart. "I ran into Chan on the way and he needed help carrying some things, I couldn't say no." he swallowed, straightening up.

Just then you noticed the backpack on his shoulders and the thin sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, the tanktop was there again and your eyes followed all the veins popping out.

"Oh, it's okay." you shook your head, feeling stupid.

"Shall we?" he smiled and you nodded, letting him lead the way. His eyes lingered on your lips for a while as he bit on his, before starting to walk. It was clear to you where you were going, the tree was your picnic and stargazing spot for years.

"I saw you by the tree the other day." Hyunjin said, putting his backpack down and opening it.

"Oh? You did?" your heart climbed up your throat.

"Yeah." he smiled. " I thought I was hallucinating."

You chuckled, feeling the need to smack his arm like you always did when he made you laugh but you refrained from doing so.

"Nope, I'm here." you said, helping him put the blanket down.

"I'm glad you are." he said and the two of you sat down, Hyunjin taking everything that he had packed out; fruit salad, sandwiches, coffee. You didn't feel like you deserved this. You wanted to ask him so many things. Like why did he carve his name alone in the tree trunk, why did he seem so normal about all of this, why didn't he just yell at you, like any other person would after being hurt.

"Hyunjin?" you gulped, poking around the plastic container with the fruit. He gave you an unreadable look, his brows furrowing.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" he said and you chuckled nervously.

"Well, that's your name."

"Yeah but you always called me nicknames. Like Jinnie or Hyune. And other things." he looked at the field of flowers swaying in front of you.

You hadn't answered so he turned to look at you.

"Why aren't you yelling at me or cursing me out?" you asked and Hyunjin's eyes widened a little.

"Why would I do that?" he tilted his head.

"Because I promised I'd love you forever and I left. I didn't even come back for six years, I thought I was doing a good thing. That I'd be better off in the city and you'd be better off without me. That I'd be able to move on and forget you. I thought I'd never come back here but after what happened-" your shut your lips tightly, eyes watering. "After being disappointed with everything I thought I wanted in my life, I came back here and expected to see that you moved on or even gotten married. I expected you to hate me, yell at me, curse at me. But here we are, sitting under our tree, having a picnic like I never broke your heart and mine." you were now full on crying, your bottom lip trembling and hands shaking.

Hyunjin observed you with a wistful look in his eyes before smiling softly.

"You wanna know why I'm not yelling or cursing at you?" he said, leaning closer to you.

"W-why?" you stuttered, he got into your private space and even though he changed and grew, he still had that comforting scent of Hyunjin, the one that brought you so much comfort and nostalgia.

"Because of this." he reached towards you and gently gripped the pendant of your necklace between his fingertips. "You're still wearing our necklace. And that tells me everything I need to know. Bunny, I've known you my whole life, I've loved you my whole life. I knew you wouldn't be happy in the city and I knew you'd come back here to me one day. I know that because we were made for each other and because I could feel you inside me every day. I just knew our story wasn't over, it was just beginning."

You were at a loss of words, crying and sobbing as Hyunjin talked, feeling embarrassed and also like you wanted to roll down the hill from excitement. You wiped at your face, trying not to screw up the makeup you worked so hard on while letting his words settle inside your head.

"Oh my god, Hyunjin!" you shrieked suddenly, grabbing onto his arm on accident.

"Y/n." he laughed as you kept squealing and gripping at his bicep while a little bee flew around your body. "It's just a bee, don't be scared."

"Please, make it go away." you whined.

"What can I do, a bee found a pretty flower." Hyunjin smirked at you then and you looked up at him with your eyes squinted before slapping his arm. The loud sound made you jolt a little and you looked down at the muscle, something fluttering inside you. Your cheeks warmed up instantly. Hyunjin smirked, his other hand cupping your jaw gently as he made you look at him.

"You didn't break your promise, doll. You still love me." he smiled.

"I do." you confessed quietly and his eyes sparkled a little as he leaned in closer. His eyes fluttered, his cheeks became rosy and his warm breath caressed your lips. You jolted away suddenly, afraid and you had no idea why.

"I'm sorry!" you said quickly, placing your palm over your heart. Hyunjin looked a little confused, his fingers twitching as his hands longed to comfort you in any way they could.

"I got nervous." you said and Hyunjin laughed.

"Don't laugh at me!" you whined with a pout, kicking your feet a little and that made him laugh even harder. "Stop it." you crossed your arms over your chest with a little huff escaping your lips.

"You're just so cute, bunny." how many times has he told you that and it still made your heart flutter. "It's okay. I waited for you for six years, I can wait a little more."

"I just didn't expect things to go like this." you swallowed and Hyunjin scooted closer to you, tentatively touching your fingertips with his. That was enough for you to feel the electricity running through your body.

"I understand. We'll fall back into us in no time."

"You think so?" you asked, inching closer to him, your fingers now playing with his.

"I know so." he smiled confidently. "Just have to ask one question."

"Anything." you nodded.

"Are you back for good or just the anniversary?"

You looked down and took in a deep breath.

"Please don't tell this to my grandparents yet. But I am back for good. I quit my job and sold my apartment, I didn't tell them anything because I am just waiting for the right moment." your voice trembled.

"Didn't something happen?" Hyunjin asked, leaning down to look at your face.

"Just... People were disgusting. The job was depressing. The apartment was cold. The city was lonely. And maybe a part of me hoped you'd be here waiting for me no matter how selfish that is. Because, I don't think I could ever stop loving you, Jinnie. Even if someone wiped away my entire memory I would still have you engraved inside my heart."

"Bunny." Hyunjin cupped your cheeks. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone anything. I'm sad you went through all of that but it brought you back here, didn't it?"

You nodded.

"And I am glad it did." he leaned in again.

"Ack! The bee!" you squealed as the little creature came back to buzzing around you.

"Silly." Hyunjin chuckled under his breath, 'shielding' you from the scary bee.

You felt as if a stone has been lifted off of your heart as the two of you continued catching up and reminiscing of the good old days. Hours passed by so quickly that you almost didn't realize it was lunch time.

"Nana is expecting me at home for lunch. Do you wanna join us?" you asked with a timid smile.

"I'd love to but Chan invited me to his house for lunch today. We'll come to you tomorrow, he is also excited to see you again, you know that you were always like a little sister to him."

"Oh, I'm excited to see him too." you chuckled.

You couldn't believe that everyone has welcomed you with open arms after you left like that and you were still trying to come to terms that you won't be going back to the city ever again.

When Hyunjin said him and Chan would come around to help your grandpa repair the fence out back, you totally forgot about the fact that Hyunjin would be in a sleeveless top, flexing his muscles and wiping away his sweat constantly. Summer was knocking at the door and the sun was high in the sky. You wore the red dress from the first day, the one Hyunjin stared at so intently when you stood outside of his house. When Chan saw you he made a funny squealing noise, running up to you and picking you up as if you were paper doll, spinning you around as you screamed at him to put you down.

"Aww little Y/n is back!" he pinched your cheeks and you smacked his hands away with a pout.

"I'm only three years younger than you, bro." you emphasized and he laughed.

"I'm glad to see you here. I was beginning to think our Hyunjinnie would die alone." he smirked and Hyunjin punched his side with his fist mumbling a 'shut up or else' and you let out a laugh.

"Congrats on getting married, old man." you smirked and Hyunjin was glad you teased Chan back, a snicker escaping his lips.

"Didn't you say a moment ago it was only three years difference?" he smirked back and you exhaled, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Enough chit-chat. Time to work, boys." you chuckled, sitting at the table your granparents put in the backyard. It was placed under a tree that gave a good shade to it, so it wasn't as hot as it would be but for you it felt like you were enveloped by the sun itself.

Hyunjin was working in the sunlight, his soft skin glistening with sweat almost making him look ethereal and unreal. His muscles were flexing constantly as he moved and lifted stuff up, the veins popping out and now visible everywhere on his arms, hands and even his neck. You were feeling very hot and bothered, feeling like you couldn't breathe properly as your legs pressed together. He glanced at you a few times and you saw the little smirk on his face.

He was provoking you on purpose, the little tease.

Two can play this game, you thought and got up, entering the house so you could find a little towel. You took that time to put on more lipgloss and adjust your dress so your cleavage was more visible.

"There." you nodded to yourself with a smirk before walking back outside and straight towards Hyunjin.

"It's hot, isn't it?" your voice sounded sweet, dripping with honey as you hovered over him where he kneeled, working on the fence. He looked up at you, covering his forehead with his hand so the sun doesn't get into his eyes. His mouth went dry instantly, your bare thighs were right in front of his eyes and your chest on display as you leaned over him.

"Hot. Yes." he managed to say.

"Let me help you with that, Jinnie." you smirked, leaning down a little more as you started gently patting at his forehead, wiping the sweat off and he just sat there breathing heavily as you kept going lower, patting his neck now, noticing how he leaned into your touch, how his eyes fluttered and his breath hitched.

"Better?" you moved away suddenly and he snapped from his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

"Thirsty?" you asked, louder so Chan hears it too.

"Yes!" Chan yelled, his back turned to you thankfully.

You smirked as Hyunjin gulped, staring after you as you turned around towards the house to make some lemonade for the boys. Hyunjin couldn't stop staring at you when they took a break, munching on some cookies your nana made and drinking the fresh lemonade. His eyes fixated on your shiny lips and he longed to taste you once again. Chan kept yapping about his wife and farm enthusiastically and you kept nodding and chuckling all the while Hyunjin didn't even hear a word that came out of Chan's mouth.

It was almost sundown when the boys were done and nana invited them to stay over for dinner, ushering them both to first wash their hands thoroughly before touching any food. The atmosphere was warm and homely, a happy feeling swelling inside your chest. You were home, where you were always supposed to be, where you belonged, with Hyunjin.

"I'll be right back." you stood up after dinner, running upstairs to fix your makeup.

Hyunjin waited for a moment before he followed you to your room. You walked out of the bathroom when he appeared on the doorway, leaning there with a fond smile on his face.

"It looks like a time capsule in here." he looked around in wonder, taking a tentative step inside.

"You haven't been up here?" you asked, eyebrows raised as he looked around, taking in all the memories you two had created together.

"No, your grandparents kept it closed. There was no need for me to be here." Hyunjin's eyes lit up when he looked at your bed. "Jinnie! You kept him!" he pointed to your teddy bear, walking in and picking it up.

"Of course I did. I kept everything."

"Even those cute diaries?" Hyunjin smirked. "Dear diary, today Jinnie and I held hands for the first time as boyfriend and girlfriend. Everyone saw us walking to school together-"

"Shut up!" you squealed, ripping the teddy away from him and smacking him with it multiple times as he laughed at your red cheeks.

"What? It was cute." he giggled, slinking away from your attack.

"It's embarrassing. Even more because you still remember what I wrote. Are you sure you haven't been up here?" you teased, putting Jinnie back on the bed and walking to your table.

"I haven't since the last time we were here together." Hyunjin was behind you suddenly, his voice low as his lips brushed against your ear. You gasped, remembering the last night you spent here with him, on top of him as he guided your hips against his slowly, wanting to make it last as long as possible so you never forget how he feels.

"Right." you turned abruptly, the back of your thighs colliding with the table as he hovered over you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

He smelled so good even after working in the sun almost all day and his skin looked like it needed to be touched, kissed, bitten. A zap of electricity ran through your body as Hyunjin leaned in even closer, his breath mingling with yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and then-

"Come to the lake with me tomorrow afternoon." his lips almost brushed against yours before he leaned away, leaving you frustrated.

"What?" you were lost momentarily.

"The lake. Let's meet there." he said and straightened up.

"Sure." you said and he smirked devilishly.

Just what was he planning now?

"Well, I gotta go home make sure Rina has her dinner and walk. See you tomorrow, doll."

With that, he left your room, his scent lingering all around you, making you want to roll in it and have him close. You couldn't wait for tomorrow.

The lake wasn't too far away from your house either, only a 15 minute walk full of chatter and laughter. Your bare arm brushed against Hyunjin's a few times, making you feel like your skin burned whenever it touched his. It almost felt as if everything was going back to normal, like it was before but at the same time you couldn't ignore the things that had changed about Hyunjin.

It was clear; he was no longer a boy, he was a man.

The way he carried himself and the way he spoke was more confident and masculine than that shy awkward Jinnie that tripped over his feet and his words, his cheeks constantly red in your presence. But the way he looked at you full of adoration, that had never changed.

"What made you cut your hair?" you asked as the two of you approached the lake. Hyunjin's hand instanly ran over his head as he laughed.

"It's kinda hard to work with all that hair flying everywhere. It was a nuisance, really. And... You seemed to like it a lot, you always played with it, braided it... But when you left, I figured there was no point in keeping it so I shaved it off."

"Oh." you sighed.

"You don't like it?" he asked cutely, the two of you stopping near the lake.

"No, no, I do. It looks very manly." you said, your cheeks burning up. You didn't say how you thought it accentuated all his beautiful, sharp features, his jawline and his neck that was so enticing to you.

"It does, hm?" he smirked, leaning in closer.

"Yeah." you leaned back a little, your stomach doing flips.

Hyunjin snickered and leaned away with a smirk.

"I have a dare for you." he said and you raised your eyebrow at him.

Hyunjin looked around before smirking at you again, getting into your personal space.

"I dare you to swim naked with me." he said and you almost stopped functioning.

"What? Are you crazy?" you punched his arm but it was more just a tap to him as he didn't even budge, chuckling at you as he crossed his arms over his chest. God, his arms.

"It's not like I haven't seen it all anyways." he said and you gasped.

"Oh my god." you looked away from him, your heart beating hard. "Okay, but only if we leave our underwear on."

"Alright, deal." he smirked and took his shirt off, tossing it aside.

You shrieked, turning away from him because you weren't sure if your heart could take it. Hyunjin laughed, getting rid of his pants without a care in the world.

"Don't get shy, you saw it all." he said and you took a deep breath in before looking back at him.

It's all yours, Hyunjin thought but bit his tongue.

Your eyes went wide and your lips parted in a gasp. Hyunjin was always lean and athletic, but now he was even more chiseled, his thighs were more muscular too, all the little tattoos he had hidden were now visible to you. And the worse thing was that you could see the bulge in his boxers so you averted your eyes, feeling like you might've stopped breathing for a second or two.

"Your turn." he nodded at you with a knowing smirk and you scrambled to take off your dress, feeling embarrassed for some reason. You didn't wear any flashy underwear, just regular black panties and a matching bra that only had a few lacy flowers at the top. It was enough to make Hyunjin drool.

"Beautiful." he muttered quietly, it was your body that he knew very well, the one he mapped out with caresses and kisses, your skin that he marked with his teeth, you who he held in his arms countless times.

"What did you say?" you didn't hear him, shivering a little despite the sun still being up.

"Nothing." he smiled. "Let's get in the water."

You nodded and followed him as he got into the water first, hissing at the coldness before he reached his hands towards you to help you get in.

"Is it very cold?" you asked and he chuckled.

"We swam here multiple times, you know how cold the water is. Just get in, we'll warm up." he encouraged you.

"Fine." you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance as you grabbed onto his hands, warmth filling you up from the simple touch, even though the water was almost freezing cold.

"Motherfucker!" you hissed when it touched your stomach and Hyunjin laughed, dipping in and splashing you a little.

"Don't." you warned but it was to no avail, Hyunjin had that familiar mischievous look on his face, eyes sparkly and dimples showing as he lifted his hands and splashed you harder.

"Hyune!" you shrieked and returned the favor, splashing him back.

"Ah!" he screamed out, followed by a series of giggles as he shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face. "I'll get you for that." he added, swimming towards you.

Another squeal left your lips as you dipped in and started swimming away, Hyunjin's laughter ringing behind you. How you missed the sound of that. Just as you thought you got away from him, you felt his hands grabbing at your waist as he pulled you closer to him, the water splashing loudly as you flailed your arms and screamed, giggling. His strong arms wrapped around your middle and he pulled you flush against his body, skin against skin and you melted, grabbing onto his hands and resting your palms over them.

"I missed you like crazy." his lips brushed against the side of your neck. "You have no idea just how much." they pressed gently into your skin.

"I missed you too." your voice came out breathy as Hyunjin kissed the droplets of water rolling down your neck.

"Yeah? Show me how much." he turned you around so quickly that you gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders.

You wanted to say something, anything but you were already too far gone so you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped his around your waist and pulled you into him. It was as if every atom of your being craved to be close to him, starved for years and now finally feeding the hunger and need you had for Hyunjin.

No matter how many time Hyunjin held you, it always made your stomach flip and it was no different now. You felt how hard his heart was beating against his chest and his eyes darkened just a little as he observed you. Your hand touched the back of his head, fingertips pressing against the soft, fuzzy buzzcut. His eyes fluttered and he leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing yours gently before his lips touched yours.

Everything came back. The first time you saw Hyunjin shyly smiling at you when you were five, the times you did your homework together after class only to end up playing instead of learning, the times you walked through the entire village, like it was all yours, the park, the lake, the street, the tree. The first kiss you shared that was timid and awkward but still sweet because it was with him, the times he held you close, loving you, deep inside you and wrapped around you, all the time he was there for you, holding your hand, wiping your tears away, making plans of the future he wanted to share with you. It was your Jinnie.

The only man you ever loved.

"Bunny, what's wrong?" you didn't even realize you were crying and Hyunjin cupped your face gently with his cold hands.

"I love you." you said, lifting the last of the weight. Hyunjin's body trembled against you.

"I love you." he whispered on your lips, kissing you harder as you pressed as close as you could to each other.

"You really don't resent me for leaving?" you asked when you parted for air.

"No, bunny, I know you just wanted to finish your studies, try your hand at a career like that. I mean, you could've done all that with me by your side even if it was a long distance relationship. You know I would support you. But, I get it. You thought you'd never come back here and that I would never leave."

"Hyunjin, I'm sorry." you cried again. "I don't deserve you."

"Shh, yes you do. Yes you do, bunny. You know me better than anyone, you were there for me always whenever I was going through a hard time."

"I wasn't there for the last six years."

"You're here now." Hyunjin kissed you again in an attempt to soothe you and distract you and it was working as you melted against his lips, soon forgetting about everything that was bothering you as the world disappeared like it always did with him.

Hyunjin's tongue collided with yours, the familiar taste of him waking up all of your senses as he gripped you harder and kissed you like his entire life depended on it.

"Bunny." he smiled, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Jinnie." you whispered and he pecked your lips once more before swimming backwards with a smirk.

"Catch me!" Hyunjin teased, swimming faster and you let out a noise of protest, knowing you weren't gonna be able to. "Catch me or you lose your dress!"

"What?!" you shrieked as he laughed, swimming towards the shore and quickly grabbing onto the stones.

"Hyunjin, don't you dare!" you yelled when he got out of the water, almost slipping as he laughed and ran to grab all your clothes.

You swam quicker, almost getting to the shore as he snickered and bolted away with your dress and his clothes.

"Hyunjin!" you yelled, struggling to get out of the water as the sound of his laughter drifted further away.

"Bastard." you muttered when you managed to climb out of the water, shivering as the sun was about to go down. There was no way he left you here without anything, especially when the sky was darkening quickly.

"Hyunjin, this isn't funny!" you yelled, taking a few steps forward, realizing he even grabbed your sandals. You cursed under your breath, looking around when suddenly-

"Boo!" Hyunjin sneaked behind you, scaring you out of your wits.

"You bastard!" you whined and he just laughed, reaching your dress towards you. And he was already dressed, the tease.

You were about to snatch it when he lifted his arm, holding it out of your reach. Maybe some things haven't changed like the way Hyunjin would always test your patience, claiming you were so adorable when you were annoyed.

"Ugh!" you jumped up to grab it but he moved it, giggling as he looked down at you.

"Hyunjin, give me my dress." you slapped his chest as he kept laughing and moving the dress away.

"I think you look prettier like this." he looked down at your chest and you gasped, covering yourself up.

"I'm cold, Hyunjin." you said and he shook his head.

"Here." he put the dress in front of your face and you eyed him for a moment before finally grabbing it and putting it on. He gave you your shoes and you put them on quickly as the sun almost set. Your bodies were still wet and putting the clothes over them made it worse.

"I'm really cold." you said and Hyunjin pulled you into his side as he led you back towards your house.

"You should come see how I repaired and decorated the place. Meet Rina too." Hyunjin smiled, rubbing your arm in an attempt to warm you up at least a little.

"Some other day, what I need right now is a warm bath." you sighed.

"I have a bath." Hyunjin smirked.

"I'm sure you do." you lifted one eyebrow at him as he kept chuckling.

As you made your way to your house, you felt so giddy, almost as if no distance ever existed between Hyunjin and you.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the anniversary dinner." you smiled as you arrived in front of the gate.

"Mhm." he smirked, holding your hands and staring into your eyes. You stood on your tippy-toes, pouting at him and he chuckled, leaning down as he grabbed your face gently and kissed you slowly like he was savoring the moment. Your arms wrapped around his waist and you pulled him in, your bodies heating up against one another.

"Good night, Jinnie." you whispered, pecking him again.

"Night, bunny. Dream about me." Hyunjin smirked, kissing the corner of your lips.

There was no way you were even sleeping tonight.

"Good morning!" you practically glided into the kitchen, seeing both your grandparents there.

"Look at you, I'm guessing it went well with Hyunjin, huh?" nana smiled.

"Oh, it did." you said and your grandparents just exchanged knowing looks but decides not to pry. You were walking on cloud 9 all day and you couldn't wait to see Hyunjin again.

You took extra time to do your hair and makeup and wear a nice black dress with heels for tonight, hoping to make Hyunjin's knees buckle just as he made you feel weak. Half of the village was invited to the anniversary dinner and you were so estatic to see all the people you haven't seen for years again and catch up with them. You were pulled left and right, everyone was equally as excited to talk to you, your old neighbors and friends were glad to have you back. Hyunjin arrived a little later and your heart almost leaped out of your chest when he walked in.

"Hey there, little bunny." he smirked, leaning in closer to you as his lips brushed against your cheek.

"Hey, Jinnie." you let out a giggle as your body heated up from the simplest touch.

"You look stunning." he gently grabbed your hand and gave you the elevator eyes.

"You look handsome." you returned the compliment and he squeezed your hand.

"Yeah?" he teased and you rolled your eyes playfully, pushing him away a little.

The dinner went smoothly, everyone was talking and having fun, the food was delicious as always which is something you missed in the city, and after the biggest toast to your grandparents' love and devotion, came more toasts and the glasses were never empty. You were a lightweight so you didn't drink too much, two and a half glasses were enough for you to feel the pleasant warm buzz inside your body. Hyunjin on the other hand, kept drinking with Chan and some of his other friends, his laughter echoing in the room and his face completely red. How much did he have?, you wondered since you knew he could drink a lot more than you before becoming like this.

After dinner, some of the neighbors left home, leaving only a few of you sitting together in the patio out back. Hyunjin slid next to you on the swinging bench with a dumb smile on his face, his dimples visible and his eyes almost disappearing.

"Hey there pretty girl." he giggled, leaning his cheek on your shoulder and pulling you close to him quickly, startling you a little from the suddenness of the movement.

"Jinnie, you're drunk." you let out a laugh as he whined and nuzzled his face into your neck.

"Drunk or not, you're always pretty to me." he smiled against your skin, pressing his lips into your neck and kissing you gently.

"My grandparents are there at the table." you chuckled, trying to pry him off of you as your cheeks burned.

"Did you tell them you're staying here with me forever?" Hyunjin leaned back a little and looked up at you with a cute, hopeful expression on his face. Your heart skipped a beat as you wrapped your arms around him and he leaned against your chest.

"I'll tell them soon." you whispered and he rubbed his cheek against you.

"Mm." he sighed, closing his eyes and getting even closer to you, draping his leg over you and trapping you there with him.

"Hyunjin?" you chuckled after a few moments, caressing the back of his head but there was no answer. "Are you sleeping?" you looked down and sure enough, your Jinnie was fast asleep on you, his face smushed against your breast.

"Poor soul." Lino, one of your high school friends came up to you together with Chan.

"I think he is right where he wants to be." Chan smirked and you really wanted to kick his shin but Hyunjin's leg was blocking your movement.

"Please help me take him upstairs, I don't want him to go home like this." you asked and even though they wanted to tease the both of you, they decided to help. Hyunjin blinked confusedly when Chan shook him lightly.

"Hyunjinnie. We have to go inside." he told him.

"Noooo!" Hyunjin wailed dramatically and gripped you tighter.

"You can sleep upstairs in my bed." you said and immediately he lit up.

"I can?" Hyunjin smiled cutely and you nodded.

He started babbling about how happy he was as Lino and Chan lifted him and helped him get upstairs before they bid you good night and left with teasing smirks on their faces. Hyunjin sobered up enough to brush his teeth before he started throwing his clothes off like they were the biggest nuisance in the world. You just finished getting ready for bed, wearing your favorite nightgown when you walked back into your room and saw Hyunjin almost naked, in the process of taking his pants off. He hopped on one leg cursing and looking like a major klutz as he almost fell down while you observed him and giggled.

"Fuck this!" he whined, throwing himself on your bed and letting out an exhale.

"Need some help?" you walked closer to the bed and Hyunjin smirked at you.

"Please." he nodded.

You managed to slide his pants off, putting them aside before Hyunjin wrapped his legs around you and pulled you towards him, making you lose balance and fall on top of him.

"Jinnie!" you gasped and he chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ears.

"Being in this room with you is like you never left." he whispered and before you could even answer, he flipped you over so now your body was caged under his. Your breath got caught in your throat as you blinked up at him. "This bed, where I made you mine for the first time. Brings back so many memories." he added with a smirk, his plush lips on yours instanly. You let out a little sound of protest because you definitely did not want your first time after being back to the village to be when you're both tipsy.

"Wait, wait." you stopped him, your hands planted on his chest and you were trying to ignore how his muscles felt under your palms.

"What's wrong, bunny?" Hyunjin asked, lips ghosting over your jaw.

"I- I don't wanna do it like this, I want us both to be completely present and sober. I think we should go to sleep now." you said and Hyunjin smirked once again, his big hands on your waist, caressing you as he kissed your cheeks.

"Sleep, hm?" he teased, his hands ghosting over your body but not touching you exactly how you wanted him. Goosebumps rose on your skin as your eyes fluttered and you gripped onto his arms. "As you wish, doll." Hyunjin smirked and rolled off of you, getting comfy on your small bed. You forgot just how small it was, whenever he would secretly sleep over you were both cramped up in the bed and it usually ended with you lying on top of his body as he held you.

Hyunjin grabbed your teddy and wrapped his arms around it as he smirked at you sleepily.

"Give Jinnie to me." you demanded and he chuckled.

"No." Hyunjin shook his head. "You come here to us." he beckoned you with his arm and you gulped, hesitating for a moment and just looking at Hyunjin sprawled on your bed in nothing but his boxers. It was truly a sight for sore eyes and you couldn't get over the fact that he has gotten even hotter than he was six years ago. You let out a sigh and laid down in his arms, your head on his chest and your ear pressed against his heart that was beating erratically.

"Good night, Jinnie." you whispered after you managed to relax and melt into him, telling yourself that no matter how much time has passed and what he looked like now, he was still your Hyunjin.

You stirred in your bed, the weight and warmth of Hyunjin's body was gone and for a second you thought last night was just a dream but when you opened your eyes and looked to your right, you saw a small makeshift flower bouquet placed in Jinnie's paw and a note next to it. A smile spread on your face as you rolled over on your tummy and grabbed the note.

'Good morning, beautiful. Come to my house around lunch time.'

There was little hearts drawn at the end and Hyunjin's name scribbled down. You squealed in happiness, hugging Jinnie and pressing your face into the teddy, inhaling Hyunjin's scent that stayed everywhere on your bed and made you feel crazy.

You had an extra pep in your step when you came downstairs, trying to find your grandparents so you could tell them you're planning on staying. After searching around the kitchen and living room, you finally spotted them sitting in the backyard, talking and laughing as they enjoyed a warm cup of coffee. You smiled, observing them for a moment and remembering all the times you thought about Hyunjin and you spending the rest of your life together like them and it made your heart flutter.

"Good morning." you walked over to them and they greeted you with a smile.

"Sit with us, honey." nana said, pouring you a cup of coffee and giving you some cookies.

"Slept well?" she teased you and your face started burning immediately.

"Yes." you chuckled. "Um. I have to tell you both something."

"What is it?" grandpa asked and you took a deep breath in, explaining to them how unhappy you actually were in the city, how hard it was for you and how alone you felt. You told them about the multiple times you wanted to drop everything and come back to the village but something always stopped you from throwing away everything you worked so hard for, and then you explained how you quit your job after having to compete for a higher position but the girl you were competing with was bullying you and slept with your boss, which made her get the promotion you broke your back over just with your work. That was your last straw and you just couldn't stay there anymore.

By the time you finished explaining all of it both you and your nana were crying.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything before and made you think I was just visiting but I had no idea if you'd be willing to let me come back here for good." you sobbed.

"What are you talking about Y/n? Of course you can always come back here, this is your home. And we both missed you so much, right?" nana looked at your grandpa and he nodded in agreement. "That's right, we are so happy to have you here." he added and you felt the last stone lifting from your heart, relief washing over you that now everything has been clarified. You were back home and you were never leaving again.

Around lunch time, you were ready and buzzing, finally you were going to Hyunjin's house. As you approached it, Rina ran towards the fence, barking at you which caught Hyunjin's attention and he came out of the house, wearing an apron and a tanktop, making your mind dizzy. You were sure he was doing this on purpose to mess with you cause he knew very well how much power he had over you.

"Easy girl." he cooed at the dog, coming closer to the two of you and petting her black fur as she looked at him and sat, panting happily upon getting caressed. "This is Y/n, she's not dangerous." he stated as you walked into the yard and approached Rina cautiously.

"Well, maybe for my heart but that's a different thing." Hyunjin smirked and your cheeks reddened as you looked away from his mischievous smile. Rina barked at you but her tail was wagging as she approached you and started sniffing you before jumping on you and almost pushing you down.

"Oh my god!" you chuckled, petting the dog as she hopped around you happily, barking and running from you to Hyunjin and then back to you.

"She loves you." Hyunjin smiled as he observed the two of you.

"She's just the sweetest." you said.

"And very protective over me." Hyunjin smirked and you rolled your eyes playfully at him. "Let me show you around." he added and you nodded, Rina following behind the two of you. It was still the same house and garden but you could see how much work Hyunjin put in it. The flower garden was more than beautiful, the rest of the garden was full of different vegetables Hyunjin was growing and he even had his own lemon tree. You could see the entire house has been repainted, the windows changed and even the stable with horses was repaired. "How do you maintain all of this alone?" you wondered as Hyunjin took you through the stables where he had three horses and out towards the chicken coop.

"I work all day." Hyunjin shrugged. "Besides, Chan and Lino help me sometimes. And some of our other neighbors too. I mean I typically wake up around 5am and go to bed around 10pm, sometimes 11." he explained and you admired his work ethic and his persistence.

"That's amazing. You're so hardworking and resilient." you praised him and his cheeks got rosy. You knew how Hyunjin always enjoyed getting compliments, especially when he did something right and especially when they came from you.

"It's definitely hard sometimes and I wish I had someone here with whom I can split the work up with." he gave you a look and it was your turn to become red.

"Thank you for the flowers." you said as you neared the chickens.

"That was the least I could give you. Sorry for getting drunk at your grandparents' anniversary dinner." he chuckled and you shook your head.

"You're fine, don't worry." you waved your hand.

While you were talking, a curious chicken came closer and gave you a startle, making you jump a little and grab onto Hyunjin's arm as you shrieked. Hyunjin burst out into laughter and you frowned at him.

"It's not funny!"

"It so is. That's literally just a chicken, Y/n." Hyunjin kept chuckling.

"A chicken that is out to get me!" you shrieked again as the said chicken kept walking towards you menacingly. "Ah!" you screamed as the chicken sped up towards you and you jumped back, scaring half of the other chickens and making Rina bark. One wrong move and you slipped, falling down into the muddy soil, the pretty white dress you put on now completely ruined. Rina ran to you and barked, wagging her tail as the chicken gave up and went on her merry way like this was her plan the entire time. Hyunjin stared at you in shock before he started laughing so hard that his face became red and he doubled over, gripping his stomach. You really wanted the earth to open up this time and pull you down so far so you never embarrass yourself in front of Hyunjin again.

"Stop laughing at me." you pouted, your eyes welling up with tears as you were planted on your knees and palms.

"I'm sorry, but that was just too funny." Hyunjin came closer to you and you looked up at him, trying to look as mad as you could but the tears in your eyes softened Hyunjin up. "Come here." he cooed at you, grabbing your arms gently and helping you lift up.

"My dress is ruined." you couldn't help the tears that started sliding down your cheeks.

"Don't cry bunny, you can shower here and I'll give you something to wear, hm?" Hyunjin touched your cheek, tenderly wiping your tears away with his thumb. You hiccuped and nodded and he chuckled at your cuteness, grabbing your face and leaning in to peck your lips.

He led you into the house and despite feeling embarrassed and sad that your pretty dress was ruined, you still felt shocked when you walked in. The house that was like your second home here looked completely different than it did while you were growing up here. Your wide eyes wondered everywhere, not only was it repaired and repainted, the furniture was new and rearranged differently and there was art everywhere that you presumed was probably Hyunjin's. Everything was so neat and pretty, his house seemed so warm and cozy, a place you could see yourself spending time in with him.

"What do you think?" Hyunjin chewed on his lip, looking at you cutely with wide sparkly eyes.

"Hyune, it's beautiful! I love what you did with it. Somehow, it seems more spacious and like there's more light coming in." you said and he giggled.

"Yes, I wanted to make use of natural light as much as I could." he led you upstairs to his bathroom. "Here, you can shower and I'll make some lunch for us." he added and you nodded as you kept marvelling at everything he did with the space. Hyunjin found a shirt that was oversized even on him so it would definitely be like a dress for you.

"Here." he gave you the shirt and smirked. "Need help?" he added as he motioned towards the shower.

"I think I can handle it." you giggled and Hyunjin gave you a kiss before leaving to the kitchen. You took in the state of yourself in the mirror, cursing quietly when you saw just how much mud you were covered up in. You slowly peeled off the dress and then your underwear, before stepping into the shower. You managed to wash off the mud pretty quickly, replaying the entire scene in your head and feeling more and more embarrassed the more you thought of it.

After drying off and putting your underwear back on, you grabbed Hyunjin's shirt and your gut stirred at the smell of him. You put it on, the fabric soft against your smooth skin and you melted into it, hugging yourself with a smile on your face. This was not the first time you wore his clothes and you missed the feeling of it, your mind wandering back to the nights you spent in his embrace, stealing his shirt after which would make him even more crazy for you.

You finally went downstairs, feeling a little shy as you pulled the shirt down even though Hyunjin had already seen everything before and even saw you in your underwear at the lake. When you walked into the kitchen, he was whistling to the music playing in the background while stirring at the stove. He looked up at you and his lips parted, eyes darkening instantly. "Bunny..." he let out a breath and walked closer to you. Your heart started pounding in your ears as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his body, his lips on yours instantly. You kissed back, gripping at him before you felt something nudging your leg. The two of you parted and saw Rina, wagging her tail happily and pushing her head into your body.

"She wants attention." you started petting her immediately. "Reminds me of someone." you teased and Hyunjin gasped, dramatically placing his hand on his chest.

"Comparing me to a dog, huh?" he shook his head with a smile as you shrugged. "You look so good in my shirt, doll." Hyunjin bit on his lip and your face burned. You thanked him sheepishly, making him chuckle before he went back to cooking and you joined him, helping him out and feeling so domestic, and like you were right where you belonged.

The lunch was delicious and the mud mishap was soon forgotten as Hyunjin gave you a full tour of the house, ending in his room where he showed you his favorite paintings and sketchbooks that were unsurprisingly full of you. You were flipping through one of them when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his body, his lips on your neck. You gasped, your hands shaking and making you drop the sketchbook on the floor as Hyunjin gently kissed your skin. "Jinnie..." you exhaled when his tongue darted out to lick at you before he sunk his teeth in. You tilted your head, completely melting against him as your entire body started burning up.

"I craved you so much." Hyunjin nipped at your shoulder and you squeezed his hands.

"Me too." you whispered before turning in his arms and grabbing his face as you smashed your lips against his. Nothing mattered but him in that moment, the two of you had a hunger that could only be satiated with each other. Your kiss was harsh and sloppy, your teeth clashing and hands grabbing everywhere but neither of you cared.

You felt the fire inside you burning up and spreading all the way to the tips of your fingers that grazed Hyunjin's skin. You needed him more than ever and being with him here made you realize that you had no idea how you managed to live all these years without him.

"Bunny, I can't... I want to worship you and take my time with you so badly, I want to kiss every inch of your skin and make love to you but I can't... I need to have you right now." he panted hard as he grabbed at your hips, leading you to the bed.

"Take me Hyunjin, please. I need you so much." you gripped his arms and Hyunjin let out a low growl before pushing you down onto the bed. It was as if he had no idea what to do first, staring at you sprawled under him for a moment before he put his hands on your thighs, squeezing the flesh.

Your legs parted, the shirt riding up and revealing the red lace panties you wore. "Damn doll, are you trying to kill me?"

"Maybe." you giggled and Hyunjin smirked at you before spreading your legs more and lowering his middle on top of yours. You gasped a little when you felt his length pressing and rubbing against you. He leaned in closer to your face, his arms caging you in.

"Can you feel what you do to me, bunny?" he moaned, rolling his hips against yours. You knew he wanted to tease you but his mind was far too gone for that. Hyunjin has waited for years for you to come back and to be in his arms, for him to taste you, feel you, kiss you, be inside you.

"Hyune... Please..." you were no better, your entire body was yearning for him, every fiber of your being screamed his name. Hyunjin couldn't wait, he leaned back and took off his shirt so you did the same, revealing that you didn't wear a bra.

"Naughty bunny." Hyunjin smirked, giving you a look and you grabbed his wrists gently, placing his palms on your chest. Hyunjin's eyes fluttered as he squeezed, thumbs swiping on your sensitive nipples. He cursed under his breath as he kept massaging your breasts and rubbing against you. You lifted your hips up to meet his, you needed to feel more of him. Your fingers hooked in his pants and you tugged so he lifted up a little to take them off. Hyunjin leaned down to kiss you, his tongue dominating yours as he slid your panties off, then his boxers before placing his hands on your thighs again and caressing them. His lips traveled down your neck to your collarbone then to your breasts, kissing and nipping at the flesh before he wrapped them against your nipple, sucking harshly as his fingertips pressed on your clit. A loud moan slipped your lips as you gripped his shoulders.

"Hyunjin." you moaned desperately, your body arching into him and he shushed you, his fingers sliding through your wet folds, separating them before he slowly pushed his finger in. It was a welcomed intrusion after not being with anyone for years, you haven't even dated after going to the city, you still felt like you belonged to Hyunjin and you thought about him every day so even the thought of letting someone else touch you was too much for you.

Hyunjin slowly pumped his finger inside you, feeling how wet you were getting before adding another finger, scissoring you open for him. He noticed you seemed deep in thought so he slowed down and leaned in to look at you.

"Is something wrong, doll?" he asked and you snapped out of your thoughts.

"Have you been with anyone since I left?" you asked in a small voice, blinking at him and Hyunjin let out a chuckle.

"No, I waited for you." he whispered, kissing you gently and you clenched around him. "You like that, bunny? Like that I'm only yours?" he bit on your lip and looked at you teasingly as he continued fingering you.

"Yes, yes Hyunjin!" you moaned when he hit that special spot inside you and his eyes darkened.

"What about you, doll? Did you let someone else touch what's only mine, hm?" he asked, fucking you faster.

"N-no. Only you, Hyunjin. I'm only yours." you moaned and he growled lowly again, getting more worked up as he wrapped his hand around his length and pumped it a few times.

"You never stopped being mine, little bunny. And I never stopped being yours." he moaned, pulling his fingers out before licking at them. Your heart was beating hard at the sight and the words that he said. It was true, you were his from the moment you first saw him until the end of time.

"Missed your taste." he moaned before grabbing his cock and pressing it against your clit. "I don't have any condoms." he added and you moaned as he ran his hard tip on your folds.

"T-that was never a problem with us." you bit on your lip and Hyunjin moaned as he started slowly pushing inside you, filling you up perfectly and stretching you out just for him. You whimpered, your legs opening more as you welcomed him inside you, where he belonged. Hyunjin took a moment to gather himself when he bottomed out, his eyes fluttering shut as you squeezed around him.

"God, bunny. I missed this pussy so much." you moaned at the dirty way he spoke, clenching even harder around him. "I won't last long."

You whimpered as he started moving, his muscles contracting with each movement as his arms caged you. You couldn't stop admiring him on top of you; the buzzcut worked so well with the new, more manly look, his eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes dark as he bit on his lip, his cheeks flushed and a thin sheen of sweat forming on his skin, the veins portruding. He looked so beautiful like that, all lost in you as he moaned quietly. Your hands came up to touch the back of his neck and his shoulders, so smooth and firm and Hyunjin gripped your hips.

"Fuck, I can't!" he whined loudly before he started snapping his hips into you. Both of you were a moaning, desperate mess, missing each other for so long. Hyunjin's hands had a bruising grip on your hips, your nails dug into his flesh as you wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels into his ass, making him go deeper. He moaned loudly, fucking you harder, his cock splitting you apart deliciously.

"I'm g-gonna cum!" he whined almost as if he was disappointed in himself for finishing so quickly but you couldn't really blame him because you were on the verge yourself.

"Cum inside me, Jinnie!" you moaned and his eyes went wide for a moment before he gripped you harder.

"Are you sure?" he panted and you nodded quickly, your nails leaving red angry marks on his skin.

"Yes please Hyune, I need to feel you." you moaned and he whimpered, fucking you harder and chasing his high and your legs started trembling around him. He knew you were close by your moans and the way your body reacted, the way your pussy clenched around him so hard like you wanted him inside you forever.

"Let go for me, doll." he encouraged you and you moaned, the coil snapping as you came around him, making him even more wet.

Hyunjin cursed and moaned loudly, his hips stuttering before he exploded, filling you up with his warm cum and riding his high as you held onto him. He plopped down on top of you as both of you tried to catch your breath.

"Y/n. My bunny, my love." Hyunjin smiled, kissing you gently as you held each other.

"Jinnie. I love you so much." you whispered against his lips and felt him twitch inside you.

"I love you more than anything, doll." he said before kissing you again, his tongue slowly massaging yours and making your body burn all over again. His hands were on your breasts, massaging and squeezing, gently pinching and pulling on your nipples as he kept stealing your breath. You felt him slowly becoming harder inside you and you clenched, your pussy sore but welcoming. You touched his back and caressed his head and neck, making him whimper against you. It didn't take long for him to become fully hard again.

"I'm gonna make love to you." he whispered, kissing your lips again then grabbing your hand and kissing it before pinning it down on the bed, next to your head, his other hand on your waist.

"Hyunjin." you moaned out his name as he started to slowly move inside you, the drag of his cock against your walls was driving you crazy. Your eyes fluttered shut and you let yourself melt into the moment, the space filling up with sounds of your bodies and your moans as you both got lost in loving each other. Your lips brushed against his jaw and neck, kissing him and gently licking at his skin, the droplets of sweat that were sliding down his neck. He threw his head back when you sunk your teeth into his skin, marking him as yours. Hyunjin's hips stuttered and he fucked you a little harder and deeper but still slowly.

Your eyes fluttered open and met with his, full of love and lust.

"I wanna be like this with you forever." he moaned and you squeezed him with your legs, your nails digging into his shoulders again.

"Me too, Hyune, I wanna be with you forever." you breathed out.

He sped up a little, his hands roaming all over your body, his sweat dripping down onto your skin, making everything hot and wet.

"Ah!" you whimpered when he hit the spot. "You feel perfect inside me."

Hyunjin groaned at the praise, his hips snapping into yours harder as his fingers found your sensitive clit, moving in circles and trying to bring you to your high. His lips were on your skin again, kissing, licking and nipping before he grabbed your breast with his free hand and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking hard and making your body tremble against him. The fact that you were even more wet and slippery than before because he had already came inside you drove you insane and you snapped, cumming around him and squeezing him again. Hyunjin's eyes rolled back and all he could do was moan your name as he sped up, your hips and pussy burning at the overstimulation and movement before he released inside you, filling you up again.

"Fuck." this time he pulled out of you, watching as his cum oozed out of your pussy. "Wow." he gasped a little, reaching out to touch your folds and you whimpered.

"Are you- are you on the pill?" Hyunjin asked as he retracted his hand and you started laughing when you realized he hadn't even asked before and that you didn't even think about it.

"No, I wasn't sleeping with anyone so I didn't need them." you said and Hyunjin's face went red.

"It's okay." you beckoned him closer with your hand and he crawled to you instanly, laying on top of you and propping himself up with his elbows as he looked at you softly, caressing your head and playing with your hair. "We talked about having kids..."

Hyunjin let out a chuckle before pecking your lips.

"We did but now that you're back I wanted to enjoy you just a little more. Have you all to myself, my little bunny. And I know it might be cliche but I wanted us to get married first." he said and your heart fluttered.

"You never stopped thinking about that?" you asked, caressing his back.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. Did you?"

"I always thought that if I hadn't left we would've already been married and had at least one baby." you confessed and Hyunjin's body trembled as he pressed himself harder against you.

"There's nothing more I want than to have everything with you, my love." he said, kissing you gently and lovingly.

"Me too." you gasped for air between kisses.

"Are you ready for round three then?" he smirked and you felt his length twitching against your thigh.

"Oh wow." you laughed and Hyunjin chuckled.

"What can I say, I missed you." he kissed your jaw again. "I just wanna be inside you."

"Please Hyunjin." you whimpered, feeling aroused for him easily.

"Don't worry bunny, I got you. All mine tonight." he moaned, pushing into your sore pussy but it felt so good to you. "Gotta make sure it sticks." Hyunjin added with a smirk and you gasped, your eyes rolling back as he filled you up.

You spent almost the entire night in each other's embrace, making love or just cuddling and talking, but both of you felt so insatiable that you just couldn't stop until early morning hours.

"This is about the time I usually wake up." Hyunjin said as he blinked sleepily, rubbing his cheek against your breast as you held him in your arms. You looked out at the dark sky, giggling a little.

"We should get some sleep." you said and Hyunjin whined, squeezing your other breast with his hand.

"I can't... I need to feed the horses... And take Rina out for a walk and..." his voice got more and more quiet before you realized he was fast asleep. A smile spread on your lips as you relaxed and let yourself fall asleep too.

You woke up a few hours later, the sun blazing through the curtains and you groaned, covering your face. Your entire body was sore, last night you had used some muscles that were dormant for years, but the most sore place was between your legs. When you remembered everything you did with Hyunjin last night and how many times he had moaned into your ear about fucking a baby into you, your mind went hazy and you felt that wave of hotness rise inside you.

You noticed you were alone in the bed, tangled in his sheets and the smell of him and you rolled over to his side after noticing another little bouquet of flowers. You smiled to yourself and willed yourself to get up and take a shower even though your legs were in pain too.

By the time you came down, Hyunjin was nowhere to be seen but you found some coffee and toast, deciding to make yourself some breakfast. You sat at the counter and ate while listening to some music. Hyunjin suddenly walked in from the back door.

"Oh bunny! Good morning." he smirked as he came closer to you and you could see the sweat on his body glistening, making you feel aroused instantly at the sight and smell of him.

"Morning." your voice came out breathy as he wrapped his arm around you and kissed you.

"I was just working out back in the shed." he started and Rina ran in barking and jumping at you happily. You chuckled and cooed at her as you started petting her head. "She helped out." Hyunjin added and you giggled.

"I'm sure she did."

"Would you like to go horse riding with me today?" he asked and you let out a laugh.

"I mean, I'd love to but you tired me out last night." you said sheepishly and he cackled, making you smack his arm a few times which made Rina bark.

"Careful, you can't hit me in front of Rina." he had a smug smile on his face and you rolled your eyes, shoving him away playfully. "Come on, we used to go all the time. I missed doing everything with you, doll."

"Fine, but I'm going home first to change and say hello to my grandparents." you pointed your finger at him and he grabbed your wrist, gently kissing your fingertip before he pressed your hand on his chest.

"Come back to me soon, doll."

It didn't take long for you to get ready and skip back to Hyunjin's house, especially after missing him for so many years; you felt like you needed to make up for all the lost time. Hyunjin was waiting for you in the stable, preparing the horses for the ride. As soon as you walked in, he smiled at you, waving at you to come closer. Hyunjin gave you the elevator eyes, you were dressed and ready for the activity you were going to share with him this afternoon.

"God, you look so cute my bunny." he put his hands behind his back and leaned in to kiss you, making you giggle against his lips.

"You're cute." you poked his cheek and he chuckled.

"I am?" he gave you a cute face, making his dimples visible as he smiled and his eyes disappeared, turning into little slits. For emphasis he put his palms around his face as if he was presenting his cuteness to you and you could not believe that this was the same man who had you shaking under him last night.

"The cutest." you giggled and he seemed satisfied with the answer, giving you another sweet kiss.

"So, this beauty over here is Aurora." Hyunjin took your hand in his and walked closer to the horse. It let out a snorting sound, making you jolt a little and Hyunjin chuckled.

"Don't tell me you forgot how to ride." he smirked at you with a pointed look and you smacked his arm as he giggled, knowing you would react like that. Your cheeks went red despite last night and despite everything else you shared with him.

"You better be quiet." you threatened him and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"You weren't saying that last night."

"Hyunjin. Please. The horses don't need to listen to this." you whispered the last sentence, giving Aurora a few gentle pets.

Hyunjin laughed before nodding. "Alright, well she is yours for today. And I'm taking Midnight." he pointed to a black horse and you nodded, feeling excited because you missed things like this in the city, spending time in nature even though insects frightened you.

The two of you made your way out with your horses, Hyunjin helping you get up on Aurora and then patting your butt affectionately as you sat down. Your cheeks became rosy as he smirked at you and climbed up on Midnight. He looked so hot in that moment that you were already getting worked up despite still being sore.

You made your way towards the fields, the sun shining on you as you rode your horses and enjoyed the fresh air and the breeze. Everything that was bothering you before you came here was left in the dust your horses lifted as they ran, the past was put behind you and you could clearly see the path ahead.

The two of you made it to one of the pretty fields, letting the horses rest as you tied them aside and Hyunjin brought a blanket for the two of you to sit on. Quietly, you enjoyed the beautiful day together as you closed your eyes and let the sun's warmth kiss you while Hyunjin kept his eyes fixed on you.

"I forgot just how peaceful it is here." you sighed before looking at Hyunjin.

"But you spent most of your life here, more than in the city. You know this place like the back of your hand." his head tilted and you shrugged.

"Maybe it didn't take long for me to get used to the city."

"Then it won't be long for you to get used to being back here." he said and bit on his lip. "Come here bunny." he tapped his thigh and you chuckled, your face becoming red. "Come sit in my lap, I need you close to me." Hyunjin added and you shook your head lightly before coming closer to him and sitting in his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist as he leaned in and kissed you sweetly, before gently swiping his tongue on your lower lip. You parted your lips and he kissed you sensually, like he was trying to explore every part of you and remember your taste forever.

Hyunjin leaned back suddenly and gave you a serious look as he held your hips.

"Y/n, you really are the most important person in my life. You are my best friend and my only lover. And I want you to stay here with me forever and for us to build a life together but only if you want that. I don't want you to feel like I forced you to be here in the village and made you throw away your uni degree and the career you worked so hard for. I need to know that you are absolutely sure you want this, cause I don't want you to resent me one day." Hyunjin exhaled shakily and you smiled, grabbing his face and smushing his cute cheeks.

"You're the most important person in my life too. And even without knowing you still loved me and wanted to be with me I came back here with the plan to stay. There is nothing for me there, that career was a disappointment, almost a waste of time that I could've been spending here with you. Besides, I am still young and there is time to change careers. This is my decision to stay here and if I have you too, then that's just added happiness. I would never resent you Hyunjin, because I want to build a life with you too, I want us to grow old together like my grandparents. I always imagined us like that."

"Oh bunny, you have no idea how happy that makes me." Hyunjin gave you the sweetest smile before crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was passionate and full of love, all bursting around the two of you. He kissed your neck before flipping you over and you gasped under him.

"Beloved, it's the middle of the day, other people come here. A-and the horses are right there." you nodded towards the animals who seemed interested only in the grass.

"Doll, let me just have a taste of you, please?" Hyunjin rubbed your hips, giving you the cutest pout and puppy eyes and you were weak for him. It never took too long for you to lose your panties around him which was what happened as soon as you said yes. He took off your pants and underwear, immediately diving in between your legs as he held them open, gripping at your thighs.

"My sweet bunny." Hyunjin kissed and nipped on your thighs, leaving bite marks in his wake all the way up to your core.

"Mm." he moaned the moment his plump lips touched your folds. "Baby." he whined and flatened his tongue against you, giving you a few languid licks, enjoying the taste of you before the tip of his tongue started flicking your clit. You whimpered quietly as your legs trembled, still aware that you were outside and anyone could see you.

Hyunjin however, didn't care. He was moaning into your pussy desperately as soon as he pushed his tongue in, eating you out like you were the sweetest treat ever. His nose brushed against your clit perfectly as he moved and you were still so sensitive from last night so it didn't take long for you to release your essence all over his lips and tongue as you gripped onto the blanket.

"Bunny, you taste so sweet." he whined, licking around his lips. You looked around, chuckling and quickly pulling your pants up, cringing a little at the wetness.

"Let me make you feel good too, Jinnie." you were now closer to him, your hands on his thighs.

"You don't have to do it right now, we can go back to my house and-"

"Hyune... You can't ride back with this." you smirked, cupping his bulge through his pants and he whined instanly, lifting up into your hand and grinding against it.

"Yeah, you're right." Hyunjin moaned as you kissed his jaw and neck while working to unbutton his pants and slide them down with his boxers, at least enough to pull his cock out. You moaned at the sight of him and you were so eager to have him in your mouth again after not tasting him for so long. You leaned down, gathering spit before you spit on his cock and made him gasp, lifting his hips up to you again. You gave him a few pumps as you smirked at him and Hyunjin was already falling apart. He was equally as weak for you as you were for him.

You swirled your tongue around his head, dipping it into his slit and he shook against you, his hips lifting up and his hand tangling in your hair.

"More, please more bunny." he begged desperately and you moaned around him as you slid down, taking more of his length in.

"Just like that baby, keep going." he encouraged you as you tried to relax your throat and breathe through your nose. Hyunjin whimpered when you gripped the base of his cock, bobbing your head up and down. He gripped your hair, his moans becoming high pitched so you looked up and almost came in your panties at the sight. He was completely lost in the pleasure you were giving him, his head thrown back, his neck on full display with his Adam's apple bobbing up and down every time he gulped and his veins visible. Your eyes fluttered as you moaned around him and fondled his balls with your other hand, making his hips jerk up into you which made you gag a little.

"Fuck. Taking me so well, bunny." he growled, fucking up into you slowly as he gripped your hair harder. "G-gonna cum."

"Mm." you moaned, massaging his balls and sucking him like your life depended on it as he kept fucking up into you.

"Ah! Love seeing those pretty lips around me!" Hyunjin whined loudly, snapping his hips a little harder against you before you felt him twitch and release inside you. You swallowed every last drop he gave you, overstimulating him until he was almost pushing you away.

"Fuck, bunny. You're gonna be the death of me." he said as you lifted up and wiped your lips.

"That good, hm?" you teased him with a smirk and he smirked back at you as he got dressed.

"Well, you seem to love my cum so I'm just giving you what you love, you know, thinking of your happiness." he teased and you smacked his arm, making him laugh because he loved provoking you.

"Shut up." you muttered in embarrassment and he giggled before pouting at you and coming closer to you. He gently took your chin in his hand and made you look at him.

"I love you." he said.

"I love you too." you smiled and kissed him, tasting your essence on his tongue.

"Wanna ride a little more then go back to my house?" he asked and you nodded eagerly.

"I'd love to."

Currently, you were sitting in Hyunjin's very big bath, waiting for him to join you as you soaped up your arms with the bubbles, playing around with them.

"Here I am!" he ran in, quickly closing the door behind him. "Had to feed Rina plus she felt neglected and deprived of my love." he added, stripping his clothes and throwing them in the hamper haphazardly.

"You trying to make me feel guilty?" you asked, blowing a bubble at him and he giggled.

"No doll, you know you're always my number one." he smirked, throwing his underwear aside and you looked away in embarrassment.

He chuckled at you and got in, sitting between your legs and you squealed as he made the water splash around you.

"Will you help me wash my back?" he looked at you sideways with a little pout and you chuckled.

"Of course, beloved." you smiled as you took a clean cloth and made it wet before you started gently washing his back. Hyunjin closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of relaxation. You enjoyed the quiet moment, gently rubbing his skin before gliding over it with your other hand, loving the feeling of his wet and soft skin against yours. You leaned in and kissed his shoulders, your breasts pressing against him and nipples grazing him. Hyunjin let out a shaky breath as you wrapped your arms around him and kept kissing his upper back and the back of his neck, catching the droplets of water with your lips.

"I'm so happy." he said and you smiled against him as he caressed your hands. "I was lonely without you, my bunny. I drowned that in work but in moments like this, when it's quiet, and especially late at night I imagined you next to me, wished you were here. And now you are."

"I'm sorry, Jinnie. I'll never leave you again." you said, brushing your lips against his neck.

"I know." he shivered and then leaned back into you as you held him and caressed his chest and stomach, your hand coming in contact with his cock that was hard again.

"Jinnie." you giggled in delight.

"I can't help it when you're touching me." he whined and you kept giggling as you wrapped your hand around him and gave him a few teasing tugs before you released him completely, making him groan.

"Love, you promised we'd go stargazing tonight." you teased.

"The stars will be there tomorrow." he smirked, turning around in the bath and making the water splash around again.

"So will we." you chuckled, running your finger on his defined jaw.

"Mm." he smirked, eyes already hooded as he leaned in and captured your lips in his. You gave in instantly, craving him as much as he craved you.

"I want to go stargazing." you said when the two of you parted for air and Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head.

"Whatever my bunny wants. Give me a few moments to try and calm down, hm?" he said, kissing your jaw before he got up, getting out of the bath and making his way to the shower. "Join me." he reached his hand towards you and you grabbed it, getting out of the bath with his help.

The moment you shared in the shower was sweet and gentle as you helped each other wash off, playing around with the water.

"So, you like how I did the house?" Hyunjin asked as you dried off.

"I love it so much. It's artsy but cozy and warm. It still has that vintage vibe, you just made it better." you told him and he blushed, smiling cutely at you.

"I decorated it with the thought of you." he confessed, suddenly looking shy and reminding you of that little boy that almost hid behind his mother the first time he laid eyes on you.

"Hyunjin." your eyes watered instantly and you started crying.

"Bunny, don't cry." Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, shushing you and pulling you into his chest as he caressed your head.

"I'm sorry." you whimpered and he chuckled at your cute pouty face as he looked down at you.

"Move in with me. There's no need to wait." he kissed your head and you squeezed him tighter.

"Packing tomorrow." you looked up at him with a smile and he chuckled, leaning down to kiss you as he wiped your tears away.

It was a beautiful, clear and quiet night, just what you needed for one of your favorite activities. Stargazing was a little ritual you did together even before you started dating, when you were just friends. You'd lay near your tree and look up at the stars wondering what's in store for you and Hyunjin, and he'd be nervously gathering courage to confess to you and kiss you only to back out every time you smiled at him.

After becoming a couple, you'd spend warm evenings loving each other under the blanket of stars, hidden by the grass and flowers around you. You'd look up at the stars then and thank them.

Hyunjin brought a blanket this time like always and you laid next to each other, your bare arms touching.

"Jinnie, can I ask you something?" you turned to look at him.

"Anything." he met your eyes.

"I noticed this when I got here the first day but why did you carve only your name in the tree, under ours?"

His eyes softened before he sat up and looked at the tree.

"For when you come back, so you can add your name and we can make a new start together." he smiled and your eyes watered.

"Jinnie." you whined, sitting up and resting your forehead on his shoulder. "You're too sweet."

"Here." he gave you his pocket knife and motioned at the tree. "You can add your name now."

Hyunjin helped you out and the two of you admired your work, a new carving of your names signifying a new phase of your relationship, where both of you have grown and matured. You turned towars him, grabbing his face and smashing your lips into his as you kissed him passionately. Hyunjin returned the kiss enthusiastically, pulling you in his lap. Your hips started grinding against him instantly and he smirked into the kiss.

"Is my bunny needy for me?" Hyunjin leaned back to look at you, caressing your face and putting your hair behind your ear.

"Mm, always." you moaned quietly as his other hand grabbed at your ass, squeezing and giving you a light smack.

Hyunjin chuckled at the state of you, already unraveling and he hasn't even done anything. You bit on your lip and gripped his shoulders as you started dragging your core against his. Hyunjin's head fell back as he gripped your hips and helped you move against him, pressing you down and making you feel his growing bulge.

"What you do to me, doll." he almost growled, gripping you harder and moving his hips up into yours.

"Hyunjin." you moaned his name, your hands sliding down his chest to his abs and then to the button on his jeans as you worked to open it. He smirked into the kiss again, letting you struggle for a moment before he leaned away from your lips and helped you take off his pants. His hands slid under your dress, up until he touched your panties.

"So wet, my bunny." he looked at you lustfully, his lips parting as he touched you clit and played with it, sliding his fingers down to your folds and feeling the wetness even through the fabric.

"I need you." you whined and he chuckled.

"I need you too, bunny." he whispered and you stood up to slide your panties off as Hyunjin watched you with hazy eyes. He slid his pants and underwear down, pulling you down into his lap again. Your wet pussy pressed against his hard cock and both of you moaned as you grinded on him, getting him wet with your juices.

"Ah, doll!" Hyunjin whined, pushing his hips up into you and you lifted just a little to grab his cock and push it inside you. He groaned as you sat down on him slowly, feeling every inch of him stretching your still sore pussy.

"You okay, bunny?" Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist as you let out a hiss.

"Y-yes, perfect." you whimpered, gripping at his shoulders as you started circling your hips on top of him. "Oh my god." you groaned, feeling his tip brushing against something delicious deep inside you.

"Good, baby?" Hyunjin smirked, holding your hips but you knew he was close to losing control.

"Mm yes." you shut your eyes tightly as you started to bounce on him slowly and Hyunjin let out a loud moan.

"Ah, bunny! You feel so good. So perfect for me. I wanna stay inside you forever."

You clenched hard at his words, fucking on his length faster, your hips slapping against his. Hyunjin's hand gripped your dress and pushed it up before he grabbed your ass, giving it a few smacks and making you whimper and squeeze around his cock again.

"Please, Hyune, I need more, please!" you whimpered, fucking on him as hard as you could even though your thighs started burning. Hyunjin looked at you, your flushed face and your tits bouncing with your movement, his cock disappearing completely inside you. You were driving him insane.

"You want some help bunny?" he asked, gripping your hips.

"Yes, please!" you whined and Hyunjin smirked before he started snapping his hips up into you.

Both of you were a desperate mess of moans and curses, fucking into each other as if you hadn't been together all night yesterday.

"Gonna get you pregnant, my bunny. Want you to be mine forever." Hyunjin growled as you fell apart on top of him, exploding all over his cock.

"Please, Hyune, want to have your baby." you mumbled, your entire body shaking on top of him and Hyunjin growled, his eyes rolling back as he came, ropes of warm cum filling you up, your pussy milking him dry.

You held each other for a moment, trying to gather your senses as you breathed hard. Hyunjin leaned back and gave you a cute smile.

"I mean it, you know. I really want a little one running around our house. A baby that we made out of love." Hyunjin said, holding your face in his palms.

"Me too, I want it so much." your voice was shaky as you leaned in and kissed him, not missing the detail where he called his house yours.

"After last night and today it would be a surprise if you weren't already pregnant." he smiled, brushing his lips against yours.

You chuckled as your face burned. "I hope so."

Hyunjin smiled, kissing you until you became breathless. The two of you cleaned up and got dressed, lying down in each other's arms so you could actually do what you came to do here - watch the stars.

Once again, you thanked them for leading you back to your Hyunjin.

Six months later

You were drinking your morning tea, staring out the window as your free hand landed on your tummy and you let out a sigh of happiness. Hyunjin came from upstairs, all fresh from a shower and noticed you smiling to yourself, the sun illuminating your features.

"How are my girls?" Hyunjin asked as he wrapped his arms around you, his hands on your baby bump, caressing you gently as he kissed you neck and inhaled your sweet scent.

"Good actually. The tea is helping with nausea." you turned your head a little to look at his face and his eyes were filled with so much love and happiness that it made you shiver, your heart fluttering.

"What?" you chuckled as he kept looking at you with a big smile on his face.

"Have I told you how breathtaking you are, my doll?" he exhaled, nuzzling into you.

"Only every day." you giggled.

"And I will continue doing so for the rest of my life." Hyunjin kissed your cheek and you turned in his arms to give him a proper kiss, enjoying the feeling of his plump lips against yours. Your hands flew to his hair that was now black and growing out and you ran your fingers through the soft tufts.

"I have something for you." he said when the two of you broke apart.

"What is it?" you tilted your head and Hyunjin rounded the couch where Rina was cuddled up, making her raise her head and look at him. He stood in front of the stereo and pressed a few buttons before the familiar melody of Photograph started playing.

"Hyun..." your eyes watered and he skipped towards you, reaching his hand to you. You grabbed it and he pulled you into him, dancing with you, softly swaying you side to side.

"This has always been our song. The one we danced to at prom too. And now we can have our first dance at our wedding to this song as well."

"H-Hyunjin." your lips trembled as happy tears spilled from your eyes.

"I wanted to wait for a perfect moment, have this elaborate dinner and speech but I think this is the perfect moment. You and me in our house with our baby on the way and Rina with us. So I have something to ask you, bunny." Hyunjin got on one knee in front of you, taking out a little box from the pocket of his sweats and opening it up to reveal a beatiful ring.

You gasped, your heart beating fast as more tears spilled from your eyes. You knew he was going to propose to you but nothing prepared you for the tornado of feelings that were swirling inside you.

"Y/n, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

"Yes!" you yelled almost before he ended the sentence and he chuckled happily, sliding the ring on your finger.

"I love you so much, Jinnie." you cried as he stood up and wrapped his arms around you.

"I love you more than anything, my little bunny." he kissed you, the tears of happiness sliding down his cheeks too.

"I promised you forever, didn't I?"

And there was no other way you wanted to spend forever than to be by Hyunjin's side.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

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pirateprincessblog · 1 month ago

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sannie, not mr choi (pt. 1)

⚜ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi san x f!reader ⚜ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the tour is over, but san can't rest just yet. he is to attend a fashion show in another country. he is homesick, and tired. he misses his family, and his members, even though they just parted ways two days ago. still, his eyes can't help but catch someone who is having an equally hard time, if not harder. his sweet, lovely assistant. ⚜ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 22.3k ⚜ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: idol!san, personalassistant!reader, angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, heartbreak ⚜ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: just here to say that i'm a sucker for soft sannie. the reader isn't necessarily petite, choi san is simply that big. i spent forever editing, deleting, rewriting, proofreading. i am spent. if you see any typos, pls ignore <3 i'll eventually reread and convince myself that nobody saw anything if there is any embarrassing typos ⚜ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲. ⚜ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.

𓆩⟡𓆪

sore feet. swollen ankles. aching arms. dry mouth. eyelids that barely stay separated. little to no free time.

all those are consequences of your not-so-new position that kq has generously offered you. and you have accepted. being choi san's personal assistant had its perks, too. opportunities you could only ever dream of, such as visiting countries you always thought unreachable or expensive, meeting celebrities, even interacting with them, following san to his separate activities. each member had his own assistant. when you applied, you didn't care who you'd work for. you loved them all equally. after all, you have been a fan of theirs since debut.

they didn't need to know that, though. they would've never hired you, had they known that you were a faithful atiny. they wouldn't have believed you even if you swore that you were there to work only, not spy on them or anything similar. you would never do that. you guarded each information about them with your life, and took your job very seriously. being this close to them allowed you to admire them even more, see parts of them nobody else could. the pain, the suffering, the hard work, the love they share for each other, the quarrels, the playful moments. all of it. and you wouldn't do anything to sabotage that.

not even when you were informed that you weren't going back home as planned. choi san will need you with him at the milan fashion week after all. and you were no fool to decline.

even as you stand next to him, ready to exit the hotel, barely keeping your eyes open and your posture perfect.

"stay." he stops you by gently grabbing your elbow, pulling you back before you could step outside and be the first victim of the screams and flashing lights. "you will pass out."

"i'm fine, really." you force a smile. san looks at you, kind eyes filled with worry.

"don't lie to me, please." his voice is a mere whisper. "stay. you can join me at the after party."

you shake your head. you aren't leaving his side. not today. he will need all the support he can get, and even though you are having a hard time yourself, he isn't in any better condition. he misses home, undoubtedly. more than that, he misses sleep. "where you go, i go. i'm bound to you by contract, choi san. you cannot get rid of me just yet."

he chuckles, the sound dear to your heart.

"at least not for another six months, until it expires. or gets renewed, unlucky for you."

he delivers a playful pinch to your side, making you jump and yelp. you slap a hand over your mouth, mortified at the sudden attention that the entire floor of the hotel has given you. hurriedly, you exit the hotel, opening the door of the limousine and waiting for san to greet his fans. his figure is hugged by perfectly ironed black slacks, which you may or may not have almost forgotten to iron this morning, a loose black shirt, with one too many buttons left unbuttoned, and a necklace that sits on his tan chest. naked chest.

"you disapprove of my outfit?" he asks playfully, sipping on his champagne while the limousine smoothly glides over the busy streets of milan, waking each passerby's curiosity.

"not at all, mr choi." you reply equally playfully. you sit across him, maintaining your distance. "i think it's quite lovely. it will attract many fine ladies tonight."

he scoffs. "as if that's what i am looking for right now. oh, how i would kill for ten hours of sleep."

"two more days, mr choi. then, you'll be back home. you'll even miss all this, i assure you."

"i know i will." he sighs. "but right now, i'd rather miss my room and those chaotic idiots i call family."

𓆩⟡𓆪

surrounded by people, yet alone.

that is how you feel at almost every event that isn't a concert. all these people around you exude luxurious energy. the place reeks of expensive fragrances, and the red carpet is covered by all sorts of exquisite gowns. you feel like the odd one out, with your black suit pants and vest which san has picked for you.

"to match with me," he said. "it will look great."

and who were you to refuse him? after all, you were there to fulfill his wished and cater to his needs. free clothes were a bonus you didn't need, but also didn't mind. it is your first fashion show, and san knew that you were as nervous as him. worse, even.

"it will be over soon." he assured you, away from prying eyes. "we can sneak off the party earlier and go rest."

"you know, for people our age, it is a little weird that we aren't eagerly waiting for that after party to get wasted and brag about doing it with celebrities."

"i know, right?" the idol scoffs.

it is the last conversation you have before he gets pulled away into the crowd. his eyes don't leave yours, and a pout is evident on his lips. it is as if he is trying to ask you whether you'll be fine on your own. having no other choice, it doesn't even matter. it is not as if you can leave him here and go rest in your hotel room. you wish you could. he offered, but you'd feel guilty. behind the tough figure, choi san is a soft human. he is the epitome of the term gentle giant. you know that behind his offer he secretly wishes you don't leave him. moreover, he wishes you can follow him around. be in his pocket, he had once said.

your eyes lose his in the crowd, and suddenly, you feel alone. more alone than you've already felt since arriving. even though san is your boss, he is an idol to you first. your comfort person. he brought you peace, and he didn't even know it. you only wished you could do the same with him.

𓆩⟡𓆪

san stays at the after party.

you do not.

he has assured you that he will be fine and that he is perfectly capable of getting his own glass of water if needed. how that water turned into wine, you did not know. you saw the photos on social media. you'd recognize that flushed face from miles away.

as you sit outside on the hotel balcony of your room, with your gaze fixed on the clear night sky and a full moon, your phone vibrates on the glass table.

choi san: i know i told you to go

choi san: but iwas kinds hoping that you stayyed

choi san: am leavinthe place now, couldn't find youu

san seems to have developed a separation anxiety when it comes to you. even on your days off, the man blows up your phone with various messages and pictures, updating you on what he is doing and what you are missing. were he not an idol, and this your job, you would've mistaken it for something else.

your job as his personal assistant did not require you to follow him everywhere. choi san did. he simply needed to bring you along to the restaurant, to the convenience store, to the souvenir shop, to the café. you, and his bodyguard and manager. he would often complain, wishing to only be with you because he felt like he had more "freedom". the manager explained multiple times why it is a bad idea for a male idol to be seen with anyone who isn't a familiar staff member, especially in foreign cities. like paris.

choi san: aryou mad?????

choi san: :(

choi san: ok im ssorry

choi san: you're probbly asleep novv anyvvay

choi san: hey vvhere did the double v go?*

choi san: you knovv

choi san: the upside dovvn M??

choi san: englsh is funny..

choi san: i feel all fuzzy

choi san: i can't find the elevatr

choi san: ilostmybodyguardndmanger

choi san: maanagerr

choi san: icantseethespacebar

choi san: found it :D

choi san: i tripped on the stairs.

choi san: [image attached]

at the sight of his pouty face and slouched figure sitting on the hotel stairs, your fingers quickly tap the telephone icon in the corner of the screen. he doesn't pick up at first, and worry fills you. then, just as you reach the door to exit your room in search for him, he picks up.

"heya." he casually greets on the other side.

"mr choi." you sigh. "where are you?"

your heart races as someone knocks on your door, and luckily you stand right in front of it to take a peek of who it is. you see a single eye pressed against the peephole. an eye you'd recognize anywhere in the world. with your phone still in your hand, you open the door.

"hey, princess."

as much as the words make your head spin and your stomach fuzzy, you have to put a serious face on. "mr choi, we talked about this. you can't call me that."

"i can do whatever i want." he pouts. "i'm your boss."

"my tipsy boss." you correct. "come, i'll escort you to your room."

as you try passing him, he grabs you by your elbow once again, pressing you gently against the wall. air leaves your lungs. choi san dips his head towards yours so that he is at eye-level with you. "why do you wish to get rid of me so badly?"

"mr choi-"

"sannie."

"what?"

his bottom lip sticks out in a slight pout. such a big man, yet such a gentle heart. "not mr choi. sannie. call me sannie."

"no." you firmly decline. the last thing you need is to be heard by a staff member and get fired. not even san himself could prevent that happening. "i'll show you to your room."

"you're so mean to me." he whines, then enters your room.

"mr choi!" you whisper-yell, suddenly aware of the time. "get out of there, right now."

your words seem to go into one ear and out the other, as the man simply plops down on your bed. face buried into your pillows. the pillows where you just laid before getting bored and moving to the balcony.

a sigh leaves your lips, but you aren't defeated yet. you close the door for now, in case someone's curious eyes decide to wander. "mr choi."

"you're mean." he repeats, words muffled into the soft material. "you hate me."

"you're drunk."

suddenly, he raises his head, jaw dropped. "you aren't denying it. you do hate me!"

"oh for crying out loud." you throw your hands in the air, then make your way to the balcony doors and pull the curtains shut. his room and the managers room are directly in the opposite of yours, and one glance through the window might cost you your job. you then turn around, only to find him sitting with his back leaning against the headboard and arms crossed over his chest. his gaze is fixed on you, eyes squinted and lips pressed in a thin line. you can't help but roll your eyes. "i don't hate you, mr choi."

"lies."

"why are you making this difficult?" it is your turn to whine now. "i promise i don't hate you. you're the best boss in the whole world! now please, please, please let me escort you to your room."

for a moment, you think he will comply. he stands up. takes a few slow steps towards you. finally, you think. but then-

"why do you hate me when all i do is love you?"

-it feels as if all air has been sucked out of your lungs. your tongue is as dried up as a raisin, and a low murmur fills up your ears. san's gaze is intense, crushing your sanity and making the little professionalism that is left crumble beneath his posture. he almost hovers above you, and were someone to walk in, you're sure they wouldn't even see you from his broad shoulders and back. his hair is no longer neatly slicked back, instead disobedient and framing his face, the black complimenting his dark eyes. the eyes that do not flicker. do not blink. only stare at you, waiting for you to say something. anything. fuck.

"why do you keep pushing me away?" his voice is a mere whisper. soothing, not accusing. he wants a reason to be at peace with himself, not a reason to prove you wrong. "what have i done to you?"

"mr choi-" you manage to say. your voice is raspy, like you haven't drank anything for a long time. "you don't mean that. you won't even remember this in the morning."

"you can't call me by my name even when we are all alone?" he tilts his head, giving you sweet puppy eyes. "this isn't a test. i'm not testing your professionalism. i genuinely enjoy your company, i have for a long time now. fine, i might not love you... that was a bit strong. but i like you. i really do. i have feelings for you. i've had them for a while now."

you swallow a lump in your throat. god, you never thought that a confession from one of your favourite idols would hurt like this, if it ever happened. you're supposed to be over the roof, jumping on him, returning the feelings. instead, you gather the little sanity you have left and place your hand on his conveniently naked chest and gently push him away. why does he have to be so warm and inviting? "forced proximity."

"what?"

"forced proximity, mr choi." you repeat, doing your best to maintain eye contact. you need to be strong and firm. he cannot see any shift in emotion. san is observant, always has been. but right now, you can't let him know that pushing him away is hurting you as much as it is hurting him. "you don't like me. you just have the illusion of liking me."

"are you..." he scoffs, taking a step back before continuing, "are you saying i don't know my own feelings? that i am wrong?"

"what i'm saying is that after spending so much time with someone for so long, you are bound to develop a certain... how do i put this?" you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you think. "delusion. or illusion. whichever you wish."

"you're calling me delusional?" san suddenly seems less tipsy. like this conversation has magically sobered him up. and angered him. "i cannot believe you."

"i'm not calling you delusional. i'm calling these... feelings, i guess, delusional. they don't exist. you might feel comfort, or some type of safety with me. but romantic feelings? think deep down, mr choi. why would you have feelings for me?"

when you said that, you didn't mean for him to actually start listing things. but he does. one by one, and he doesn't stop.

"you're so sweet, and caring. you wouldn't hurt an ant. i know because every time we walk, you tend to look on the ground and walk around ant hills, or any bugs that might be on the floor. you yelled at the manager for stepping on a snail the other day. you care for all members equally, which makes me insanely jealous, because you are my assistant, but i can't deny that it makes me equally happy and warm when i see you do that. you always ask me before creating my schedule, give me choices, even though you don't have to. you give me many days off, you tell the company off many times if you think they are being unfair, you never complain about the tasks you are given, you bring me things without me having to ask, you are here whenever i need you, and you respect my private time and my space. not once did i hear you complaining, not once did you refuse to do what you were told, not once did i see a frown on your face, other than when the management pisses you off. you are the prettiest thing i've ever seen, and just looking at you makes me feel well rested even though i haven't slept. your voice is something i'll never hear anywhere else again, and it's always in my head. when i read your messages, i hear you. when you're not beside me, i hear you. and i hate when you're not beside me. i want you with me all the time, i want you with me behind the cameras, behind the manager, behind the company. i want to take you to a café in paris if i want to. i want to take pictures with you on the bridge in amsterdam. i want to sit on the london eye with you. i want you to open up to me like i open up to you. i want to know what troubles you, not only what makes you happy. i want you to find comfort in me, as much as i find comfort in you. i. want. you."

san becomes blurry before your eyes. were it not for the lack of lights, he would've seen how hard you're trying to keep the tears from spilling. he is making it hard. so hard that you can almost hear your heart snap in half when the sentence leaves your lips. "that is just me doing my job, mr choi."

and you swear you hear his heart burst as well. pain. rejection. heartbreak. it swallows him whole. his figure shrinks, and his voice is small. barely audible. "what?"

"why..." you clear your throat, trying to get rid of the painful lump that is stuck inside it. "why else do you think i do all of it? it is my job. haven't you wondered why i never open up to you? why you only see me at my best? i cannot burden you. you are my boss. you cannot know these things about me. i am here to make your life easier, were it by bringing you a coffee or simply listening to you rant. what you feel for me might be simple fondness, one you might have for a friend. you notice these things because i am constantly by your side. you demand i be by your side. if i don't, you're all grumpy and a menace to the staff to the point that i have to show up whether or not the events have anything to do with me. you've developed separation anxiety, mr choi. you found comfort in me simply because i am the one by your side at all times. were it someone else instead of me, the story would be the same. in conclusion, forced proximity is the answer here. nothing more."

his words die in his mouth. his brows are furrowed. he is hurt. and angry. he has every right to be. you did this to him. you took a loving, kind man and destroyed him. and you'll never forgive yourself, ever. you'll see his face every night before falling asleep as guilt eats you whole.

but you'd feel even more guilty if you indulged. yes, your feelings for him do exist. but what you said isn't completely wrong. san might be under the impression that he likes you, even loves you. but san hasn't had much interaction with anyone else as much as with you. you cannot take his freedom away. he needs to meet other people, he can't settle for you. you wouldn't be the right match. it wouldn't be right in anyone's eyes. after all, you are a fan. he might not know it, or he does. either way, you'd feel weird. as if you took advantage of your position and hypnotized him into being with you. the rest of the fandom would find out eventually, and they wouldn't be kind. hell, they would show up with torches beneath your window, you're sure of it. and you'd maybe do the same, were you to find out that choi san is dating an atiny who just happened to get a job at his company and had the opportunity to work with him.

"okay." he simply says.

you don't respond. the weight of sadness on your chest is too heavy, as is the weight of his gaze.

"good night, miss y/n."

"good night, mr choi."

and suddenly, the words mr choi feel like poison on your tongue.

𓆩⟡𓆪

"you know how i never complain about my job?" you finally catch the manager alone in the hallway once you return to seoul. he is headed somewhere in a hurry, but it is the only chance you have to talk to him.

"no. what's that like?" he simply responds, eyes glued to his phone screen.

"funny. anyways, i don't know how to put this, so i'll just say it." you speed up your pace, only to stand in front of him to block his way and force him to listen to you. "i'd like to switch with jaz."

he almost bumps into you, not aware that you have planted yourself on the ground until you get what you want. "you want to switch? why?"

"i just think that it isn't a good idea to be with the same member for a long time. if you know what i mean."

you're playing a dirty game. and you hope jaz doesn't find out. "you mean... you think there's something going on between jaz and mingi?"

"i didn't say anything." and you wouldn't, usually. but it is the only excuse in your book. you cannot possibly tell him about san's confession. "i just think it would do us all good if we switched places. to avoid favoritism."

in truth, you cannot be near san. the trip back was painful enough, with san avoiding you like the plague. he refused to talk to anyone, really. but only you took it personal. because it was. he had only spared you a glance once you passed by his seat on the plane, and a worried one when one of the fansites almost tripped you. other than that, choi san has maintained his distance from you. it's for the best, anyway.

"you're right.i'll think about it, then text the new pairs in the group chat tonight."

"thank you, sihun. you're the best."

the manager simply rolls his eyes, then circles around you and continues his journey.

in the evening, you receive the long awaited message. you hadn't notified anyone, in case they decide to rebel and talk the manager into dropping the issue. this way it will already be decided, and they won't have any luck in changing his mind. when did you become so mean and selfish?

good evening, everyone.

it has come to my attention that a lot of you have become very comfortable with your idol, while some are still struggling to find a common language with theirs. thus, i have decided to reassign your positions in hopes of switching up the dynamics a little bit. the new pairs will be:

hongjoong and eric

seonghwa and jaz

yunho and gyuri

yeosang and y/n

san and melanie

mingi and thomas

wooyoung and hyori

jongho and sooe

no complaints, i don't want to hear it. this pairing will come into effect tomorrow. good luck.

the separate groupchat, without the manager, is flooded with texts. who ratted who out, plots of convincing the manager to change his mind, even going as far as convincing the members to say something. you occasionally respond with a witty or sarcastic message, trying to blend in and not seem suspicious. jaz and mingi would never forgive you if they knew.

𓆩⟡𓆪

kang yeosang is a sweetheart.

he is so sweet that it is painful. he feels almost fragile, and speaks so softly to you. he doesn't ask anything of you, even when you offer. yunho, mingi and him are the only ones in the practice room so far, aside from you and a few other staff members, preparing new moves for the choreography before others arrive. the rest had the privilege of sleeping in, putting all their trust in the three dancers of the group.

the boys haven't complained about the coupling so far, yunho and gyuri already bickering playfully like siblings and yeosang making small talk with you. mingi is in the corner with thomas as the assistant shows him something on the phone, but you notice how distant mingi looks. it's not like they won't see each other ever again. besides, it would've been too suspicious to ask to only switch you and san.

"i haven't had the chance to say this, or the guts, but i love your hair." yeosang catches you off guard. "it's so pretty."

the doors open, with san entering first. his smile drops from his lips as his eyes lock with you. you don't notice him yet, and it gives him a chance to collect himself. until his gaze lands on yeosang's fingers twirling with the ends of your hair. what the fuck?

"i want to do that for the comeback. talk my hairstylist into it, please?" his fingers smoothly run through the freshly dyed lock of hair. you're happy that it is obedient this morning and not a tangled and frizzy mess. "think i could pull it off?"

"of course you could. you're kang yeosang, you can pull anything off." you playfully nudge him with your elbow. "just don't do the hongjoong fireworks coconut cut, pretty please. that still haunts him. and us."

yeosang giggles, in his own cute yeosang way. he really isn't much different off cameras. "noted."

with that, his fingers slide from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face again. as you turn around, smile still on your face, you find yourself bumping into someone. "oh, sorr-"

firm hands hold onto your waist, steadying you. you don't expect it, especially since you weren't really about to lose your balance. as if this very person just wanted an excuse to put their hands on you. you look up, confused at first. and then, that lump in your throat. san's hands are stiff on your waist, afraid that you'll perish if he lets go of you. he gives you the softest expression you've ever seen, with dark glossy eyes hidden under half closed eyelids, relaxed brows and pretty lips. "gosh, you're so pretty."

words are caught in your throat. you look around, frantically. nobody hears him, you think. your hands find themselves once again planted on his chest, pushing him away. it's what you do best these days. "mr choi-"

"right, sorry." he clears his throat, and just like that, his expression shifts. no emotion is visible on his pretty face. at least not when he looks your way.

you don't get the chance to tell him that you have been separated. he walks over to yunho and mingi who are observing the video they took earlier of the new possible choreography.

"you know, i'm actually so happy i get to work with san. he was my first pick when we first got hired. but you stole him." the redhead, melanie, beams next to you. "oh, just look at him."

you don't want to. but you do anyway. to anyone else, san looks like he is immersed into the video. but you see the subtle glances he is stealing, trying to control himself but not being able to. even though you aren't standing close to each other, he suddenly feels suffocated. he can hear you, smell you, feel you. he walks over to the wall covered in mirrors, thinking that the further distance might help. but his eyes inevitably land on you through the mirror. and this time, you don't look away.

"he has gotten so big and muscular." melanie's commentary is golden as the two of you play an imaginary game of holding eye contact. as if the world will crumble if one of you looks away.

san does indeed look handsome today. he wears a black compression shirt and black sweatpants. his hair is a fluffy mess. he hates combing. even though his shirt is long sleeved, it is so tight that it hugs every curve and dip of his muscles, feeding you sights you are so privileged to see. were you an atiny still behind a fan account, you would've begged him to put you in a headlock. now? you have to force yourself to look away before you become a tomato on the spot.

"what's it like?" she pries. "working with him."

"it's..." everything. "okay, i guess. he's not mischievous, he listens to everything i say. he's nice."

"oh, i can't wait. how does he like his coffee? does he like sweet or savory? what's his favourite dish?"

throughout the dance practice, melanie talks your ear off. first with questions, then with shameless comments. at one point, you have to stop her. "you're not here as a fan. you can't say things like that. it's disrespectful."

"boo-hoo. miss perfect here can't handle a few comments." the redhead rolls her eyes. "they're grown men."

"okay." you give up. san will handle it. he has boundaries. one comment from her and she'll go straight back to her father who arranged this job for her.

"i'm craving an iced coffee..." yeosang approaches you, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. who was the idol here again? "would you maybe mind going to the shop across the street and getting one for me? and whatever you wish for yourself, of course."

a black card is placed in your hand. "don't ask me these things, mr kang. just give me an order and i'll do it."

"i can't do that and you know it." he laughs shyly. "but please, would you? i would be grateful."

"of course, mr kang."

the boys are taking a break, and conveniently, san stands right next to the door. he eyes you as you approach him, biting the inside of his cheek. "where are you going?"

"to get yeo his coffee."

"yeo?" he scoffs. "his coffee? since when are you his assistant?"

"since last night." you simply reply.

he doesn't expect it. his brows seem to stay furrowed these days, you being the reason behind it. "what do you mean?"

"our positions were reassigned. i am no longer your personal assistant." you say it so nonchalantly. like you don't care. and you admire yourself for it. you didn't know you had it in you.

"you're lying." his demeanor switches from tough to disappointed, with his arms no longer crossed over his chest but hanging on the sides of his body. "tell me you're lying."

"why would i lie about something like that?" you don't allow him to continue interrogating you, instead exiting the practice room.

he follows, ignoring the calls behind him. "wait!"

"mr choi, i have been given a task. please let me do my job."

"oh, so he's yeo, but i'm mr choi." bitterness is evident in his voice. "you're so- so-"

"what am i, mr choi?"

"mean." he finishes. he looks frustrated with himself. could he not have found a better word?

"i think i heard that one before from you, mr choi. do you wish for anything from the shop?"

"you know what?" he clenches his fists. he stands silent for a while, eyes roaming your face for any indication that you might be simply teasing him and that this is all just a harmless joke. but you don't budge. you look at him, yet it feels like you are looking through him. you don't care. this truly is just a job to you. "i'm glad we switched. at least melanie won't hurt me like you did."

the words make your blood boil. suddenly, you don't feel bad. "excuse me?"

"i poured my heart out to you, and you-"

"do not fucking guilt trip me." you raise your voice. a light gasp leaves his lips, and his fists unclench. he takes a step back as you approach him angrily, finger pointing into his chest, threatening to stab him. "i do not owe you anything. your feelings are not my problem. i meant what i said, every single word of it. this is just a job. you are just my boss. i am here to collect my paycheck and leave. i do not wish to arrive at work and have to deal with this. get your shit together and stop this madness before you get us in trouble for nothing."

your words strike him like an arrow through a heart. a poison arrow. you've never spoken to anyone this way. not even the management. this is a new side of you he is meeting, and he is a fool for falling even deeper for you. "look me in the eyes and tell me there wasn't a single moment when you looked at me and wished for something more than just a business relationship. that there wasn't a moment where you felt so comfortable with me that you wanted it to last forever."

anger overshadows your usual kindness and thinking process. you approach him, unintentionally causing him to further step back and collide with the wall. the height difference is comical, and were it not a serious situation, one of you would've surely made a witty comment about it. to anyone standing aside, it would've been weird seeing someone like choi san get cornered by someone smaller than him. luckily, you are alone in the hallway, and it is now your turn to pour your heart out.

the tip of your nail is buried in his chest, causing him to stiffen and not move a muscle against the cold wall. you look him straight in the eyes as your teeth bite and abuse the inside of your cheek before speaking. "there wasn't a single moment where i looked at you as anything more than my disobedient and spoiled boss."

"you're lying."

"i'm not."

"you are. i don't believe you." he isn't sure who he is trying to convince with his words. you, or himself?

"i am not lying."

"you'll have to do better than that to convince me."

"i will not prove my non existent feelings to you. are you out of your mind?" you are in disbelief.

"you're just saying that because you don't want to lose your job." he argues further. "i'm not insane."

"there wasn't a single moment where i felt anything romantic for you."

"lies."

"i swear to-"

"you're telling me that all those times when i'd accidentally touch you and you'd blush furiously were nothing?"

"stop."

"all those times when i'd lend you my coat because you keep losing your jackets and i'd catch you secretly sniffing it or hugging it after you're done wearing it?"

"stop."

"all those times you stayed up late to talk to me was just work to you? who does that? you could've chosen not to respond. those aren't your working hours. instead, you were always online, whenever i'd send you anything. and don't tell me it's just because you were doing your job. i don't know how much my boss would have to pay me for me to listen to him talk for two hours straight about things that don't even make sense in the middle of the night. no sane person would indulge in the things you did, for a paycheck, and-"

"san."

and that's all it takes for him to stop. his name dripping honey from your lips, but with a bitter aftertaste. he hates that this is the only moment where you have called him by his first name. "yes?"

"leave me alone." you finally say. "we can remain professional, as we were until you ruined it. or..."

as much as he doesn't want to ask, deathly afraid of the answer, the words still see the light of the day. "or...?"

"or i'll leave. and you'll never see me again."

𓆩⟡𓆪

business dinners aren't unusual for the kq company. business banquets that include the staff? a little.

the company is celebrating its anniversary, and has decided to invite all its artists and staff. all those who make this company still stand. you feel proud for being a part from that.

yeosang has forwarded you the digital invitation, and you glance at it once again as you get ready, just in case you missed anything or misread. the dress code is a simple black tie. initially, you weren't taking this seriously. until the private group chat was flooded with images of various gowns, suits and accessories. suddenly, your pants and blazer seemed like sweats compared to what they were wearing. thus, here you stand in an off shoulder black gown with a leg slit in front of your mirror, retouching your makeup. the corset is tight around your waist and ribs, but the rest of the dress falls comfortably and rests against your body. with san, you always opted for pants, jumpsuits, vests. you can't remember when you wore a dress. mostly because you always deemed it impractical for work.

you haven't heard from san for two months now. you see him in hallways, at shows and social media. yeosang doesn't drag you along with him wherever he goes. he values your free time and doesn't like to bother you. deep inside, you miss being tugged all ways at once. it made you feel like you were important and capable. yeosang has given you a vacation, it seems.

the red lipstick is wiped for the third time tonight, making your lips irritated and swollen. it doesn't look right. but you don't have time to reapply or find a new shade, hearing the ride honk just below your window. the five minutes of going down the stairs in your heels, with your hands holding your gown so that you don't trip, feel like a fairytale. it dies once you see the manager in the fancy car, already moody.

"do i want to know?" you roll your eyes as you sit and fasten your seatbelt.

"we asked for artificial flowers. they delivered live ones, thinking that we were picking the cheaper option and they're doing us a favour. in their minds, it was a thoughtful gift. it's-"

"-a disaster." you finish for him. melanie and jaz look confused in the back. you don't. you know exactly why this is an issue. "poor san."

before the redhead can ask, the engine starts, and the manager speeds up so that you can arrive on time. you'd be lying if you said that you weren't bothered by her touchy relationship with san. she always has her hands on him, but in a way that nobody can tell her anything about it, not even san. his hair always needs fixing, his collar straightening, his tie or buttons adjusting. and he doesn't complain. you hate how jealous it makes you. you almost regret your secret meddling in the new pair ups.

the mansion is located just outside of seoul, on a hill overlooking the city and surrounded by a forest. the banquet hall is breathtaking. the first thing you notice is the strong scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. then, endless tables of sweets. cakes, dessert cups, chocolate fondue, cookies, fruit, and whatnot. the colours are inviting, a contrast to the black and white attire that the personnel is rocking. everybody looks breathtaking. you dare say that even the ceo looks handsome tonight.

the seats are assigned, of course. the personal assistants sit at the same table, not in a bad spot. you have clear view of the empty space in the middle of the hall. for dancing, you assume.

"girl, where is your lipstick?" sooe raises her eyebrow.

even if you had it to begin with, it would've been gone with the cake in your stomach right now. "the shade was so ugly that i simply decided not to wear one. red doesn't suit me."

"no, orange doesn't suit you." gyuri corrects. "you haven't tried proper red. here."

she hands you a lipstick. dior, of course. your essence lipstick can't compete with that. "i'm okay-"

"it would be a crime to wear a dress like that and not to have red lipstick on." eric comments, eyes not leaving his plate of food. "this cheesecake is heaven. i won't even need dinner."

a sneeze grabs your attention. nobody pays attention to it but you. you wouldn't either, if you didn't know who it belonged to. before he can spot you, or vice versa, you almost run from the table under the excuse that you're going to apply the lipstick.

the ladies room is empty besides you and another member of staff, who is fixing her hair in the mirror. she smiles as a greeting. relief washes over your body, happy that she isn't one of those your group calls "the bully crew". those are people who have been here since day one, and are impossible to work with. always mean, bitter and judgmental. then they say that the younger generations are rude.

the girl soon finishes, and just before exiting, throws a compliment your way. "you have a very pretty neck."

"that's so random." you laugh. "but thank you."

"maybe it's the dress, but really, i mean it. it's weird to me too, i- oops, sorry. i was just on my way out." before you have the chance to find out what interrupted her, another sneeze echoes through the hallway and the ladies room.

the hand that holds the lipstick stiffens. through the mirror, you can see into the hallway that leads both into the men's room and the women's room. the girl scurries past him, leaving you without finishing her sentence. the person she bumped into starts walking, and you know he has to pass by the open doors of the room in order to reach his destination. like a coward, you hide in one of the stalls. then, familiar voices.

"did you see her anywhere?"

"keep your voice down." you recognize seonghwa. "we just got here. you need to calm down."

san sneezes again, then whines. "i'm going to die here tonight. i won't even see her."

"you're so dramatic. how did she put up with you for so long?" you can almost feel the older man roll his eyes.

"whatever. can't believe yeosang snatched her away from me."

you can almost feel seonghwa roll his eyes. you do, as well. "he didn't snatch her. nobody knew that they would switch us."

"yeah, right. i still want to know why he was touching her."

"her hair, san. i keep hearing this story once a week, and frankly, i'm tired of it. she's not gonna forbid him to approach her."

"you don't get it..." san mumbles.

their voices echo even when they enter the men's room, due to non existent doors. you should use the chance and run away. but your feet stay planted on the ground, and you even put the toilet lid down so you can sit. you might be here for a while, even after they leave. you need time to collect yourself. going back to the table with cheeks flushed and tears in your eyes is not an option.

you miss him. the whole situation seems like a breakup, like san is your ex boyfriend and you both desperately wish to get back together, but you know you can't. it wouldn't work. you hate yourself for thinking that way. all those months of holding back, and now you allow yourself to feel vulnerable after successfully pushing him away.

"melanie is getting on my nerves."

you can't help the snort that leaves you, and you slap your palm over your mouth. seonghwa chuckles. "she's enjoying her new position, isn't she?"

"a bit too much." san's voice is horse, and he sounds congested. "i caught her taking pictures of me in the dressing room the other day. i'm too tired to do anything about it, really."

"san, that's serious." seonghwa's tone changes, as does your expression. he better be joking. "you have to report that to-"

"i really don't have the energy to deal with that. you know her father will convince the management to make her stay."

silence envelops the place for a few moments. you hear soft sniffles, then water running. this might be the moment when you should start meddling. san won't do anything about it, and it will make melanie think that she can get away with it. she won't stop there, you know it. you heard all sorts of comments and fantasies out of her shameless mouth. were you a hypocrite? perhaps. the difference being that you viewed san as a kind, loving person who, if not an idol, would be your dream partner. melanie viewed san as something that you can't describe respectfully even if you tried. she wanted him physically. and she is working on it, she proudly announces it every now and then. nobody in the group bats an eye except you, but you don't say anything. she has already called you out, accusing you that since you were no longer his personal assistant that you had no right to say or do anything that includes him.

this is too far. she is out of her mind. you're sure you'd feel the same disgust and need to meddle if it were another member. this type of behaviour is getting out of control, and you might have to do a little more yelling for the management to wake up and start protecting its artists.

"anyway..." he trails. "i'm going back. do i look less pathetic?"

"no." seonghwa replies. "you look like a dumpling. these allergies have no mercy on you."

san sighs, defeated. "well. this is the best i can do. let's hope i don't see her at all, for her sake."

it should surprise you that san still speaks about you. more than that, it should surprise you that seonghwa knows about it as well. he doesn't scold him. if seonghwa had no problem with it, why did you create one?

"i'll see you there. i'm just going to wash my hands." the older man announces.

you hear footsteps, then water running again. you finally step out of the stall, gently closing the door after you. hurriedly, you rummage through your clutch, and soon enough, you find what you're looking for. you hear footsteps again, except this time, you don't hide. "mr park?"

seonghwa turns around, surprised. he wears simple black slacks, and a black, slightly sheer button up. just his style. "hi, love."

"could you..." you approach him with the item that you dug out, holding it out for him to take. "give this to him?"

the man takes the small bottle of nose drops, then smiles. "you still look out for him."

he doesn't mention anything about you eavesdropping. he's as nosy as you, and you both know it. many times you've found yourselves accidentally looking each others way every time something happened or you'd hear something. and each time you both had to fight yourselves as to not burst out laughing.

"i just had them with me, really." you shake your head. "i don't ever empty my bags. just store things in them until they refuse to close. that has been sitting in there for a while."

"right." he allows you to think you can fool him. "should i say they're from you?"

you shrug. "i can say no. but you'll still tell him, won't you?"

"and you mean to convince us that you aren't an atiny. you know us better than anyone else, and you've been here the shortest amount of time." his hand finds its place on the top of your head, giving you a few pats and a playful hair ruffle, before retreating. "do you need anyone to talk to?"

"no." you quickly reply, flustered. "and i'm- i'm not an-"

"you're not." he nods. "it's our little secret. it has been since the day you walked in and were the only one who didn't want to choose between us."

there goes your meddling. "thanks."

seonghwa then greets you with a smile, and finally exits to find san. the lipstick is applied with shaky hands, and loose hair strands successfully tamed. by the time you get back to the table, the ceo has already stood up to give a speech. luckily, the table is tucked in the corner of the room, saving you from embarrassment of being the only one standing.

as the ceo starts, your eyes wander over the tables. it isn't difficult to find them, their table is at the front, along with the xikers one. san sits with his back facing the room. you wonder if seonghwa has given him the drops already, and if he feels a bit better. it doesn't even matter if he knows who they're from. he can guess, anyway.

the speech is wrapped up, with gratitudes towards the staff, from the older ones to the recently joined ones. "you all make kq, not only the artists." he finishes.

half your table is gone, and you would've stayed sat, were it not for jaz dragging you along to dance with her. your plate of food will have to wait. jaz looks the most stunning tonight. the white dress looks gorgeous on her dark skin, and her usually slicked back hair is replaced by luscious curls that fall over her shoulders and down her back. you feel so basic and underdressed just standing next to her.

"i'm gonna need you to cover for me." she whispers into your ear when a dance move brings her close to you. "mingi wants to use the fact that everybody is here so that we can have some peaceful time alone."

you can't say no. not after you were the one who separated them. "of course. i'll figure something out."

"thank you!" she hugs you tightly. "if you need anything ever, don't hesitate to ask."

there are all sorts of things you need. none of those can be helped by jaz. unless she is a sorceress who can erase your feelings for someone. "i'll keep that in mind."

once jaz successfully slips away, with mingi following soon after, you start feeling tired. it is past eleven, and you don't even realize how long you've been dancing. gyuri and thomas retreat to the table where melanie and sooe haven't moved, and eric is enjoying his third piece of cheesecake and fourth éclair.

"you know that there is a bunch of steaks right in front of you?" thomas playfully smacks the back of his head. "y/n, do you want one?"

"no, thanks." you aren't hungry. not when you see melanie eyeing someone up in the crowd behind you. "i'm going to get some fresh air, maybe when i get back."

you don't know where you are going. the place isn't that big for you to get lost, so you take your time exploring. no balconies so far, and the porch is occupied by smokers. you find a staircase, and that feeling of the fairytale is back again as you take the gown in your hands and start walking. the stairs lead you to a rooftop. you wonder why the event wasn't taking place here. it is as big as the hall, and instead of the dancefloor, there is a pool. the view is breathtaking, with minimal light pollution allowing the stars to glimmer above the still alive city of seoul. the city never sleeps, and is beautiful at any time of day. it's so easy to forget where you are, having to spend all your time inside or wherever your job requires you to go.

the door closes behind you, and you can't help the quiet groan that leaves your lips. you really needed a few minutes to yourself.

"oh, sorry. didn't realize someone was here."

out of all people.

"i just came to catch some fresh air, i'll be gone soon. please don't mind me."

does he not realize who you are? or has he finally come to terms with everything? "don't worry, mr choi. i'm leaving anyway."

when you turn around, you don't know who looks more in awe. more pathetic, better said. his jaw hangs as his eyes roam your figure. you know you aren't masking your expression, because choi san looks absolutely dashing. he wears a white button up, black slacks, a black vest and a tie. you know he dressed himself up because his tie hangs poorly around his neck. melanie must've tried fixing it, she had to. he didn't allow it.

"i don't think i've ever seen you in a dress." he breathes out. such a privilege to have an idol breathless because of your appearance. "you look beautiful."

"thank you. you look handsome as well, mr choi."

he doesn't complain about you calling him so. instead, he walks over, slow and careful. as if he'll scare you away if he moves any faster. he joins you by the fence, and soon enough, his scent envelops you. "i often forget how beautiful seoul is."

you hum, nodding your head.

"enjoying the party?"

"i'm up here. what do you think?"

a soft chuckle meets your ears. you miss hearing that. you allow yourselves a few moments of comfortable silence. nothing but the sound of the leaves rustling in the gentle summer breeze, distant sound of the city, and an occasional cricket. san is leaning on the fence with his arms covering the railing, and his chin resting on top. you, on the other hand, stand still with your palms gripping the same railing. your eyes betray you many times, choosing to glance his way more often than you'd like. he has his eyes closed as he breeze caresses his cheeks and moves the loose strands of his slicked back hair. he looks content.

"you smell cozy." he mumbles, eyes still closed. "like a vanilla candle."

it is your turn to chuckle. "your sinuses cleared up?"

and just like that, you betray yourself. the smirk on his lips is all you need to see. "so it was you."

"guilty." you turn around, leaning your back and elbows against the fence. you tilt your head back, exposing your neck and chest to the breeze. it helps cool you down. "i'm glad you feel better."

you hear him shuffle, before he opens his stupid mouth again. "you don't know how breathtaking you look."

tilting your head to the side, you can't help but glare at him. he is still in the same position, only now his cheek lays on the arms that cover the railing, using them like a pillow as he looks at you. he has never looked more soft and vulnerable.

"you're a dream."

"is this how it will go?" your voice is equally quiet. you don't get angry at him. you aren't irritated. you can't be, not when he looks at you like that. "you'll keep confessing, and we'll avoid each other for a while until you confess again the first chance you get?"

"i'm not confessing. i'm just stating facts. you look gorgeous. any sane man would see and say that if they were here instead of me." he then stands up straight, hands fixing his vest and tie. "i guess i'm just the lucky one. conveniently."

for a moment, you think he is going back to the party downstairs. but he simply plops on one of the deck chairs by the pool. he doesn't invite you over, but you still join him. you opt to sit on it sideways so you can face him. the pool water and the lights in it illuminate his slightly puffy face and rosy eyes. the moments when you hate flowers have become less rare since you started working for him. right now, you despise them.

"i was hoping you were right." his gaze is fixed on the water. "forced proximity. i prayed you were right. but i've seen you for five minutes tonight, and all i want to do is fall on my knees for you. beg you to give me a chance. to show you how good it can be, and how nobody can harm you in any way. to show you what it's like to be mine."

you stay silent. surprisingly, you don't feel annoyed with him anymore. you let him speak.

"i can't believe i ever doubted my feelings. i wanted to, for your sake. because you want nothing to do with me." your heart tightens. "you've made it clear multiple times, and i was trying to decide what you feel for you." the familiar lump in your throat appears. "i called you a liar, and accused you of breaking my heart, when you've rejected me so gently once. i was trying to make you doubt your own feelings." and your eyes sting.

"why are we back on page one?" your voice is hoarse.

san doesn't look at you yet. and it bothers you. "this might be the wine speaking out of me."

"you know you can't drink." you gently scold him.

"i didn't know what to do with myself. i was overwhelmed by everything. knowing that you are in the room but i can't see you. hearing you, smelling you. god, that scent. like the coziest warmest autumn evening. but you were still far from my eyes." the man says. he tilts his head back, resting it against the backrest. "then, i find you here. i told myself i wouldn't put you in an uncomfortable situation. and look what i'm doing."

you try swallowing, hoping to make the lump go away. but it stays stubborn. "it's okay. we're just talking. you're not doing anything to make me uncomfortable."

he closes his eyes again, this time enjoying the sound of the water and your scent that envelops him, even when there's a distance between you. it gives you time to admire him some more. you watch his chest rise and fall peacefully, and when your eyes land on the stupid tie, you can't help yourself. you stand up, walking over to him and sitting on the edge of the deck chair where he rests. he flinches, eyes shooting open. "what are you-"

"shh." you hush him. you've never been so close to him before. your body is pressed against his side as you lean over him, fingers working on loosening the tie so that you can do it properly. you pretend you don't feel his gaze on you. like you don't see his hand twitching, yearning to touch you. "i've spoiled you. you can't even tie your own tie."

he doesn't laugh. he simply gawks at you while you work on the piece of fabric. if he knew that that's all it takes to bring you closer to him, he would've worn his shirt and pants inside out. then, you flinch. your breath stops, as do your fingers. choi san cups your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. "it's obvious that you never wear red lipstick."

he moves his hand sooner than you'd like. the tip of his thumb is red, and before you can offer him a handkerchief, he brings it to his lips. the action is intimate, and your lips are on fire. you wish you'd smeared it a bit more. your eyes stay locked for a worrying amount of time. but san doesn't move. he doesn't lean in. he doesn't say anything.

you do. you find yourself in a trance, consumed by his scent and very being, and you lean in. slow and unsure at first. then, you feel yourself sliding off the chair. san's hand grabs your waist before you can fall, pulling you back on the chair and on top of his body. you don't resist. his eyes flutter shut first. it's now or never.

you close the gap, inch by inch, until the tip of your nose brushes against his. it's pure torture on both ends. your brain and heart are fighting a battle inside you, and san knows it. it's why he isn't making any moves besides holding your body secure so that you don't fall. he lets you set the pace. his warm breath caresses your lips. you can't help the painful exhale of desperation that leaves you, right before tears swell in your eyes.

"i can't." you quietly cry out. "i'm sorry."

san doesn't have time to process the situation. you are already standing, quickly tapping the corners of your eyes with your fingers and throwing your head back before the tears ruin your makeup. a scoff of disbelief leaves his lips. "why are you doing this to yourself? to me?"

"i'm not doing anything. it is wrong." your voice shakes. "i just- i drank some wine too and-"

"why are you denying yourself happiness?" he stands up as well and approaches you. you take a step back, just in case. you can't be tempted again. this was too dangerous. "why are you hurting both of us like this?"

"look, i'm tipsy. i don't want to do something that will give you hopes when i've told you many times that-"

"so what, you're telling me you go around kissing guys when you're tipsy? that i'm not special?" you know he isn't hurt, because he knows it isn't true. he is just trying to lure the truth out of you by making you angry. "do you do this with yeosang as well?"

"shut up." you sniffle. "don't even."

"talk to me. why is the idea of us so horrible to you?" his words are firm, but his tone gentle. he approaches you, and you can't help but step back, feeling overwhelmed. "you don't even need this job. you could do anything you want, i'd be your biggest supporter. you could quit, and-"

"it's not that simple!"

san is blurry before your eyes, just like the first night he confessed. this time, however, there isn't a wall to stop you from walking behind. but there is a pool.

your next step has your foot hanging in the air for a split second, right before a gasp leaves your mouth and you reach for san. your hand slips through his, and soon enough, your body is swallowed by cold water. san wastes no time in jumping after you. before you can sink any lower, his hands plant themselves on your waist, pulling your body against his as he swims to the surface. you didn't expect the pool to be so deep.

while you are busy coughing water and gasping for air, san has swam over to the edge of the pool where the water is a bit more shallow. his voice is nothing but a hum in your ears as you try to recover. your body trembles against his. from the cold water, and from shock. it's just water. but you never learned how to swim. each attempt resulted in you having a panic attack and ruining the fun for everyone else.

"princess." his voice finally reaches your ears. "i've got you."

"san," you cry out. he hushes you, simply hugging you closer and resting your head into the crook of his neck.

"it's okay. i'm right here." he hates that he breaks the boundary by kissing the top of your head. but it is his way of comforting, and he doesn't think in the moment. "i'm so sorry."

his drenched shirt is scrunched between your fingers, but he couldn't care less. he's glad you aren't running away from him after falling in because of him. "please don't let go."

"i won't, but we need to get you out of the water." he gently tucks his fingers under your chin, lifting your head so that he can look you in the eyes reassuringly. panic sets in, and you start trembling more.

"no, no!" you pull on his shirt, latching yourself onto him. "don't let go, please don't let go. please, please, please, please-"

"princess," he cups your cheek with one hand. "i'm right here. i won't let go of you. can you trust me?"

"no."

san knows you don't mean that you can't trust him. you aren't ready to move, and he understands. he tucks your head back into the crook of his neck, and leans against the pool wall for support. he gently sways you in the water, eyes fixed in the way your hair and gown move under the gentle current of the pool springs.

time stops. it feels so natural, being this close to him. his hand rubs your back in an attempt to warm you up in the cold water. he hushes your quiet whimpers, lips brushing against your ear shell. "i've got you."

"don't let go."

"i won't. i promise." the man assures.

you don't know how long you stay like that. all you know is that san has managed to calm you down and is pulling you out of the water. even though it's summer, you are still shivering. san's brows are furrowed, worry painting his pretty features.

"my phone is drenched, it won't turn on. can you stay here while i go get seonghwa?" he crouches in front of you while you sit on the chair, his vest that he managed to discard before jumping covering your upper body. "i'll be right back."

"okay."

seonghwa doesn't judge. he doesn't have sarcastic remarks. he doesn't scold.

hongjoong does. as if you weren't overwhelmed already, hongjoong has decided that scolding and yelling inside the car was the best thing to do right now.

"let me just make this clear: i'm not mad at her, i'm mad at you." he looks at san through the rearview mirror.

you have sunken into the car seats in the back, wrapped in san's vest and seonghwa's coat. even though hongjoong's words aren't meant for you, you can't help the new wave of tears that coat your cheeks. you have trouble breathing again.

seonghwa notices you detaching again, a new panic attack threatening to pull you into its void. "joong."

"what? i'm tired of him, seriously. why doesn't mingi have any problems? i never had to interfere with him and jaz and save their asses. they're careful, and-"

"joong."

your breathing quickens. san doesn't notice, even though he sits in the back with you. he is busy fighting with hongjoong. the situation you were scared of happening is unfolding right now, and nothing happened between san and you. you have already gotten him into trouble. fingers reach for the button on the car door in an attempt to open the window. once it does, you stick your head out, then try breathing.

"why are you being such a jackass about it? it was an accident! you think i wanted to push her?"

"do you think i care? it's not about tonight only, san. it's about you for the past few months. you aren't subtle at all!"

"guys," seonghwa says a bit louder, eyes switching from the road to the rearview mirror every now and then.

"and just what have i been doing for the past few months that you think you have the right to be yelling at me right now?"

"having to explain why you keep dragging her everywhere, having to convince the manager to even let you do that, going to such lengths to delete videos and pictures of you gawking at her, getting dispatch off our asses-"

"and doing all that for mingi wasn't an issue? for me it was?"

"i didn't have to do it for mingi! he was careful!"

"ENOUGH!"

the car stops abruptly on the side of the road. seonghwa exits, rushing over to your side and opening the door. you fall into his arms, a sobbing mess once again, struggling to catch your breath.

"it's okay." he pulls you into a hug.

"i'm sorry." you feel pathetic. it's all you can say. "i'm so sorry. it's all my fault."

"it's not your fault. hongjoong and san are just being pricks right now." the older man pats your head. "do you want to go home or would you like to stay with us?"

"my home, please?"

"you got it." he helps you sit comfortably again, then fastens your seatbelt for you.

the rest of the ride is quiet, with san fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves on seonghwa's coat that shields and warms your wet body, quietly telling you that he is here.

when you wake up, it is still dark. you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, and meet san's focused face. he carries you in his arms, going from door to door trying to figure out where you live. once he finds your last name, he struggles fitting the key in the keyhole.

"let me." you whisper. "put me down."

once your feet touch the ground, you need a moment to steady yourself. your apartment is just as you left it: a mess as you tried to get ready for the event. you are grateful that the darkness has swallowed it. san doesn't need to know how messy you are outside of work, where you are always organized and tidy.

"uh... do you want slippers?" you point towards a spare pair of slippers that are only used by your family when they visit. "i mean... if you want to stay for a while. or do you have to go back immediately?"

san looks at the slippers, then at you. "do you want me to stay?"

"please." your voice is so low, that if san wasn't so focused on you, he wouldn't have heard it.

"i'll just text hwa. my phone came to life."

you nod. "i'll uh... go put on some tea, i guess. what's the time?"

"does it matter? if you crave tea, i'll make it for you." he simply replies, eyes glued to his phone as he types a message.

now that you look back at your time working with him, san had moments where he loved acting as your boyfriend. you simply didn't allow yourself those delusions. you ignored them. but san loved buying you things, making you try various food and drinks, took pictures of you, gave you his jacket even when you really didn't need it. the response came so naturally from him, as if he usually makes you tea whenever you crave it.

"well?" his full attention is back on you as soon as his phone is tucked in his back pocket. "what does your heart desire?"

"honestly? i'd kill for a cup of cocoa."

your answer makes san chuckle fondly. he makes his way to your kitchen, as if he knew the place by heart. you're grateful that you've decided to wash the dishes today. you have a habit of hoarding dishes before making yourself wash them. you'll do all chores without a problem, from vacuuming to washing the windows. but dishes? you hate yourself for it. it is such a simple task, really. but your brain makes it hard for some reason.

san rummages through your cupboard, not bothering to ask where anything is. he finds the cocoa powder, then the milk in the fridge. "how chocolaty?"

"i trust you."

the clock shows a little past one after midnight. it is monday, and the boys have a day off. still, you can't help but feel bad for causing a mess and ruining their sleep schedule. while san busies himself with making two cups of cocoa, you quickly text seonghwa.

y/n: i'm so sorry for tonight. please tell mr kim that it is all my fault, that mr choi had nothing to do with it. i'm truly sorry for putting you in those positions. i promise i'll do everything to fix it and assure that it never happens again. again, i am so sorry.

park seonghwa: don't be silly. hongjoong was just being an ass. between you and me, he might've been a bit tipsy. plus, eden is on his back about the comeback. he was just unleashing himself on innocent people. don't burden your little head with it.

y/n: i can't help but feel guilty. no matter what i do, i'm messing mr choi up. i've distanced myself from him in an attempt to fix this, but it's only getting worse.

park seonghwa: san is already messed up on his own, even without you. he's been a menace before you came along, don't worry. he just became worse when you arrived. the two of you should take your time to figure out exactly how you feel. i won't say what i know, or how much i know, but i'll give you one advice: talk. don't hold back. that's the only way you'll resolve this.

y/n: thank you, mr park

park seonghwa: you know, it feels weird having an atiny call me that. you are the only one still calling us that in private among the assistants, and you technically know us longest and best. think you can work on that? :)

y/n: i'll try :)

park seonghwa: yay! now go before he gets all pissy and pouty again. warm yourself up, we don't want you catching a cold. good night, tiny ♥

y/n: good night, seonghwa. ♥

you sigh with content. one thing at a time.

"where's your bathroom?" san asks as he pours the hot cocoa in two cups.

"first door on the left."

he comes back with a towel and clothes. was he in this apartment before, but you weren't aware? how did he find your pajamas?

"here," he hands you the clothes, then turns back to stirring the cocoa.

the drenched gown is replaced by a cozy t-shirt and sleep shorts. you don't pay much attention to what you are wearing, until san looks over and chuckles. "what?"

"ateez world tour." he reads out loud.

you look down, and right across your chest, the words he just said. that bastard. "you did this on purpose."

"i promise, i didn't. it was folded inside out and just laid on your chair on top of a pile of other clothes. i thought it was a normal black t-shirt. the pile waiting to be ironed, i assume?"

right, aside from washing dishes, you hated ironing clothes as well. you can't be bothered to pick up the gown, instead pushing it with your foot to the corner. seonghwa's coat and san's vest are neatly folded and placed in the laundry basket.

"come here." he calls you over.

your bare feet tap against the cold parquet floor as you walk over. at no point this evening did you know what san was about to do next, and neither do you know now. he picks you up by your waist, placing you on the kitchen counter. the towel is soon in his hands, drying your wet locks of hair. he stands between your legs like it's nothing. like you do it every day. like all of this didn't happen because you refuse to say your true feelings out loud.

"i can hear you thinking," he whispers.

"i got it." you snatch the towel from his hand, a little harsher than you wanted. he frowns, but lets you have it. "thanks."

you stay sat on the counter, swinging your legs in the air as you watch him focus on the cups. as if he was making the world's most complicated cocoa, using a dozen ingredients instead of two.

"what now?" you dare ask.

"now..." he sighs. "we drink cocoa."

"you know what i mean." you accept the cup from his hands, and your fingers inevitably brush against his. your skin is on fire, and god, it takes everything in you not to drop that cup and pull him close to you. "are we going to act like this is normal? my boss in my apartment at this hour, while i sit here in my sleepwear?"

"you keep worrying your pretty head with stupid things." san takes a sip of his beverage. he hums, then takes another one. "you were right. cocoa is much better than tea."

"san."

pretty eyes finally lock with yours. his brows relax, and his face softens under your gaze. "yes?"

"you need to put yourself in my shoes. i can't help but feel like i'm taking advantage of you. i'm a fan. a staff."

"so?"

"the fandom will be against it. the company as well."

"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."

after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."

you don't ask san to stay. he doesn't offer to leave. he just takes his place on the couch once he tucks you in your own bed, but not without making a witty comment about the photocard holder and his photocard that lay on the nightstand next to the bed. "you're so cute it hurts. want me to sign it?"

"go away." you bury your head in the pillow. "and leave the door open. i don't like being in the dark, and the street lights have been broken for a while now. leave the bathroom light on, and don't close that door neither."

with each moment that passes, san keeps finding out more things about you. things so unimportant that everyone would forget after a moment or two, but he remembers. it makes him fall for you harder and harder. right now, you are impossibly cute, confessing that you are scared of dark. "i'll be on the couch. if you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me up."

"okay. thank you." your voice is muffled by the pillow. you hear him chuckle, then feel his hand pat your head playfully. "good night, princess."

"good night."

the second time you open your eyes, it is light. for a split second. then, booming thunder. it's been a while since a thunderstorm this strong has hit the city. overcoming your fear of it for a split second, you run over to the windows where the curtains move from the strong wind. the wind makes it hard, pushing the window against you as you try your hardest to shut it. the shuffling and grunting must've awoken san, because soon enough, he gently nudges you aside and closes the window with little to no effort. the room lights up once again, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. your heart beats loud while you await the loud noise to echo in the room.

once it passes, san takes your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on your knuckles. "want to-?"

"will you sleep in here tonight?" you beat him to it. you don't know where you're getting the confidence, or the audacity. you're doing everything contrary to what your previous self wanted and worked hard to maintain.

a few months ago, you were going crazy because san laid on your bed for a few minutes back in milan. now, it is happening again. he tries to cover you with the blanket once he lays down, only to find you completely submerged from head to toe in it. "hey, where did you go?"

"i'm scared. leave me be."

"is this how you sleep when there's a thunderstorm? with your little head hiding under the blankets? suffocating?"

"san..." you whine, begging him to stop teasing you.

you forget how to breathe for a moment when the blanket lifts and san dives in below, joining you. "my name sounds so pretty from your lips."

"i didn't invite you here to flirt." you scold, gently poking his chest with your finger. "if both of us are here under, who is keeping watch out there?"

"my photocard." he laughs.

a gasp of disbelief escapes your mouth. he'll never let go of this. "one more word and you're losing blanket shield privilege."

"is that so?" he cocks an eyebrow. his hand then sneakily finds its way to your waist, only to poke you and make you jolt. his other hand joins, poking at the other side, until you are a laughing and screaming mess and the blanket slips from both of you.

he's strong, and doesn't budge, no matter how hard you fight back. his figure covers your entire body as he hovers above you, pinning your wrists above your head with a single hand while his other hand shows no mercy by tickling you. "stop, please!"

"say i have blanket privilege."

"you have blanket privilege!"

"now say i'm your favourite boss." he halts for a moment, giving you the chance to say it.

you don't, instead sticking your tongue out in an attempt to further annoy him. it works, an exaggerated gasp leaving his lips. you use the chance to slip one of your hands out of his grip, poking his side. he yelps, then falls on the bed next to you. soon enough you find yourself on top of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

san is incredibly strong. you've witnessed many situations since you worked here, from carrying two members on his back to picking up his makeup stylist's desk all by himself and moving it where she wanted. he has more strength in his pinky finger than you have in your whole body. yet he still lets you pin his hands above his head, your smaller hand struggling to grasp his wrists. he plays along. he lets you have it.

he isn't that ticklish. but you are too proud and excited that you've managed to tackle him that you don't even notice. your giggles are everything san wants to hear for the rest of his life. your fingers poke at his sides, over and over, and you are so into it. then, a grunt.

you stop, confused. san doesn't say anything. he simply stares at you, soft eyes admiring your features in the dark. it is only when his gaze drops to where you're sitting that you realise. you don't speak. you don't breathe, either. suddenly, you feel him. below layers of clothes, his body burns hot. as does yours, especially your face and core.

when light illuminates the room for a moment again, you flinch a little, but the clear sight below you makes you forget about your fear. san looks... submissive. his hands stay pinned above his head, and you remember that your loose grip is nothing compared to what he can do. his hair falls over his pretty eyes, which stare back at you through half closed eyelids. lips sticking in a natural pout, plump and inviting. oh, so inviting.

"sannie," you test the waters with a low whisper.

a whimper. a fucking whimpers leaves this man's lips. he doesn't seem to be embarrassed. instead, he gulps, and bites his lip. you roll your hips, so lightly and slowly, not even sure that he'll feel it. but he does. and he shudders. it makes your body feel as if it's on fire. you've never had an effect on someone like this. and you're enjoying every bit of it.

san craves your attention. your validation. he always has. you've just been connecting it to his teasing nature. didn't really take him seriously. now, you have him wrapped around your finger. and you don't know what to do with it. a whole man, many girls crush and fantasy, lays down at your mercy. and you? you move the hair out of his eyes, press your lips against his forehead, and cup his cheek. "one thing at a time."

𓆩⟡𓆪

monday morning comes and goes, with you waking up alone in bed. the storm has calmed at some point during the night, but you didn't feel or hear anything. except the pair of arms that have held you through it all. you didn't push him away. you've worked for him long enough to know that san needs to hold onto something to fall asleep. it wasn't on purpose. he fell asleep before you, and at some point, he let go of the pillow he was hugging and replaced it with you.

san respects your boundaries. sure, you might need to tell him once or twice to stop calling you nicknames or move his hand from your lower back, but other than that, san tries his hardest to keep his hands to himself. you wonder if it's like that with melanie. if enough time passes, will san prove you wrong or right? will he start developing feelings for her? is forced proximity truly the answer?

selfishly, you hope it isn't.

your phone rings early in the evening, the manager's name glaring at you from the screen. you groan out loud. this is your day off. but then again, being yeosang's assistant has given you many days off. you can take this phone call.

"yes, sihun?"

"pack your stuff, you're flying early tomorrow. yeosang has been invited to a fashion show in two days, and because you have decided it would be a good idea to mess up perfectly good pair ups that have functioned from the beginning, the schedules are all fucked up."

"wait, what?" you find yourself standing up from the couch. you swear you can still smell him on it. "also, that was an idea. don't blame me as if you were forced."

"not only was yeosang's invitation to the paris fashion show lost, we also missed an opportunity to collab with a huge western artist. does the name megan the stallion ring any bells? plus, yunho was offered a role in a drama, and-"

"why are you blaming me for all this?" your heart beats fast, threatening to jump out of your chest. "what kind of organization did you have in the first place that a minor change like switching assistants costed you lost invitations and collabs?"

"if you want to return from paris as yeosang's assistant, or just an employee of the kq entertainment, i would recommend to zip it and start packing. five o'clock sharp in front of the building, not a minute late. if you're late, don't bother to show up. at all, ever."

"but-"

"five am, y/n."

and as if that wasn't enough to ruin your evening of rewatching the walking dead and stuffing your face with pringles, a single message causes you to sit back down on the couch.

choi san: you requested to switch? wish i'd known sooner, i wouldn't have wasted both our time. didn't realize you'd go to such lenghts, but then again, i really must be that annoying and can't take a hint. i apologize for crossing the boundary last night. rest assured, it won't happen again.

y/n: it's not like that !message failed to send!

y/n: san? !message failed to send!

this user has blocked you.

you're about to find out whether or not you were right, after all. far from eyes, far from mind.

𓆩⟡𓆪

yeosang wearing prada and sitting front row on a fashion show, looking ethereal and socializing with those around him is all the fandom ever wanted. you proudly watch from the side, and every now and then, yeosang's eyes widen slightly as they frantically search for you. you are being pushed around by photographers, and can't stand still in one place. when he finally finds you, you can see relief wash over his pretty features. you nod assuringly, urging him to talk to the celebrities around him.

if you thought san needed reassuring and validation, yeosang needed it times two. his english skills have improved in the short time you have been working for him, but you are the only person he could practice with. now, surrounded by only english speakers, and without your poor and broken korean to help, yeosang felt like he was thrown in shark water without a way out. you can see panic set in his eyes whenever someone speaks too fast or when he forgets a word.

but all is gone as soon as he locks eyes with you. you are his life jacket, his boat in this situation, and he is holding onto you for dear life as doja cat and zendaya keep talking to him and over him. at one point, yeosang leans back so that the two can speak comfortably, and they waste no time in leaning over him and continuing the conversation. he gives you a funny look, and you can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth.

yeosang doesn't stay at the after party. as soon as everyone has finished taking pictures with him, and before an interviewer can get his hands on him, yeosang disappears into the crowd and finds you. "take me away."

once back at the hotel, he insists that you join him for a late dinner. you hesitate before walking into his hotel room. strangely, you don't feel weird for sitting on his bed and eating with him at this hour, all alone with him. perhaps because you don't harbor the same feelings towards him as you do for san. yeosang is sweet. he isn't a tease, he doesn't make you question your sanity and make you roll your eyes hundred times a day.

"how's the pasta?" he asks, glancing over at your plate of truffle pasta. "any good?"

"it's great." you nod. "how's your steak?"

he doesn't respond, instead nodding with his mouth full. he takes a sip of whiskey from his nightstand, then wastes no time in stuffing his mouth again. you can't help but laugh fondly.

"didn't take you for a whiskey kind of guy." you confess.

"what kind of guy did you take me for?" the man raises his eyebrow playfully.

you hum at first, as if thinking. yeosang cuts his steak in peace, until your answer causes him to stop and gasp dramatically. "honestly? a banana milk kind of guy."

"you take that back." he threatens with his fork. "it's strawberry milk. don't disrespect me."

you enjoy this playful banter. no pressure, no expectations. just the tiredness and tipsiness talking out of both of you. you try the whiskey, he tries the leftover pasta. eventually, half the bottle of whiskey is gone. you didn't think you'd enjoy it that much. yeosang wasn't of any help. moreover, he encouraged you to drink.

now you struggle to move from the comfortable bed you're sat on, even after the man plops on it and closes his eyes, muttering a good night.

"you can't go to sleep with your makeup on."

"watch me." he simply covers himself up to his neck.

your words have no effect on him. they simply enter one ear and exit out the other. frankly, you're not sure they even get to his ear. it feels like they're bouncing off it and hitting you back in the face. in just a few moments, you raid the hotel bathroom in search of wet wipes and any kind of face serum he has brought along. it didn't help that he had a whole line of skincare on the counter. you don't know those things. he'll survive one night without it.

the moment the wet wipe touches his cheek, yeosang's eyes shoot open.

"that's cold." he frowns.

"yeah, well, suck it up."

yeosang's gaze is so much different than san's. san is intense, and dark. yeosang's is curious, and sweet. brown orbs glimmer as he follows your hand movements that reveal his face bit by bit. by the time you have wiped almost everything off, yeosang is wide awake. a light shudder leaves his lips when your fingers brush the wipe over his birthmark.

"there it is." you smile as you reveal it. "pretty."

the man blushes furiously. you think it's the alcohol. he hopes you don't know it's something else.

"close your eyes. you have a bit of eyeshadow left."

you don't need to tell him twice. he makes your job so much easier that you could just kiss him on the head sometimes.

"warning, this is also going to be cold."

you've done this countless times with san. but the moment your fingers touch his skin directly, your heart skips a beat. this isn't casual. not with yeosang. you try not to notice the way his eyes stare at you as your fingers rub the serum on his glass skin. the way he grips the cover. the way he slightly squirms under it. the way he gulps whenever your fingers touch the area around his birthmark.

"almost done," you whisper as your hand moves onto the space between his eyebrows and his forehead. it seems to be another sweet spot of his, because he almost purrs when your fingers gently rub the serum into his skin. you don't want to stop. not when he closes his eyes and hums contently while you do something as simple as putting a product on him, something that he does himself every day.

"no wonder san is in love with you."

you freeze. fuck, does everyone know?

"a person just puts their walls down around you and trusts you completely." he rambles on. "your mere presence is very comforting. i hate that he got to you first."

"okay." you sigh. the wipes are thrown into the small bin near the nightstand, and you have to walk a few steps around the room before you can speak. your thoughts are scattered, and at this point, you might have to ask yeosang to slap you to make sure this is not one of your daydreaming shifts when you used to work at the coffee shop. "let's pause. just for a moment."

"oh, i'm sorry." the man sits up straight, rubbing his eyes. "i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. i just mean that... a person can trust you easily. honestly, since you started working with me, i've stopped using my brain."

"yeosang." you sigh once again.

wide curious eyes look at you, and the words stop in your throat. is it possible that the forced proximity was an issue on your end? this is surely the alcohol. and the way yeosang is starting to act exactly like san. maybe you have a type.

no. what you have is a serious case of delusion. you need a vacation as soon as your feet touch korean soil.

you turn the lamp near the bed off, ensure that yeosang has a glass of fresh water in case he wakes up during the night, and prepare his outfit for tomorrow on the armchair. he only watches, not uttering a word. it isn't until you reach the door and light switch that you hear shuffling, and you turn your head to see him laying back down.

"good night, mr kang."

you miss the pout on his lips once the main light is off, but not the quiet "good night, tiny" before exiting and heading for your room.

𓆩⟡𓆪

your paid time off is approved within a day. manager sihun agrees that you need time away, but for different reasons. you're offended.

"it feels like your quality of work has declined."

you have to hide your snarky remarks. if that is what gets you time off, then let him have it.

in no time you find yourself sipping a freshly squeezed lemonade on your balcony. a book in your hand, fresh out of the shower, hair drying in the sun, with the whole day ahead of you. until your work phone vibrates on the table. you ignore it. you don't know why you even brought it out there in the first place. a habit, maybe.

the page of the book is barely flipped before the phone vibrates again. and again. and again.

"are you serious right now?" you groan.

park seonghwa: hey :)

park seonghwa: can i call you?

park seonghwa: oh wait

park seonghwa: you're on you time off?

park seonghwa: imsosorrypleaseforgivemejustignoremekbyehavefunonyourtimeoffdontmissustoomuch<3

y/n: it's fine, mr park. how can i help you?

park seonghwa: hi!

park seonghwa: oh :(

park seonghwa: mr park?

y/n: is something wrong? are you understaffed?

the dancing dots appear in the corner of the screen near seonghwa's profile picture. then, they disappear. and reappear. and disappear once again.

y/n: mr park, may i know wh|

your typing is interrupted by his name taking up the screen. with a sigh, you press the green icon.

"mr park?"

"first of all, i don't like that." he complains on the other side. "yeosang broke you."

"i assure you, mr kang had nothing to do with anything." you can't help the eye roll. "may i know-"

your words are cut short once again by a voice in the background, then a crash. "san, you absolute moron. i am so sorry, ma'am. we'll pay for that and clean up the mess."

you stay silent, eavesdropping the conversation. seonghwa's voice turns into an angry whisper, but the phone is close enough for you to hear everything.

"pull yourself together. there's six cameras on you, and you're drunk from half a cup of beer?"

"i'm not drunk."

"you're getting there. in the middle of namhae, in broad daylight, fooling around with that gopro and breaking stuff. what else do you call that? you're lucky the staff are busy cleaning what you just did and their attention is off you. i'm calling y/n, just so you know."

"i don't care."

"you don't care? alright. hello, y/n?"

"give me that."

"yes, he's being a pain in the ass. can you come over?"

"give me that!"

"what's that? you'll be here in fifteen? great."

"park seonghwa, give me that phone!"

"too late. she hung up."

you hear complaining and whining, then shuffling. he must've exited the room they were in, because seonghwa is back on the phone.

"i just wanted you to hear how miserable and pain in the ass he is."

"with all due respect, what does that have to do with me?"

"i'll send you a video. i want you to watch it, then come to whatever conclusion you want. i'm not forcing you to do anything, nor am i guilt tripping you. i'd just hate to see two people suffer a heartbreak they don't need. it's all up to you."

once the call ends, you feel as if your head will burst. you selfishly wish seonghwa hadn't reached out to you. just when you got san out of your head. you can't have one day of peace at this job you used to love.

the promised video plays on your screen, showing san in the back of a car and seonghwa next to him. the older man holds the phone so that san doesn't know he is being filmed. the familiar pout is present on the younger ones lips as he looks out the window, arms crossed over his chest.

"sannie, you're sulking again." seonghwa teases.

"leave me be."

"we're filming content for the fans. will you be like this the whole day?"

when san turns his head towards seonghwa, and the camera, you don't expect his eyes to be red and glossy. then, with the tiniest voice ever, he mumbles. "i miss her."

"i know." seonghwa sighs. "but you drove her away. you blocked her number without giving her a chance to explain."

"i know i'm stupid. you don't have to say it." his fingers play with the buttons of his shirt. you can't help but thank seonghwa for giving you the first peek at san dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up with his forearms out for everyone to enjoy. "she hates me."

"she doesn't hate you."

"you don't know that. for all we know, she thinks that you hate her."

san turns his head to look at seonghwa abruptly, then starts shaking it. "no. it's not like that."

"well, if i was her, that's the impression i'd get."

"i could never hate her. she could break my heart over and over, and i still wouldn't find it in those broken bits to hate her. she's all i think about. i thought the distance would do us well. it's killing me, especially seeing her near yeosang. or anyone that isn't me. do you know that i haven't washed or used my coat that she wore in amsterdam when it was cold? it still smells like her."

"loser." seonghwa tries to lighten up the situation by pinching his thigh.

"ow! stop it." san isn't having it. "i genuinely miss her. i'm so close to showing up at her door and falling to my knees, i swear."

he then returns to silence and turns his head back towards the window. the video ends with seonghwa smiling at the camera.

choi san will be the death of you.

𓆩⟡𓆪

the week passes fast. you'd wake up in the morning, one past noon being morning to you, rot your brain on social media, and before you knew it, the sun was down and you were transferring yourself from the couch on the bed. your diet consisted of shin noodles and a single boiled egg, paired with unnatural amounts of red bull (i just had to describe myself i'm so sorry <3). luckily, you didn't have any pets. you wouldn't have the energy to walk them or take care of them.

seonghwa's phone call ruined your plans. you wanted to spend the week reading all those books you've purchased and never have time to read, go for morning walks, maybe even go to a spa. but every time you closed your eyes, you saw san.

you saw his hurt face the first time you've rejected him. you saw his pout. you saw his glossy eyes. you heard his voice.

your last day was no different. kuromi pajamas, mouthful of noodles, the new season of your favourite show playing in the background while you mindlessly scroll on tiktok. until the doorbell interrupts you.

when you look through the peephole, you don't see anybody. an empty hallway. just a glimpse of somebody running downstairs. you shouldn't open it. everything about it screams danger. but you do anyway, sticking your head out first. step by step, you make it to the railing, and then lean over it in hopes of catching the person that just interrupted your last night of so called selfcare. he wears a hood, but something in the way he walks is familiar to you.

"hey!" you call out.

the person stops. the hallway lights illuminate the rings on his finger, one of them especially familiar to you. you bought it on your trip to italy, and gave it to none other than choi san for his birthday.

"mr choi." disappointment is evident in your voice. "will you please come back so we can discuss your need to ding-dong-ditch me?"

you can see his figure slouch. slowly, as if he'll scare you if he moves any faster, he makes his way back up the stairs and stops at the top. he doesn't raise his head to look at you yet. not when you step away from the railing, and not when you stand in front of him. only when your hand finds its spot under his chin and raises his head, his eyes find yours. he wears glasses. they give him the nerdy boyfriend image.

"what are you doing with yourself, mr choi?"

"what..." his voice comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat before continuing. "what do you mean?"

your hand leaves him sooner than both of you would like. you step back, then answer. "i mean, what are you doing chasing a fan? a staff member? while your phone is bursting with messages from the most drop dead gorgeous and talented idols."

"you don't know anything." he simply replies.

he doesn't move. you do. you walk back into your apartment, leaving the door open. you only spare him a glance over your shoulder; a silent invitation. he takes it. closing the door behind him, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the shoe rack, wearing the slippers he claimed last time. it all felt natural. you felt natural.

"red bull?" you offer.

he can't help the quiet chuckle when he sees your head in the fridge. "no, thank you."

"hmph," you purse your lips. "i've got cola, melon milkis, a week old carton of orange juice, chocolate milk, and two bottles of soju: peach and strawberry. you pick."

"a glass of water is fine."

"boring." you say.

he knows you are joking. still, he rolls his eyes playfully and joins you in the kitchen. "i'll have a red bull, then."

"which one?"

"what do you mean which one? there's more than- oh. okay." you open the fridge door fully and step away, revealing the colorful collection to a surprised san. "you little addict."

"says the man who lives off lays and milkis." you bite back.

"alright. give me the green one."

"which green one?"

"there's two?"

"duh." you say, rolling your eyes. "the light green and dark green."

"i trust you."

in a few minutes, san and you are settled on the balcony couch, sipping the energy drinks and looking at the busy streets below. the couch is big enough for three people to sit comfortably, yet san has squeezed himself in the corner. you sit on it sideways, facing him. it doesn't seem as if he thought any of this through. he came here on impulse, you know it. you know him.

"how's working with yeosang?" he fidgets with the can.

"that's what you came to talk about?" you tilt your head to the side so that it leans against the backrest.

"no." he mumbles.

"you didn't answer my question, san." his name out of your lips has him perk up. "what are you doing chasing after a fan?"

"i'm not chasing after a fan. i'm chasing after my personal assistant. well, ex personal assistant."

"does that sound better in your mind?"

he opts for silence again. you're making it difficult, yet he is willing to try, again and again. he wouldn't have come here for no reason. the man takes another sip of his can, as to avoid talking. your can is downed already, and your lips and throat feel dry. you leave the balcony just to get the two bottles of soju, then plop back on the sofa.

"here." you set the bottles on the table, allowing him to choose. he abandons the can of red bull and reaches for the peach soju.

"i thought i wasn't allowed to drink." he says, then brings the beverage to his lips.

"take small sips, san. we've got time. unless you have somewhere to be?"

he shakes his head. "no. even if i did, i would've cancelled."

"if you say so." you take a sip of the alcoholic beverage, and san mimics you.

his gaze is locked on the city through the glass balcony, and his face is still covered by his hoodie. in an attempt to relax his stiff posture and nervous fidgeting of hands, you sprawl out your legs and rest your feet on his lap. instead of relaxing, san further stiffens, the soju bottle in his hand stuck in a deathly grip. you try to pull them back to yourself, seeing that you've caused further discomfort. yet san's hand simply finds its spot on your legs, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin where your pajama bottoms have hiked up.

"sannie." you call softly.

you swear you hear a shuddered breath. his head leans on the backrest, and he tilts it sideways so that he can look at you. he scrunches his nose so that his glasses sit better. "hm?"

"talk to me." you urge him. "say what's on your mind. you didn't come here to ask me about yeosang. or to sit in silence."

he hums again. "the silence was comforting. but no, it's not what i came for. though, now that i think about it, i think i did enough talking. i came to hear what you have to say. if you have anything to say."

"you were honest with me up until now. and i appreciate that." you start. it is your turn to pour your heart out. "and it is only fair that i do the same. but i think it would be more interesting to lead this conversation with questions."

"like twenty-one questions?" he immediately gets it.

"right. i'll give you a head start. you can ask me three questions."

"one is enough. as you said, we have time." he doesn't take long to figure out what he wants to ask you. words smoothly slip out of his mouth. "have you slept on it?

after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."

right. you left him without an answer. technically, he left himself without an answer. "i didn't get enough sleep to decide."

he laughs. "meanie."

"my turn, then. since you don't want the head start." you take a sip while you think. the gentle touch on your legs is a distraction. for a man so big and tough, choi san has the softest hands in the world. "when did you realize your... feelings for me?"

it feels odd. feelings for you. choi san has feelings for you. such feelings that he keeps coming back, no matter how many times you reject him. if you were him, you'd hate yourself. yet san looks at you with such fondness in his eyes, that for the first time in a while since you parted ways with him, you find yourself looking away and blushing furiously. only he has the power to make you feel small, yet safe.

"well?" you clear your throat.

"it started in london. when i begged you to join me on a secret mission to five guys in the middle of the night, and you came with me. after that we went for a walk because i overate. i think the exact moment i felt something fuzzy in my stomach was when i plopped on the bench and held onto my stomach, and you had the time of your life giggling and taking photos. i realized then that i loved that side of you, and that i might be falling for you. then, i was sure when we went to amsterdam, and you were so excited to go for a walk and buy souvenirs that you forgot your jacket at the hotel. i lent you my coat, and when i saw it on you, i knew that i wanted you to keep borrowing my clothes."

you remember seonghwa's video where san confessed he hasn't washed or used that coat since you did. you look his way again, only to find his eyes still fixed on you. he examines your face in search of any negative emotion. but you only smile at him, causing him to breathe out in relief.

"my turn. did you really mean what you said back in milan? when i first confessed to you?"

"it's hard to explain." you sigh. "just because i was doing my job, doesn't mean i didn't enjoy it."

"so i'm not a spoiled and disobedient boss?" he presses in a teasing voice.

"not all the time. and that's two questions, sir. now i get to ask two." you dig your heel into his thigh as a way to punish him, and he returns the action by pinching your calf. "ow!"

"you're being mean again." he pouts.

"only for you." the alcohol is starting to get to you, because in no way would sober you wink at san and continue the conversation like it's nothing. like you don't see him blushing and looking away, a smile dancing on his lips. "you bring out the worst in me, it seems."

"so it's my fault." he laughs. "go on, then. ask."

"hmm..." you trail, thinking. "you've gotten plenty of confessions from many idols. how come i am the one that peaked the interest of the choi san?"

"first of all, the choi san? i'm not that special."

"yes, you are. you have millions falling on their knees for you. you're one of the most popular and influential idols right now. so many rookies look up to you, want to be you. sometimes it seems like you aren't aware of your popularity. guys want to be you, or be with you, girls as well. and-"

"second of all," he interrupts you, not believing a single word out of your mouth, "all those confessions don't mean much to me. i don't feel any connection to those people, and honestly, i don't want to waste my time to find out whether or not i'll feel any. i like to live in my own bubble, with the guys and our staff. it's familiar. it's cozy."

right, you forgot his introverted side for a moment. "still. as a long time fan of many groups in the industry, i've never seen idols as pretty as the ones in this generation."

"no amount of beauty will make a true man swoon if their personality is a zero. only those who are shallow won't look past a face."

"so you settled for me because i'm a little ugly but have a personality?"

you expected him to laugh with you. it was funny in your head. but the man simply looks at you, brows furrowed. your laughter dies out. you just had to ruin it.

"sorry." you mumble.

"don't ever say that again." he doesn't scold you. he isn't angry. he is disappointed. "i can't believe you would ever think of yourself like that."

"it was just a silly joke."

"i don't like it. it breaks my heart." his voice is quiet. "i have- actually, never mind. my turn, was it?"

"you have...? you have what?" you set the bottle down and sit up straight, legs still on his lap. "choi san don't leave me hanging."

"it's stupid. if i show you, i might as well just jump from here to save myself from humiliation."

"okay, now i need to know. you can't just say that and then move on." he avoids your pleading eyes.

you pull your legs away from him, and before he can protest, you get on your knees, still on the couch, and clasp your hands. he knows he's weak. yet he still looks at you, and he wants to smack himself from the way his bottoms feel tight after seeing you on your knees with big pleading eyes. "you'll think i'm weird."

"i won't! i promise. please, please, pretty please?"

and just how can he say no to you? hesitantly, he reaches for his pocket. he pulls out a wallet, and you're confused at first. until he pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. "i'll see myself out."

"you're not going anywhere." you plant your palm on his chest, pushing him back to lay against the couch. you turn the paper over, and your breathing stops. it's a polaroid from back in paris. you remember snapping pictures of him and the manager as a joke. you remember the manager doing the same to you. you thought the pictures turned out bad, you didn't even want to look at them. your outfit was a mess, your hair as well, and you had a chocolate stain on the dress you wore. none of it was visible on the photo. just san and you, acting silly in front of the eiffel tower, smiling wide. sihun was only taking pictures of you, yet san managed to smoothly photobomb and earned himself the cherished polaroid. "san..."

"i know. it's weird. i'm sorry."

it wasn't weird. unexpected? sure. you weren't even aware that you had a picture with san. that day was very difficult for you; you had forgotten to pack san's famous leather vest for the show, you spilled coffee on two of your outfits, and the chocolate from the croissant dripped on your third one. the wind kept tangling your hair, and you dropped your stone magnet as soon as you stepped foot out of the shop and broke it. what was a disastrous day for you was a memorable day for san, it seems.

"oh, san." you become all giddy and soft at the thought of him carrying the photo in his wallet. "you were just carrying this around all this time?"

"...no?" his pretty eyes lock with yours, the city lights making them glimmer.

he expects you to call him weird. to slap him. to tear the photo. what he doesn't expect is for you to bring the polaroid to your lips, then press a kiss to the back of it. the action leaves a pink imprint of your lips behind, in the shape of a heart. you return it to san, who is stunned by your action. "you're so cute it hurts."

you stand up and pick up the empty cans, but not before playfully poking his dimple. he is left in silence for a few moments, replaying what just happened. his fingers brush the pink print you gifted him so generously, and he doesn't know what takes him over. he brings it to his face, pressing his own lips on the same place you did. he allows himself a short moment of peace, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent you've left behind. gods, what a fool. kissing a piece of paper.

he thinks that you don't see him. but you do, in the reflection of the open glass door of the balcony. you allow him to have the moment while you rummage through your cupboards. by the time you are back on the balcony, san is almost laying on the couch. his cheeks are flushed both from alcohol and your actions, fingers fidgeting with the polaroid, and his dimples on display as he foolishly grins at the picture.

"i hope you're not on a calorie deficit." you toss a small bag of chips his way. he fails to catch it, and it lands on his face. "oopsies."

"i'm not. i'm bulking." he says as he examines the bag.

"and you hide it all under that hoodie. tsk."

he stubbornly wears the hood still. you don't have a clear view of his pretty face, aside from the glasses that peek out and rest on his nose, and it bothers you. but you won't press him. you'll let him set his own pace. "are we continuing the game?"

"if you want to. it's your turn, i think."

he watches curiously as you open a box of strawberry pepero. "when you got the job and had the opportunity to choose first, you didn't want to choose. why?"

"as a long time atiny, i didn't want to. i didn't want to make it seem like i like one of you more than the rest." you shrug.

"and you ended up with me."

"and i ended up with you." you confirm. "were you disappointed? i don't speak your language. i don't fit the beauty standards. i was pretty clumsy. i wouldn't hire myself."

"you're too harsh on yourself." san scolds. "i was actually happy and excited. i could practice my english with you. and look at me now! unstoppable."

unimpressed, you bite on the first pepero stick. "so i'm just an english lesson to you."

"you're being mean again. anyways, my turn."

the man takes a moment to think as he chews on the potato chips. he politely covers his mouth as he does so, and reminds you just how perfect he is. how something as simple as chewing has you make heart eyes at him you don't know.

"who was your bias before this?"

you choke on the treat. you didn't expect that. the reaction has him perk up. he sits up straight, crossing his legs and looking at you with an amused grin, awaiting the answer.

"well?"

"you won't get mad?"

he already frowns at the fact that it isn't him. "no..."

"alright then." you take your sweet time chewing the treat, making san's patience run dry. "my bias was..."

"you're killing me." he whines.

"wooyoung."

"what?!"

"my turn!"

"wooyoung?!"

"oh, come on. it was long ago. you're my favourite now. maybe. besides, you said you won't get mad."

"i lied."

he lays back down, sulking. arms crossed over his chest, and his lips poutier than ever. "are you really mad because you weren't my bias since day one?"

"no. i'm mad because out of all of them, it had to be wooyoung."

the streets are slowly dying out, and the building lights are dimming one by one. it is well past midnight. san is cozy on the couch, not showing any signs of getting up and leaving any time soon. you don't mind. you're happy that he feels comfort in your place. in you.

once done sulking, he sits up straight again.

"want one?" you point at the box of treats.

"sure."

he watches you pull out a single one. his hand tries to grasp it, but you simply avoid it and aim for his lips. you place the pink treat on his lips, which so obediently part and take the sweet stick between his teeth. you're grateful for the soju. otherwise, you wouldn't have san eating out of your hand as he looks at you like you are his whole world. you gently push the treat as he chews, and when your fingers graze his plush lips once he gets to the end, you have to fight yourself to not jump on him. san makes it hard by mischievously licking his lips, and your thumb in the process.

"another?"

he nods. in no time, you push him so that he leans against the backrest again. he gasps when you sit on his lap, hands flying to your thighs for support. the hood is finally pushed back by you, revealing the pretty flushed face under the moonlight and street lights. his touch burns your skin over the thin fabric of your pajamas. you are in awe of the size of his palm, which covers a significant amount of your thigh.

"open up." your voice is a mere whisper. he does as you say, and you waste no time in placing the pepero stick between his teeth, but not before playfully teasing him and swirling it around his tongue first. the strawberry and ruby chocolate melt on his taste buds, and he wishes for nothing more than to taste the other pink that is your lips. as he bites down, a satisfying crunch meets your ears. "good boy."

he almost purrs when your hand caresses his cheek. he might combust on this very couch tonight.

"you're so pretty. i could just put you on my shelf and watch you all day long." you're not sure where all this is coming from. you had buried it deep down. was the bottle of soju really enough to make all of this flood out of you? curiosity paints his features, resulting in big glossy eyes and furrowed brows. "my pretty boy."

he almost whimpers. he's lucky he has the treat in his mouth, because he masks the pathetic whimper by swallowing the pepero. he watches as your other hand retrieves another one, this time placing it between your lips. his face feels warm under your touch. his body is at your complete mercy. all he can do is squeeze your thighs from nervousness as your face inches closer and closer to him. the other end of the stick is pressed against his lips, and he takes it again. he forces himself to go slow, and not like a guinea pig eating an asparagus.

eyes are fluttering shut, breathing becomes shallow, and anticipation pools in lower stomachs as the pepero stick becomes shorter and shorter. san feels your warm breath caress his lips. he smells the strawberries and your lip gloss. he feels your hair tickle his cheeks as your upper body hovers above him. he is aware of the burning situation on his lower area where the two of you are connected. he is overwhelmed.

there is a single bite that separates the two of you. san stops. he isn't brave. you stop as well. and for a moment, he panics. his hands squeeze your thighs in an attempt to keep you from running away again. not this time. not again. and you don't disappoint him.

you bite down on the last bit, and finally, press your lips against his. san exhales into the kiss. he has dreamed of this moment every night. every day. every time he'd see you reapply your lip gloss or lip balm. the scent of sickeningly sweet fruits envelops him, and while he would usually complain, he now welcomes it.

every time he smells a strawberry, a blueberry, a cherry, or a chocolate, he will be reminded of the way your pretty lips feel like a plush cloud against his. of the way you take his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging it. of the way your hot tongue swipes over the now slightly swollen lip, as an apology. of the way your body yearns for him, fingers tangling into his hair, playing with the strands. hips hopelessly seeking friction. shallow gasps leaving you whenever you pull away to catch your breath.

of the way his hands can't get enough of you. the way they slide under your top, just to rest on your waist. feeling your burning skin under his touch. fingers tracing up your spine and leaning you further against him. like he doesn't want a single atom to stand between you. his other hand gripping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. tasting you like it's his last meal. like he was made to touch you, taste you.

like he was born to love you.

san effortlessly picks you up. he walks over to the nearby wall, pressing you against it. the cold concrete cools you down. soon enough, your clothes are a mess on the floor. you can't help the exhale of awe that leaves you as your fingers trace san's shoulders, collarbones, then his chest and abs. he fails to hide a proud smile, dimples cutely peeking out. his glasses are all fogged up. you don't want to remove them. the contrast between his face and body should be studied.

"still think i'm pretty?" he huffs, trying to unbuckle his belt while he still holds your body against the wall. he is insanely strong.

you respond with a courageous act; tongue swiping from his collarbone and up his neck, until you stop by his ear. you bite down on his earlobe, and then graze his ear shell with your lips before whispering: "the prettiest."

hands clumsily help him undo his belt, and once his pants hit the floor and he is left in boxers only, he doesn't waste time in pinning you further up the wall so that your legs fall over his shoulders. fingers dig into your thighs as he dives in, teeth pulling the thin fabric aside and tongue eager to taste you. you're lucky it's nighttime.

pretty eyes look at you as the tip of his tongue barely grazes the sensitive bud between your legs. watching your face. studying your expressions. enjoying the way your brows furrow and mouth hangs open as he finally tastes you. you hold onto his shoulder with one hand, and pull his hair with the other. sweet moans are music to his ears. he notices you enjoy slow but deep strokes. so that's what he does: savours you slowly, deeply, to your core. it feels as if all air has been knocked out of your lungs.

before you can fall apart in his mouth, your hand yanks his head away. you half expect the moan that leaves his flushed lips. san carefully sets you down. he then watches in awe as you lower down on your knees. the boxers free his needy cock from their grip. it finds relief in your gentle grasp. san hisses as your tongue softly swirls around his sticky tip. he chokes when your lips close around it, barely even stuffing the tip before you gag. tears prickle your eyes as you test your limits, pushing his thick length to slide down your tongue and touch the back of your throat.

you didn't take san as a noisy man during sex. not that you thought about him in that light. once or twice, maybe. you aren't complaining. not as his hand caresses your hair, gently pulling it every now and then, refraining himself from just snapping his hips and making you cry as he loses himself to the feeling. his moans are pathetic. in a hot way. in a way that makes you realize you want to have san squirming, whining and begging under your touch.

so when both your hands join your mouth on his throbbing cock, san loses his mind. his whimpers intensify, and his hips hopelessly move in rhythm with your head. "fuck-"

you pull away, but don't stop your hands from moving. "you close, baby?"

"oh," he breathes out at the new nickname. "so close. fuck, so close."

"you want to make a mess on me?" you offer, sticking your tongue out and placing his cock on it.

"no," he declines.

"why not?" to your knowledge, every man wanted that. you've tried it. weren't exactly impressed. but for san? you'd do it again and again. "you don't want to paint my face? my tits?"

he shakes his head breathlessly. "you are too pretty for that. it's degrading. i don't want it."

and just like that, he makes you melt all over again. just when he thinks you'll tip him over the edge, your hands abandon him. but it's late. his cock twitches, and he gasps in disbelief as he watches himself leak on the floor. he lets out a frustrated grunt from the ruined orgasm. he misses the way your eyes darken at his needy and upset expression. you felt sorry at first. but now, you might have discovered a new side of san you like.

"aw, my poor sannie." you cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. you feel liquid on them. fuck, is he crying? "baby?"

"i'm- it's fine," he looks away, humiliated.

"sannie." like a lost, obedient puppy, san's glossy eyes lock with yours. "you're so good to me. such a patient little puppy."

"i am?"

"of course you are. you're my pretty boy. and i'll reward you for being so good to me."

"really?" he is intrigued. "how?"

"are you feeling frustrated?" your fingers move the loose strands of hair from his face, caressing his head in the process. "did i ruin your orgasm?"

"n-no..." he stutters.

"i did, didn't i? poor baby." you award him with a sweet kiss. enough to have him chase you when you pull away. but you press your finger against his lips, silently telling him to wait. "you want to cum, sannie?"

"yes, please." san breathes out. "pretty please."

"then use me, baby." you give yourself to him, fingers unhooking your bra and leaving you bare before his eyes. "use me, punish me, breed me, destroy me. do whatever you want. i'm all yours."

san's mouth waters. his ears are buzzing. he hesitates, at first. once his hands lay on your body again, fire reignites within him. he pulls you in for a kiss, desperately searching for the sweetness of your mouth. the taste of you melts on his tongue. you let him set the pace. he is so lost in the way you taste that he doesn't even realize he is rubbing himself against you, hips hopelessly searching for friction.

"need any help?" you purr into his ear as he switches to kissing your neck.

he only hums, and you waste no time in gripping his sensitive cock again.

"you have such a pretty cock, sannie."

if only you knew before how hot male whimpering was. you would've found yourself a submissive man as soon as possible. but your patience and unknowledge is rewarded, life gifting you san for what you've missed.

san turns you around so that you are bent over the glass railing. you feel his sticky tip brush past your thighs, rubbing against your clit, before diving into your warmth. when he bottoms out, he releases a moan of pleasure and relief. you wish you could see his face, but you'll settle for shameless moaning into your ear as he presses his torso against your back and starts moving. you feel him deep in your belly, so much that the sight of it has a new wave of arousal gushing out of you.

"you're so pretty," he is a blubbering mess. his grip is strong on your waist, and so is the one in your hair. your head is pulled back so that you can catch a glimpse of his fucked out face. "you feel so good- fuck-"

"come on, baby. use me."

"i want to- i want to-" he breathes out between moans.

"you want to cum?"

"yes, please. please, please, please- i can't- ah!"

he's taken aback when your hips slam into his. he lets you regain control, pathetically clinging to you as you work your hips at a rough and fast pace, inching him closer to the promised orgasm. then, you slow down. you feel his every vein against your walls. you feel his leaking tip kiss your cervix as you take him deep, causing both of you to gasp and reach for each other. not able to take it anymore, you pull out just enough so you can turn around. he slides back in like he was made for you, filling you up to the brim and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, all while his hands leave bruises on your thighs and waist as he tries his best to control himself.

"come on, baby. wreck me." you moan against his lips.

san deliciously grazes your sweet spot, and once he finds out just what you like, he slams his hips into yours. his teeth bite into your shoulder, drops of sweat cover his body and make his hair stick to his forehead. yet san doesn't care. he is lost in the feeling of you. in the sound of you. in the sight of you.

"sannie-" you breathe out. "fuck, baby, you're doing so good. you're such a good boy."

now you're a blubbering mess. orgasm inching closer, san abusing your sweet spot with his hot tip, hitting it over and over until a strangled moan meets his ears and your body starts twitching in his arms. the sight of you falling apart has san finally reach his own release. ropes of cum shoot inside you, giving you a warm sensation as you recover. san shudders under your touch as you rub his back, quiet whimpers leaving him as he sloppily rides out his orgasm.

"my pretty boy." you praise him. his hair is now slicked back due to sweat and your caressing. he finds comfort in hugging your body close to him and resting his head on your shoulder. "you did amazing, baby. you made me feel so good."

"i did?" san asks, then raises his head enough to take a look at you.

you press your lips to his forehead, and finally, remove the foggy and drenched glasses and put them up on your head as a hair band so that he comfortably lays back on your shoulder. "of course you did."

you don't know how long you stand like that. until the sweat on the two of you dries, and a chill enters your bodies. you drag san back to the couch, laying on it first and inviting him to lay down with you. he wastes no time in helping you wear your top, then wears his own boxers. finally, he lays down with you. head snuggled on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, as if you'll fade if he lets go.

"good night, san."

"good night, princess."

you're both covered with a thin blanket. just when you start falling into slumber, san wakes you with a tiny voice.

"am i really yours?"

"you are."

"can you say it again?" he mumbles, half asleep.

"you're mine?"

"no, the other thing."

"my pretty boy?"

"yes. good night."

"good night, mr choi."

he pinches your thigh under the blanket, causing you to yelp. "sannie, not mr choi."

"i'm just messing with you, sannie. good night."

"good. good night." you don't miss the way his dimple appears, even though you can't see his smile from this position.

and you can't wait to poke it every chance you get.

2K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 2 months ago

Note

anything with domestic jackson!joel……. i miss him dearly

✶ ┄ END OF THE WORLD !

summary: you intervene when joel and ellie get into an argument, and try to find a way to tell him some shocking news of your own.

pairing: joel miller / f!reader

contents: s2ep6 spoilers, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy mention, loads of fluff + girl dad joel miller <3

“Your husband’s a lunatic,” an unfamiliar voice calls as you slide the rain-soaked jacket from your shoulders.

You pause with it halfway down your arms, face twisted as you turn to the strange girl rushing down the stairs. One of Ellie’s friends, you presume, with auburn hair chopped to her chin and pale skin littered with tattoos. She tugs a flannel over her shoulders, concealing the faded locket on her forearm.

“Husband—?” you echo, voice laced with confusion. “—Who are you?”

The girl slides past you in the doorway without a word, ducking her head as she rushes down the porch and into the rain. You watch over your shoulder as she disappears into the downpour and wonder briefly what’s got her seeking refuge in a storm.

Then you hear yelling, two muffled voices in a screaming match, coming from the bedroom the stranger had just left.

You realize, then, what she had meant by husband.

And lunatic.

“Joel?!” you shout with a nervous waver in your voice as you ascend the creaking staircase, skipping a step at a time and tucking the piece of paper in your hand into the back pocket of your jeans. The angry voices grow louder the closer you get to Ellie’s room.

“—I guess this is what I get for tryin’ to surprise you, huh?”

“—I didn’t ask for any of this shit!”

“—That’s what a surprise is!”

You push the ajar door open with one hand, finding the two deadlocked in a glaring match in the center of the room. Joel holds the girl’s arm in a stern but gentle grip, while she keeps her free one balled into a trembling fist at her side. The arguing ceases when you appear in the doorway, but the angered looks twisting their features remain when their heads whip in your direction.

“What’s going on?” you pant, wide eyes darting between the two of them. “What happened?”

“This happened,” Joel spits and angles Ellie’s arm in your direction. The length of her forearm is adorned with fresh black ink — a long fern leading to a wide moth on the inside of her elbow — red around the edges and slightly swollen.

Your face floods with a visible shock, though you fail to understand why it’s got Joel so angry. “It’s… It’s just a tattoo,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I don’t understand—”

“It’s not just a tattoo,” the man shouts, voice deep and gruff and accented. He drops Ellie’s arm to inch closer to you, gesticulating wildly with his weathered hands. “It’s all the teenage shit all at once. Drugs, sex, experimenting—”

“It wasn’t sex,” Ellie bites, dark eyes hardened. “And it wasn’t an experiment.”

“She’s seventeen,” you remind the man looming over you, as tall and angry as a black storm cloud. There’s a frown etched between his pinched, greying brows that you meet with a quiet smile. “We can’t expect her not toact like a teenager—”

“So, what?” Joel’s voice booms, much firmer than your soft one. “You’re— You’re takin’ her side, now? Is that it?”

“Obviously not!” you say, laughing. “We’re definitely gonna talk about smoking in the house, because it makes everything smell like shit—”

You look over Joel’s shoulder to flash the girl behind him a pointed look. Ellie cowers under your gaze, “Sorry…” she mumbles.

“And we need to set some ground rules about having people over, but—”

“But what?” Joel interjects, hands on his hips, already angry at you for something you haven’t yet said.

“But it’s just a tattoo. And it’s just some girl.” You wave your hand vaguely to the open door behind you, where the stranger had just scurried from. “It’s not the end of the world you’re making it out to be.”

The anger in Joel’s tired eyes flickers suddenly, like a snuffed flame. “I thought we were supposed to be a team?” he murmurs, low and slightly strained. You see the stress of the situation hit him then, a visible fatigue on his greying face.

“We are.”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh. The corner of his mouth quirks in an emotionless half-smile. “Well, then, it’d be real nice if you took my side every now and then.”

His broad shoulder brushes yours as he walks past you out the door. “Joel!” you call to him, though his only response is the slam of Ellie’s bedroom door. The framed photos and paintings on the wall jolt softly in protest.

Ellie huffs a breath of relief when he’s gone. “Thanks…” she murmurs, shifting shyly on her feet.

“Don’t thank me,” you sigh and lean your weight against her desk.

To your left is a birthday cake — chocolate icing, rainbow sprinkles, and her name written in cursive. You think it must be the surprise Joel mentioned earlier, since he’s done this every year right before her birthday. He always says that there’s no real time to worry about cake on the day, ‘cause he’s always got something elaborate planned for her outside of Jackson.

He was gonna take her on her first patrol at first light tomorrow, like she’s been begging for since she was fifteen. You hope he’ll still take her. You hope she’ll let him.

You feel the exhaustion of the long day in your tired bones, then. All the sleep you didn’t get and the early hours you spent feeling sickly hit you all at once. You feel more infected than human most days. It’s a palpable weariness Ellie can feel across the room.

“Then I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize either,” you tell her. “I mean, I was serious about you smoking in the house— and about you having people I don’t know over, but… You’re not doing anything wrong, okay?”

Ellie’s brows pinch. She eyes you from beneath her lashes like she’s half suspicious, too used to Joel and his never-ending lectures. “I’m not?” she wonders aloud.

“No. Not as long as you’re being safe, you know, with the weed and the… whoever that was.”

“Kat,” she finishes for you.

“Sure. I just— I think it’d be easier for Joel if you’d, you know, talk to him— to us. I know you don’t care about his permission or whatever, but I think it’d help if he felt… included.” You shrug like you’re offering her something, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “At least then he wouldn’t have to find you smoking weed and sneaking girls over all at once. He’s old, Els, there’s only so much his heart can take.”

Ellie fights back a smile and plops down on the foot of her bed. The old thing creaks softly under her weight. “I don’t know how,” she murmurs, running her finger over the fresh ink in her arm. “To talk to him, I mean.”

“I don’t either, sometimes,” you confess with a sigh and rise from your slouched position. “But I guess I’m gonna try.”

“Good luck,” Ellie lilts as you wrench open the door.

“Thanks,” you deadpan back. “I think I’m gonna need it.”

You take your time making your way to the garage, which is where Joel usually goes to let off steam. He holds all his love in his hands, but he keeps his anger there, too — which is why you find him working on Ellie’s handmade guitar in the quiet yellow lamplight. ‘Cause even though no one pisses him off quite like than soon to be seventeen-year-old, Joel Miller can’t love her anymore than he already does.

You knock softly on the already open door to announce your arrival.

Joel, with his back turned towards you, blows dust from the waist of the guitar as he sands down its edges. “I don’t wanna talk right now,” he murmurs gruffly, running his calloused palm over the smooth wood.

You exhale a breathy laugh before you mean to. Joel glares at you over his shoulder. You clear your throat and try hard to be serious. “Sorry. You just— You talk a lot about Ellie’s mood swings, but some days you’re just as bad,” you confess, inching closer with hesitant steps. “Like father, like daughter, I suppose…”

The corner of Joel’s lip quirks in a quiet smile that he rubs away with his hand, fingers brushing over his greying beard. You walk closer and smooth your palms over his tense shoulders. Joel tries to deny himself the intimacy, “I’m serious, I really don’t—”

You bend at the waist to press your mouth to his ear. “Shh…” you whisper there, right before pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck as you sprinkle chaste kisses everywhere you can reach. His cheek, his temple, his jaw, his neck. You bathe him in softness until it washes the learned hardness from his body — until he exhales a much-needed breath and relaxes in your hold.

“There you go…” you coo, embracing him with one hand while your other smooths over his silver curls. Joel’s head tilts instinctively into your touch. His heavy eyes flutter slowly shut.

“I just don’t understand her sometimes,” he murmurs.

“I know. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

His brows pinch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t think you confuse her the same way she confuses you? When you go from… barely talking to exploding out of nowhere?”

“I don’t explode,” he scoffs, face twisted with offense as he turns his head to look at you. You flash him a knowing look in response, which only offends him more. “I don’t!”

“You don’t ask her to open up, and then take it out on her when she keeps things from you.”

Joel glares when you straddle the bench to sit beside him. “You’re doing it again,” he deadpans and turns away, anxious hands messing with the half-done guitar in his lap.

“What?” you laugh. “Knocking some sense into you?”

Joel rolls his eyes in response. You reach for him, grabbing his scruffy chin with your thumb and forefinger to pull him closer and press a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I’m just kidding…” you lilt within a sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. “I know how you feel, Joel.”

You feel him shaking his head. “You don’t.”

“I do. I know every little thought that goes on in that head of yours, Joel Miller,” you insist gently, smoothing your cheek over his shoulder like a cat. “I know you love Ellie like a daughter. Like Sarah—”

The mention of her name makes him tense beneath you.

“—And I know that sometimes you miss Ellie like you miss Sarah. And I know that that confuses you, ‘cause Ellie’s still here, and that you just don’t want her to grow up… I get it.”

Joel flinches softly at your words, at the weight of them. His weathered features screw together, as though physically pained by the thought. He swallows hard and admits the hard truth out loud, “I just wanna protect her,” he mumbles, slightly strangled with emotion.

“I know you do. ‘Cause that’s what you always do,” you hum, resting your chin on his shoulder to gaze softly upon his profile. His features are strong and chiseled, like that of an ancient sculpture slightly worn with time. You smooth a rogue grey curl from his temple, chin bobbing as you speak, “But I think tattoos and weed are the least of our problems right now, all things considered.”

Joel huffs, broad shoulders deflating.

Thinking about it now, he can’t remember why he got so worked up in the first place — why he resorted to the yelling place, as you called it, instead of just talking like a normal human being. But, in truth, nothing about him and Ellie has ever been normal. She was cargo to him one minute, and then he blinked and realized he’d set the world on fire if it meant keeping her safe. It’s a guttural, primal feeling he doesn’t think many people understand — least of all Ellie herself.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he sighs, southern drawl like honey, as he props the handmade guitar on the floor beside him. He rises from the workbench and guides you with him with a gentle hand on the outside of your elbow. “You always are,” he follows with a quiet, crooked smile.

“Thanks for admitting it, Miller,” you grin, and migrate instinctively into his arms when he opens them for you.

You press yourself against him with every intention of melting in his warmth, inhaling his sea-salt scented shampoo when you nose into his curls. Joel buries his face in your shoulder and lets out a heavy sigh of contentment there. You try not to shiver when his beard scrapes the delicate skin of your neck.

“Ellie said she wants to move in here,” Joel mumbles against you.

“The garage?” you ask.

He nods against you.

“And what did you say?”

“Hell no,” he deadpans in response, then smiles to himself when he feels your body shaking with subsequent laughter.

“I’m not trying to take Ellie’s side, or anything, but… I don’t think it’s the worst idea ever,” you start slowly, awaiting his response. Joel stays silent to egg you on, and your eyes flit to the wooden panels on the ceiling, trying to find the words to say. They all just seem to strangle you instead. “I think that, you know, maybe we could use the extra room.”

Joel parts from you, but only slightly. Just enough to peer down at you with a bearded face twisted in a gentle sort of confusion. “For what?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, even though you do know and you’re just trying to find the courage. “Maybe a nursery?”

It comes out like a question, like you’re just testing the waters — gauging his reaction. You don’t tell him, yet, that a nursery will become unequivocally necessary in the coming months, much sooner than either of you realize.

The realization of such comes slowly. You watch his confusion deepen, then ebb slightly, before his face floods with a gaping look of shock.

“Are you…” Joel stammers. “You’re…”

“Pregnant? Yeah, apparently,” you answer casually, ‘cause you’ve had an hour or so now to get over the initial stupor. You reach into the back pocket of your jeans for the sonogram you tucked there for safekeeping. “I was coming back from Dr. Quinn’s when I found you and Ellie in a screaming match—”

Joel takes the ultrasound you offer him with shaking hands.

“Turns out, it wasn’t actually food poisoning,” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest to tuck your own trembling fingers under your armpits. “Even though I’m still almost certain that chicken alfredo Tommy made last week was, like, totally raw, but—”

Joel’s wide eyes flit between your face and the black-and-white photo in his hands. At the center is an indistinct blob, no bigger than a raspberry, and it sends his racing heart to the pit of his stomach. “You’re pregnant?” he wonders aloud, more firmly this time, though the words still sound a bit foreign on his tongue.

“Yep,” you answer, brows raised and smile wavering. “Surprise…” you lilt shakily.

Joel shifts on his feet before you, maneuvering the sonogram between his sweaty hands so he can wipe each one on his jeans. His mouth opens and closes for a few long moments as he tries to find the right words to say. It’s hard to, though, when his head’s racing a million miles a minute.

“Is… Is it…?” he trails off.

You don’t let him finish. “I swear to god, Joel Miller, if you ask me if it’s yours, I’m gonna be the one moving into the garage.”

Despite being half-breathless, Joel manages a quiet laugh. “No, I mean, is it… Is it a girl, or…?”

“Oh. Uh… It’s too early to tell, I think?”

“Right,” Joel nods. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Despite his obvious gracelessness, he’s been through this once before. He remembers every inch of his time with Sarah, who’d changed his life before she was even born. That all feels like lifetimes ago now, though — and, in some ways, it has been.

The world went to shit, but it didn’t truly end until his babygirl died. And then decades flew by like minutes, and he found Ellie, and realized too late that she was his second shot at a life he thought was long gone. And when he got to Jackson, and when Jackson gave him you, he realized he could start living again — and that Sarah wouldn’t punish him for moving on. (Though she was always too kind for that, anyway.)

“I hope it’s a girl, though,” you say when Joel gets lost in his head, smoothing your hands over his chest. You think you can feel his heart racing beneath your palm. “I wanna keep you outnumbered, Miller.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he mumbles, lips quirking in a quiet smile.

Your grin comes more absentmindedly, relieved by his reaction. “So… You’re happy?”

Joel falters for a moment, ‘cause he can’t imagine being anything else — not when he’s got Ellie, and you, and this baby who’s not here yet. “Yeah,” he nods, slightly strangled when his eyes burn with unshed tears. “‘Course I am.”

He hugs you again, this time like he’s trying to press all the love in his heart directly into yours. His strong arms wrap tightly around you, like they have every day for years now, until he remembers his strength and jerks back like he’s burned you.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” he curses under his breath, holding you gently by the waist with careful hands. His dark eyes dart wildly from your smiling face to the barely-there bump beneath your sweater, scared that he’s hurt you somehow.

“It’s okay,” you laugh. “Keep holding me. I liked it.”

He abides you, ‘cause it’s in his blood to, though he’s clearly more gentle this time. He keeps one warm hand on your lower back and his other cradling the back of your hair. He presses his lips to the crown of your head and mumbles there, “‘M sorry for stressin’ you out today. Wouldn’t have made a fuss about it if I knew… Shouldn’t have made a fuss about it anyway…”

“Don’t worry about that,” you murmur sincerely into his chest, then joke quietly, “I want you to stress me out for a lifetime, Miller.”

You feel his soft laughter rumbling against your cheek. “I guess I can do that.”

#published by bug #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff #joel miller #tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fanfiction

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allhailbuckybarnes · 25 days ago

Text

the love confession

summary: bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try ;)

warnings: fluff/smut, longing, pining, some use of y/n, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, dirty thoughts, tension, body worship, bob is down bad, bob is a MAN, you are just as down bad, yelena is number one supporter, idiots in love, confusion, jealousy, a pinch of angst, just playing: so so much angst, possessive bob, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, reader gets hurt badly (more on that later), bob is not okay, fear, love, please just kiss alr you two

monday (chapter one)

Bob wakes up early this morning. Rolling over to take a drink of water. His first thoughts, as always, are about you. Your hair in the morning, what you were doing, if you had already fixed your coffee. He throws on sweats and a t-shirt, stumbling around so he can see you sooner. A sticky-note on his door read:

“BOB- do not forget, therapy on Mondays and Thursdays at 4:30 pm!! DONT MISS IT AGAIN! - ur fave :)”

He smiles dumbly and walks out, shutting the door behind him. As he enters the common area near the kitchen, he sees you wondering around the cabinets. He smiles, there you are. You looked as if you were about to burn the kitchen to the ground.

“What’s up?” He asks, settling behind you and sitting on the counter.

You groan, slapping your hands to your forehead and running them down your face. “Bobby, I swear to god if Walker eats my cereal again, I’ll cut his dick off and feed it to Yelena’s rat thing,” you grumble.

He laughs out loud, “Oh cmon now, you can’t do that to Yelena’s guinea pig. Besides, I have a secret stash, just for you.” You flip around, gripping his shoulders in a very serious stance, eyeing him. “Bobby. You. Are my hero.” His smile falters slightly at the closeness of your faces. What feels like a minute passes as he stares at your lips. He can just barely feel your breath on his chin. You’re too pretty.

You remove your hands, “well? Lead the way!” He grins again, hopping off the counter and showing you the faulty crack between the fridge and microwave, “tada!" He waves little enthusiastic jazz hands at you, handing you the box. You smile, a big, beautiful smile, and slap his shoulder.

“I’ll have to keep you around I suppose Robert Reynolds.” His name rolls off your lips like sin. He rolls his eyes to mask the tightness in his chest, “sure Y/n, sure.” You mock a pouty face and he laughs.

You giggle and stroll over to the bowls, a pep in your step at the promise of your favorite cereal. Bob had thought of you again, it made your ears and cheeks burn red.

He was always extra thoughtful of you, whether that meant your snacks were always stocked, your dishes were the first he worried about cleaning, or the way your stories always seemed the most interesting to him. You always thought it was just him being mindful of your sensitive feelings.

Little did you know, he was trying to show you everything he felt for you in every glance, action, and gesture. To everyone around you it was obvious. The rest of the team had pools on who would finally have the balls to tell the other first. Neither of you did, it seemed.

Eating your cereal together, you don’t have to say much. Each other’s presence is enough. Bob mindlessly made your coffee just the way you liked it as you prepared the cereal bowls. It was clockwork, it was normal. Some might even say it was domestic.

You relay your plans for the day to Bob, “I need to workout, seriously. Even though I’ve got the same serum you do mr. god, I swear my bones are aching. Also, I was thinking about going to the bookstore, do you want to tag along to either place? I was thinking it’d just be us, almost like a da-…” you cut yourself off, mortified.

You often didn't think as you rambled, always just speaking your mind. It's not like you two hadn't hung out before... but it had always seemed coincidental, the right place at the right time. You had never asked him with the intention you had just now. Or almost asked...

Bob sputtered: did you want to go on a date with him? No, that’s not possible. You just saw him as a friend. His cheeks turned pink. His body felt on fire.

“Wow okay, I’m not offended at all,” you quickly reply at his reaction, taking your bowl to clean it. You frown, goddamn it. I pushed too much. He doesn’t see me like that. Stupid! Your heart pounded in your chest.

“No, wait what? Y/n, of course I want to go with you.” He chases after you, grabbing your wrist, taking the bowl from your hands slowly, and rinsing it. Your lip pulls to the side, “it’s okay if not. I just thought it would be something we would both enjoy. I had a book recommendation lined up and everything, but I didn’t even ask what your plans were, I'm sorry...” Bob put a hand on your shoulder, “hey, you’re starting to sound like me, quit it,” he smiled. “I always want to hang out with you Y/n.”

Your halfway serious grin returned and you punched him in the shoulder. “Then don’t almost spit up next time! You had me worried I overstepped a boundary in our heart warming friendship.”

Not that word again. Both of you cringed in your mind at the thought of just being friends. Neither of you wanted to just be friends. Bob smiled anyway, "You could never overstep. You know that, right?"

Your smile lessened at his tone, and you touched his shoulder again, grazing it with your hand, a serious look on your face. "I know."

It was a silent plea for physical reassurance. You often thought about curling up to Bob, taking your worries and your fears, and letting him take over. He always talked to you first about nightmares, he always held you then, in the quiet of the night. It was always innocent. That was an easy conversation for you to have together, having gone through the same trials. He just got you. You pulled away.

It meant everything to Bob that you touched him.

You were sweaty and tired, training had worn you out. The sparring with John took way too long, so you ran back to your room to shower and change quickly. Stepping in, the hot water washed away all the physical exhaustion, but the mental side never truly went away.

You just simply had too much on your mind. Everything with Bob, constant life-threatening missions, the pressure of the press, your serum trauma. It was always so much to carry.

It would help if you had someone to help you carry it, but the one person you want is your best friend.

You couldn't mess that up, you wouldn't lose Bob. Just the thought of scaring him away by your feelings kept you from telling him the truth.

That you wanted him. That you pictured it, everything with him. From date nights, to lingering touches, to a home, all the way to wrinkles.

You step out, drying yourself off. Maybe one day, when things calm down. When Val isn’t breathing down your neck constantly. When you have more control over your emotions, over your new powers. You would tell him.

Putting on a sweatshirt and shorts, you throw your hair into an easy style, curl your lashes, put a little extra effort into your makeup and jewelry for the ‘date,’ and head down to meet Bobby by the cars.

You take the elevator, staring and dreaming of how to make it known that you like Bob, knowing that you wouldn’t dare. But just his company was enough for know.

Bob is leaning against a Cadillac, waiting for you when you walked up. He looked up from his phone, “Oh hey! Um... Wow, are we only going to the bookstore?” He swallows.

You look down at your outfit, “yeah? I’m only wearing sweats.”

Bob chuckles and runs a nervous hand through his hair, “well, it’s just. You look good—um. You always look good.”

You smile on instinct, blushing hard. “Thank you.” He leans forward enough to brush a stray piece of hair away. Every touch felt electric, wanting, right. You leaned into his touch. A slam of the door behind you both startled you, Bob dropping his hand.

Alexei greeted each of you with a hug, running up and yelling, “EYY! My favorite Avengerz.”

You each pat his back awkwardly and greet him. He grins, “finally going on a date? I told you Bobby, she’s a good one.”

Bobby looked stunned and blushed firmly, staring at his feet. You quickly cover, patting Alexei's shoulder and pulling Bob towards the car, “no, no Alexei, we’re just going out. Thanks for the compliment though.” You would never assume anything. You murmur, "I'm sorry" to Bob as you each get in. He assures you it's okay. You know better.

With a reaction like that from Bob, you felt grounded. Back down to Earth. He didn’t want you like that, he cared about you, but it wasn’t anything more than family- sister and brother. Even thought you dreamed of more, something more like teammates against the world and lovers... you still had him. Robert. That was all that mattered.

Besides, it was impractical.

You understood, it was a dangerous risk to fall.

Each of you stayed silent on the drive to the bookstore. Bob had let Alexei's words get to his head and it was obvious. You had noticed, and spent the entire drive trying to find the right words to comfort him.

When you parked, Bobby went straight for his seatbelt, but you stopped him. "Hey, I know what he said bothered you. But I appreciate you coming anyways."

His eyes squinted and he looked frustrated, "it's just... that's not how I wanted things to go. Not how they should go," he painfully admitted. Your heart winced at his words, of course that isn't how he wanted it, he doesn't want that. Why can't I just accept that.

"Let's just go inside, yeah?" You ask, trying to hide the storm brewing inside your head. He looked at you. For a beat, words you wish each other would say, hung in the space between you. The only thing holding you back was yourselves.

The bookstore was quiet, slow, and steady. Each aisle was littered with old, new, torn, and worn books. You had already found a poetry book on your tbr list and immediately added it to the stack you each had compiled. You would swipe Val's card on your heart's desires any day of the week. She deserved it.

The tattered books you held reminded you of each person on the team.

A pristine covered novel, with poorly hidden rips and markings inside - Walker

A short, honest, and used memoir with a broken spine - Ava

A thick, very beaten book, which you couldn't tell if it'd been well loved or torn apart on purpose - Bucky

A gleaming fiction of a story of glory which ended in disappointment - Alexei

A series book, contained to its beaten holder with its fellow victims who had all been through beatings together, torn apart - Yelena

A hopeful manuscript with dried tears on it's pages, not yet finished - Robert

And you, a soft cover, written over in ink and tears, full of empty meaning, alone.

You needed a drink.

After your selections, you checked out, the cashier seemingly satisfied with the absolute library you were taking home, gave you a free tote to haul them in. You and Bob always shared books, so there was no reason to split them into piles. You would read his margin notes, and add yours nearby.

Bobby seemed off on the ride home. He obviously had something on his mind. You silently willed for the words Alexei had said to roll off his shoulders. The more it bothered him, the more worried you became about your feelings.

They could become a real problem if you didn't shake them. If you couldn't let go of this, then it would effect your work, your safety, his safety. It could not get to that point.

It was time to end your crush on Robert Reynolds.

God you have no idea what you'e doing.

Dinner was good. Yelena made something with pork and stew, her own recipe. It was delicious, but dinner had been ruined for you when Bob turned in extra early, blaming it on his desire to read a new book. Your unhappy attitude had been noticed fairly quickly. But nobody dared say anything.

You retreated to sulk on your own soon after dinner. Passing Bob's door and opening your own, you heard the shower on. You two had to share a bathroom, which connected your suites. Sometimes, it was torture when you'd accidentally almost see him naked.

Lord had the serum been kind to him. His body looked amazing, he was the rugged, but subtle kind of ripped. The freckles across his chest made you want to tear him apart with your lips. His veins, leading down to his long fingers, made you want to be fucked stupid with his hands choking you. It was embarrassing, but it was true.

You laid in bed with a book in your hands, carelessly reading the same lines over and over again, willing your head to focus. But you couldn't, you needed to talk to Bob.

After abandoning the book, you stood, trying to convince yourself to be brave. To face what you felt.

You knock on the door on his side of the bathroom, and after he mumbles, "One sec!" You hear a tumble and a small curse. He finally opens the door a crack after a minute. "Yeah?" He croaks, his hair a mess. He looks sweaty, has he been working out or something?

"I'm sorry if I interrupted, we can talk tomorrow," you quickly whispered, and turn to go. He catches your wrist, "no wait."

His hand was sweaty, almost moist. You looked down at the contact. Bob's adam's apple shifted up and down as he swallowed the tension. "I, I should apologize," he speaks lowly.

"I was so quiet, I had to have made your head spin. I was just thinking about what Alexei said, and I-" You interrupt bringing your hand to his cheek, "I get it, I knew that's what it was."

Bobby's brows furrowed, and his mouth opened to speak, but he hesitated. Why were you avoiding his opinion so much? Had he upset you? Why were you touching his cheek and not fucking kissing him with those lips. He wanted you. You dropped your hand, so he pulled you in for a hug. God this is too friendly, you both thought.

"Listen, if I hurt you by my reaction it was not meant. You know that I care... about you." He whispered, his lips barely grazing your hair. When had you changed the scent of your shampoo? It was incredible. Fuuuuuck.

You didn't dare meet his eyes, keeping your face buried in your friend's neck. But a soft hand guided your chin, tilting you up to meet his eyes. "You get some sleep, and we'll figure it all out tomorrow, mkay?" He strains. Your touch was too much after his previous activites. His cock was gonna burst. You nod, slowly, and your eyes flicker down to his lips for a second.

That split second made Bob so hard it hurt. He brushed a piece of hair back behind your ear, and you silently retreated to your room, stunned and wet as hell.

Each of you laid in bed, restless, thinking the same thoughts.

What the fuck.

I want her

I'd fuck him right now

Maybe tomorrow. But for now, you each needed sleep.

Bobby dreamt of your new shampoo and you mouth around his cock. You dreamt of his hands around your throat again, and a wrap-around porch with his hand in yours, reading books.

For now, you were each content.

tuesday (chapter two)

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cityselcouth · 1 month ago

Text

runway

pairing: rafayel x reader

summary: when your top model meets with an accident that keeps him off his feet for a while, you have no choice but to take on the arrogant Qi Rafayel in his absence. dealing with a creative rut and a temperamental model who has endless amounts of audacity when you have fashion week to worry about is no easy task, and he certainly doesn't make it any better.....does he?

themes: strangers to lovers, co-workers to lovers, mild enemies/annoyances to lovers, celebrity! au, model! rafayel, fashion designer! mc, fluff, angst, slowburn, sexual tension, profanity, alcohol consumption, abadonment issues, petnames, lots of banter, explicit sexual content (fingering, nipple sucking, praise, cowgirl, protected sex), plot with porn, mc is a girlboss with a temper, rafayel is a brat and an asshole, they're both flawed and emotionally constipated lmao

word count: 35.7k

playlist: vogue by madonna, fashion killa by a$ap rocky, xs by rina sawayama, glamorous by fergie & ludacris, fashion! by lady gaga, disturbia by rihanna, louboutins by nesra, city of blinding lights by u2, empire state of mind (part ii) by alicia keys.

lyns notes: i rewatched 'the devil wears prada' (one of my fav movies fr) and this was born 🫡 I am a self proclaimed fashion girlie so this was a total blast to write and celebrity aus are my fav!! unfortunately I have not made it as an intern during fashion week yet, so please excuse the inevitable inaccuracies. model raf you will always be famous to me. enjoy <3

Your coffee was cold.

Simone stared at you nervously, her years of working as your assistant telling her all she needed to know in that moment. She watched as your fingers drummed against the dark wood of your desk, picking up on all the signs of your distress. Your lips pulled into a grimace, the slight tick in your jaw, and how you looked at the cup of coffee before you. All your employees knew that you were strictly a hot coffee drinker.

“How is he?”

She scrambled to answer. “Xavier is….recovering.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “Elaborate.”

“His leg is broken in two places. Some scratches, but thats the extent of his injuries. He was lucky.”

Your frustration with the situation at hand knew no bounds, and your mood soured even further with the new information. Clicking your tongue, you pressed your index finger and thumb against your temple, already feeling one of your headaches coming on. “Send a bouquet with a card to his hospital room.”

“Of course.” Simone pulled out her phone and began making the arrangements. “Anything else?”

“Coffee that isn’t frigid.”

Nodding quickly, she walked over and plucked up the cup from your table, giving you a final nod and stepping out of your office. Out of the dozens of assistants you had had, Simone had turned out to be the most competent and tolerable of all, and unlike her predecessors, had withstood your sky-high expectations and sharp tongue.

One word people would use to describe you is difficult. Others included delightful descriptions such as ‘unreasonable’ and ‘overbearing’, or perhaps the synonyms so many journalists had used in their pieces about you, including but not limited to: uptight, stubborn and ill-tempered. It was to the point where you had to applaud them for their creativity and commitment to the bit, never failing to find a new word to describe you in a bad light, even if you were the fashion world's current darling.

But this world you were so blessed to be a part of was cutthroat and unforgiving. Smiles and pretty manners would have never gotten you out of the tiny apartments you lived in after graduating from fashion school. Even sheer talent wasn’t enough, so you steeled yourself over those arduous years, using your ambition like the sharp tool it was to overcome the hurdles that had blocked your way to the top.

You had built your brand from the bottom up, and it had been worth it. Every tear, every candle you burned late at night, and every nick on your now-perfectly manicured fingers had gotten you to where you were. Some would say you had your success handed to you, but you knew better. You remembered all the times you nearly gave up, all the years you spent running around and interning for brands that treated you like trash. One couldn’t just forget their roots, even if everyone around them insisted on pretending they didn’t exist.

And so here you were, at twenty-seven years old: Y/n L/n, one of the youngest successful fashion designers in the world, and the founder and CEO of luxury fashion label, Lumiere.

For a brand that was merely five years old, it had quickly turned into a status symbol. Owning a single piece of clothing from any one of Lumiere’s high-end collections set one apart instantly. Your designs were exquisite, and your ability to take any fabric and turn it into a work of art was truly extraordinary. Every collection you breathed life into stunned critics and fellow designers alike, cementing your position as one of the most respected creatives in the industry today.

Respected or not, being a woman in power was a tough act to keep up. Sitting on the throne meant you had to rule with an iron fist. You weren’t allowed to slip up or make mistakes.

Especially not with Paris Fashion Week coming up.

The spring and summer collections would be revealed to the world at the most important fashion week. Everything had been going smoothly under your careful watch.

Until, of course, right now.

Yesterday, your top model met with an accident. Xavier Shen had been with you since the very start of Lumiere and was practically synonymous with its branding. Together, the two of you had taken the world's hottest runways by storm with his award-winning walk and your impeccable designs. In terms of real friendships, he might have been the only one you had.

And now, when you needed him, he was out of commission. There was no way he’d be walking for anyone any time soon.

Your black Louboutins pressed into the carpet beneath your feet as you fought off the wave of annoyance that cut through your concern for Xavier. It wasn’t really aimed at him, no, it was because you couldn’t have possibly predicted such a thing happening.

Money– you had lots of it. More than you could count, and enough to never worry about making a dent in your bank balance ever again. What was most important to you now was control.

Simone rushed back in, placing a steaming cup of coffee on your desk with a polite smile. “Anything else?”

Picking up the cup and taking a sip, you savoured the hot, bitter flavour that coated your taste buds. “A closer for the show would be nice. And someone to model the new line.”

Xavier had always been the one to fill in those shoes, sometimes quite literally. Now, you were left to figure out how to replace him temporarily while retaining the integrity of your brand. You couldn’t just take on anybody.

She didn’t flinch at your cold tone. “Sylus Qin?”

You shook your head, resting your elbows against the mahogany of your desk and cupping the mug of coffee, letting its warmth seep into your skin. “He’s walking for the Dior show, which is only an hour before ours. And he doesn’t particularly fit our image.” Sylus was, no doubt, an excellent model and a current favourite, but wasn’t what you wanted representing your brand. “And don’t even think of recommending Zayne Li. He’s been Miu Miu’s poster boy for the last year, and I have no intention of riding on their coattails.”

Simone began listing models, but none seemed fitting. Yes, this was a problem that you had to solve as quickly as possible, but you refused to settle for anything but the best. As she rattled off names, you turned your attention to the floor-to-ceiling window panes that adorned the back of your office, which revealed a stunning view of the city below. The sun was setting, spilling its orange-red rays all over the buildings and buzzing streets of New York.

It didn’t matter how many times you had been met with this view, it would never grow tiresome. New York would forever be your second love after fashion. It was unforgiving as it was generous, a contradictory quality you liked to think you shared with it.

“What about Qi Rafayel?”

You turned back to her at the unfamiliar name, raising a singular eyebrow. “Who?”

“Rafayel,” she repeated his name, tapping the screen of her tablet and approaching you, holding it out for you to see. On it was the cover of the most recent Vogue issue, and on it was a man covered in colour, the white shirt he wore a victim of this photoshoot's concept. Hues of blue and fuchsia painted his cheekbones and neck, and his dark eyes seemed to stare right into your soul, his features somehow striking a balance between sharp and gentle all at once.

“Tell me more.”

“He’s probably the most talked about in modelling right now. GQ named him Model of the Year.” She droned on about everything she knew, and you were once again reminded of her competency. “He’s under the Lemuria Modelling Agency and has achieved supermodel status with how sensational his walk is.”

You hummed, intrigued now. “How come I’ve never heard of him?”

“From what I’ve heard, he’s very selective about who he walks for, which makes everyone want him even more, of course. Word is that he isn’t walking for any fashion week shows yet. He’s refused all offers.”

Oh? Most models jumped at any chance they got to walk for fashion week. It was the pinnacle of the modelling world as much as it was for the fashion world, with every model competing for the coveted few spots on the runway.

Leaning forward, you studied the magazine cover for a few more seconds. He did seem to give off the same regal air that Xavier did, at least from the shoot you were looking at, which meant it was at least worth considering taking him on. Potential was something you’d have to bet on.

“This might do,” you muttered, waving your hand in her direction. “Arrange a meeting with him and his manager and add it to my schedule.”

Rafayel adored a good party.

Sprawled out on the length of his couch with one arm hanging off of it, he lifted his glass with a satisfied half-smile, cocking his head as he observed the chaos that unfolded around him. The mess currently being made would undoubtedly be a problem, but it was one that a future version of himself would have to deal with. Right now, he was content with being the facilitator.

The bass reverberated through his body, the music so obnoxiously loud that it somehow managed to drown out the raucous laughter and chatter that travelled around the large room. He tipped back the glass, savouring the burn of the alcohol that kissed his throat so soothingly. It provided a pleasant buzz, one that he had been carefully maintaining all evening and the night so far.

People were dancing on his coffee table. Corners of the large room were occupied by pairs that were a little too close, but the darkness provided them with privacy. Beautiful women sauntered around, a couple hovering around him like moths to a flame. One even sat on the velvet armrest of the couch, right behind where his head lay and reached out to touch his hair, which would have annoyed him if he wasn’t halfway to drunk already. The attention didn’t faze him in the slightest, he was used to being at the centre of it.

He was the life of every party, the drug that kept it going, and everyone wanted a piece of that sweet high. His parties were all the rage, and anyone with so much as a speck of fame wanted to be in attendance at them, singers, actors and fellow models alike.

Sighing blissfully, he downed the rest of his drink. The delightful thing about alcohol was that once you had had enough of it, you hardly noticed the taste. He looked up at the woman who so boldly played with his hair, watching how she batted her eyelashes and flashed a coy smile at him. A smirk teased at his lips as he entertained the idea of taking his fun a little further.

Nothing could possibly ruin such a perfect night.

“RAFAYEL!”

Oh dear.

He didn’t have to look to know who had yelled his name. There was only one person in the world who could say his name with such astronomical levels of exasperation. His manager spotted him and stormed over, setting one foot furiously in front of the other until he was right beside the couch. Rafayel lazily opened an eye, peering up at the intruder.

“Lovely to see you, Thomas. Here to join in the fun?”

Thomas scowled. “I suggest throwing that expensive phone of yours out if it doesn’t work.”

“It works just fine.”

“Then why haven’t you bothered to answer any of my calls?”

The model sighed and sat up, giving the women at his side an apologetic look. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said, charm oozing out of every syllable that spilled from him. “I need to talk to my friend here, and I’ll be right back.”

With practised grace, he got to his feet and beckoned for Thomas to follow him into the kitchen, which was miraculously deserted. Leaning against the marble counter, he picked up a bottle of gin and poured it into a clean glass before offering it to the frazzled man. When all he received in return was a glare, he shrugged and tipped it back.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day,” Thomas said through gritted teeth, tapping his foot against the floor and folding his arms over his chest. Rafayel barely flinched at his agitation, used to it by this point.

“I’ve been busy.”

His manager scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Busy? You call this being busy?” He gestured to the doorway that led back to the party, making Rafayel wish he was still there, instead of here, facing the wrath of his uptight manager when he wasn’t as drunk as he wished he was for it. Rolling his eyes, he prepared to give his usual excuses and get it over with so that he could go back to his fun.

“Look–”

“No, you look,” Thomas took a step forward. “Your shoot for Vogue was three weeks ago. Since then, you’ve had numerous offers to walk in fashion week. More than any model I’ve previously managed.” The way he phrased it was incredulous, as if he couldn’t fathom how he had managed such a thing. “So I’m gonna need you to tell me why you’ve turned all of them down.”

Ugh. If Rafayel had been just a little faster, he could have been in his bedroom with that woman and avoided this interaction altogether. He placed the glass back down, running a finger along the rim of it as he hummed.

“None of the brands spoke to me.”

Thomas looked like he was about to implode. He shut his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “You just have to walk. Pose a little. There's no speaking involved. You should know what your job entails by now.”

Rafayel placed a hand over his heart, feeling rather attacked at the moment. “Don’t patronise me.”

To that, he was met with a mirthless laugh. “Patronise you? You’re too smart for me to even try, and yet you still insist on acting like a child.” It was always entertaining when his manager lost his patience like this, and he always turned it into a game of sorts, testing to see just how far he could push back.

“You wound me, my friend.”

“Your aunt expects you to walk for fashion week.”

Of course, she did. Immediately, his easy-going persona vanished, and he clicked his tongue in an attempt to push down his irritation. “Talia wants me to do so much, doesn’t she?”

He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it didn’t matter. His opinion rarely ever did when it was up against his aunts, but he supposed it was his fault. He was the one who had decided working under her would be a good idea, thinking that the familial connection would help further his career. It turned out, however, that while it had certainly given him a headstart, he had become her favourite project.

Back in her prime, Talia had been an extremely successful supermodel herself. After getting married, she didn’t return to the runway, but instead started her own modelling agency: Lemuria Modelling Agency. Since she knew the ins and outs of the business so intimately, she had experienced what felt like overnight success with it.

When Rafayel came along, it was as if she wanted to live vicariously through him, pushing him into shoots and brand deals for fashion houses that she had once worked for herself. It was only recently that he put his foot down and insisted on choosing his projects for himself, refusing to be a puppet for any longer. Surprisingly, she had agreed, and it had somehow worked out even better than before, with his career taking off like never before.

He had no intention of turning out to be another version of her, even if he had technically followed in her footsteps. He was well aware of his worth and he’d be damned if he allowed himself to settle for anything less than perfect.

“You have another offer for fashion week and a contract for a couple of months.”

“I’m not interested.” His answer was immediate. He disliked speaking of work during his downtime, but since he had been ignoring all of his calls, he didn’t have the right to complain about that right now.

“You haven’t even heard who it's for yet.” Thomas groaned. “Lumiere is a highly respected brand. It’s short notice, but you’re lucky you’re being offered the position at all.”

“I don’t care how great they are,” he muttered dryly, reaching for the bottle once again. He despised being told what to do, regarding himself as a free spirit despite his perfectionist tendencies.

For a moment, he thought he had won this argument, taking the other man's silence as acceptance. His presumptuous joy was short-lived.

“Get your head in the fucking game, Rafayel. This whole stuck-up artist thing you have going on might have worked out in your favour so far, but it won’t cut it in the long run.” Thomas snapped, sufficiently vexed. “You will take on Lumiere, and you will walk for them. I don’t care if I have to drag you to Paris kicking and screaming, you're coming.”

Rafayel bit back his surprise at the outburst, feeling his pride take a hit at Thomas’s words. Stuck-up artist? If life had gone the way he had intended it to, then perhaps he would have been exactly that. Not that he was complaining about the life he had now, he enjoyed every second of it thoroughly, for he was nothing if not a patron of indulgence. Still, the accusation stung just a tad.

He was caught so off-guard that he couldn’t respond with his normal unbothered quips. The man in front of him didn’t let up on his glare, but finally moved out of Rafayel’s personal space, clicking his tongue in triumph like a disappointed father would at his child.

“We have a meeting scheduled with them for next week. Don’t be late. And for god’s sake, check your phone. I’ll send over the details.”

With that final statement, Thomas walked out, as eager to leave the party as Rafayel had been to rejoin it just a few minutes ago. With nothing left to do but nurse his bruised ego, he poured himself another drink to keep him company while he sulked over how that conversation had gone so terribly.

You stepped out of the car, immediately holding a hand over your face at a distance that let you see what was in front of you while simultaneously shielding yourself from the onslaught of camera flashes and paparazzi yelling at you to spare them a glance. Forcing a neutral expression, you let your feet carry you to the entrance of the restaurant as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to escape the unwanted attention.

Frankly, you should have been used to the paparazzi by now after having dealt with it for five years and counting, but there was something so jarring about having cameras shoved in your face or following you while you tried to go about your daily life. When you started out, all you had wanted to do was create your clothing, but fame had come along with your accomplishments, launching you into a spotlight that was meant for your designs. You had media training and publicists working to keep your image squeaky-clean.

The ambience on the inside provided you with respite from the press, and the tension in your shoulders instantly dissipated. Warm, dim lighting and the pleasant clinking of glasses and cutlery travelled all around you, combining with the smooth jazz that played, creating a melody of its own. This was one of your favourite places to dine, which was precisely why you had chosen it for today.

Walking further into the restaurant, you spotted the person you were here to meet and made your way over. The woman sitting at the reserved table scanned the menu.

“Gabriette,” You smiled pleasantly, making your presence known. She looked up at you, eyes lighting up.

“Y/n!”

Gabriette got to her feet and embraced you politely, giving you a customary kiss on each cheek in greeting. You returned the gesture before removing your coat, draping it on the empty seat across from hers and sitting down.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.” You picked up your menu as a server filled your glass with some water, flipping through the pages.

“Not at all! I’m so glad we could make time to meet.”

Gabriette Dubois was a celebrity fashion designer, much like yourself, whom you had met years ago while in Paris for your first ever fashion week. She was a little older than you but somehow managed to not look a day over twenty-five, petite in every sense of the word. Her own fashion house, Dubois Designs, was all the rage just as yours was. This meant that while you were friendly with her, she was less of a friend and more of an acquaintance.

Competitor would have been the right word.

“How have you been?” She was in New York for a few weeks and insisted on having lunch with you. She was far from your favourite person, but you knew the importance of nurturing and maintaining connections. If not for that pesky reason, you would have cut all contact with her a long time ago. Your temper made it so that you lacked patience when it came to people like her, but thankfully, she lived in Paris, which meant you only had to bite your tongue and force a smile on occasion.

“I’ve been fantastic,” she beamed, her French accent curling the ends of her words. “I’ve been busy the whole time I have been in this city, but you know how it is. The busier you are, the better business is, yes?” The subtle brag was not lost on you.

You suspected she was the one who had called the press. They loved tailing you around anyway, but catching two high-profile fashion designers together? That was the same thing as finding gold to them.

“I know what you mean.” You ordered a glass of red wine after agreeing with her. She opted for some rosé. “Finding time to rest is rare.”

“I bet you miss the days when Lumiere was still a small little thing,” she said with the same smile on her face, but you weren’t naive enough to miss the slight condescending lilt of her voice. While she treated you perfectly well, you knew that she didn’t quite see you as an equal, purposely choosing to turn a blind eye to your achievements. She thought of you as beneath her, even though your success outshone even hers at times.

You didn’t need her approval. All this was a formality anyways.

“Sometimes,” you admitted good-naturedly, choosing not to take the bait. The drinks arrived, and you took a nice, long sip of yours, reminding yourself of why you even agreed to meet her in the first place. “Sorry, I just remembered, I have something I’d like to ask you.”

Gabriette might have had a superiority complex, but this also meant she loved to shove all her accomplishments in other people's faces. Bragging was something she viewed as her birthright, and you had mastered the art of using it to your advantage.

The server returned, and the two of you placed your orders before resuming conversation. “Ask away.”

“It’s about a model,” you started carefully. “My top model is out of commission right now, and I need a replacement for a little while.”

She leaned back in her seat and sipped her rosé. “Oh yes, I heard about Xavier. Go on.”

No doubt she assumed you were about to ask her to help you find someone to take his place. You had no intention of doing such a thing since you were going to meet your potential temporary replacement in three days, thanks to Simone. What you wanted was a little information from someone who had directly had contact with him.

“You’ve worked with Rafayel before, haven’t you?”

You phrased it as if you didn’t know this already, when in reality, you had done your research. It wasn’t your job to do so– you could have easily gotten any of your employees to do it– but this was a big deal. You refused to have just anyone take Xavier’s place, even if it was only for a short while. Simone had already run a background check on him, and you had to admit that from all the surface-level knowledge that you had that he did fit with your brand's image quite well.

Gabriette peered at you from over her glass, raising an eyebrow as she nodded slowly. “Yeah, a couple of years ago. Why?”

“I hadn’t really heard of him until recently.” You placed your glass down, and at that moment, the server returned with your food. She didn’t bother to hide her scoff as she picked up her fork, digging into her salad immediately.

“That’s on you. Rafayel has been around for a while.” She took a bite of lettuce and croutons, taking her time with the morsel before she pounced once more, taking a concealed jab at you. “But I guess it’s expected when you live under a rock. If you weren’t so caught up with insisting on only working with Xavier for even a minute, you would have seen him around.”

You refused to let her get under your skin. So what if you were picky about who you took on? Consistency was something you valued, and you had your reasons, ones that you didn’t have to divulge to her and waste your breath.

A tired exhale left your lips. “I’m thinking of taking him on.”

“Good luck with that.”

Huh. You sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“Rafayel is a talented model, no one can say anything about that, but I doubt you’d be able to handle him.”

Handle him? Oddly enough, this statement of hers sounded less like a concealed insult and more genuine. Feigning indifference, you nibbled at your own food. “Why so?”

She laughed curtly, toying with her fork. “He’s a great way to make headlines, that's for sure. The world loves him right now, even with his scandalous behaviour, but when it comes down to it…” You made a mental note to look into what she meant by scandalous behaviour later when she trailed off, silently prompting her to continue.

Gabriette pressed her lips together, a flash of irritation taking over her eyes for a brief moment, but it wasn’t aimed at you.

“He’s a total nightmare to work with.”

Rafayel waltzed into the meeting room ten minutes late, his head held up high like he owned the place.

This did not amuse you, the actual owner.

A man who you could only assume was his manager entered behind him, looking so defeated that you almost felt sorry for him. Almost, because you had no sympathy for people who wasted your time like they had. Simone had gotten you a second cup of coffee to pass the time, and you had just about finished it, ignoring the last few dregs in the cup in favour of narrowing your eyes at the two men.

“I’m so sorry about the delay,” he said quickly, taking a seat at the table after Rafeyel did. “There was– er– unavoidable traffic. I’m Thomas, Rafayel’s manager. Your assistant spoke with me last week.” The excuse was pathetic, and you didn’t miss the brief scathing look he sent the model when he stumbled over the words. The latter looked utterly unbothered, his elbow on the armrest of the chair, his chin resting on his palm.

If you weren’t in such a terrible situation, you would have probably asked them to leave, but not only were you running on a tight schedule, but you were also fresh out of options.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

You looked at Rafayel to finally asses him in person, mild surprise running through you when you realised he was already staring right at you. Most people avoided eye contact with you because of how intense you could be, but he seemed to be having no such trouble; his eyes locked onto yours, a bored look lingering in them.

Now that you were looking at him in person, you had to admit that he was quite breathtaking. You had watched a couple of his most famous runway moments, but the way he looked through a screen did not compare to the real thing. He was positively gorgeous, which wasn’t something you thought all that often, considering you were surrounded by beautiful people all the time. Rafayel, however, was in a league of his own, with soft, dark hair that fell over his forehead and into his mesmerising eyes. Smooth skin that surely had skincare companies begging him to be in their advertisements, lips that were the perfect pinkish hue, and elegant, high cheekbones; he was a work of art.

A work of art whose impudence was currently pissing you off.

“Rafayel,” You finally directly addressed him. “I take it that you’ve agreed to model for Lumiere for the next four months.”

His lips twitched. “It seems that I have.”

“We’re thrilled to have you on board.” You gestured to Simone. “My assistant here has drawn up the contract, which you can take to look over before signing it.” Dutifully, she placed a file before them, which he picked up, flipping through and scanning over the details and terms.

This is where the meeting would usually end. He’d smile, nod and leave, and you’d go back to your office and hopefully review some of the recent sketches you had done. They needed some reworking as soon as possible, especially if you wanted to stay on schedule.

Except it didn’t.

He tossed the contract back on the table. “Thats all well and good, but I have a condition of my own.”

His manager glanced at him apprehensively. Your look on your face must have betrayed how bewildered you felt, because the edge of his mouth quirked upwards in amusement ever so slightly at your reaction.

“A….condition?” You echoed his words incredulously, fingers curling around the Montblanc pen you were just about to hand to him. His smile widened, and he nodded, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the edge of the table like he was about to divulge to you a secret you should have been dying to know.

“Whatever you make me wear, I have to approve of it. I have to like it, or I don’t wear it.”

You weren’t quite sure you had heard him right at first, blinking twice as you registered what he had just said. Honestly, even the idea was so ridiculous that you were sure you had misinterpreted, because this wasn’t a condition. It was a demand, one that he expected you to meet, as if it wasn’t completely audacious of him to do so.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. This is a dealbreaker.”

Thomas looked so alarmed that it would have been funny in any other context. Clearly, he had no hand in this and was just as caught off guard as you were, but nowhere near as outraged.

Simone realised the meeting was going awry, and swiftly swooped in, clearing her throat before you exploded right then and there in the conference room. She was surprised that the pen you were holding hadn't snapped in two yet with how tight your grip on it was.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” she said smoothly, taking over for you as you glowered. “We’re delighted to have you working with us, Mr. Qi.”

No part of you was delighted. Sure, he ticked off all the boxes: attractive, seasoned and acclaimed, but there was something about how he carried himself that didn’t sit quite right with you. This had nothing to do with any of the scandals that he had found himself in, though you had looked into them to make sure it wouldn’t impact your brand. Dating scandals and rumours of him being a womaniser– stuff like that never held any weight for too long, especially not for a man. You didn’t care about his personal life, no, your annoyance stemmed from his haughty attitude.

Rafayel grinned, not bothering to even look at her, winking at you instead for good measure. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The fucking audacity.

Once they had left, you stormed into your office, your stilettos carrying the heavy weight of the pure, unadulterated rage you felt at that instant. Simone followed, bracing herself for the inevitable downpour of your wrath and clutching her tablet in the hopes it would help her calm you down. Of course, she knew there was no shot in hell of that happening; when you were like this, it would take nothing short of a miracle to placate you.

To say you were a proud person would be an understatement. There were not very many instances where you willingly let someone else have control in a situation, and you were well aware of what your work was worth. There was a reason you were at the top of the game.

It made his condition all the more absurd.

“He has to approve of it?” You seethed, spinning around to glare at the only person around to take the brunt of your fury. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Simone winced, “It’s certainly….an odd request.”

“A request? A request would be if he asked us for tea, Simone. This is an insult.” He had to have known that, too, unless he was a total idiot. You were starting to believe that because models didn’t choose what they wore. The implication was that you didn’t know how to dress your models, as if all the skills you had honed were worth nothing. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Despite having just met him, the smug look he had given you was already burned into your memory. You couldn’t remember the last time you had outright disliked someone this quickly.

“Rafayel is eccentric, yes,” Simone said tentatively. He had sounded so confident, like it was a given that you would agree. “But maybe he didn’t mean to offend you?”

“Xavier would never do this,” You groaned, mourning the absence of your darling top model. “Tell me, is there a chance we can get someone else on board instead?”

Unfortunately, you knew the answer without her giving it to you. Keeping your brand's image intact was of utmost importance to you, and you were nothing if not meticulous. Xavier’s sudden unavailability had thrown a real wrench in all your careful planning, and though it wasn’t his fault, it still left you extremely frustrated. Replacing him was nearly impossible, and you were lucky to have chanced upon Rafayel.

Undoubtedly, he would fit in with your curation seamlessly. He’d look fantastic modelling your clothing, and he’d be perfect for the PFW show. The hype that currently existed around him would also help tremendously. Your publicist was about to have an absolute field day with this collaboration.

“He’s our only viable option at the moment. The chances of him disapproving of your clothes are slim to none, anyway.” Your assistant said comfortingly. “It’ll be fine.”

God, you hoped so.

QI RAFAYEL SIGNED WITH LUMIERE?

Word is that the most elusive model of the decade has put down roots with the hottest brand, and boy, does the partnership seem fitting! It’s a wonder, especially with Rafayel's sudden disappearance from the modelling scene right at the height of his career. Known for his fearlessness when it comes to experimental designs and his ability to embody any look, the model is truly at the top of his game, so it makes perfect sense for him to work with a brand that shares that very status.

We can’t wait to witness his comeback with Lumiere very soon!

The fitting room was in chaos when you arrived.

You grimaced at the disarray you were met with; stylists rushing around and shouting various instructions at each other. There were different types of fabric all around, clothing items you could recognise at a single glance, falling off their hangers and display mannequins. Amidst it all stood Rafayel, who looked utterly uninterested, his arms over his chest, wrinkling the deep purple Ralph Lauren shirt he was wearing. The colour suited him.

But why was he still in his personal clothes? In two hours, he was to be at a shoot for the brand's website and social media pages, but here he was, just standing around. At least his makeup was done, you supposed.

“Miss Y/n!” One of the stylists paused her movements and greeted you. “We are right on track!”

Were they? You glanced around at the confusion, stepping over the shoes that were right in front of the doorway and walked up closer to one of the mannequins. Wordlessly, you held your hand out, and immediately they all knew what to do, scrambling to hand you a pin. Placing it between your teeth, you folded over a part of the waist of the pants to readjust the pleating and secured it in place.

“It doesn’t seem like it.” Your eyes sliced back to the model, who was now looking right at you. “He’s not ready.”

Typically, you would never visit a fitting like this, trusting your employees to get the job done. You were too busy to make the time to show up for things like these, simply giving the orders and checking in once the job was done. Even Xavier didn’t get any surprise pop-ins from you, and he was someone you actually cared for.

But no part of you inherently trusted Rafayel to cooperate. The stylist who handed you the pin dropped her voice and signalled towards him. “He’s a little difficult.”

Of course.

Leaving the mannequin, you walked up to Rafayel and levelled him with a stare. “Would you care to enlighten me as to why you’re giving my stylists a hard time?”

He looked around and pointed to the clothing that another stylist held up with a helpless expression. It was a lovely white silk shirt with an asymmetrical cut, the buttons starting at the right shoulder and ending at the left side of the waist. This was paired with trousers to complete the look, but it wasn’t supposed to take away from the shirt, which was the main event.

“I’m not wearing this.”

Irritation was a feeling you were well-versed in. The way it flared up inside of you so quickly when he spoke was still shocking.

“And why not?” You briefly wondered why everyone around you seemed to take pleasure in wasting your time as of late. This was only one of the outfits he had to be photographed in, the others lined up neatly on a clothing rack.

“It’s boring,” Rafayel said casually, as if he were remarking on the weather. “Where's the colour? The life? I look at it and feel nothing.”

Oh, he felt nothing, did he? Briefly, you wondered if he’d feel the slap you were so tempted to give him. All he had done since stepping into your building was insult you and parade around like he was better than everyone, and you didn’t take either of those things lightly. “It’s the highest quality silk and stitching.”

“Everything you’re having me wear is in black and white.”

“I’m so glad you can tell colour.”

Your stylists flinched a little at your apathetic tone, despite being all too used to your snippy remarks. You were hard on everyone who worked for you, but that was only because you held your employees to the same high standards that you did yourself when it came to the work they were supposed to do. Their paychecks certainly made up for it, as did your generosity when it came to granting them leave.

“Black and white is plain.” He sighed dramatically, like the lack of colour was personally offending him. “Chanel already has that rodeo down to the ‘t’.

His audacity left you astounded once more, and you were even more pissed off when you unwittingly realised that he had a point. Still, even if Chanel did have a thing for black and white styling, you liked to think that you had put your unique spin on the clothes that distinguished them from competing brands. You didn’t just think it; you knew your designs were amazing. The man in front of you didn’t allow you to tell him this, since he had already started speaking again.

“If I wanted to wear Chanel, I would have accepted their offer.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You knew damn well that it was a good thing he had agreed to work for you, but that didn’t mean he had to. Rafayel’s lips tipped upwards, as if your annoyance entertained him. “I already told you. I find black and white boring, and even though it’s all I see right now,” he gestured around the room and at the clothing rack, “I don’t think it’s all you’re capable of.”

Was that a compliment? If it was, he was shit at giving them out. Not that you were any better, but that hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t your job to be nice, it was your job to make sure things got done the way you wanted them.

So, against all your severely miffed instincts, you sucked in a deep breath to calm yourself down. “This collection is already public. We just need the pictures for social media.”

He looked disappointed. “Fine. I’ll make an exception just this once.”

How positively saintly of him. You wondered if he expected you to drop and kiss his feet for making such a compromise.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t going to get any of that. You pressed your lips together, deciding you had wasted enough of your time already and that it was time to get back to those sketches of yours you had been putting off. Nodding curtly, you moved to leave, but he opened his mouth again.

“A word of advice?”

Well, wasn’t he chatty today? You sighed, pressing two fingers against your temple and rubbing in the hopes it would soothe you. “You’re going to give it to me even if I say no, aren’t you?”

He proved you right. “If your Paris Fashion Week collection is going to be as uninspired as this, then I suggest you start rethinking it.”

The stylist closest to the two of you gasped.

Uninspired? This was a collection you had revealed recently at a show a couple of weeks ago, and critics had been all over it, practically kissing your feet with the amount of praise they had dished out. Uninspired definitely wasn’t one of the words they had used to describe it.

You didn’t miss the smirk on his lips as he watched you react to his harsh words. He had gotten under your skin, and he knew it. It had been so long since someone had managed to do so that you forgot how it felt, and you despised the feeling. Your eyebrows raised in fury that was plain as day, leaning away from him like his presence stung just as much as his words did.

Rafayel didn’t want to admit it, but he was having way too much fun with this. The day he first showed up at the Lumiere building, he was pretty much dragged there against his will by Thomas. He had heard of it in passing and was expecting yet another high-fashion brand that had lost all its integrity in favour of stagnating and staying relevant through its namesake. When he had looked into its previous seasons, however, he began to begrudgingly appreciate the creativity of their clothing, as well as its authenticity.

Finding out that Lumiere was only five years old came as a surprise, as did the news of the meeting with the founder and head of the company herself. To say that was unconventional would be an understatement. Typically, these types of meetings consisted of him only meeting an assistant or two, but never the designers themselves. Sure, eventually he’d speak to them at a show or afterparty he was obligated to be at, but never had he met them upfront like this.

Moreover, he certainly hadn’t expected the designer to be a beautiful young woman. Rafayel had always had an eye for pretty things, so one look at you was enough for him to see that you were just that. Beautiful didn’t even cut it, actually, so much so that you could probably walk in your own fashion shows.

So you were pretty. Rafayel was aware enough of it, and although he tended to gravitate towards that, you weren’t exactly his type. He typically went for women who were generous with the smiles they gave him and found pleasure in his reputation, the type who giggled at everything he said and touched his arm to make sure their intentions were clear. As far as he was concerned, a type meant there was a pattern involved, and that would be the best way to describe the women he had gotten involved with in the past.

You were too intense for his taste, with your calculating gaze and perfectly pinned-up hair without a single strand out of place. Breathtaking in the most intimidating way. He was all for dancing through life while having a good time and breaking a few rules if he had to. You, on the other hand, looked like you had written the rules and expected everyone else to abide by them.

It was probably a good thing that he didn’t want to get with someone who was technically his boss.

But you were oh-so easy to rile up.

“Uninspired?” You hissed, and if looks could kill, the one you were giving him right now would have probably landed him six feet under. “Excuse me?”

Feisty. My, my, he was going to have a blast with this. Shrugging, he started unbuttoning the front of his shirt, and the stylists, who had been standing frozen while the two of you had a stare-off, jumped back into action. They seemed relieved that he was finally cooperating, one of them assisting him with his shirt and the other holding the one you designed open and ready to slip onto his body.

Your eyes dropped to his now exposed torso as the shirt was peeled off of him for just a second before you sliced them back up to his. That infuriating smirk remained on his face throughout.

“Need some clarification?”

So this is what Gabriette meant when she said he was a nightmare to work with.

“There is nothing uninspired about my clothing,” you snapped, unable to keep your temper from flaring up anymore. “From now on, keep any advice you have to yourself.”

Everything that had come out of his mouth so far had been unwanted, and you were starting to think he was doing it on purpose, especially with how he was watching your every reaction like a hawk. Refusing to dignify him with one, you turned and walked out of the room, emerging into the hallways of the Lumiere building. The familiarity of the decor and soothing warm lighting should have helped with your agitation, but nothing of the sort happened.

Now, you understood why Gabriette said all that stuff about not being able to handle him.

Four months of this madness before everything would go back to normal. In comparison to other things you’ve dealt with in the past, this was trivial. You were a professional, considered a damn genius for your work and the sheer levels of success you were graced with at such a young age. There was nothing you couldn’t do, even if it was dealing with a self-important model that seemingly took pleasure in irking you.

In any case, you could refrain from pushing him out of a window.

“Oh, these are great. I’m gonna have to hide them from Jeremiah.”

Xavier placed the box of chocolates you had gotten him on the coffee table in front of where he sat on the couch. You joined him there, eyes lingering on the cast on his leg that spanned from his ankle up to just below his knee. He caught you staring at it in contempt and grinned.

“Wanna sign it?”

You scoffed and leaned against the throw pillows. “You know I don’t.”

Despite your hectic schedule, you had made sure to set aside some time to visit the injured man now that he had returned from the hospital. His roommate had let you in when you arrived, since Xavier was strictly instructed to stay off his feet as much as possible. The irony of that wasn’t lost to either of you.

“Worth a shot.”

He was pretty much homebound and stuck in that cast for twelve weeks, and after that would have to go through physical therapy for a bit before he was back on his feet. It was certainly a blow to his career’s momentum, especially since it quite literally depended on his ability to walk. Eventually, he’d get back onto the runway, you knew, but you couldn’t help but feel bad.

Considering all this, he seemed to be in a good mood, smiling gently at you. Xavier, unlike you, had endless amounts of patience and had a temperament that was as angelic as he looked. He was plenty successful, and Lumiere was by no means the only fashion house he modelled for, even if it was the one he worked with the most. He had seen the ambitious girl who powered through all the doubts thrown in her face when you had taken the leap and started your brand, and had stuck by you ever since.

This was why he was your only true friend. He had seen something in you when you hadn’t quite figured yourself out just yet. For the past five years, he had stayed by your side without wavering even once, and as a result of this, he could read you like you were an open book.

“You’re upset with me.” He noted. You sighed, shaking your head.

“No, I’m upset with the circumstance.” You gestured towards his leg. “The timing is terrible.”

Xavier quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Apologies. The next time I plan on breaking my bones, I’ll let you know in advance.”

“Please let there never be another time,” You let out a tired sigh. “Replacing you is a hassle. Get better. I need you back at work.”

“And here I thought you missed me for me.” He lightly teased.

“You know I do.” You looked at him meaningfully. “You know what I mean.”

He did. You had never been the best at being vulnerable or expressing yourself, but he had long since learnt how to read between the lines.

“I’ve heard that you managed to find someone to fill in.” He circled back to your point about replacing him and looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to fill him in on all the happenings he had missed. Things were progressing slower than you would have liked, but smoothly, nonetheless.

Except for one little thing. One person, more accurately.

If you were being honest, you didn’t particularly want to talk about the cause of all your recent headaches. Instead, you eyed his cast again, trying your best to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s just a dull ache now,” he reached down and scratched over the plaster. “And it’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt.” Then, he gave you a pointed look. “Do you think I can’t tell when you’re changing the subject?”

Damn. You pulled your hair free from its tight ponytail, letting it cascade over your shoulders and letting your scalp breathe. It wasn’t often you let your guard down like this, but you knew you were safe with Xavier. You also knew that you needed to be as relaxed as possible if you were going to talk about your latest problem.

“I did find someone to fill in.” Your lips twisted in displeasure. “But I’m counting down the days till you return.”

“That bad?”

“Rafayel is impossible.”

Xavier cocked his head to the side. “Thats new. You generally comment on someone's incompetence.”

“Oh, he’s plenty competent.” It was the truth. You almost wished he were terrible at his job, but that wasn’t the case. The pictures for your social media had turned out amazing, and you had spent quite a lot of time looking over them, trying to find a reason to be unsatisfied, but to no avail.

A great model. An exasperating person.

Over the past two weeks, you had seen too much of him. He was constantly complaining about something, showing up late, or making snide comments and going out of his way to make everyone’s jobs harder. You had heard of models that thought they were untouchable, but Rafayel was a whole other level, a bona-fide diva.

If you weren’t so desperate, you would have already fired him. Desperation was not a feeling you enjoyed, but you didn’t want to go through the hassle of having to select someone else to fill in the void Xavier had left in his absence.

“So, what do you mean by impossible?” He propped an arm on the couch's backrest, rubbing the back of his neck.

You indulged Xavier with the details, telling him all about Rafayel’s complaints about your clothing and all the ways he had managed to drive you up the wall. You were frustrated with his behaviour, but also with yourself for being so caught up about it when you had more important things to worry about.

A charity gala you were supposed to attend next week. Prepping for Paris Fashion Week.

“Oh, Y/n. He does sound like a handful.” Xavier muttered sympathetically after you had aired out all your grievances. His admission made you feel a lot better about the situation.

“He’s more than a handful.”

“But I’ve never seen you back down from any challenge.” He remarked. “And thats basically what he’s doing. Challenging you.”

He was right, you weren’t someone who backed down easily. Your conversation drifted to other things: his time at the hospital, the terrible food they made him eat, and other such tragedies. You realised how much you truly missed having Xavier around, being able to talk to someone like this wasn’t something you were able to do often.

You made a mental note to visit him as much as possible.

“It’s a challenge,” Xavier reminded before you left, popping one of the chocolates you had gotten him in his mouth as he gave you one last piece of advice about your Rafayel problem. “Don’t let him win.”

Behind a camera, Qi Rafayel was more than tolerable.

So much about the man pissed you off. From his slow manner of speaking that tested your patience, to the lazy half-grin he seemed to perpetually have plastered on his face, you could probably list out all the things about him you disliked. He made it so easy with his incessant attempts at driving you up the wall.

Still, it was evident that even with all his antics, he was a professional.

Now, he was in archival Lumiere, one of the collections from the start of your career. There were only a few pieces of the structured jacket he wore in circulation since they were handmade. In fact, he was wearing the very piece that had appeared on the runway all those years ago. It hung from his shoulders as he posed, staring into the camera as it shuttered.

You had personally chosen this piece for this shoot, asking your stylists to work with it because you knew he wouldn’t be able to complain. It was a stunning jacket, and apparently, he agreed.

Every few seconds, he’d change the pose, each more dramatic than the last. A hand raised in a flourish near his face, back facing the camera, with him looking back at it, legs spread with his arms behind his head as he stared straight ahead through a half-lidded gaze. Watching him go through the motions like it was second nature was mesmerising.

You were starting to understand his appeal. There was a certain playfulness to his sensuality, and he knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. Something about him felt dangerous, unpredictable in an exciting way, and that quality of his was his greatest selling point.

The makeup on him was bolder this time, accentuating his siren-esque features. His hair was artfully slicked back, different from his normal look and showing off his forehead.

He was going to be on the cover of Elle, styled with Lumiere, of course. In this particular issue, they were going to include a one-on-one interview with you as well, which was why you were present at the shoot. After they were done with him, they’d be taking a couple of shots of you to include with your interview.

And it seemed they had just wrapped up.

The intense expression on his face immediately dropped, giving way to a relaxed one, his eyes travelling around the room until they met yours. The photographer thanked him for his time, but he was already moving towards you. As he approached, a staff member popped up at your side.

“Would you like some coffee, miss?”

You turned to the woman who asked you the question. “Hot, without any sugar.”

She nodded and looked at Rafayel, who had stopped by your side. “And for you, sir?”

“Cold coffee. As much whipped cream and sugar as you can manage.” He dropped a wink in with his order for good measure, and the staff faltered ever so slightly, trying to hide how charmed she was as she left to get the drinks. Once she was gone, he looked at you, his perfect pink lips twitching.

It was obvious that he wanted to say something, and it would no doubt be something that ticked you off. Still, you relented and finally asked.

“What is it?”

He studied you for a moment. “Nothing. It’s just so predictable that you take your coffee plain.”

You bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I never said there was,” He drawled, and then dropped the subject. “Seems like it's your turn to get behind the camera, Miss Designer. Ready?”

“It’s not my first time,” You said as the staff returned with your coffees. Grabbing yours, you took a slow sip and continued. “We had to model quite a bit in fashion school for various projects and assignments.”

It wasn’t as if you were claiming to be better than him, but you did have some experience. He hummed an idle tune, bringing the straw of his drink to his mouth and sipping it in delight.

You had to bite back a frown at the monstrosity he received, the swirls of whipped cream over milky coffee. There were even sprinkles on the damn thing. You understood his comment about your order being predictable because that being his somehow made a lot of sense. Globs of the whipped cream spilt over the side of the glass and slipped down its length, the entire thing was over the top and messy.

A lot like him, you supposed.

“Want some?” He asked cheekily, tilting the glass in your direction. He knew you were going to refuse, but the way you scrunched your nose and did such a terrible job at hiding your aversion was too entertaining to pass up on.

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

You shot Rafayel a displeased look, scanning him from top to bottom. The jacket you had so carefully handstitched was unbuttoned and open so that his abs could peak through in the pictures. You didn’t let your eyes linger there, snapping them back up to his.

“Don’t stain the jacket.” You muttered sternly, adjusting the collar of your top and centring your jewellery with one hand, the other gripping the handle of your cup. He was holding his coffee too close to himself for your liking, especially with the way the top of the whipped cream was leaning to the side, as if it was about to tip over any second now.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want that.”

The patronising lilt of his voice told you that he was trying to get a rise out of you, but you knew he liked the jacket. When he had been made to put it on, he had looked at it appreciatively and hadn’t complained even once, which felt like nothing short of a miracle. You purposely looked anywhere but him, instead opting to watch the photographer set up for your turn.

But Rafayel wasn’t someone you could just ignore. His presence was magnetic and all-consuming, and even when he was silent, he was distracting. The effect he had was strange and inexplicable, cutting through your general dislike towards him.

Thankfully, the photographer turned to you and nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, miss.”

Without sparing Rafayel another glance, you handed your coffee to the staff member closest to you and strutted over, taking your place behind the camera. You took a seat on the stool they had put out for you as a makeup artist came over to give you a touch-up and fix your hair. Focusing on the camera lens, you reminded yourself what you were here for in the first place.

But when your traitorous gaze flickered back to Rafayel, he was already looking at you.

Pages filled with sketches lay strewn out over the desk of your home office, with you hunched over them in concentration. You ran your fingers through your hair and tugged at the ends, your other hand gripping your mechanical pencil.

You may have looked like the picture of productivity, but right now, you were feeling the complete opposite. It was nearly one in the morning, and you had skipped out on dinner in favour of trying to get the conceptual designs for the spring collection done. You had been procrastinating working on them for a while now, but with only three months left before the show, the pressure was starting to set in. You usually never left things to the last minute like this – last year you had the clothes ready by this time – but for reason reason, you were having trouble with it.

All you had added to the sketches were a couple of idle lines that changed absolutely nothing. The ideas were good, very reminiscent of the typical silhouettes you tended to go for, but it felt like something was missing.

It felt uninspired.

Not that you’d ever admit that out loud. It was bad enough that you were struggling with what you were supposed to be a genius at, but to use the very words Rafayel did to explain your predicament? That was just humiliating.

Groaning, you ran a hand over your face and leaned back in your chair, your back sore from the horrible posture you had been maintaining for the past two-ish hours. You were distracted, but you couldn’t figure out why, because the only sounds around were the ticking of your clock and the drumming of your foot against the floor.

Finally, you gave up, emerging from your office and into the living room of your penthouse. All the lights were off, but the large ceiling-to-floor windows you had lit up the place just enough, casting shadows around in the moonlight. You had bought the place when Lumiere had just taken off, and you had more money than you ever had in your life. As a result, you ended up with an apartment on the top floor that the elevator opened directly into, that only you had access to and too much space for your good.

The muffled sounds of New York City in the distance kept you company as you padded to your kitchen. Your appetite was non-existent – a result of your hyper-focused state – but you knew you had to eat something.

You had been feeling unsatisfied with your sketches for a while now, and Rafayel’s comments about ensuring nothing was uninspired had hit too close to home. The last thing you wanted to do was release something you were unhappy with or considered subpar.

God knows you hated to admit that insolent man had a point, but he did.

And you had to figure out a way around it fast.

The thing you loved more about New York was how alive it felt.

You walked down the streets, sunglasses perched on your nose. It was a Saturday, and you had decided to take a day off for yourself in the hopes that the reset would grant you some motivation for the spring collection.

So far, you had had no run-ins with the paparazzi. Maybe this was one of those days when they had decided to be more subtle with their approach to getting content, but whatever it was, you were grateful for the sense of privacy it gave you. Realistically, even if it wasn’t the paparazzi, you knew someone would get a picture of you walking in and out of stores and post it online. That was fine, simply part and parcel of the life you had made for yourself.

You were enjoying the peace, the cacophony of the city melting into a song so uniquely New York. You were someone who knew how to enjoy your own company, but perhaps that stemmed from the fact that you had no one else to share it with. Sure, Xavier was there, but you knew the moment the two of you hung out for extensive periods anywhere but his or your place, or the Lumiere building itself, there would be dating rumours springing about everywhere.

Neither of you had the time nor the energy to deal with that nonsense. At least like this, you had control of the narrative, and that peace you loved so much.

Ah, yes, peace. The very thing that shattered immediately as a man ran into you.

Okay, so you hadn’t exactly been paying attention, lost in your thoughts as you walked, but words laced with annoyance immediately tumbled out of your mouth. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

“Jeez, lady, I’m sorry, okay– wait, Y/n?”

Oh no. You knew that voice.

You peered up at the offender, taking in the butter yellow cap that sat over his smushed hair, long lashes framing those beguiling eyes that were currently wide in shock. His hands flew to your arms, gripping them as he steadied both of you at the same time. You had about two seconds to acknowledge the way he was up in your personal space, pushing your sunglasses up to see if you were seeing things correctly.

“Rafayel?”

He swore under his breath, releasing your forearms as he jerked away, glaring. “Could you not yell it out for the entire street to hear?”

Why the hell was he annoyed? He was the one who had walked into you. If anyone had the right to glare like that, it was you. You blinked up at him in exasperation, wondering for the umpteenth time where he got the gall.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You bit sarcastically, “My bad for being the unsuspecting soul you run into. Next time, I hope it's a pole.”

He cast you a droll look that you were sure was meant to last longer, but he seemed skittish today. This was the most casually dressed you had ever seen him, a simple sweatshirt over jeans and….were those sneakers? All you had seen him in up until this moment were shirts and clothing you designed.

Then, without warning, he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him.

Right into a dark, dingy alley.

“What the fuck?” You blurted, more puzzled than anything else, as you yanked your hand out of his touch, holding it close to your body. “Are you high? Why on earth have you–”

“Sorry,” he breathed, holding his palm out in a manner that told you he needed a second. Not that you cared in the slightest, narrowing your eyes at him and propping a hand on your hip.

“You have two minutes to explain why you’ve dragged me with you here.”

A vibrant blush spread across the apples of his cheeks and ears. Well, at least he had the decency to look embarrassed. He interlaced his fingers behind his neck and glanced up a the sky, before looking back at you.

“I was trying to outrun the paps.”

“By running into me?”

“I didn’t plan that!” He snapped, and you had to admit that it was nice to see him be the irritated one for a change. His eyebrows knitted together, an indignant pout taking over his usual, nonchalant countenance. All things considered, it was kind of cute.

“I’m not hearing any explanations.” You reminded him impatiently, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for two whole seconds like he was contemplating whether you were worth explaining it to. You were tempted to tell him that his two minutes were swiftly passing by.

“I ran into an ex of mine.” He confessed finally. “Cassandra Corin. Cassie.”

The name was vaguely familiar– an actress, if you remembered correctly. Blonde, blue-eyed, gorgeous. You were sure you had seen some of her work in passing, and so you nodded, prompting him to continue. “I’ve heard of her.”

“Yeah. Well, we were together for like a month, but she’s a very, uh…..dramatic person, if you will. I happened to walk out of a store, and she was right outside with the press, who she had obviously called.” There wasn’t an ounce of fondness in his voice as he spoke about the woman.

“Did she plan for you to be there?” You asked, bewildered.

“I don’t think so, but she’s the type of celebrity that subscribes to the ‘all publicity is good publicity’ agenda. A pic of us together would certainly help with that.” He explained with a surprising amount of patience. “I’ve kind of been lying low as of late, so they’re hungrier than usual to get a couple of shots. I had to run out of there, and I don’t like running.”

Ah, there it was. You should have known he couldn’t go more than five minutes without complaining. Still, you could sympathise with his predicament, having had your fair share of experiences with trying to avoid the paparazzi.

“Right,” you raised an eyebrow. “I still don’t get why you’ve forced me into hiding with you.”

Rafayel mirrored the unimpressed look you were currently giving him. “It would be ten times worse if they saw us together. I was trying to be inconspicuous and you–” He paused, gesturing towards you from top to bottom, “–look anything but.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you let out an offended sound. “Excuse me? I can be inconspicuous.”

You were a vision, dressed in what only someone with too much money would consider casual: a light pink Chanel cardigan over a t-shirt and Prada loafers on your feet. You carried a Hermes Mini Kelly bag on your arm, Miu Miu shades pushed up on your head like a headband as you stared at him, poorly hiding your displeasure.

“No.” Rafayel had to fight back a smile, shaking his head. “You really can’t.”

It wasn’t a bad thing, per se. He knew a thing or two about having a commanding presence, having used his own to his advantage his entire life. Unfortunately, that meant that the two of you in one place at the same time was a recipe for disaster, especially when he was trying his damnedest to avoid it.

Your scowl deepened. “You’re insufferable, I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told it brings out my eyes.”

Unbelievable. His ego had to be sky-high, taller than the Empire State Building. Never before had you wanted to knock someone down a couple of pegs so badly. His tone was light and airy, as if he now found the ordeal funny, and while that infuriated you, there was something melodic about his voice that you couldn’t ignore.

“You love wasting my time, don’t you?” You grumbled under your breath, wondering how on earth you managed to get yourself into such a position and, more importantly, why you were still in it. You could have easily walked out of this stupid alley already. His eyes sparkled, but before he could say anything aggravating, another sound cut through.

MROW!

You startled at the high-pitched yowl, dropping your gaze to find an orange cat sitting by your shoes. It looked fat and happy, like too many restaurants had taken pity on it and fed the little thing leftovers. Its black eyes stared up at you, as if waiting for you to give it something to eat as well, before letting out another pitiful meow.

And how did the man standing in front of you react to this?

Rafayel yelped.

Loudly. Embarrassingly, even. He practically jumped away from you and the cat, hands in front of him in a protective stance. You blinked rapidly, unsure of how to react to that.

“Are you…okay?”

“Do I look okay?” He hissed, the action seeming very catlike. “Where the hell did that thing come from?”

That thing? You looked down at the cat that had busied itself with rubbing against your ankles, weaving in between your legs before settling back down into a seated position.

“Rafayel,” you did your best to keep your voice level, speaking slowly, as if you were talking to a skittish animal. “Are you afraid of cats?”

“Nonsense. Why would I be afraid of them?” He eyed the cat with such disdain that one would think it had personally murdered one of his family members, or something along those lines. Regardless of what he had said, he looked terrified, his body language stiff and unnatural. You had never seen him like this, so used to his cavalier attitude and manner of carrying himself. He sniffed, still maintaining a safe distance. “They’re vile creatures. I just don’t want them anywhere near me.”

His mouth was twisted downward in horror, and his eyebrows were raised so high they looked like they disappeared underneath the cap he had on. It resulted in an expression so comical that you had to bite the inside of your cheek in a genuine attempt to keep a straight face, but failed miserably.

You burst into laughter.

It was so sudden that it stunned Rafayel, his lips parting in shock as the sound washed over him. It felt like someone had dumped cold water on him because your laughter was intoxicating, so much brighter than he had anticipated, not that he had. It made you look younger, so much more carefree than you did with the tight-lipped facade you typically donned. Your lips stretched upwards, the edges of your eyes crinkling as you giggled at his expense.

A rare crack in your carefully crafted exterior. Intrigued, the urge to know more about you rose out of nowhere, but he clamped it down immediately.

“You’re laughing at me.” He accused, trying to keep the indignation in his voice.

“I’m sorry!” You managed in between puffs of laughter, and now he knew something had to be very wrong with him, because he nearly told you not to apologise for it. “It’s just–it’s so adorable!” You bent down and scooped up the cat into your arms, forgetting yourself for a moment as you watched the animal snuggle against you. “How can you be scared of this?”

He thought this was ridiculous. A woman like you, dressed head to toe in designer clothing, letting a stray cat all over her. It was completely unexpected and strangely alluring.

“Put that thing down.” He narrowed his eyes at the cat as you scratched under his chin. Just as quickly as it had slipped off, he could see you compose yourself once again. You straightened out your posture, your smile fading and turning less genuine and more polite, practised. He couldn’t help but immediately miss the unfiltered version of you he had just gotten the briefest of glimpses of.

“It’s not a thing, Rafayel, it’s a cat.” You sounded amused. “Look at how harmless it is.”

You held out the cat, and he recoiled away from you, glaring at the feline. He took his cap off, shaking his head and huffing. “It’s a viscous beast. If it scratches or bites you, don’t expect me to help you.”

The quick reply he expected from your end never came, because when he met your gaze again, you were staring at him – at his head, specifically. For all he knew, you were taking note of how terrible he looked now that he had lost the cap. Those things always made his scalp sweat, but they were his best bet at hiding his face without coming off looking too suspicious.

“Your hair is curly.”

Your cadence was back to being clipped, short, but there was something different there as well. Softer.

“Wow. Ladies and gentlemen, we have with us the real-life Sherlock Holmes.” He snorted, running his fingers through his tangled locks, before offering up the explanation you were clearly expecting. “Stylists usually end up straightening it. Something about it fitting my image better.”

“I see.” You studied him for a moment longer before looking back down at the cat. You quite liked his natural hair, but then again, he could probably pull off a trash bag and somehow make it look stylish. Not that he’d ever agree to that, but the thought almost made you laugh again.

Speaking of trash bags, you looked distastefully at your surroundings. “Can we get out of here now? I’m sure the press would have moved on by now.”

“Only if you lose the cat.”

You sat behind your desk, going over some paperwork. It was the less exciting part of your job, and you always ended up letting it pile up until you had an unreasonable amount to get through all at once. Most of your employees had gone home already, and you had sent Simone on her way as well.

The bright light of your office made your eyes hurt after the long day you had had, and you pressed your palms against them, sighing deeply.

“Wow. Do you just live here?”

The hell? You glanced up to see Rafayel standing by the door, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded, looking right at you. The sight of him made something in the pit of your stomach turn.

Ever since the incident with the cat from a week ago, being around him no longer boiled your blood as much as it once did. He had been going out of his way to interact with you a lot more, and you hadn’t done anything to discourage it. Make no mistake, he still got on your nerves, but you tolerated him for some reason, even when he got too casual with you.

Perhaps you had been a little too lenient.

“What are you doing here?” You demanded, pushing the paperwork to the side and narrowing your eyes at him. He pushed off the wall and walked over to your desk, plopping down in the seat across from you without any invitation to do so.

“I could ask you the same question. I had a meeting with Andrew about rehearsals for fashion week, but I left my jacket behind, so I came back for it. Your office is the only one with the light still on, and my curiosity won. Your turn to tell me why you’re still here since it's–” he glanced down at the Rolex on his wrist. “ –Nine p.m.”

You waved your hand over the papers in front of you. “Work.”

“But you’re the only one here. Do you do this often?” He frowned, and if you paid close attention, his voice had a note of disapproval. That made sense, he seemed like the type of person to abhor working even a second overtime. Unfortunately, you were well-versed in it.

“Most days, yes.”

He blinked. “Okay, no. Get your things. We’re leaving.”

Definitely too lenient. “We are?”

“Yep, come on. You can do….whatever you’re doing now tomorrow.” He got to his feet and stared at you expectantly, evidently waiting for you to follow suit. “I don’t think you know what a break is, but you’re going to take one right now.”

Wow. Truly, the man had unprecedented levels of entitlement to try and boss you around when technically, you were his boss. Scoffing under your breath, your defiant gaze met his stubborn one.

“I’m busy.”

“You’ll be just as busy tomorrow.”

This was ridiculous. No one dared to speak to you so brazenly, and yet there he was, doing just that if there wouldn’t be a single consequence. What you should have done was tell him to piss off and leave you alone so you finish your work like you had set out to do.

So why on earth did you grab your coat and follow him out of your office instead?

“Is this another instance of you wasting my time, Rafayel?” You asked as you approached his car in the parking lot. You still weren’t sure what possessed you to actually follow him, but it was too late to back out of it now. A smirk teased his lips.

“Maybe.” His response resulted in you grumbling under your breath, and he laughed, fishing his keys out of his pocket and pressing a button to unlock his sleek, black Mercedes. He slid into the drivers seat and cocked his head in your direction. “Get in.”

God help you, because for some reason, you complied. “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” You settled in the passenger seat, taking in the interior, because, of course, the seats were covered in bright red leather. It was as unashamedly flashy as he was in every sense of the word.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

Rafayel started the car, smoothly pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road. With one hand on the gear stick and the other on the steering wheel, the scene of him driving was ridiculously attractive for something so normal. You told yourself it was just because he was a conventionally attractive person. “Of course, you don’t. Relax, Miss Designer, don’t you ever loosen up?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“I figured. You look like the type to not know the meaning of fun” And clearly, he was a stranger to the concept of holding his tongue. One glance at the offended look on your face only made him want to tease you even more. Not too long ago, he was convinced the only expressions you were capable of were scowls and glares, but he had recently learned that you had an entire arsenal of them. Your nose would scrunch when you were disgusted, your lips would part when you were caught off guard, and if something happened to amuse you, you wouldn’t smile immediately. Instead, the smile would start in your eyes, and oftentimes stay there.

It felt like he was slowly but surely unlocking new sides to you, and he wanted nothing more than to unravel all of them. Most of all, he wanted to figure out how to get that pretty laugh out of you once more.

For no reason in particular. He was just a naturally curious person.

“Look,” he reasoned with you. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one, alright? It’s not far off and it's worth it.”

“...Fine.” You finally relented, relaxing just a little as you leaned back in the passenger seat and busied yourself by looking out of the window as he drove. Minutes later, he pulled up by a modern-looking structure that consisted of only a ground floor. Once he parked, he cleared his throat.

“Ready?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be ready for,” you said dryly, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the car. He grinned like he had won the lottery.

“That’s what makes it even better.” Faulty logic and all, he led you to the entrance of the building and opened the door, sauntering inside like he owned the place. You lingered outside, noting how all the lights were off, and it clearly looked like it was closed.

You couldn’t not be suspicious. “Are we trespassing?”

“Nah. Trespassing would mean we’re here without permission.” Rafayel gestured for you to follow him into the darkness, the moonlight filtering in through the door and letting you see just enough of him to not lose your bearings. He reached out and felt around the wall before humming triumphantly and flipping a switch. “There we go. Stop thinking so much and trust me, yeah?”

Squinting to readjust your eyesight to the now-bright lighting, you were left even more dumbfounded than before. “We’re in an….art gallery?”

White walls with frames hanging on them surrounded you, each with little plaques under the art pieces with the artist's information. Some of the walls were constructed in the centre of the room for people to walk around as they inspected the art. There didn’t seem to be any sort of theme with the current display, from what you could tell.

“Again, with those deduction skills,” he teased, and strangely enough, you didn’t want to slap him for it. “I’ll have you know that art can be very therapeutic. Great for taking a break from working”

It wasn’t every day you found yourself spontaneously being dragged to an art gallery, and having company was something even rarer. You had long since made peace with your lifestyle and its lonesome nature, but you were admittedly enjoying his presence, even if it was a little too chaotic for your liking.

“I’m pretty sure thats to do with creating it.” You almost smiled when he glared at you for your rebuttal. Huffing, he turned and walked further into the gallery, leaving you with no choice but to follow along. You were well aware that you were encouraging his crazy behaviour, but it wasn’t like you could stop now.

So you picked up your pace, pulling your coat around yourself tighter as you took in the different art pieces. Portraits, landscapes and some abstract pieces, the different art styles captivated you. You had always had an affinity for art, since fashion was so intrinsically intertwined with it.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost walked right into his back. Fortunately, he turned around at the perfect moment and reached out, hand on your shoulder. The contact snapped you out of it, and you looked up at him only to find an apprehensive look in his eyes. That didn’t make much sense though, considering how cocky and self-assured he was.

Raising your eyebrows in silent question, he sighed and moved out of your line of sight, revealing a wall.

Your eyes widened, all the air in your lungs leaving you at once.

The wall was covered in artwork of the sea. Every single piece was extremely detailed, some moody with their depictions of storms and deadly waves and others painting a picture of the sea at its calmest.

It was stunning, and even that word felt like an understatement. It simply did not do what you were currently looking at justice. The artist had captured the terrifying beauty of the sea so perfectly that looking at it stirred something akin to inspiration inside of you.

To you, the seafom resembled lace. The wheels in your head began to turn as more comparisons burst forth – the sand could be chiffon, and the waves themselves draped like silk. It had been so long since you had felt creativity like this that all you could do was stare, letting your skills take over and work through all the ideas that rushed forth, feeling overwhelmed and delighted all at once.

A singular plaque on the wall sat low and hidden away, tucked under all the art. You crouched down slightly, eager to know the person who had inspired you once more.

Anonymous.

You blinked, rising to your full height as you looked back at the art, dazed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

You spun around, unable to stop yourself from gaping at him. His stance was relaxed, hands in his pockets, and his eyes trained on the artwork. At first, you had thought you had misheard him, but the tone of his voice and the way he was looking at the paintings with what could only be described as pride told you otherwise.

“You made these?”

Your disbelief was unmistakable, and it stung a little. He chuckled at the incredulity in your voice as you asked the question, nodding slowly. “Surprised?”

“Very, yes.” You glanced between the art and him. “Why have you shown me this, Rafayel?”

“You don’t think very much of me,” It was a statement, rather than a question. He said it with a small simper, but it was unlike the one he usually wore. It was genuine, if not a little sad, no traces of that signature smirk of his as he met your eyes now.

“You’ve never given me a reason to.”

“Well, there you go. Here’s your reason.” His voice was oddly quiet. “To think of me better, that is.”

You truly didn’t know what to make of that. Only one question remained in your mind as you eyed the artist's plaque that held no information about the man beside you. “Why have you chosen to be anonymous? Your work is wonderful.”

Pride flickered to life in his eyes once more, like your compliment meant something. “Because this way, people will appreciate my art for what it is, without my affiliation. I’m not an idiot, Y/n, I know the entire world knows who I am. The moment they find out I’m the one who painted these, it won’t just be about the art anymore. It’ll be about me. Sure, it would get a lot more attention than it does here, sitting in the back of a barely known art gallery, but at least whatever attention it does get is real.”

Oh.

Rafayel was shallow, with a silver tongue he didn’t know how to control. He infuriated you to no end and thought much too highly of himself for his own good. He was vain, arrogant, and about a dozen other things that you thought of as faults.

But he was so much more. As of late, you were beginning to see who he was past all of that. You saw the man who was irrationally afraid of cats and, for some reason, went out of his way to talk to you. You saw the artist behind the model, curls and all. The softer smiles and perceptiveness that you would have never attributed to him before.

“I won’t say this often, so don’t get used to it.” You said slowly, glancing back at him. “But you were right, I did need a break. Thank you for this.”

He and you weren’t so different. Both of you were artists in your own right, seeking control over the art you created. The only difference was that he held that control by distancing himself from his work, whereas you were the very essence of yourself. Both of you had pride that clashed and egos that didn’t take kindly to bruising.

You no longer knew what to make of Qi Rafayel. That should have scared you.

But when he flashed you a boyish grin at your admittance to him being right, you realised that it didn’t.

It was past ten when Rafayel dropped you back home.

You made a beeline for your home office, forgetting to take off your shoes in your frenzied state. Within minutes, you were hunched over new, fresh pieces of paper, your old sketches discarded in a trash can and forgotten about. Your pencil flew over the pages as you frantically began to draw out new designs, eager to capture the ideas that had been swirling around in your head the moment you saw those paintings.

Inspiration was powerful, but fleeting. For the next two hours, you poured everything out onto those pages, and it felt like you were submerged underwater, unable to come up for air until you were finished. Your newest collection came to fruition that night, born from an unexpected muse.

When you were done and the sound of waves in your mind receded, you were left with the sounds of the city and a sense of tired satisfaction.

Jimmy Choo's were meant to be savoured. They were the type of shoes that people glided in, they made the simple act of walking an experience to remember.

They were not meant for the furious strides of one very livid fashion designer.

“Andrew!” Your model's manager flinched at the sharpness in your voice as you addressed him. “Why on earth are they not walking yet?”

“There’s just been a small delay–”

“I am in no mood for excuses.” You snapped, sweeping your gaze over the lineup of models standing ready but doing absolutely nothing. “Honestly, I’m starting to think I’m surrounded by imbeciles. First, I find out that the hems of an entire rack of shirts have been messed up and have to spend my entire morning explaining how to fix that problem to people who apparently don’t know how to do their jobs. Then I come here to check on how rehearsal is going, only to see that it hasn’t even begun.”

Andrew scrambled to appease you. “We’re starting right away!”

With that strangled declaration, he jumped into action, snapping his fingers in the direction of the models. “All of you! Behind the curtain, stat! In order, I want all of you walking out like you will for the show, understood? Chop Chop!”

Rafayel watched you from the end of the line, moving along with it until he was positioned correctly. This was the first rehearsal for the Paris Fashion Week show that was rapidly approaching, with only about two months left before the final day. Today, all that was taking place were run-throughs of the walks and setting the order of the models walking. His position was confirmed since the start, he would be the last one to walk, the much-anticipated closer of the show.

He noticed your tense shoulders, the way your lips were pressed together in a thin, displeased line. The first model walked out, and you studied her like a hawk, no doubt mentally filing away all your criticisms. Imposing as ever, your bad mood was evident.

For some crazy reason, he wanted to help alleviate it. He had seen past this untouchable facade you put up and had peeked through the cracks in your walls a couple of times now, when your pink lips curled upward just slightly, and your eyes glimmered a little brighter than usual. When you were just yourself, instead of the persona you played to stay at the top.

It seemed to him that you didn’t let anyone see that side of you. Instead, you did everything in your power to avoid letting it show.

What a lonely existence that must have been.

He walked out onto the practice runway when it was his turn, one foot in front of the other as he glided smoothly, focusing on a spot on the wall directly in front of him. It was the same old routine he had practised and perfected for years now.

When he reached the end, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before turning around. His view shifted to you, and he let it linger, savouring the way you stared at him. For a split second, he was sure your expression softened, but just as quickly, that softness vanished. He continued his walk until he disappeared behind the curtain once more.

Another run-through with Andrew yelling out the changes he wanted each model to make, and then they were all afforded a generous ten-minute break. Rafeyel did not know why he found himself gravitating towards where you stood.

“Shouldn’t you be with the rest of the models?” You raised an eyebrow as he approached you, trying your best to sound as indifferent as possible. That wasn’t something you typically had trouble with, but now it felt a little harder to do when faced with the intensity of his attention.

“When have I ever done anything I was supposed to?”

You exhaled, shaking your head bemusedly. “Don’t sound so proud of it.”

“You look stressed.” Rafayel's voice was low and thoughtful, almost as if he actually cared. You snuffed out that thought. He had been on your mind a dangerous amount as of late, but there was a perfectly rational explanation for that: he had inspired you.

“I’m always stressed. I’ve been on my feet all day.” You rubbed the spot between your eyebrows with your index and middle finger, smoothening out the frown that had formed.

“Have you learnt nothing from being around me? What happened to taking breaks?” He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuinely perturbed. “Or do you need me around to make sure you take them?”

Absolutely not. Having Rafayel around was proving to be detrimental to your sanity for reasons entirely different to those expected. You tilted your head towards the other models and waved your hand in their general direction. “What I need you to do is your job, not loiter around here.”

He laughed like you had told the world's funniest joke, pinning you in place with a knowing look. “Oh, just admit it already. I’m the most entertainment you’ve had in a while. You love being around me, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You pursed your lips. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Is it, though?” His habit of incessantly questioning you was getting old, but that addictive drawl of his voice pulled you right back in. “You’re smiling.”

To your mild dismay, you realised he was right. Now that he pointed it out, you could feel how the apples of your cheeks were raised with the upward curve of the sides of your mouth. Scoffing, you tried your best to erase any evidence of the sort as you turned away, but to no avail.

“Your break is over, you can stop pestering me now.” But your tone was lighter than it had been all day. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and walked off, joining the group of models who were gearing up to practice their walks once more. As the distance between the two of you increased, you realised with a start that you unfortunately did quite like being around him.

But there wasn’t a rule that said you had to admit to such a thing. Rafayel was like a breath of fresh air after almost drowning, or a lagoon in the middle of a desert. Unpredictable and against everything you knew to be true about life, and yet…

There was something undeniably charged between the two of you, from the way he sought you out and how you let him linger. Neither of you dared to acknowledge this, however, keeping your distance literally and figuratively.

As he paraded down the runway once again with the elegance of a swan but the flamboyance of a peacock, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was that predictability and control you so desperately clung to that held you back. The second you let yourself go for just a little while, you found the inspiration you had been so desperately waiting for.

The past week had you being more productive than you had in months, your designs for fashion week already in production. With how everything was going, the collection for the runway would be ready by next week, which would finally put everything back on track. You had to constantly check in to ensure things were going exactly how you wanted them to, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could let go of your tight hold and just breathe.

And if a certain pretty boy was plaguing your thoughts, well, that was no one else's business.

Maybe he was rubbing off on you.

“This way.” You turned the corner into yet another hallway, causing Rafayel to wonder just how big the Lumiere building was. You had summoned him there out of the blue, giving him no explanation as to why you wanted him there and only reminding him to be on time. The request was definitely unlike your usual self, more aligned with his impulsive nature, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

And so there he was, following you through the endless corridors. When he had asked why he was there, all he received was an uncharacteristically mischievous look in your eyes and nothing more. When he probed for answers, you only said one thing: “I thought you liked surprises.”

Never in a million years had he expected you, of all people, to throw his words back in his face. You had successfully piqued his curiosity, and he trailed behind you now, eager to see what you had in store.

Finally, you stopped in front of a door and brought out a pair of keys. “Currently, only select individuals have access to this room,” you informed him as you unlocked it, before pausing and looking at him. “You’ll be the first and only person who isn’t from Lumiere itself to witness what I’m about to show you. It goes without saying that it’s a secret for now.”

“I feel like the Sherlock joke has gone a little too far,” he muttered dryly. “You have a thing for suspense now.”

Your lips twitched, and you pushed the door open, letting him enter first. When he did, he froze in place, jaw falling open as he made sense of what he was looking at.

Mannequins filled the room, the same number as the number of models there were for the fashion week show. Each form had complete outfits on, and each one was exquisite in ways he couldn’t properly describe the way it deserved. Navy blue satin gowns with hand-stitched embroidery and ivory-coloured lace hems, intricate golden beading on cream corset tops, deep turquoise shirts made of the finest silk, and skirts that looked like waterfalls, layered with intent, short in the front and long in the back. Netted tops and coats with the most gorgeous pearl detailing he had ever seen, flowy chiffon shirts that were artfully tucked into white pants – every piece was thoughtfully designed and lovingly put together.

Rafayel was rendered completely speechless.

“Introducing Lumiere’s 20[XX] Spring Collection.” You announced, stepping beside him and regarding your work with pride. Your hands were tucked behind your back, your stance bashful, but he could tell you were anything but. You knew what your work was worth, and you weren’t shy about it.

He wasn’t the type of person who was used to having nothing to say – quite the opposite – but there he was, rooted to the spot in awe as you walked over to one of the mannequins and slightly adjusted the skirt on it. The simple action told him just how much each piece meant to you, how well you knew them. He intimately understood the familiarity an artist had with their work, but seeing that mirrored in you was something else entirely.

“Y/n,” he breathed out, “This is…”

“I’m hoping you’re going to say ‘impressive.’ It might be a little too late to walk for Chanel now.” There you were again, throwing his own words back in his face, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why he liked it so much. It was so completely unlike you.

“It’s more than impressive, you’ve outdone yourself.” He said, finally managing to break out of the reverie he had found himself in.

“Is that so?” You looked over your shoulder back at him, the slightest of smiles teasing your lips. “You haven’t even seen what you’re going to wear yet.”

Without so much as another glance in his direction, you gracefully weaved through the mannequins to the back of the room. It was all he could do to follow along, doing his utmost best not to knock anything over as he gaped. As he passed each outfit up close, details he hadn't seen before revealed themselves, and he had to resist reaching out to touch.

And in the back, on the final mannequin, was the garment that took his breath away.

A shirt made from blood red organza silk that had an iridescent quality to it, shifting colours when the light hit it from different angles. From red to blue to violet, Rafayel found himself entranced by its ever-changing nature, eyeing the pale blue pearl details on the collar with deep appreciation. It was completely sheer, with subtle winding patterns stitched into the delicate fabric that resembled coral.

“I hand-stitched this one myself, and in three weeks, you’ll be the one wearing it to close my show.” You said softly, trailing your fingers over the sleeve with care. You toyed with the end of it, watching how his eyes went wide and lips parted in something close to reverence.

“It’s phenomenal. All of it is.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, taking a step closer to you and the mannequin. “It’s so different from anything I’ve seen, especially from you.”

“Yeah, well, I realised that I didn’t just want to put out a collection that meant nothing.” It was true, the very thing that had driven you as you had put the collection around you together. “Fashion is more than just clothing. It’s an art form. It’s supposed to evoke a feeling, to be able to tell a story and have its own identity.”

The devotion you possessed towards your work was admirable, it was so plainly obvious that this was exactly what you were meant to do. Utterly enamoured, he spoke, “It’s gonna be one hell of a show.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You had been around him long enough to know he wasn’t someone who took anything too seriously, but the earnest look he was giving you that he definitely took this – and by extension, you – very seriously.

“Good, but I don’t want to just want to put on any show. I want it to be a performance.” You aimed to leave an impact, for people to leave the show and think about the experience for weeks, maybe even months, after. Rafayel realised that you were trusting him with enabling that by divulging your vision to him.

“Then it’s an honour to be one of your performers.”

That earned him a proper smile, not just the hint of one. It was small but mighty, starting in your eyes like your smiles always did, but this one was the rare type that reached your mouth and lit up your features. He found himself feeling winded for the second time in the past ten minutes, but this time it was because of you and not the clothing. At least he could explain the latter option.

“In that case, what do you think about a more permanent position at Lumiere?”

It wasn’t like this was the first time he had been offered this, but shock infiltrated his system anyway. “Like Xavier Shen?”

You nodded. “Like Xavier. A brand ambassador.” Waving a hand around, you continued, “You fit with Lumiere’s image and the vision I have for my brand, so I believe you won’t disappoint. I don’t say that lightly, or to every model. Of course, I’m not forcing anything on you, and you can take your time to think about it.”

Such plainly stated praise from the impossible-to-please Y/n L/n was practically unheard of, but there you were, staring at him with finality in your eyes. Arms folded over your chest, hair pinned up in that perfect bun as always and stiletto-clad feet, you were the same as always and yet he couldn’t seem to perceive you as he had in the past.

Thomas would be overjoyed at him finally taking something seriously. His aunt would certainly approve of the collaboration, and he’d be walking for a fashion house he actually cared about. It seemed perfect.

“I don’t need time.” Rafayel looked at the shirt that he would soon be wearing. “You’ve got yourself a new brand ambassador.”

The airhostess led you to your seat in first class, dragging your carry-on suitcase behind her. Once your bag was in the overhead cabin and you were settled in your seat, she returned a couple of minutes later with the drinks menu and a cart, patiently waiting for your order. You leaned back in the plush seat and scanned over the available options.

“A glass of Dom Pérignon, please.”

God knows, you’d need the drink. Alcohol now acquired, you took a leisurely sip and tried your best to relax, but that was easier said than done. Boarding was still going on, and in about half an hour, you’d be airborne. The thought caused your stomach to churn.

To say you weren’t a fan of flying would be an understatement. Sure, you had to do it a lot for work and should’ve probably been used to it by now, but that wasn’t the case at all. Oftentimes, you found yourself clutching at the armrests for dear life during take-off, which, in your opinion, was the worst bit, and remained on edge throughout the flight. Even the comfort of first class didn’t help very much.

When you landed in Paris, there would be exactly ten days before the start of Fashion Week. You would be at your busiest since NYFW, and the added stress of anticipating that only added to your jittery state. Sighing deeply, you closed your eyes for a moment to ground yourself, index and middle finger rubbing against your temple.

“Well, hello there, neighbour. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your eyes flew open, settling on the culprit of the voice.

Rafayel stood in the booth right next to yours, looking the opposite of how you felt, completely at ease in this setting.

“Why are you here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The same as you, I presume, to get to Paris. Did you expect me to take a boat or something?” And then, as if he owned the place (which was his usual way of carrying himself), he rested his arms over the walls of your small enclosure, chin propped in his palm. “I guess Thomas booked the same flight as yours.”

“It certainly seems that way. Are you going to bother me the entire flight?” You felt mildly embarrassed at how you had blurted out the question so disgracefully.

“As much as I possibly can, yes.” He beamed like he had delivered the best news of your life. “Isn't it lucky our seats are so close?”

“Such a blessing,” You deadpanned, needing another drink despite your current one not being anywhere close to finished. The rest of the first class was completely empty, which meant you were stuck with his relentless pestering, whether you liked it or not, confined to the same space as him for the next seven and a half hours.

Brilliant.

Rafayel snorted. “I’m going to pretend that you meant that.” The airhostess appeared once again with her cart, and he opted for whiskey, neat and on the rocks. Once he had obtained his drink, he turned to you and held his glass out. “Cheers.”

You were too busy giving him an unimpressed look to remember your flying anxiety, until one of the airhostesses stepped into the first class section and announced that the takeoff would be soon. Immediately, you put your drink in its holder and frantically gripped the armrest as she went through the motions of the safety debrief. Rafayel sat down in his own seat, but looked over at you in amusement.

“You seriously pay attention to these things?”

“What does it look like?”

“I mean, haven’t you been on enough flights to know the basics by now?” He fastened his seatbelt as the safety instructions were done, and the lights dimmed, the plane getting ready for take-off.

“It doesn’t hurt to be reminded.” You muttered under your breath, but the cadence of your voice had taken a shaky turn, which was a far cry from its usual firm, clipped nature. Rafayel shot you an inquisitive look before noticing the death grip you had on the armrest and the tense set of your shoulders.

Whatever teasing comment that lay on the tip of his tongue dissolved as he dropped his voice. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“That was the most unconvincing ‘I’m fine’ I’ve ever heard.” He tilted his head and studied you for a moment. “You’re pale.”

The plane began to pick up speed, causing you to dig your manicured nails into the leather of the armrest and stare straight ahead at the blank screen in front of you. Usually, you always started a movie by now to distract yourself from your fear, but this time, you had paid so much attention to Rafayel that you had forgotten your routine when it came to flying.

But your silence told Rafayel everything he needed to know. “Hey. Look at me.”

“Rafayel, I am in no mood for your–”

“Tell me about the Spring Collection.”

You whipped your head to him, considerably confused by the sudden change of topic. “What? Why? You’ve seen the entire thing upfront.”

He sighed theatrically and gave you a pointed look. “Just do it, will you?”

This bizarre man. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to understand how his brain worked. Still, if there was one thing you allowed yourself to brag about, it was your work. Crossing your legs, you tried your best to relax in your seat.

“It’s inspired by the sea, which actually, you have yourself to thank for,” you said, getting straight to the point without beating around the bush.

Rafayel’s lips parted. “I do?”

“Your art.” You clarified, giving him a meaningful look. “It really struck a chord in me. One look at it and I knew exactly what I wanted to do for the collection, which was surprising considering I had been going through a bit of a creative rut.” You recalled how your creativity had come rushing back to you all at once, the moment you set your eyes on his paintings.

He told himself he’d dissect the warm feeling in his gut later, a smug look taking over his features. “I am nothing if not inspiring.”

You scoffed under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief at his conceitedness and wondering why-oh-why you found it somewhat endearing now. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.” A slow, languid smirk stretched out on his lips as he took a sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid swirling around in his glass. Your eyes betrayed you, dropping to his mouth and watching as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I’m gonna brag about this forever. Where is the show going to be held?”

“In a cathedral.” You averted your gaze, feeling heat creep up your neck and onto the apples of your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you sipped your champagne in an attempt to soothe your ruffled feathers, hoping it would cool you down and keep your face from flushing.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

“A cathedral, huh? You’re really going all out.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “It’s gonna have a very operatic feel to it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going for,” you admitted, pleasantly surprised that he had grasped exactly what you wanted to put across without you going in depth at all. It was as if he had reached into your mind and taken the words out of your mouth. Even Xavier wasn’t this perceptive.

Now, why on earth were you comparing him to Xavier? This was madness. Something was obviously very wrong with you since your train of thought had never been this outlandish before. You couldn’t make sense of it at all, simply because you had never been subjected to feeling this way before. Why was there a fluttery sensation in the pits of your stomach? What was this warmth that seemed to simmer underneath the expanse of your skin every time he looked at you?

Oh my god. Were you flustered by Qi Rafayel?

As that absolutely insane possibility made itself known, the lights in the cabin flickered back on, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to reality. Rafayel was already watching you, amused, taking another leisurely sip of his drink and blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. Blinking rapidly, you realised that you were already airborne and had made it through take-off without a hitch.

And that was when it hit you: all this talk about the collection and the show had been for your benefit. The model had been distracting you on purpose, somehow picking up on your fear. His presence, one that you had previously considered as bothersome, had been the very thing to calm you down.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Now then,” he picked up the bowlful of salted nuts one of the airhostesses had gotten upon his request, eyes twinkling as he popped a handful into his mouth. “Tell me more.”

Day one of Paris Fashion Week was a whirlwind.

You had been invited to watch two shows that day, the first of which was a Marc Jacobs runway show. The second show was for Dubois Designs, after which Gabriette had made sure to personally meet you and insist that you attend the afterparty as well. The new addition to your schedule gave you less than an hour to get ready for the aforementioned party, since right before it, you had a talk and presentation with Anna Wintour.

Between the glitz and glamour and one too many coffees, it was only the first day, and you had been thrust right back into the chaos you so loved and thrived in.

Dubois Designs was huge in Paris, being the home city of the brand and the founder. Even with your conditional friendship with Gabriette, you could admit that her show had been incredible. The exaggerated silhouettes had been eye-catching, and the craftsmanship was truly remarkable.

You descended the stairs and found yourself in a large, crowded basement. The party itself was in full swing, moody red lighting bathing the entire room while simultaneously keeping it dark. It fit the edgier aesthetic that Dubois Designs tended to lean towards, despite being a luxury fashion house. A DJ was tucked into a corner, mixing the electronic music as the backdrop for people to drink and dance to their heart's content.

Familiar faces stopped and greeted you as you made your way to the bar, knowing you’d definitely need a drink to enjoy all this. The darkness made it a little harder to recognise people, but most of them were well-known faces in the industry, from models to actors and even some well-known influencers. Having to be social at almost midnight was not something you particularly enjoyed, but it was the start of fashion week, and your adrenaline was at an all-time high, making all of this much more tolerable than usual.

Getting yourself a gin and tonic, you began consuming it at a pace that would ensure you had a pleasant buzz in about twenty minutes. The energy around you was palpable, the ebb and flow of it was surprisingly infectious, forcing you to subconsciously loosen up.

“Y/n! You made it!”

The French accent gave her away before she even stepped into your line of sight. Gabriette appeared seemingly out of nowhere, throwing her arms around you and giving you air kisses on both cheeks. You returned the gesture, tentatively returning her hug before pulling away.

“Of course I did. How could I ever refuse a personal invite from you?” You smiled the commercial smile you practised for events such as these. “After a show like that, I knew the afterparty would be just as spectacular.”

It was obvious that she was still riding off the high that the success of her show had brought, but you couldn’t blame her. She laughed, the sound a tad bit too shrill, “You are too kind. I have people to meet, but please, enjoy yourself.”

And with another exaggerated air kiss, she left you to your own devices, continuing on her mission of making rounds through the party. Events like these always tended to be impersonal, interactions were short and fleeting, and the more connections you managed to make in one night, the better. The industry was filled with young people looking to connect, and this was the best way to do so.

You finished your drink while chatting with the creative director of Louis Vuitton, who expressed their excitement for your upcoming show. As you engaged in conversation, you observed the scenes going on all around you, a sense of wistfulness taking over you. There was a point in your life when you thought you’d never belong in this world, back then when it felt too out of reach for a young aspirant such as yourself.

As your eyes swept across the room, they snagged on a familiar pair staring right back at you.

Rafayel cocked his head to the side when he caught your eye, immediately excusing himself from the conversation he had been having and making his way over. Unsure of what compelled you to do the same, you slipped through the crowd until you met him halfway.

“I did not think you would be here,” you admitted once within earshot. You hadn’t seen him for the past two days, with him being busy with photoshoots and other such events, his manager had added to his itinerary at the last minute (to his dismay).

Now that he was before you, his gaze dropped, slowly dragging over your figure from bottom to top like he was committing it to memory. The act sent inexplicable shivers up your spine, and you gripped your glass to show yourself from physically reacting, but that was harder said than done.

He wore a dark red shirt that had shimmery lilies embroidered across it, mostly unbuttoned to expose the smooth skin of his chest and torso. With his hair slightly dishevelled in a way that made him seem effortlessly attractive and the dark lighting casting sharp shadows over his face that brought out the intensity in his typically soft visage, he was truly something to behold.

Devilishly handsome, temptation incarnate.

“Gabriette invited me.” He waved his hand dismissively as he explained, like he didn’t really care. “Something about nurturing goodwill.”

“She’s all about that, isn’t she?” You muttered dryly. The loud music almost made your quip inaudible, but he caught on anyway, delighted at the hint of the sassy nature you possessed under all that seriousness.

“I didn’t think this was your scene.”

You wore a blue drop waist Lumiere mini dress and Isabel Marant fringe boots on your feet. Signature Vivienne Westwood earrings dangled from your ears, glinting through your styled hair whenever the light caught them. The entire outfit was in stark contrast to what he was used to seeing you in, devoid of any formality and primness.

“It’s not, but you know.” A playful smirk adorned your lips as you swayed to the music, looking so much more relaxed than normal. “Goodwill and all.”

God, he could get addicted to that. “Shame, you secretly being a party girl would have made you even more interesting.”

“Am I not interesting enough for you?” Your voice teetered on the edge of mockery with the question, shifting your weight from one foot to the other and staring up at him defiantly.

“Trust me, Y/n, you have no idea just how interesting I think you are.” He said smoothly, plucking your drink out of your hand and placing it off to the side, but before you could reprimand him for doing so, his hand cupped your elbow gently and pulled you along with him.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a request, but rather a statement he was annoyingly sure you would comply with. You supposed you didn’t have much of a say in the matter with how he was basically dragging you with him, but it had been a while since you found yourself able to be properly irritated with him.

Even in the dim lighting, you were acutely aware of how people watched the two of you, eyes following your every movement, but you knew who they were actually looking at. You might have been Y/n L/n, the fashion industry's darling, but he was Qi Rafayel. You didn’t live under a rock; you knew of his reputation as the life of the party, but now you could see that play out in real time. A party wasn’t a good one without him. In all honesty, that was probably the reason Gabriette invited him in the first place.

Rafayel was made for the spotlight. Wickedly charming with levels of confidence that some would spend their entire life chasing, he basked in the attention being thrown his way like it was a form of currency. Perhaps it was, in a sense, what they exchanged to be able to admire such an alluring soul in his element.

The entire room watched him, but Rafayel? His eyes were locked on you.

You felt your mouth go dry, and a hammering began within the confines of your ribcage, slow at first but building up to a crescendo. His hands slipped from your elbows down to your waist, holding you gingerly. Everyone begged for even a speck of his attention, but all of his was on you, and the effect was downright dizzying.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

How proper of you. Mirth danced about in his expression as he pulled you just a tad closer, knowing fully well he was pushing your limits. “Aren’t you going to pay the compliment back?”

“You’re a world-famous model, Rafayel. I harshly think you need me telling you how good you look.” You looked over his shoulder, unable to hold any eye contact with him.

“No,” he mused, dipping his head until his mouth was just by your ear. “But you could tell me how hot I am.”

Every syllable dripped with that delicious, insufferable cockiness you desperately wished you still loathed. You could feel the warmth of his breath tickle the skin of your neck, and you turned your head until you were face to face with each other, so painfully close it felt illegal.

One thing was becoming quickly apparent to you, and that was that whatever you felt towards Rafayel wasn’t the plain old, run-of-the-mill attraction. That was just one aspect of it, especially in this moment, running through the charged air between the two of you like an electric current. The tension was almost tangible, like a live wire you were tempted to wrap your fingers around and tug.

But there was so much more. His willingness to share his art with you, even though he kept it a secret from the rest of the world. Distracting you on the plane. Challenging you to be better, even when you hated how he went about it. You, turning him into your muse, letting him inspire both you and your work.

You had disliked him because he was out of your realm of control. He wasn’t someone you could put a leash on and expect to follow every order; no, he did things his way and forced you to see the good in it. Now, however, you realised that you didn’t want to try and control him. You liked the unpredictability.

“I’d never do that.” You whispered, hating how breathless you must have sounded. Still, you made no effort to reclaim your personal space, addicted to the close proximity from the second you had been exposed to it. You finally understood why everyone wanted this. Wanted him.

A knowing smile stretched across his face, and in spite of your best efforts, you found yourself utterly enraptured by it.

“Oh, I know.”

Rafayel was tipsy, just about aware of the bass-boosted music, with a lazy smile on his face as he ordered two drinks at the bar. You were somewhere out there waiting for him to return with them, no doubt ready with a scathing remark about how long he was taking.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt so bewitched by someone, solely because he never let anyone get close enough. Keeping people at arm's length was something he was well-versed in, but for some reason, he had only pulled you closer. His attempts at breaking down your walls had resulted in him letting you through his.

You, and your scrutinising gaze and sharp tongue. Beautiful. Unforgiving.

“Mr. Qi?”

He turned to the source of the voice, finding a man standing there with a determined look on his face. Rafayel raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, sir, I’m Gabriette Dubois’ assistant.” He adjusted his glasses and continued. “Miss Dubois is overjoyed that you made it, and she would be here herself if something hadn’t come up. She wanted me to pass on a message.”

The drinks arrived. Rafayel tugged them closer to where he leaned against the bar, nodding. “Go on.”

“Miss Dubois is interested in working with you once again.” The assistant held out a business card, evidently not picking up on the man's surprise. As far as he remembered, the collaboration between Dubois Designs and him had been a couple of years ago and a roaring success, but there had never been any talk of extending it. He had expected that, since he had been his usual difficult self, Gabriette hadn’t appreciated it very much. Moreover, this was before he had catapulted into being considered one of the world's hottest models, so she had had no reason to keep him on for any longer.

“I see.”

“She awaits good news from your end. Take the time to think about it.”

And with that, the man left Rafayel alone once more. He toyed with the business card for a couple of moments before slipping it into his pocket. Then, he picked up the drinks and made his way back to you.

“How many times have you been to Paris?”

You stitched your eyebrows together in thought. “Four times, maybe?”

Rafayel looked scandalised, eyes widening and mouth falling open like you had personally offended him. “And this is your first time exploring?”

“I come here very briefly and only for work, Rafayel,” You spooned a heap of thick cream into your hot chocolate. “I should be working right now, but someone insisted I accompany him to the middle of nowhere.”

“I insisted you take a break, since you clearly don’t know how to take one yourself.”

That much was true. After a gruelling rehearsal (one that ended in you talking sternly to your employees about not ensuring the practice runway was to scale), he had caught up to you and demanded you drop everything and follow him. Maybe all the stress had been getting to you because you let him convince you, but not without complaint. You made your annoyance with the situation quite obvious, even if it wasn’t genuine at all.

He had suggested taking a walk, which is what this insane outing had started as, but when you admitted to never having actually explored the city, he acted like you had personally offended him. He decided to take matters into his own hands, which was how you ended up in a small boulangerie that was hidden away in one of the Parisian streets.

The hot chocolate was rich, and the croissant you had ordered was perfectly buttery and flaky. By no means did the bakery look like a place a celebrity would frequent, with its old-timey decor and peeling paint job, but it had a certain charm to it, run by a lovely old lady who immediately began fussing over Rafayel the moment the two of you arrived. Later, he told you that it was a secret gem and one of his favourite places to frequent whenever he was in Paris.

It turned out that was quite often, so much so that he even had an apartment here. He absolutely loved the city of love, which was why he was so flabbergasted at you not knowing much about it despite having been there several times.

“Fashion week is a very important time for me. I can rest after it's over.”

“Workaholic.” He jibed at you, stealing a piece of your croissant. “I’m going to take you around.”

You tried to protest, “That’s unnecessary-”

“Trust me, it’s necessary. Besides, I already asked Thomas to bring my car.”

“Your car?”

He gave you a too-innocent smile. “Did I not mention I have a car here? Don’t worry, it's very nice. A convertible, too.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You looked off to the side to conceal the grin that was threatening to break out on your face. There were about a million other things you could think of that you should have been doing, and yet here you were, going along with his shenanigans.

Once you were done eating and emerged from the bakery, his sports car was indeed waiting out for both of you with the roof pulled back. He ushered you into the passenger seat, going so far as to open the door for you before taking his place behind the steering wheel and pulling out of park.

Rafayel had no destination in mind, simply wanting to spend more time with you and keep you away from your precious work. Due to the late hour, they were mostly empty, which made the drive pleasantly smooth. He switched the radio on, the latest and greatest pop music filling the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.

The lamps cast a dim yellow light over the Parisian streets, and you took it all in, watching intently from the car as they passed you by. By no means was this the greatest tour in the world – far from it. He didn’t tell you what you were looking at, too busy humming along to a Taylor Swift song, but it stirred up a feeling deep within you that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The sounds of late-night Paris mixed with his voice, turning into a melody you would have never thought was worth listening to before. It wrapped around your senses, and little by little, you let yourself go. Your posture relaxed, your jaw softened from its perpetually clenched state, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding in.

And for the first time in a long time, you realised that the loneliness you were so used to carrying around was nowhere to be found.

The only other person who managed to lessen the sense of isolation you harboured was Xavier, and even he couldn’t do it all the time, and yet, the headstrong man driving you around had somehow managed to break down all your walls and let you out of the prison you had built for yourself. While others expected you to break from the pressure that came with your position, he made sure you didn’t, even when you refused his help.

You sat forward in your seat, shutting your eyes as the cool night air blew against your face. Perhaps it defeated the point of the ride if you weren’t looking around anymore, but you couldn’t help it. It had been so long since you had been able to completely let go around someone else that you wanted to savour every second of the moment.

Rafayel glanced over and found it almost impossible to look away from you. Eyes fluttering open with shadows cast from your eyelashes and dancing on your face. Wind in your hair, hair that was finally let out of its perfect updo and allowed to freely fall over your shoulders. The way your head was tilted up just slightly as you stared at the starless sky, focused on the crescent moon overhead.

God, you were a painting he could never do justice to, but desperately wished he was able to.

Forcing himself to look away, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and focused his attention back on the roads he cruised down. “I should take you back to your hotel."

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning back against the seat. “I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“When do you not?”

“Just drive!” You forced exasperation into your voice as you put in the address of the hotel into his GPS. This moment was one you never wanted to end, but your feet were firmly rooted in reality even when your head was in the clouds. You clamped down on that wish and settled back in the seat, watching the streets pass you by.

But it festered anyway, latching onto you like wishes so great tended to. You had everything you could have ever wanted: money, fame, and you had achieved all your dreams, but now here you were, with a new dream blooming from the remnants of old ones, a dream you never thought would see the light of day.

If not for him, would you have let another trip to Paris pass you by with your head stuck in your schedule until it was time to board that flight back to New York? The notion of that had made him go out of his way to remedy it, even when you put up a fuss and tried to talk him out of it.

Unfortunately for you, you were rather easy to convince when it came to him.

When he pulled up to the hotel, he ignored all your protests and accompanied you to your room door. With every step you took towards the elevator, you did your utmost to keep a safe distance between your body and his, reminding yourself that this wasn’t something you could get used to. You hated the giddy feeling in your chest and the way it seemed to consume you when he was around. The back of his hand brushed against yours as you stood side by side, and even though the contact was minuscule, you could feel it everywhere.

The doors of the elevator opened, and you walked out with purpose, desperate to put as much space as you could between the two of you. He sauntered behind you, hands casually shoved in his pockets, completely and blissfully unaware of the storm waging in your head. You stopped outside your room and turned to face him.

“Don’t expect me to invite you in.” You warned, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded him warily, expecting him to push back once more. “You’ve already taken enough of my time today.”

Your tone was reprimanding, but he could tell it was all just for show. There was a glint in your eyes that told him you more than enjoyed yourself today, even if you’d never admit it. He knew you well enough by now to know that you said one thing but meant something else entirely, and that solidified you as one, if not the most confusing person he had ever met.

And yet there he was, trying to decode you. “I wouldn’t dare ask for even a second more.”

Taking a step forward, he looked down at the floor for a second before lifting his gaze back to your face, staring at you intently. The silence stretched on for a beat too long, and in that fleeting moment, those mesmerising amethyst eyes of his dropped down to your lips. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like if he just leaned forward and–

He would have dismissed that deranged thought entirely if he hadn’t caught your breath hitching. “Actually, I might need a couple.”

Rafayel’s eyes flickered back to yours, realising you hadn’t moved away. You swallowed, too proud to be the one who looked away first, and instantly, you knew what this was: weeks of flirtation disguised as tolerance and arguments coming to a head. A silent question hung in the little space between him and you, weighted and with far too many strings attached for you to even consider. He was waiting for permission, you realised, or any sort of answer.

It was a bad, terrible, no good idea. A desire that was nothing more than a moment of weakness, one you would surely regret somewhere down the line.

But around him, succumbing to moments of weakness was so easy.

“Then you better make it worth it.”

His hands found your waist, tugging you closer and pressing his lips to yours without another word. He stole your breath with his, leaving you to gasp against his mouth as it moved against yours oh-so gently, like you were made of glass he refused to let shatter. You could taste the subtle sweetness the hot chocolate had left, and smell the scent of his expensive cologne, struggling to process all of it as he kissed you.

And fuck, how he kissed you. The world around you went silent as Rafayel’s lips fit perfectly against yours, like two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together. They were soft and a little chapped from the night air, but intoxicating nonetheless.

When the two of you broke apart, he made no motion to move, keeping his hands on your hips. Your eyes fluttered open, your noses brushing against each other, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips. You hadn’t quite returned to reality just yet, still existing in the few seconds prior.

Rafayel let go after a minute or so and took a step away from you. You could see it now – the way he looked at you like you were the sun and moon and stars, a type of fondness you were wholly unused to. It had been there for the past couple of weeks, but you had mistaken it for mirth.

“Times up,” he muttered with an impossibly soft smile adorning his face, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

You watched him walk away from you, down the hallway and back to the elevator. As the doors shut, he gave you a cheeky little wave, causing you to stand there flabbergasted and more confused than you had ever been in your life before. You lifted your fingers to your lips that tingled from the ghost of his kiss.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You quickly became addicted to the drug that was Rafayel.

Secret touches. Lingering glances. It had been two days since he first kissed you, and you had made no efforts to get him to stop. In between interviews and rehearsals, he somehow managed to grab hold of you and steal you away from the world, even if it was just for a couple of minutes.

His apartment in Paris was on the fourth floor, in a building with older elevators. You walked out of it and to the numbered apartment that he told you was his, knocking and waiting for him to answer. He had texted you just after you finished filming a video with Vogue, insisting that you absolutely had to come over as soon as possible.

When he opened the door, looking completely at ease, you suspected your mild concern had been for no reason.

“There you are,” he hummed, holding a glass of wine precariously in between his fingers, sloshing it around before taking a sip. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Come inside.”

You stepped over the threshold and into his apartment, following him to his living room. For someone as over-the-top as himself, it was quite the quaint place, with wooden furniture and the original paint job still intact. If you asked him about it, you figured he’d just say something pretentious about preserving the Parisian integrity of the apartment.

Pulling off your gloves, you tossed them on his coffee table and shrugged off your coat. He leaned against the island that separated the kitchen from his living room, watching your every move like it was a dance sequence he was trying to memorise. Once you were done, you turned to face him with an expectant look.

“From the urgency of your messages, I assumed there was an emergency.”

He smiled coyly, pressing the edge of his glass to his lips. “Is wanting to see you not emergency enough?”

You wanted to scream, to push him out of a window and kiss him senseless at the same damn time. That conflict inside of you bubbled over, leaving a confused bout of need in its wake because no one had ever driven you this crazy before. Narrowing your eyes at him, you walked over until you were standing right in front of him.

“You know very well that I’m busy.”

“And yet, here you are.” He reached out to you, taking your hand in his and pulling you closer. His hair fell into his eyes, the deep purple ends of it kissing the high of his cheekbones like wisteria hanging down from tree branches. Unable to resist, you cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the mole on his cheek with tenderness that surprised even yourself.

“I think you’re distracting me on purpose.”

“There she is,’ he murmured fondly, turning his face into your palm and pressing his lips against it in a soft kiss. “The queen of cynicism.”

He gripped your wrist and slowly began peppering kisses from the centre of your palm down to your wrist, his eyes sweeping to yours. Something about the action felt strikingly intimate, sparking a fire inside of you that you hadn’t known could ever exist. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, drawing him into you for once and meeting his lips with your own.

You were hooked. Every brush of his mouth against yours was electrifying, precise and addictive in ways that left you wanting more every time. Wine entirely forgotten, his hands lifted to your face and held it, turning you around and pressing you against the edge of the island as he took the lead.

When Rafayel kissed you again, you blossomed under his touch like a flower exposed to the sun for the first time in days. His fingers entangled in your hair and cradled the back of your head delicately, his nails scratching against your scalp and sending delighted shivers down your spine. He tilted your head back so that you could meet him better, the nature of the kiss dissolving into something much more intense as his tongue swiped over your lower lip, eliciting a soft sound from the back of your throat.

“Jesus,” he mumbled against you, pained and breathless, pulling away for a singular moment that somehow felt too long despite probably being not more than a second. When he leaned back in, his lips found the side of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw and finding the spot below your ear that made you sigh and tip your head back. He made good use of the access you had so willingly given him, leisurely leaving hot open open-mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck, knowing exactly what to do to have you fall apart while simultaneously doing barely anything at all.

Your hands gripped the collar of his shirt at first, then slid down the silky fabric until they met the cool metal of his belt buckle. Emboldened by the situation, you hooked your fingers in his belt loops and tugged him even closer, until his hips were flush against yours. Your eagerness induced a dry chuckle from him, soft and barely there, puffs of his breath tickling against your pulse point. His thigh slotted between your legs before he paused, letting the gravity of what was happening hit either one of you.

It never did.

“Don’t you dare stop.” You almost snapped, but it lacked that authority your voice usually possessed when delegating tasks at work, instead laced with avid desperation for something only he could give you – a thrill only he could provide. Your permission was all he required, gripping your hips and lifting you onto the kitchen island and stepping in between your legs.

“So bossy,” you could feel him grinning against your neck. “You can’t resist ordering people around, can you?”

Before you could even think about refuting, his mouth was back on yours with a renewed sense of want, demanding and dizzying all at once. The beginnings of a retort died on your tongue when his meets yours and his hands slip under the hem of your skirt, sliding up your thighs maddeningly slow. All you could do was whine impatiently, leaning into him and giving in to that magnetic pull of his. He lifted his head, peering down at you with darkened eyes, so close that you could still taste him.

“Tell me what you want,” he asked, squeezing your thighs in a manner that told you knew knew exactly what you wanted. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

You glared, though it was weak. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Fine. When was the last time someone made you come, Y/n?”

You exhaled sharply at his question, one he phrased so innocently, although it was nothing of the sort. “Rafayel.”

“I thought you liked it when people were straightforward with you.” He smirked down at you, running his thumb over your lower lip and applying a little pressure, enough to have your mouth part. His other hand slipped further up your inner thigh, fingers languidly tracing the edge of your panties. He could feel you stiffen, anticipation running rampant through your veins as a wave of arousal crashed over you, rendering you pliant and wanting.

Dipping his head to your ear, he whispered, “You’re always so wound up, baby. Let me help you relax.”

With that, the spark he had lit inside of you roared to life, the flames burning your blood, making you feel hot all over your body. You were wet, embarrassingly so, soaked through your underwear as a haze of lust enveloped your mind. His knuckles brushed against your clothed core, and the minimal contact made you whimper needily, flattening your palms against the flat of his chest.

“Please, Rafayel.” Never, in a million years, did he ever think he’d have you begging for anything, but there you were, with your legs spread. “Touch me.”

Rafayel didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on in his life.

Manoeuvring your panties to the side, his fingers dipped in between your folds, a hungry gleam blazing to life in his eyes as he watched you jerk into his touch, drinking in the way your cheeks flushed and eyebrows furrowed. Your slick coated his fingers, and he groaned, the sound low and deep as he brought them up to your clit and circled it, tantalisingly slow.

“You’re so wet for me.” Shame filtered through you at his words, but it came secondary to the want that coursed through you. It wasn’t like you could deny the claim anyway; you could feel it firsthand. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

“You better,” you breathed out, clutching at the ends of his shirt in a futile attempt to keep your sanity somewhat intact, but he was doing an excellent job of chipping away at it, with how expertly he rubbed your clit, increasing the pressure of the circles he rubbed against the bundle of nerves.

“Oh, I will.” He flashed you a cocky grin, hooking his finger in the center of your panties and tugging them down your legs. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”

His other hand travelled underneath your top and pushed the material up your body, and you raised your arms, helping him pull it off and leaving you in a simple black bra. Still, he looked at you like you had a matching lingerie set on, humming in appreciation as he pulled your panties down your legs. They caught against one of your heels, which fell to his floor with a soft thud, but neither of you cared enough to even comprehend that. Immediately, he was back on you, middle finger pressing against your entrance as he nipped at your throat, soothing the sting his teeth left behind with licks of his tongue and wet kisses.

Finally, finally, he pushed one lithe finger into you and provided you with some relief, revelling in the moan you gasped out. His lips made their way down your neck and to your collarbone, kissing the swell of your breasts unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world to do with you as he pleased. He set a lazy pace with his finger, introducing a second one to your cunt with ease on account of how wet you were, gushing all over his hand.

Impatient, you reached behind and unhooked your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders and took in the appreciative look on his face when you tossed it to the side.

“Fuck,” he looked like you had positively wrecked, like you were a witch that had put him under a spell. “You’re killing me here.”

Rafayel attacked your chest again, this time with a little less precision. His pretty pink lips dragged across your breasts, tongue flicking out and swirling around one of your your pebbled nipples, taking it into his mouth and sucking. You arched into him with a whimper, your hands finding purchase in his soft hair, holding his head close to your body. His fingers moved in and out of your cunt fast, the palm of his hand rutting against your clit rhythmically, having your toes curl out of pleasure.

“Raf- oh, fuck.”

He looked up at you through his eyelashes, biting down on your nipple just hard enough for sparks of pain to shoot through you, mingling with the pleasure until you were left with a heady mix of both swirling inside you. You cried out, your hips bucking up against his fingers on their own accord.

For someone usually so well put together, it was hypnotic to watch you fall apart for him – and because of him. His mouth slipped from your nipple for a moment in favour of staring at you in wonder. “God, you’re so…”

You never found out what he meant to say, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his fingers curled inside of you, the tips of them stroking against the spot that made it hard for you to hold back your moans and whimpers. The sounds tumbled out of you like a waterfall, combined with the wet ones from your pussy, and filled the silence of his apartment, spurring him on even further as he fingered you so diligently. He went right back to lapping at your breast, his free hand kneading your other one, rolling that nipple under his thumb and pinching it.

“Oh my god,” you whined as you helplessly ground against his palm, the heel of it digging into your clit and applying delicious pressure on it that had you losing your damn mind. You could tell you were close from the coiling sensation in your gut, and from the way your legs were trembling, he had picked up on it as well.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Come for me.”

Seconds later, your orgasm hit you hard, a choked moan of his name leaving you as you clung onto him, overwhelmed at how good it felt. He held you against him, his ministrations never letting up for even a moment as he helped you ride out your high to the fullest. Once he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers away, staring at the mess you left on them in awe.

And then he looked at you, and he realised that the mess of you was far prettier. Lips swollen and kiss-bitten, hair all messed up just like how he’d imagined far too many times for him to willingly admit to, and eyes blown wide with desire. The sight of you like this – so perfectly wrecked – almost made him moan aloud, but he stopped himself by kissing you once more, messily now, all teeth and tongue and heat.

“Y/n,” Rafayel rasped out your name against your lips, “Fuck, I need you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer until you were flush against his chest, locking your legs around his hips. “Then take me.”

Bossy as ever, it only made him want you more. Gripping the underside of your thighs, he picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, lips locked with yours. He didn’t know how he made it to his room, but once there, he set you on the mattress and climbed over you, taking a moment to admire you in all your glory.

He was a total goner.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you huffed in between kisses, tugging impatiently at his collar and fumbling with his buttons. Rafayel laughed, finding your indignation so fucking adorable that he almost forgot what the two of you were doing, so consumed with the fact that he had you like this. When you managed to undo most of his buttons, he leaned back and pulled the shirt off, discarding it to some corner of the room and unzipped his pants.

His cock sprung to life as he kicked off his pants, and you were awestruck at the sight of him. The tempting lines of his abs you had forced yourself to look away from several times, now on display for only your eyes, and the flushed tip of his hard cock claiming all your attention because not only was it pretty, it was big. You bit your lower lip in anticipation, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look.

“Like what you see?” He drawled out the question with a lazy grin as he slipped on a condom, his smugness riling you up even more. Licking your lips, you pushed him away until he landed on his backside, expression morphing into one of confusion.

Aha, so it was possible to wipe that look off his face after all.

“Sit up against the headboard,” you instructed, getting to your knees and slipping the skirt that you still had on off your body, both of you completely naked now.

Although surprised, he complied fairly quickly, the smirk returning with full force. “Yes, ma’am.”

To Rafayel, this made sense. You always had to have a modicum of control over any situation, and this was how you established that here. You threw a leg over him, straddling his lap. His breath hitched when his cock came into contact with your bare cunt, unable to hold back a groan when you began to grind. The sound fired off every synapse in your brain, your body working on its own as you rolled your hips harder against him.

“God, fuck,” his honeyed voice was strained with the effort it took to not just hold you still and fuck up into you. “I’m going to lose my mind if I’m not inside you soon, pretty girl.”

The nickname did something to you, going straight to your head like a strong shot of tequila. You lifted your hips, reaching between your bodies and aligning his cock with your entrance, wetness coating the tip. Circling your hips, you savoured the way he sucked in a breath between his teeth.

But you were a woman who had virtually no patience. Teasing him, while fun, only succeeded in making you more desperate than you already were.

So you steadied yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, slowly sinking onto his length. You hissed in pleasure at the burn of the stretch, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulders and most definitely leaving marks. The near drunken sound that left him when you took all of him was the most gratifying one you had ever heard. He gripped your hips, tipping his head back against the headboard and breathing heavily.

“You– fuck– you feel so perfect,” Rafayel stuttered in wonder, but you were still adjusting to his size to comprehend the praise properly. He was buried to the hilt, and you felt delirious, clawing at him as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You needed him so bad it scared you, somehow growing even wetter with him inside of you because of how fucking good it felt.

Lifting your hips once again, you came down on him, mouth falling open at how he filled you up so easily. He groaned, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and ravishing it once more, both of you far too gone to even think about the consequences of leaving marks.

“Raf,” you whined, rocking your hips into him as you chased your high, in turn pulling his along. “Shit, it feels so good.”

“I know, cutie, I know,” His mouth was on your nipple again, wrapping his lips around it and sucking harshly, sending shocks of pleasure right down to your core. Instinctively, you clenched around him, and his grip on you tightened imperceptibly, a silent warning. Naturally, as you did with most things, you took it as a challenge, this time clenching on purpose.

“You little-” In retaliation, his thumb found your engorged clit and flicked it, causing you to screw your eyes shut and squeal with the extra stimulation.

“I can’t– god, it's too much,” you whimpered, feeling that familiar tug in your core build rapidly. Still sensitive from your first climax, it was no wonder that you were close already. Wanting to come again, you bounced faster, earning you a pleased groan from him.

“You’re incredible,” he crooned against your skin, hands running up your sides reverently as he stared at you through a half-lidded gaze. The sight of you on top of him, bare, looking so gorgeous, was enough to have him come undone, and he wanted it imprinted in his brain forever. He wanted to paint you like this, to turn you into art for his eyes alone.

You came hard, crying out his name in between the many of sounds that fell from your lips in ecstasy, gasps and moans alike. All you could think of was Rafayel, Rafayel, Rafayel as your high crashed over you like a wave crashing onto the shore.

Immediately, he took over, flipping your positions so that you were pressed into the mattress, his hips snapping to yours with a renewed sense of urgency. You mewled at the instant overstimulation, pawing at his torso in a weak attempt to get him to slow down, knowing damn well you didn’t want him to. He grabbed at your wrists and pinned them above your head, thrilled at the gasp-moan it elicited.

“You sound so fucking pretty,” Rafayel mumbled, sheathing himself inside of you with one final thrust, unravelling with a low moan. The two of you stayed like that for a couple of seconds, still connected, recovering from your mutual high.

Carefully, he pulled out, discarding the used condom and climbing right back into bed with you. His arms wrapped around your body, gathering you against his chest with all the tenderness in the world, limbs so entwined with yours that you didn’t know where you started and he ended anymore.

“Hey.”

You glanced up, finding him staring down at you with a soft, satiated smile, tracing soothing circles on your back. Like this, Rafayel was at his most irresistible to you, with his hair all mussed because of you, cheeks flushed, and every ounce of his attention on you. Try as you did, you couldn’t fight hints of your own smile from showing, so you nuzzled into his neck to hide your face. “Hi.”

“There isn’t a single reason for you to be shy,” he whispered playfully, propping his fingers under your chin and lifting your head so you were looking at him once more. “That was– you were amazing.”

“I don’t get shy.” Nonetheless, your cheeks flushed at his praise.

He chuckled quietly. “Of course you don’t.” And he kissed you again, like all the times he had just done so weren’t and would never be enough for him. Cupping your jaw sweetly, it was the most innocent press of his lips to yours, not needing any more from you. You certainly didn’t.

“Rafayel?” You breathed his name, pulling back and looking into those captivated eyes, hues of dark fuchsia and sapphire twinkling back at you. Entranced, you realised that your heart was no longer yours to control, free from the clutches of your mind, belonging to the man who held you. It was terrifying and freeing all at once, falling without knowing when and if you’d land at all.

“Hmm?”

“I think you might be my favourite muse.”

The words were honest, tinged with a vulnerability that hit home for Rafayel. He knew you didn’t open up like this to anyone, but you were staring at him now with that same look you gave him after asking him to stay on at Lumiere as a brand ambassador. Something in the confines of his ribs constricted as he brushed your hair out of your face.

“What an honour that is.”

It was early morning when Rafayel padded to his living room. The sun hadn’t risen yet. You were still in his bed, curled up under the sheets, looking so peaceful amidst your slumber. When he slipped away, he made sure not to disturb you.

For as long as he remembered, he had thrived on attention. It was something he had been handed even before his breakout into the mainstream as a top model. People constantly told him how he was meant for the limelight, standing proud at the centre of attention.

He settled on his couch, elbows on his knees and palms pressed into his eyes as he tried to think. His mind was racing, running at a mile a minute, and he was struggling to catch up.

You said he was your muse.

He had been a muse his entire life. For his aunt, for other designers and brands, he was used to it. The prospect of being a muse had never scared him before, but now he was yours, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate that role anymore. You, who said his art had inspired you to create your clothing, clothing he would soon wear and show off to the world. It should have thrilled him because he rarely resonated with a brand like he did yours, and even less with people.

Up until you, of course. You were a force of nature, obstinate and stubborn and spectacular too, like a storm that crashed into his town and swept him away. He meant it when he said it was an honour to be your muse.

But he knew that after a while, people got bored of their muses. Periodically, they moved on and found a new one to devote all their time and effort to. He was used to being wanted, and he often used that to his advantage, but being the one who wanted your attention was not a role he knew how to fill. The script had been flipped on him, and he felt like an actor with zero experience, wading in waters that were much too deep for him.

Walking away had always been easy. He wasn’t the type to be tied down to anything, all about living in the moment and having a good time. Now, he found himself wanting to stay, and that endlessly frightened him. What happened when he finished serving his purpose as your muse and you pushed him to the side?

He didn’t want to stick around and find out. He couldn’t bear to.

A business card lay on his coffee table. Lifting his head from his hands, he reached out and picked it up, turning the thin cardboard over in his fingers and reading the number on the back. The Dubois Designs logo glared up at him, as if taunting him with what would come to pass if he went through with this.

He picked up his phone.

You didn’t see Rafayel after that.

There were many things you could attribute this to. Your swamped schedule, the dinners, afterparties, showcases and fittings that you’d never hear the end of, his own endeavours – it made sense.

What didn’t make sense was the radio silence. He had gotten very comfortable with messaging you, even though you never entertained his overzealous texting style and only graced him with the driest of responses. Now, your phone was filled with communication from everyone except the man you were admittedly waiting to hear from.

Nothing.

Smack dab in the middle of one of the busiest weeks of your year, you didn’t have the time to dwell on it. The Lumiere show drew closer, and you were heavily involved in every aspect of the preparations to make sure everything was exactly how you wanted it to be.

You called him once, but he hadn’t picked up. It made you frown, but it wasn’t like you had the right to his time. Hadn’t you told him how precious yours was time and time again? Satisfied with that reasoning, you continued, pushing all thoughts of the charming man away for as long as you could.

“He isn’t here.”

The observation slipped out of you flatly, a little too loud and emphatic even for your own ears. It was the night before the show, and the final rehearsal was underway, held right in the cathedral that would serve as the set. Typically, these run-throughs were held a couple of hours before the actual show, but that would have disturbed the normal proceedings of the church, and you had no intentions of undermining the sanctity of it.

You turned to your assistant and models' manager. “Where is Rafayel?”

Simone jumped in quickly, knowing well how you hated being left hanging. “Andrew didn’t see him come in, and I contacted Thomas, but he hasn’t been able to get hold of him either.”

“What on earth…?” You muttered mostly to yourself as something in the pit of your stomach twisted, tight and unpleasant. His absence lately stung, but up until this moment, you had graciously let it go, figuring that there was a reason for it. Now, however, it was impossible to let it slide because he wasn’t just ignoring you, he was skipping out on rehearsal, and that was a professional commitment.

“I heard he was difficult to work with,” Andrew commented, rubbing his chin. “But I didn’t think he’d be irresponsible.”

You wouldn’t stand for it. Nodding stiffly, you spoke. “I’m leaving the rest of the rehearsal in both of your hands. I have something to check on.”

Neither of them questioned you, absorbing your instructions and carrying them out efficiently. You grabbed your coat and left the cathedral, your shoes clicking against the cobbled footpaths as you hailed a cab. Your best bet on where he was would be his apartment, and that was exactly where you’d go to get your answers.

When you reached, the scene you were met with wasn’t what you expected at all. The door to his apartment swung wide open, loud music reaching your ears from where you stood as the elevator doors opened. Swallowing down your bafflement, you slowly approached the entrance, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the middle of your chest the closer you got.

Once you were inside, it only got worse. The music made it hard for you to think, your eyes sweeping across the room and taking in the sight: people laughing, mingling and dancing, some of them you even recognised.

And in the eye of the storm was Rafayel, lounging about at the centre of the chaos around him.

What the fuck?

He looked so at ease, lounging on his couch with his head tipped back on the back of it, eyes closed like he was unaware of what was going on. His serene expression only stirred up your frustration, and it mixed with your confusion and the crumbs of dread that swirled around your gut. Brushing aside your discomfort, you stormed over, knocking your leg into his to alert him of your presence.

Rafayel’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused. At the sight of you, something flickered in them, but it disappeared just as quickly. “Y/n,” he slurred your name, barely audible over the volume of the music. “What are you doing here?”

God, he was drunk. Clenching your jaw at that fact, you narrowed your eyes and set him with a glare, taking in his inebriated state.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Déjà vu was what Rafayel felt at that moment, but instead of it being Thomas coming to scold him, it was you who stood before him, looking so furious and beautiful at the same time. There was nothing gentle about the way you phrased the question, your tone harsh and accusatory, like you had already decided he was in the wrong without giving him the chance to explain.

Clever woman.

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together through the haze of his tipsiness. His lack of answer seemed to piss you off even more, and while that might have once amused him, all it did now was make his heart sink. Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him through his apartment and back out into the hallway, not caring if you were making a scene or about who was staring.

“I’m going to ask this once, and only once. What the hell is all this?” You let go of his wrist, spinning on your heel to face him once it was just the two of you. The music was softer out here, making the clipped tone of your voice all the more apparent.

“It’s a party, sweetheart. I’m sure you know what that is.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, furious at how cavalier he was being. It felt like you were back at the beginning, when you first met him, with his audacity and you struggling to keep your temper in check, except so much worse. Now, you were personally involved with him, which caused all of your emotions to lash out all at once. “Don’t you know what day it is?”

“You’re asking such odd questions, but if you must know, it's Thursday.” He looked completely uninterested in the conversation you were trying so hard to have. You grit your teeth, taking a step forward.

“First, you ignore me,” you seethed, your perfect facade crumbling bit by bit in his presence. “Then you don’t show up for the show rehearsal, that is going on right now, mind you, and throw a party instead? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Your disbelief was palpable, and it grew exponentially when he scoffed, like your questioning right then was a major inconvenience.

“Oh, please, you and I both know I’ll be fantastic on the runway whether I’m at the rehearsal or not.” He leaned against the wall to hide how unsteady he felt on his feet right then, the paradox almost making him laugh. Almost.

“Thats not the point!” You took a step toward him. “You know it's not.”

“Isn’t it?”

You exhaled shakily. “No. It’s about–” Us, but was there an ‘us’ for you to even refer to? From the way he was looking at you right now, so cold and aloof, you doubted it. “You’ve been avoiding me.” You let the statement hang between him and you, not bother to tack on the question that sat on the tip of your tongue, letting the rhetorical nature of it take over and do the work for you.

Rafayel was aware of how it looked because he was the one who had made it so. He had kissed you, held you, slept with you and then disappeared. He hated the look on your face right now, the way you were staring at him so pleadingly, waiting for him to explain why, too proud to outright ask for it. He averted his gaze, staring at his shoes.

“Are you really that surprised?”

Something in you cracked wide open. “What?”

“Come on, Y/n, you’re smart. I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation.” He knew he was being an asshole, but what was one of instance of that to him? That was what the world perceived him as anyway– a playboy with a penchant for partying and a pretty face – so why not live up to it? If it were going to protect him from getting hurt, then by all means, it would be worth it.

With how your face swiftly collapsed at his insinuation, it certainly didn’t feel worth it. He wanted to take it back immediately, to take you by the shoulders and tell you the truth and hold you like he had just days ago.

He couldn’t. Everything about wanting you terrified him because of the intensity of that desire. He had never felt like this before, and the thought of you someday not wanting him back was unbearable. He knew how he was: selfish, self-serving to a fault, difficult and exhausting at times, so very skilled at pushing people away. Eventually, you’d get tired of him and leave.

The idea of you walking away scared him so much that he opted to run away first to save himself from that pain.

“Did–Did everything that happened between us mean nothing to you?” You despised the way you stuttered, the stilted rhythm of your speech that betrayed the emotion behind it, because it made you feel weak. Out of control.

Perhaps if he were a better man, a stronger one, he’d tell you the truth. He’d tell you that it had meant the most to him, and how nothing had ever mattered as much as you did.

But he wasn’t.

“Was it supposed to?”

You couldn’t conceal the sharp gasp that left you at his cruel words, staggering away from him like you had been shot. The man in front of you was one you didn’t recognise, a mere phantom of the one you thought you knew. He had Rafayel’s eyes and hair and stature, but it wasn’t the same Rafayel that had torn through your walls and coaxed the real you out into the light, the part of you that you kept hidden away from the rest of the world. Instead, it was a man who held those secrets and threw them back in your face like they had meant nothing.

You had let your guard down and let him in, forgetting how easy that made it for you to get hurt. Those walls that once towered so high around had come crashing down, and you didn’t know how to rebuild. Hot tears burned your eyes, heartbreak mingling in with your rage toward him, but you refused to cry. You wouldn’t give him any more of yourself than you already had.

All you had left was your dignity, and you’d be damned if you let that go.

He was right; he had a reputation for a reason, and you should never have expected anything more. You pulled yourself together, momentarily wondering how you ever let yourself be so stupid.

“You will walk in the show tomorrow.” You forced yourself to sound steady, fingers curled into fists at how enraged you felt. “And then you will never walk for Lumiere again. Do you understand?”

The cold fury in your cadence wasn’t lost on him, and neither was the way you were shutting him out and shutting down. You had gotten used to expressing yourself freely when around him, and even now, it was like all your feelings were plastered across your face for him to see. It was awful to watch you blink away your tears so rapidly, knowing that they were because of him, how your lips twisted downward at the sorrow you felt but refused to give in to.

Rafayel hated that he was the one who had caused you this pain, but he couldn’t backtrack now. He had come this far, he might as well finish the job. Maybe it would be easier if you hated him.

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be signed with Dubois Designs.”

You felt the betrayal before you processed it.

It started as a dull ache in the centre of your chest, gradually worsening until it felt like someone was standing on top of it, making it hard for you to breathe. When it– what he had done– finally hit you, you could no longer think straight, unstable on your feet despite being the sober one. You had spent your entire life keeping your cards close to your chest, only for the one person you had let peek at them to burn the whole deck.

There was a lump in your throat and a knife in your back.

When you spoke again, your voice was dangerously quiet. “After tomorrow, I never want to see you again.”

With your head held high and heart sinking low, you turned on your heel and left, stepping into the old elevator without sparing him another glance. Part of you wanted nothing more than you shake him and make him feel the way you did right then, but that would require casting your pride aside, and frankly, you didn’t have it in you. You wouldn’t let him take that away from you.

Rafayel watched you leave, frozen in place. The irony wasn’t lost on him; he had run away from the future possibility of you walking away from him, only to have you do exactly that right now. The party continued in the background, but all he could think of were the tears in your eyes and how fucking hurt you looked because of what he had just done to you. To himself.

You emerged back into the Parisian streets, the cold air nipping at the exposed skin of your neck. Pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you looked up at the sky and then at your surroundings, those tears you had so valiantly fought against finally trickling down your face.

The city of love had never looked so dull.

The models were lined up and in place. Every seat was filled, celebrities and critics alike taking the front row. Photographers had their equipment in place, ready to capture the results of your hard work. You stood backstage, and despite having done this so many times, you felt a little nervous.

Everyone looked fabulous in your clothing, the stylists carefully draping them in the delicate fabrics and complicated pieces. Both the women and men models had little Swarovski crystals embedded in their hair that would shimmer when the light hit them, with the women’s hair being done in beach waves. Last-minute touch-ups to the makeup, some models having to be quite literally stitched into their outfits– it was that unique brand of madness that only existed behind the veiled curtains of a fashion show.

This was it. The end of a season for Lumiere. Months of fretting over details and extensive planning, hours upon hours of work and stress and obstacles would culminate in the twelve minutes that your models took the stage for.

“On in ten,” Simone announced, taking her spot beside you. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you mumbled, both your hands over your stomach in an attempt to calm its churning. The lights came on all of a sudden, signalling that the show was about to begin. The music began playing, and the first model rolled her shoulders, straightened her posture, and lifted her head just slightly, a look of concentration dawning on her face.

And down the runway she went.

She glided down the runway with grace, and a hush fell over the audience at the magnificent sight, fabrics shimmering as the dramatic lighting hit them. Once she reached the end, she twirled gracefully and turned to return as the next model emerged into the spotlight. They passed each other on their respective paths, hums of appreciation arising from the onlookers. Haunting organ music accompanied the models as they walked one by one, dramatic and exquisite.

Operatic.

It was funny how only one person had ever been able to capture the essence of what you had envisioned so perfectly and put it into words. It was fitting, you supposed, the muse would understand what he inspired. He now stood at the back of the line, waiting his turn to take the runway and blow everyone away with the final piece of the collection.

Rafayel’s eyes met yours across the backstage area one final time, so brief that you would have missed it if you weren’t already looking at him. For his look, you had instructed the stylists to leave his hair in its natural curly state, and with the crystals in it, he truly looked like a character from a fairytale. When you looked at him now, though, his beauty wasn’t what you were transfixed on.

It was the look in his eyes. Forlorn, longing and….defeated? The combination resulted in something inexplicable, but it chipped away at a suspicion you had been harbouring ever since the night before, one that you had buried deep to save yourself from the pain that would come with trying to understand it. For how well he could read you, it seemed that you could do the same for him, and now, that split second of eye contact told you everything you needed to know.

Everything that had happened between the two of you had meant something to him, and for some reason, he lied to you and said it didn’t.

You didn’t want to know why.

Rafayel stepped out and onto the runway, his expression morphing into one you had seen in magazines and on your website. The dark red organza silk of his shirt shimmered in the light like light upon ocean waves, hints of blue and purple making a show as he walked. Captivating as ever, he brought your clothing to life with every step he took.

The perfect closer for a sensational show.

When it was time for you to walk out, you plastered on a smile and waved, placing one foot in front of the other like your life depended on it. Cameras flashed, and thunderous applause was heard throughout the cathedral, especially when you took your place in the middle of your models as they lined up for a final bow. You joined then, a weight rolling off your shoulders as the show came to a spectacular close, undoubtedly a resounding success.

You had done it. This show was unlike any other you had put on, and no doubt everyone would be talking about it. You had stepped out of your comfort zone when it came to designing and achieved your goal of putting on a spectacle that made the audience feel.

So why did you feel so hollow?

After surviving a swarm of paparazzi shouting questions at you, desperate for even a sliver of your attention and a glance at their lenses and shaking the hands of impressed critics, you found yourself at the Lumiere afterparty. People you called loosely called friends for appearances' sake, celebrities, influencers, and fellow designers were all in attendance, showering you in congratulations and complimenting your work. They said the show would go down in fashion history as iconic and asked how you managed to do it once again. You smiled and drank and tried your best to bask in your well-deserved glory at a party you didn’t want to be at, in a city that was tainted.

And at this party, Qi Rafayel was nowhere to be found.

New York was as unforgiving as ever.

Your life resumed its regular course when you returned; fittings, photoshoots, interviews, and so much paperwork. You threw yourself into your work, filling every spare moment of your day with something to do, fix, or delegate, an arguably pathetic attempt at keeping yourself from thinking of him.

The cacophony of the city accompanied your every solitary step, and you took comfort in it. The incessant honking while stuck in traffic and the chatter of pedestrians filled your senses, whether you were sitting in the back of a cab or running errands. It served as background music to your loneliness, and while you might have once been satisfied with it, you found it hard to go back to that blissfully ignorant state.

Because now you had a taste of what it felt like to not be quite so lonely. Rafayel had waltzed into your life like the tempest of allure and insolence he was and drenched your world in colour. He had taken you out of your box and painted you a new perspective, one you had so foolishly assumed he’d view by your side.

Early mornings and late nights – your days began to blur together until you weren’t sure when they started and ended. Your voice lacked the bite it usually had when reprimanding your employees for any stupid mistakes. If your coffee was cold, you drank it anyway, perplexing Simone. You walked through the hallways of the Lumeire building during those long work days and returned to your penthouse in the dead of night, moving under the heavy silence that completely claimed the large space.

You loathed him for making the life you had so carefully built for yourself feel so miserable. More than anything, you hated how you wished he were still in it.

Rafayel threw a party.

He didn’t even want to be there anymore. Everything about it felt wrong. His drink wasn’t strong enough, the music was too loud, and there were too many fucking people around. He didn’t even like any of them; it was the usual crowd that showed up whenever he hosted one of these things, and while he could usually get along with them, right now all their presence did was remind him that the one person he truly wanted beside him wanted nothing to do with him.

A pitiful try at filling a void he had created himself. He didn’t want anything to do with himself either.

God, he missed you. He missed that rare smile you seldom let show, the ridiculous updo you always had your hair done in, and the passion in your eyes when you spoke about your work. He missed your voice, your crimson painted lips and scrutinising glare that made everyone it was directed at shrink. The way you’d scowl when he teased you, and the softness with which you told him he was your favourite muse.

As he glanced at the doorway of his apartment, he almost willed you to walk through it like you had in Paris, on that fateful night when he ruined everything. He imagined you appearing there, huffing in displeasure at the pandemonium of this stupid party and wanting to see him. Idiotically, he braced himself for exactly that, waiting and watching like it was something that would actually happen.

But he knew it wouldn’t. Instead of waiting around for it to happen, he realised that for the first time in his life, he’d have to work for what he wanted.

He would have to go to you.

Walking into the Lumiere building after two months away was a strange experience.

It seemed like nothing had changed, not that he expected it to. He had almost become an ambassador for the brand, and now there he was, walking down its hallways as nothing more than an exiled stranger.

His feet carried him to your office, knowing that was where you’d be, always holed up in there with a thousand things to get done. Passing the conference room where he first met you four months ago, he wondered how things had gotten to this point. Back then, he had been reluctant to get involved with Lumiere.

Funny.

When he reached your office, you seemed to be in conversation with someone. One glance at the silvery blond hair on the man, and he recognised him as Xavier Shen, the model he had replaced. Now, the man seemed perfectly healthy, standing on his feet as the two of you conversed. The sight reminded Rafayel that he truly might not be needed by you anymore, in every sense of the word.

Still, he steeled himself and pushed the glass door open, not bothering to knock. He never did in the past, so why start now?

“Huh. You really do live here.”

Both Xavier and you turned to him, and the first thing he noticed was how tired you looked. Your shoulders looked like the weight of the world rested upon them, slumped just a little bit, and prominent dark circles under your eyes. It seemed he was right in assuming you were running yourself ragged; he knew your habits well enough. Still, even with all that, to him, you looked positively radiant.

At the sight of him standing there with his hands in his pockets, your heart stuttered before it twisted in pain. He was the same as ever, his presence commanding the entirety of your office like no one else but you could, still a sight for sore eyes. That ever-present playful tone to his voice, however, was weaker than you remembered, just barely hiding the thick layer of vulnerability just below the surface.

“I thought I said I never wanted to see you again.”

Xavier glanced between you and Rafayel before clearing his throat. “I’m gonna take my leave. See you tomorrow.” He gave you a sharp nod and slipped out. Rafayel barely comprehended the other man leaving, so focused on being in the same room as you again.

“I know.” Those words were fresh in his mind even after all these weeks, eating away at him. They were the reason it took him so long to come here, so afraid you’d turn him away the second he showed his face, but he knew he’d regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t try. “I know, I just…” He trailed off, not quite sure what to say now that he was face to face with you.

“What do you want, Rafayel?” You took a seat behind your desk and defensively folded your arms over your chest, keeping your guard up. “To waste more of my time? To remind me how little I meant to you? Take your pick, and do it quickly because I don’t have all day.”

He looked pained. “I want to talk. Please.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “And why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

“You shouldn’t,” he admitted, walking to your desk. “But I’m asking you to, anyway.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you looked off to the side. He somehow had the gall to walk into your building and ask to talk to you when he had no right to do so. It was just so like him, selfish with total disregard for your feelings, and as much as you wanted to tell him to get out, a small, hopeless part of you wanted to hear what he had to say.

You supposed that was what you got for falling for someone like him. “Fine. Talk.”

Relief flooded his system. He sat down on one of the cushioned chairs in front of your desk and tried to gather his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of where to start. “I’m sorry.”

That had seemed like a pretty good place to begin, but with the way your eyes narrowed, he wondered if he had already made a mistake. Lord knows it wouldn’t be his first or last one. “That could have been an email.”

“Would you have read it?”

You clenched your jaw at his rash question, opting to stay silent. Rafayel wanted to slap himself, knowing he was being an asshole even now, the one time he was actively trying to avoid doing so. He didn’t deserve even a second of your time; he should have walked out of your life and stayed away to avoid causing you any more pain.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forged on. “I fucked up, I know that. I’ve never– I lied and said that none of it mattered, but– fuck, this is coming out all wrong.” He rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated at his inability to say what he wanted in a manner that made even a sliver of sense. “I was scared.”

All that self-assuredness you were so used to was nowhere to be seen now as he stumbled over his words. It was jarring to see Rafayel admit to being scared when you had only ever associated him with unshakable confidence.

“Scared of what? Me?”

There was something fractured in the way you asked that, fragile even. He immediately refuted the claim, feeling awful that you would even consider it a possibility. “No, god no, not you. Never you.” His eyes snapped to yours, full of earnestness that made you instantly believe him. “You called me your muse.”

You let out a slow breath. “I remember.”

Rafayel gripped the armrests on either side of him, looking off to the side, his throat bobbing with uncertainty as he contemplated whether this was a good idea anymore. “But muses are temporary. They can’t inspire forever, and god knows I’m not someone who thinks about forever.” A huff of forced laughter. “But with you, I did. I wanted to be the one that inspired you forever and that scared the shit out of me.”

Here they were, answers to questions you had been too proud to ask. He ran his fingers through his straightened hair, pushing it back and out of his face. Regardless of how restless he felt, he continued, knowing that the truth was the least of what you deserved. “For the first, fuck, maybe the only time in my life, I wanted to stay. I was so afraid that you’d wake up one day and realise I’m not worth being your muse and you’d walk away. Pick someone else.”

“Do you really think so little of me?” You asked quietly, unable to look anywhere but him.

“I didn’t know what to think,” He said honestly. “I’ve never cared so much, and the thought of you leaving because you didn’t find me inspiring enough for your creations–” He cut himself off and dropped his head, as if suddenly realising how fucking awful his assumption sounded out loud. “I thought the only way to avoid that would be to leave first, and I know that that makes no sense, but I….I’m so sorry.”

You had been called a lot of things in your life: difficult, stubborn, unreasonable, and yet somehow, this stung the worst. He had made the decision for you, leaving you to deal with the repercussions of an outcome you didn’t have a hand in choosing.

“You thought I saw you as a means to an end.” Your voice was devoid of emotion, hollow, anguished eyes never once finding his. “When I only ever thought of you as a beginning.”

For something that was a concept, it was funny how his regret manifested itself as a physical ache, ripping through his chest and causing his throat to close up on itself. Your words cut through him, reminding him of how he was the one to rush to an end that you hadn’t even considered.

Maybe this wasn’t salvageable. Maybe all he was destined for was to live with the knowledge that he had finally loved someone other than himself, and ruined it.

“I know what it feels like to be loved.” It took everything in him to keep looking at you when it seemed like you couldn’t bear to even glance at him. His tongue felt like it was made of lead, heavy and uncooperative as he tried to say what he had known for so long. “Adoration, infatuation, whatever. I know when someone is in love with me, but I’ve never felt the same way. I don’t know how to, but I think whatever I feel for you has to be pretty damn close, and–”

“Don’t you dare.”

“–I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

A shattered breath left you, your composure faltering completely at the confession. Nothing about this was fair. Your heart was bruised and battered, but it fluttered to life completely against your will when he said it, and you detested it. You wanted to hate him so badly, even when it was so clear that you loved him. Why else would all this hurt so bad?

They said pride came before fall, but in your case, you fell first, and now it was your pride that stopped you from letting him back in. You knew he didn’t deserve a shred of forgiveness, and you also knew that if you looked at him right now, you’d let go of the anger you were so desperately holding onto. It was the only thing keeping you from being totally vulnerable, so you kept your gaze on your mahogany desk, trying your hardest to stay strong.

“I think you should leave.”

Quiet enough to conceal how choked up you truly felt, you knew you didn’t mean it. You needed the time and space to think about everything that had happened. You couldn’t just forgive him even if you wanted to, so skilled at holding a grudge as you were, the bitter realisation that you were perhaps as scared as he was right then making itself known.

Rafayel had never been good at doing what he was told, but there was no place for his sense of entitlement here. He had done enough damage, and if you wanted him to leave, then that was exactly what he’d do. Getting to his feet, he stared at you one last time, waiting, wishing and hoping you’d look up.

But you didn’t.

So he left your office, complying with your wishes without argument. It should have pleased you, considering how you hated rebuttals when it came to people following your orders.

But as you watched him walk through those doors, you had never wanted someone to defy you more than in that moment.

When a storm comes to an end, it does so in parts.

First, the wind stops howling. As it does, the heavy showers relent and turn back into the light drizzle it started as, gentle and harmless. The darkened clouds clear up, giving way to clear blue skies and the warm, golden rays of the sun.

Resentment worked differently when it came to someone you loved. It turned out that both those feelings– resentment and love– could exist simultaneously, even when it seemed nearly impossible, but when the latter was real, it made it exhausting to hold on to all that anger. Love itself was confusing, contradictory, and so difficult to navigate, especially when it was good.

And when had anything good been easy?

The art gallery was pretty much empty, seeing that it was almost eight p.m., which was when it closed. You swept through the different hallways, procrastinating, approaching the showcase you were truly there for.

And why the hell were you there?

Because, despite everything, Rafayel was still everything you wanted, and you were so tired of pretending he wasn’t. You had spent night after night going over everything that had happened over the past six months and trying to convince yourself of the opposite, but when it came down to it, one thing was abundantly clear: he made you happy like no one else could. He could accomplish the opposite as well, but one extreme would not exist if the other didn’t.

He was flawed, but so were you. Your pride made it impossible for you to see that at first, making you punish yourself and stay miserable, even though the one thing you wanted was within reach. You turned it away, thinking that refusal would help you forget him and the way he made you feel, but it didn’t. Maybe it didn’t make any sense, but maybe it wasn’t supposed to. You had spent so much of your life making sure everything went exactly how you wanted, caging yourself within your own expectations.

Stepping into the back, you were in front of the very wall he had shown you all those months ago when he had dragged you out of your office. Even when you weren’t sure of him, he was the only person in your life who had ever forced you to live.

Your breath hitched.

The paintings had been rearranged with a new one in the centre. The colours stood out against the others, this one bathed in warm oranges and yellows, a faceless woman leaning out of the roof of a car with the wind in her hair. There was something distinctively wistful about it, like she was being viewed from the lens of another.

It was you.

You took a hesitant step forward, instinctively looking at the artist plaque despite knowing that it would read ‘anonymous’. Not that it mattered, of course, because you knew exactly who had made it.

“Y/n?”

You turned, and there Rafayel was. It had been a while since you had seen him, and during that time, he had stayed out of the limelight completely—no articles in tabloids, no rumours, nothing. Your pulse picked up at the sight of him, and you felt like a child being caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.

“What are you doing here?” The ridiculous question left you before you could stop it. His lips twitched slightly, a hint of amusement bleeding into those all-consuming eyes.

“Forgot already? I’m a little insulted.” He spoke gently, cocking his head towards his artwork. He studied you for a moment. “Why are you here?”

When it came to him, you always found yourself wanting to do opposite things at the same time. You wanted to run away, but more than anything, you wanted to run right back into his arms. If that made you an idiot, well, wasn’t everyone allowed to be one every once in a while?

“I don’t know.”

A soft smile, so much like the one he gave you that night when he first kissed you. “No, you do. You of all people don’t do things without a reason.”

There he went again, reading you like a book without your permission. You looked back at the painting of you, skillfully evading his question with one of your own. “When did you make that?”

“Recently.” Hesitantly, he made his way to your side, like he wasn’t sure if he had a spot there anymore, but in typical Rafayel fashion, he took it anyway. “I’ve had time on my hands.”

“How?”

“I haven’t been modelling that much lately. Thomas is just about fed up with me.” His attempt at levity wasn’t lost on you. You were quite aware of his absence from the spotlight as of late, but something nagged at the back of your mind, telling you that you had a piece of the puzzle missing.

Then it hit you as your eyes swept to him, once again succumbing to the gravitational pull he possessed. “But what about Dubois Designs?"

He slipped his hands into his pockets, not meeting your eyes. “They sent over a contract.” He admitted, clearing his throat. “But I may have thrown it out.”

“Why?” It felt like all you were doing was asking questions you already knew the answers to. Rafayel clicked his tongue in a mixture of mild annoyance and something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, giving you a knowing look.

“You know why.”

Fuck. Both of you, stubborn, impossibly prideful people, holding each other back because of each other. It was almost laughable. Swallowing thickly, you shifted closer to him, your gaze darting back to his depiction of you. “It’s a beautiful painting.”

“Yeah, well, you can thank my muse for that.”

You were breathless. “I’m your muse?” Another question lay under this one: Do you still love me?

“If that’s okay with you,” His eyes never strayed from you, watching you like you were the very essence of the sun itself, or the most perfect pearl in the ocean. “I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to be. I may have given it a bad rep.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, facing him properly now that you had finally worked up the nerve. “You’ve made me a fool, Qi Rafayel.”

Fondness sweeter than the ripest of peaches spread over his face. “No one could ever make you a fool, Y/n. Especially not me.” He took a tentative step forward into your personal space, and you never wanted him to leave again. “So I’ll ask you again, why are you here?”

There were a few things in this shallow, pretentious world you were certain of. Your faith in your abilities as a designer was the first, knowing that no matter what, your skills and talent would always speak for themselves more than your words ever could. The second was your preference for coffee that was piping hot, without sugar, so that the bitterness would shock your system into functioning.

And the third, in a sick, unfortunately fortunate twist of fate, was Qi Rafayel, the model who had traipsed into your life without so much as a warning and had turned it upside down.

“Because you’re still my muse.” You whispered. “And as it so happens, I love you too.”

When your lips met, you knew right then and there that you’d never let him go again. Your palm cupped his face as you pulled him closer, reaquainting yourself with the feel of him against you, how the two of you fit together so perfectly as if you were made for each other. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other coming to rest over your own over his face, keeping it trapped there as he leaned into your touch, whispering I love you’s back.

“I’m going to fuck up,” Rafayel mumbled against your mouth, resting his forehead against yours like he couldn’t bear to be any further from you. “I’m going to piss you off and I’m never going to be easy.”

You squeezed his forearm. “I know. Those are your most endearing qualities.”

“Will you love me even then?” He held you close, but you could feel the slight tremble in his touch. You saw him for what he was under all that indifference and chutzpah: a man who desperately loved you through his fear. Lucky for him, you were a woman who loved him through his mistakes and all the madness he brought into your life.

“Rafayel.” With a tender whisper of his name, you pressed your lips to his reassuringly. “I love you because of it.”

Love was messy and imperfect, but so were the two of you. Neither he nor you were easy people, but when had you ever taken the easy way out of something? You wouldn’t mind never getting out of this, content to stay with him for as long as he’d have you. The colours rushed back into your life, starting with the pinks and blues of his eyes as they crinkled with a smile. He’d break every one of your rules with a smile, and you’d let him.

“God, you’re going to regret that.”

But he was laughing, and so were you, giddy with the thought of a future with him. The sound of his laughter was so enchanting that you wanted to memorise it, and perhaps now you could, with him by your side for what you hoped would be a beginning without an end.

You were wholly and irrevocably in love with Qi Rafayel, infuriating quirks and all. Everyone in the industry that the two of you ruled might have thought of him as a total nightmare.

But to you? To you, Rafayel was a dream.

fin.

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