#he's resigned and tired and quiet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 2 months ago

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wildflower— nanami kento.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—” “Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” His voice was trembling now, thick with emotion. “You were always the smartest person in the room. You deserved to get out of here….to have everything you ever dreamed of. And instead… you stayed. You gave it all up. Why?” Tears burned the back of your eyes. “Because I didn’t have a choice, Kento.” “Yes, you did.” His voice cracked. “You could have told me. You could have called me. I would’ve—” “You would’ve what, Kento?” you choked. “Fixed my life for me? Paid my bills? Dragged me to Tokyo and pretended like I belonged in your world?” His jaw clenched. “You do belong in my world.”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, long-term relationship, marriage, loss, emotional distress, hatred, resentment, domestic, confessions, getting together, friends, slice of life, childhood friends, distress, cheating, falling out of love, toxic relationship, drama, depression, bitterness, grief, trauma, pregnancy, explicit birthing scene, illness, post-partum depression, bodily fluids, children, therapy, explicit depiction of birthing, depiction of bodily fluids, depiction of post-partum depression, mention of blood, mention of birthing, mention of bodily fluids, mention of depression, actor! nanami, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 18k words

NOTE: this took a while and im a bit sick all the sudden but i realized i have to put this out so i just decided to go on and post this. anyway, i hope you enjoy this. ready the tissue for this, its a crier. i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

the good life ― masterlist.

IT WAS HARD NOT TO KNOW WHAT EVERYTHING MEANS AFTER TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIAGE. After all that time, wouldn’t you know much about the person you were married to? This moment was not an exemption, of course. You were his wife, you knew everything about him. You just had to know.

So, as you stood there, looking at him, you knew that look. That look in Kento's caramel eyes as he’s putting on his suit. The quiet resignation. The practiced ease of sliding the tie around his neck, smoothing down his shirt, adjusting the cufflinks. Like a man preparing to go to war — except it isn’t war. It’s something worse. You knew that much.

You hum softly, curled up on the couch, and watch him from across the room. He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on making himself presentable. Like it matters. Like any of it matters. You know where he’s going. You’ve always known.

It’s something you never said out loud, not in the past twenty years, not when the nights stretched long and lonely, not when his touch began to feel like an apology instead of love. You haven’t said a word, and he hasn’t either.

But you know all about it already.

There was no need for such words.

There was no need for anything else.

You know because when he turns around, there’s that smile all over again. That smile you fell in love with all those years ago. It was that loving, gentle smile. Strained by the weariness, the tired, and the painfully distant bitterness that dwelled over time on his face.

And then besides that, he lies.

He always has to know how to lie.

He was an actor by trade, after all.

"I’ll be home late, baby." he says like it means nothing, like it’s any other day. His voice doesn’t crack. His eyes don’t betray him. But you see it. You always do. And it kills you a little more each time.

You know he loves you. It’s never been a question of love. It’s always been a question of truth. And the truth is, love doesn’t stop him from leaving. The truth is, love doesn’t make him stay. The truth is, he’s already gone before he’s out the door.

And sometimes you want to kill him for it. Even if you don’t want to, you think about it often. You think about wanting to just be angry and let yourself loose into the madness of it all. You wanted to go and have something for yourself. Even if that was a life, even if it was his life. After all that you had suffered and endured, don’t you deserve it? Don’t you deserve to take his life?

For the silence. For the way he pretends. For the way you let him. For the way you can’t bring yourself to break it all apart because maybe —just maybe— if you keep pretending, too, it’ll hurt less.

You don’t say a word when he leans down to kiss your temple as gently as he could, as lovingly as he could. You don’t flinch, you don’t cling. You don’t beg him to stay. You just hum again, quieter this time, and watch him leave like you have a hundred times before.

And when the door closes behind him, the sound is deafening.

You stare at the door long after he's gone. Like if you watch long enough, he'll come back. Like if you sit still enough, you'll hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway. But silence is all that answers you. Silence, and the faint hum of the clock that ticks louder with every passing second.

Your hands twitch against your lap, curling into fists before releasing again. You wonder if tonight it'll be different, if he'll come home and tell you the truth. If he'll break, just once, and tell you what you already know. That there’s someone else. That his heart no longer belongs here, with you.

But it never happens. It’s never happened.

You get up after a while, wandering through the house like a ghost. You pass by the photos on the walls. The framed moments of happiness frozen in time. His smile in those pictures looks real. Like he didn’t know back then what would become of you both. You touch one of the frames, trailing your finger down his face. It feels cruel now, looking at those captured memories.

The bed feels colder when you climb in alone. You face his side, the sheets still perfectly made, undisturbed by the weight of his body. You press your face into his pillow, breathing him in. You think, for a fleeting second, that if you cry hard enough, he might feel it from wherever he is and come home.

But you don’t cry. You’ve already wasted too many nights crying. Instead, you just wait.

Because that's all you know how to do now. Wait. And love him. And hate him a little, too.

THE STORY STARTS EVEN BEFORE THAT. You and Nanami Kento grew up together. Two kids from two very different worlds — he is filled with wealth and privilege, you were with struggle and scarcity. His parents lived in a grand, pristine house, while you lived in a cramped apartment that barely stayed warm in the winter.

His clothes were always crisp and clean, and yours were worn out and patched up. From the moment you realized just how different your lives were, you knew people like you didn’t belong in his world.

And the world didn’t hesitate to remind you of that. The neighborhood kids who ran in the same circles as Nanami never let you forget it. They whispered when you came around, made faces when you approached, and laughed when you walked away.

“Why do you let her hang around you?” they’d ask him. “She doesn't fit in with us.”

But Nanami Kento never wavered. Not once. Not ever.

“She’s my friend.” he’d say, firm and unwavering.

And that was all it took.

It didn’t matter if your shoes had holes or if your hands were rough from helping your family with chores. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have expensive toys or that you couldn’t bring lunch to school some days.

Kento always shared this with you. He always liked making sure you were as full as him. So he would go and split his neatly packed bento in half and hand you the bigger portion without a second thought.

You’d protest, of course, but he’d only shrug and say, “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

You knew it was a lie.

Even back then, he always lied.

And he smiles all the same.

He always did that, giving without asking for anything in return, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you valued him more than anything because of it. But what you didn’t realize was how deeply it had settled in your bones. The way you looked at him, the way you cherished him, the way you loved him.

It wasn’t like one day you just woke up and decided to love Nanami Kento. No, it was a gradual thing. Like the warmth of the sun slowly rising over the horizon. It happened on the days he’d sneak away from his house to find you playing in the dirt, unbothered by the stares of his so-called friends.

It happened when he’d walk you home after school, insisting it was just on the way when it wasn’t. It happened when you were crying after your father came home drunk again, and Nanami held your hand quietly, letting you cry into his shoulder without a word.

It happened every time he chose you.

And because of that, because he never treated you like you were less than him, because he never made you feel like you didn’t belong — you fell in love with him. Quietly. Deeply. Hopelessly. Truthfully.

But you never said a word about it. How could you?

You were still just you. You were unimportant, rough around the edges, struggling to keep your life from falling apart. And he was Nanami Kento, brighter than the sun itself. He was polished, brilliant, and destined for a life far better than the one you could ever give him.

Loving him felt like holding sunlight in your hands.

It was beautiful, but impossible to keep.

And so you stifled it, you swallowed it down.

You smiled when he spoke of his future. Of traveling abroad, of making something of himself — and you ignored the ache in your chest. You told yourself it was enough to simply have him in your life, even if you could never have his heart. But deep down, you knew.

One day, he’d leave.

He’d outgrow this town.

He’d outgrow you.

You’d be left where you always were. You would be standing in the shadow of his light, loving him from a distance. You knew that even if he leaves, even if he doesn’t stay. You would love him all the same.

WHEN THAT DAY CAME, YOU HADN’T EXPECTED IT. You were sixteen when Nanami Kento told you he was leaving. He had gotten accepted into a prestigious school overseas. One that would guarantee him a promising future. His parents were thrilled. His friends envied him.

Everyone around him kept saying to him — You’ll do great things, Nanami. You’re destined for success.

But all you could hear was the sound of your own heart breaking. Yet you didn’t want it to be broken down out loud. So, you decided to go and smile all about it. It was better this way, you think to yourself. He, after all, deserved better than you.

He found you later that evening, sitting on the rusted swing set in the small park where you two always met. You already knew what he was going to say. You could see it in his eyes — a mixture of excitement and guilt.

“I’m leaving.” he finally said, voice quiet. “I got accepted into a school in Denmark.”

You forced a smile, ignoring the lump in your throat. “That’s… that’s amazing, Kento. Really. I’m happy for you.”

But you weren’t.

God, you weren’t.

“I’ll only be gone for a couple of years, you know.” he tried to reassure you. “I’ll visit during the holidays. And we can write letters—”

“Yeah, I know.” you cut him off, still smiling. “We’ll stay in touch. Like we used to.”

But deep down, you knew better. People like you didn’t get to stay in the lives of people like him. Nanami Kento was destined for bigger and better things, all these things that didn’t include you. And you hated yourself for thinking that way.

So instead of breaking down, instead of begging him to stay, you spent your remaining days together trying to memorize everything about him. The way his blond hair would fall over his forehead when he was deep in thought.

The sound of his laugh when you said something ridiculous. The warmth of his hand whenever it brushed against yours. You burned it all into your memory, knowing it was the closest you’d ever get to having him.

And then like the wind, that day came in a sudden push.

You didn’t cry when you said goodbye to him at the train station.

You didn’t flinch when he pulled you into a tight hug and whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”

You didn’t break down when you watched the train pull away, carrying him farther and farther from you. But that night, when you were alone in your bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling — you sobbed until your throat was raw. Because you knew.

You knew that he’s not coming back.

Maybe not intentionally, maybe he would write you a few letters, maybe he would visit during the holidays but eventually, the distance would settle in. He’d meet new people, make new friends, build a new life.

And you? You’d still be here, stuck in the same town, living the same hard life you always had. You didn’t blame him. How could you? He deserved better. Yet you told yourself that you’d get over him. That the ache in your chest would eventually fade. That you’d move on.

But you never did.

The letters came at first. Handwritten, neat, and always signed, Kento.

He’d tell you about the classes he was taking, the places he was visiting, the new friends he was making. And you’d read every word, trying to picture him in that new world of his — a world you didn’t belong to. You always write back, of course. But your letters were never as exciting. What were you supposed to say?

Hey, I’m still working two part-time jobs to help my mom make rent. Our fridge broke again last week, but it’s fine. I’ve gotten used to eating once a day.

No. Instead, you lied. You told him you were doing fine, that life was okay, that you were just happy to hear from him. But as the months went on, the letters became less frequent. And then, eventually, they stopped altogether. And that was it.

Nanami Kento became a part of your past.

He was just another thing you had to let go of.

Yet you think about it now, you should have let go.

You should have let it all be.

IT WAS QUITE A SURPRISE, NOT ONE WHICH YOU HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT. You didn’t know he became an actor. The Nanami Kento standing in front of you now. He was still quite as polished, poised, and impossibly handsome as he was.

And yet, he was a far cry from the boy you used to know. But it was still him, he was all the same. Same deep voice. Same gentle gaze. Same presence that made the world feel a little less heavy.

And yet, there was something else too. A distance.

Like he didn’t quite belong here anymore.

It was like he had outgrown this town, just as you always knew he would.

“Kento, oh wow….” you managed, trying not to let your voice shake. “I… I didn’t know you were back.”

His smile faltered slightly, like he was trying to keep his composure. “Just for a few days. I had some… time off.”

You didn’t miss the way his caramel eyes swept over you. From your wrinkled convenience store uniform to the worn-out shoes on your feet. It was subtle, but you saw it. And it made your stomach twist in shame.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, carefully. Like he was afraid of the answer.

You forced a small laugh, waving a hand. “You know… same old, same old. Nothing much has changed.”

Lie. Everything had changed. You were still here, yes. You were still in the same town, still in the same life — but it felt different now. Colder. Like the weight of the world had settled heavier on your shoulders after he left. And it didn’t escape Kento’s notice.

You were supposed to be somewhere else. He knew that. Out of everyone he’d ever known, you were the smartest. You were the sharpest, the most capable, the one who always dreamed bigger than the town could ever hold.

You used to talk about it all the time — the places you wanted to go, the life you wanted to build. You were supposed to go to college. You were supposed to do great things. And yet here you were. Stuck. In this town. Wearing a faded uniform and a name tag, working a dead-end job.

Why? Why are you still here, suffering like this?

“So, uh….” you cleared your throat, forcing a smile. “How’s Denmark? Or… wait. Are you still there?”

“No, no. I don’t live there.” he answered, his voice quieter now. “I, uh… I moved to Tokyo. For work.”

“Work?” you tilted your head.

And that’s when you saw it. The subtle shift in his stance.

Like he was bracing himself for something.

“...I’m an actor now,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.

You blinked. “Wait — like… on TV?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable. “Film, mostly. I’ve done a few series too.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding.”

He chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “I’m not. It just… happened, I guess.”

Of course it did, you thought bitterly. Because that’s what people like him did. They left, they made something of themselves, and they became untouchable. Meanwhile, people like you stayed exactly where they were rooted in place, forgotten, ordinary.

“That’s… amazing, Kento. Really.” You smiled, even though it burned your throat. “I’m happy for you.”

But Nanami Kento couldn’t find it in himself to smile back.

Because all he could think about was how wrong this felt.

You’re supposed to be the one out there, he thought. You were always the brilliant one. You were supposed to leave this town — not me. You were supposed to make something of yourself.

Instead, you were still here in this wretched place. In a store that smelled faintly of stale bread and cleaning supplies. Ringing up snacks for high schoolers who would eventually leave you behind just like everyone else did.

“You’re still working here?” he asked softly, his voice careful.

“Yeah. Been here for a couple of years now.” You shrugged like it was nothing. “Pays the bills.”

His stomach twisted at your words all the sudden. “What about school?” he asked. “You… you were supposed to go to college, right? Didn’t you get accepted somewhere?”

You froze. For a brief moment, the smile cracked on your face. But you stitched it back together quickly. “Ah, yeah… I did. But, you know. Life happens.”

Lie, again, huh?

The truth was that you did get accepted. To a top university in Tokyo, actually. But your mom lost her job the same week you got the acceptance letter. Rent fell behind. Bills piled up. And you did what you always did — you stayed.

You got a job, dropped out before you even started, and spent the next few years trying to keep your family afloat. You did everything you could to help your family to survive. You abandoned everything to survive. But you didn’t tell Kento that. You couldn’t.

“Anyway, uh….” you deflected, forcing some cheer into your voice, “I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be. Don’t let me keep you.”

But Nanami Kento didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Because he couldn’t stop staring at you. He couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong this was. The person he loved most in this world, the one who deserved everything was still here, stuck, while he was out there living a dream he never even wanted in the first place.

And he hated it.

God, he hated it.

“…Have dinner with me, at least.” he blurted out suddenly.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“Dinner. Tonight.” His voice was steadier now. “I want to catch up.”

You hesitated. “Kento, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His gaze softened. “Please.”

And maybe it was because you were too tired to argue. Or maybe it was because, despite everything, you still loved him. So you gave in. “…Okay. Yeah. Dinner sounds nice.”

And for the first time since he left, Kento felt like he could breathe again.

That night, he picked you up from your small apartment. You tried to dress nicer, but you didn’t have much to work with. It was just a worn-out dress you hadn’t touched in years. When you opened the door and saw him standing there in a tailored coat and polished shoes, you almost told him to forget it.

But Kento only smiled and said, “You look beautiful.”

And God, you hated how much you still loved him.

Dinner was… nostalgic. You talked about old memories, laughed about stupid things you did as kids. But Kento couldn’t stop noticing how guarded you were. How carefully you danced around your life now.

Never mentioning anything too personal, never hinting at how hard things really were. And when the night was over, when he walked you back to your door, he couldn’t help himself.

“…Why did you stay?” he finally asked.

You froze, your hand on the doorknob. “…What?”

“You were supposed to leave this town, you know.” he said, voice cracking slightly. “You were supposed to go to college. Travel. Do everything you always talked about. So… why didn’t you?”

You hesitated. But then you smiled soft and hollow. “Someone had to stay and take care of things.”

And before he could ask what you meant, you gave him one last smile and said. “Goodnight, Kento.”

Then you closed the door. And Kento stood there, staring at the chipped paint on your doorframe, his heart breaking all over again. Because the person he loved most in this world was still stuck in a place she was never meant to stay.

And he didn’t know how to fix it.

NOT A WINK OF SLEEP THAT NIGHT ONCE AGAIN. After you closed the door on Kento, you leaned against it, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest.

You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, still hear the tenderness in his voice when he said you looked beautiful. It was like he still saw you the way he did when you were kids. Like time and distance hadn’t changed a thing.

But it had. You weren’t the same girl you used to be. And he wasn’t the same boy who once shared his lunch with you. He was Nanami Kento now, an actor, a star, someone the world adored. And you? You were still here. Working a dead-end job, carrying the weight of your family’s survival on your back, and holding onto the ghost of a love you never confessed.

So why did it feel like he was still yours?

Why did it still hurt like hell to let him go?

On the other side of that door, Kento didn’t move for a long time. He just stood there, still staring at the door you closed between you two and felt his throat tighten with a kind of pain he hadn’t experienced in years.

Because no matter how much you smiled that night, no matter how light you tried to make your voice sound, he saw it. The exhaustion in your eyes. The tension in your shoulders. The carefully crafted responses designed to keep him from knowing the truth. You were struggling. And it killed him.

Because you were the smartest person he knew. You were supposed to be miles away from this town, pursuing the future you always dreamed of. You were supposed to be untouchable, unstoppable, radiant. But instead… you were here. Tired. Small. Dimming under the weight of a life that never stopped asking more from you.

And Kento couldn’t stand it. The thought of going back to Tokyo, of returning to his world of flashing cameras, scripts, and fame while you were stuck here, surviving day by day, made him physically ill.

I should have taken you with me, he thought bitterly. I never should have left you here.

And that’s when he decided — he wasn’t leaving without you this time.

He didn’t care what it took. He didn’t care if you pushed him away. He didn’t care if you convinced yourself you didn’t belong in his world anymore. He would break down every wall you built around yourself if it meant pulling you out of this life.

Because the truth was he never stopped loving you.

And he’d be damned if he lost you a second time. The next day, you were working your usual shift when the doorbell chimed and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. You felt it before you even saw him.

“…Kento.” You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”

He looked painfully out of place in the small convenience store. He was dressed in a dark coat, hair perfectly styled, standing taller and broader than you remembered. It was almost laughable. This man who graced movie screens and magazine covers standing in the middle of your dusty workplace like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thought I’d stop by today.” he said simply. “I was hoping to see you.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. Don’t do this, Kento.

“I, uh… I’m working on the floor.” you stammered. “Can’t really chat right now.”

“I’ll wait.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I’ll wait until your shift is over.” he said, completely serious. “Then we’ll grab dinner. My treat.”

“Kento—”

“Don’t say no.” His voice was soft, but firm. “Please.”

And God, you almost did. You almost told him no. You almost told him to leave you alone, that you didn’t want him to see you like this anymore, that you couldn’t handle standing next to him and being reminded of how far apart your lives had become.

But you didn’t. Because deep down, you still craved him.

You craved his voice, his touch, his presence.

Even if it hurts you just do it all over again.

“…Okay.”

The night air was cold, but his coat was warm. Somewhere between dinner and walking you home, Kento had shrugged off his expensive wool coat and draped it around your shoulders without hesitation. You tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“Don’t argue with me about this, please.” he murmured, his hand lingering against your arm a little too long.

It was dangerous being this close to him again.

But you couldn’t pull away from him.

“So….” you forced lightness into your voice. “What’s it like being famous?”

He scoffed. “Overrated.”

You laughed softly. “Oh, come on. You’re on billboards now. You can’t tell me it’s not a little amazing.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” His voice was distant. “Not if you’re not there to see it.”

Your steps faltered. “…What?”

Kento stopped walking — turning to face you, his expression unreadable. “I thought about you every day.” he confessed, his voice raw.

“Kento—”

“The entire time I was gone. I kept wondering what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy.” His throat bobbed. “And every time I came back home, I hoped I’d see you, but you were always gone. I… I didn’t know if you wanted to see me again.”

You felt your heart crack open. “Kento…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you stayed?” His voice broke slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you never went to college?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—”

“Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” His voice was trembling now, thick with emotion. “You were always the smartest person in the room. You deserved to get out of here….to have everything you ever dreamed of. And instead… you stayed. You gave it all up. Why?”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “Because I didn’t have a choice, Kento.”

“Yes, you did.” His voice cracked. “You could have told me. You could have called me. I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what, Kento?” you choked. “Fixed my life for me? Paid my bills? Dragged me to Tokyo and pretended like I belonged in your world?”

His jaw clenched. “You do belong in my world.”

“No, I don’t.” you snapped, tears finally spilling over. “Look at me. I’ve been stuck in the same place since you left. I’m still living paycheck to paycheck. I didn’t finish school. I’ve done nothing with my life. And you—” your voice cracked painfully. “You’ve become everything you were meant to be.”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

“I didn’t want any of it.” His voice was barely a whisper.

You froze. “…What?”

Kento swallowed hard. “I didn’t want fame. The career. The spotlight. I didn’t want any of it. The only thing I ever wanted was you—and I thought… I thought if I made something of myself, you’d still be here when I came back.” His voice cracked. “But you weren’t. And I hated myself for leaving you behind.”

Your knees almost buckled.

“And now that I’m here, with you.” his voice broke. "I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Tears poured freely down your face. “Kento, don’t—”

“Come with me.” He took a step closer, his hands trembling as they cradled your face. “Come to Tokyo. Stay with me. I’ll pay for your school, I’ll—”

“No!” you sobbed, pulling away. “I’m not your responsibility, Kento—”

“You’re not a responsibility, nor a liability.” his voice cracked. “You’re the love of my life.”

Your heart shattered. And before you could protest again, his mouth was on yours. Desperate, burning, like he was trying to make up for every single day he spent without you. His hands cradled your face, his kiss messy and filled with heartbreak. When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Please.” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Let me take you away from here. Let me love you the way I always should have.”

For the first time in years, you let yourself sob in his arms.

Because despite everything, you loved him more than anything in this world.

Despite the distance, the pain, and the time lost, you never stopped loving him either.

And maybe… just maybe… he could still save you.

YOU COULD REMEMBER THE WAY IT RAINED WHEN YOU GOT MARRIED. Not a heavy storm — just a soft, steady drizzle, as if the sky itself was quietly weeping with joy. You stood in a small, intimate venue with that beautiful smile on your face.

Both of you of you surrounded by only a few close friends and family, wearing the simplest white dress you could afford because despite Kento’s insistence that he’d buy you the most extravagant gown in Tokyo, you refused.

“I don’t need anything fancy, you know.” you told him. “I just need you.”

And so there you stood with your fingers trembling, heart racing as Kento watched you walk down the aisle like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His jaw was tight, his caramel eyes glassy with unshed tears, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Like he couldn’t believe, after all those years apart, you were finally becoming his wife.

When you finally reached him, his hand grasped yours like a lifeline.

His thumb trembled as it brushed against your skin, and when he whispered, “You’re beautiful.” his voice cracked.

And when the officiant asked if he took you as his wife, Kento didn’t hesitate one bit as he looked at you with the warmest gazes. “I do.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I always have.”

Kento never let you go after that.

You moved into his apartment in Tokyo. It was a spacious, light-filled place with floor-to-ceiling windows and a breathtaking view of the city. It was bigger than anything you’d ever lived in, and it almost made you uncomfortable at first.

But Kento never let you feel like you didn’t belong.

“This is our home now, hm?” he told you softly one night as you stood by the window, still struggling to wrap your head around it all. “Not just mine. Ours.”

And you believed him. Because every time he came home from a shoot, tired, disheveled, and smelling like expensive cologne — the first thing he did was find you.

\Whether you were in the kitchen, the bedroom, or curled up in the living room studying, he always sought you out, kissing you like it was the first time every time.

“My wife.” he’d murmur against your lips, as if the words themselves tasted sweet. “My beautiful wife.”

And every time, your heart would ache with disbelief. Because this was real. You were really married to him. You really woke up to him every morning. His arm draped around your waist, his face buried in your neck and he really loved you like you were the most precious thing in the world. But Kento wasn’t done giving you the life you deserved.

“Tokyo University.” he said one night, casually, like it wasn’t the single most outrageous thing you’d ever heard.

You froze mid-bite. “…What?”

“I want you to apply, like you did a long time ago.” he said simply, sitting across from you at the dinner table. “You always wanted to study chemistry. Now’s your chance.”

Your throat tightened. “Kento… I can’t. I haven’t been in school for years. I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known. Don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “But the tuition—”

“I’ll pay for it.”

Your head snapped up. “Kento, no—”

“Yes.” His gaze was unwavering. “I’ll pay for every single yen. I’ll cover your tuition, your textbooks, your lab fees. Everything. You won’t have to worry about anything.” His voice softened. “Please. Let me do this for you.”

Tears burned your eyes. “I don’t want to feel like a burden to you, Kento.”

“You’re not a burden, never will be.” he said fiercely, already pushing his chair back so he could kneel in front of you. His large hands cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “You’re my wife. Everything I have is yours. My money, my time, my life. It’s all yours. And if it means giving you the future you always dreamed of, then I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

And with that, you broke down. You sobbed into his chest, clutching him like your life depended on it, because you realized Kento meant it. Every word. Every promise. He was going to build you a life so beautiful, so far removed from the pain you endured, that you’d never have to feel unworthy again.

So the next day, you applied. And Kento wrote the check without blinking an eye.

You could still remember months later, the day you got accepted into Tokyo University, you burst into tears. You were in the kitchen when the letter arrived, your hands trembling as you tore it open and the second you saw “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted!”

You collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

“Kento, Kento!” you choked, clutching the letter like it was your lifeline. “I got in! Oh god…. I got in!”

Kento was on you in seconds, kneeling beside you, his face crumpling with pride. “I told you. I told you, baby!” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I told you you could do it.”

And that night, he took you out to dinner, something extravagant, something you never would have been able to afford on your own. When the waiter congratulated you, Kento beamed like he was the one who got accepted.

“Her, it was her who got in.” he told the waiter proudly. “That’s my wife. She’s going to Tokyo University for chemistry. Smartest woman I’ve ever met.”

And when you glanced at him, with those eyes glassy, heart full, you realized he wasn’t just proud. He was in awe of you. Like he always had been.

And for a while, it was perfect.

Life slipped into something sweet and steady. You were a university student again, just like you’d always dreamed. You spent your days attending lectures, taking meticulous notes, and spending long afternoons in the library surrounded by textbooks and the faint smell of old paper. You were learning again. Living again. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you.

And Kento? God, he was your biggest cheerleader.

Every morning before you left for class, he kissed you on the forehead and said, “Knock ‘em dead, love.”

Every night when you came home, exhausted but fulfilled, he had dinner ready and waiting. When you showed him your test scores, perfect marks, one after another. Your husband would beam with pride like he was the one who’d aced the exam.

When you complained about a difficult professor or a tedious lab experiment, he’d listen intently, rubbing circles into your back, and say, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

And every night, when you fell asleep beside him, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. But then —slowly, quietly— the loneliness crept in. Because Kento wasn’t home most of the time.

At first, you didn’t notice. You were busy, after all. You were drowning in lab reports, study sessions, and back-to-back classes. But then you started realizing how quiet the apartment felt when you got home. You’d unlock the door, expecting to hear the hum of the television or Kento’s soft humming in the kitchen but it was always silent. Always empty.

You told yourself it was fine. That was just how it was going to be sometimes. Your Kento was working hard, just like you were. It was only temporary. But weeks passed. Then months. And Kento started coming home later and later.

At first, it was 8 PM. Then 9. Then 10. And soon, there were nights where he didn’t come home at all, just a brief, apologetic text. “Late meeting. Don’t wait for me. Love you.”

And you tried to be understanding. You tried. After all, Kento was the one supporting you. He was paying your tuition, your textbooks, your transportation — everything. He was shouldering the entire financial weight of your dream without a single complaint. The least you could do was be patient.

But good god, it was so lonely.

You’d eat dinner alone most nights, your plate growing cold as you stared at the empty seat across from you. You’d do your assignments at the kitchen table, hoping to hear the jingle of his keys at the door but it never came. You started sleeping alone more often than not, his side of the bed cold and untouched.

And worst of all you missed him.

You missed Kento. You missed the man who used to laugh with you until your stomach hurt.

The man who used to kiss you breathless in the middle of the kitchen just because he could.

The man who used to touch your belly every night and whisper. “I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

The man who promised you. “I’ll always put you first.”

But now? You were starting to feel like you’d lost him. And then came the night that broke you.

It was well past midnight, and you were curled up on the couch, your textbooks sprawled around you. You told yourself you wouldn’t wait up for him, but you did. You always did. Hours passed, and still — no sign of him. Finally, at 1:27 AM, you heard the door unlock.

“Kento?” you called, your voice cracking.

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally stepped into the living room, his tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the exhaustion in his eyes was so deep it made your chest ache.

“Hey.” he murmured, already walking past you toward the bedroom.

And something in you snapped.

“Seriously?” you blurted. “That’s all you have to say?”

Kento froze, his hand still on the doorframe. “…What?”

You stood, your heart pounding. “You’ve been gone all day again. And you just walk in like I don’t even exist?”

He turned to you, confused. “I—I’m sorry. Work ran late—”

“It always runs late, Kento!” your voice cracked, hot tears stinging your eyes. “Every night, I sit here alone. I eat alone. I sleep alone. Do you even realize how lonely it is to come home to an empty apartment every single day?”

Pain flickered across his face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m doing this for you, love. I’m working so you can go to school—”

“I never asked you to do that!” you shouted, and the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Kento blinked, stunned. “…What?”

Your chest heaved. “I never asked you to throw your entire life away for me, Kento! I never asked you to quit your project, or work insane hours, or pay for everything. You just did it. And now it’s like I don’t even have a husband anymore. I just have this… ghost who comes home at 2 AM and leaves before I wake up!”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Kento’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. “…You think I want this?”

You froze. “…What?”

“You think I like working sixteen-hour days?” his voice cracked, raw and strained. “You think I enjoy being away from you? Missing dinner, missing sleep, missing everything…..you think any of this is what I wanted?”

Your throat tightened. “Kento—”

“I did it for you, you know that.” he said bitterly. “I did it so you wouldn’t have to worry about money. I did it so you could chase your dream without worrying about bills or tuition. I did it because I thought it would make you happy.” His voice cracked. “But you’re not, are you?”

Tears blurred your vision. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he laughed hollowly, running a hand down his face. “I work until I can’t see straight just to keep everything together and you still think I’m not doing enough.”

“That’s not true at all!”

“Then what do you want from me, love?” his voice finally broke, desperate and shattered. “Tell me. Please. What do you want?”

And the answer was so painfully simple, it tore you apart.

I just want you.

But you couldn’t say it. Because how could you ask that of him when he’d already given you everything? When he was breaking his back just to keep you afloat? When he’d already sacrificed his career, his sleep, his time, his life for you?

So instead, you just cried and cried.

And for the first time in your marriage, Kento didn’t comfort you.

He just turned away, defeated, and said, “I’m going to bed.”

And you realized somewhere along the way, you and Kento had become strangers for the first time.

And it hurts like hell to live with that thought.

But of course, it wouldn’t be the last time.

THINGS DID NOT GET BETTER. If anything, they got worse. You were pregnant. And everything was hurting. It was a different kind of pain now, not just the crushing weight of your depression, but something more physical, more suffocating.

Your body aches constantly. Your back screamed from the weight of your growing belly. Your feet were perpetually swollen. Your nights were restless, spent tossing and turning as the baby kicked relentlessly inside you, reminding you always reminding you — that there was no way out of this life you didn’t want. And it was killing you.

You thought hitting rock bottom would come with some kind of clarity. Like one day, you’d cry hard enough or sleep long enough or starve yourself numb enough that your body would finally break through the darkness. You thought there would be some moment, some visceral breaking point that would force you to finally start healing.

But it never came.

Instead, you just… sank.

Deeper and deeper, like trying to breathe underwater with lungs already half-filled. Every day you woke up was a fresh kind of misery. You couldn’t get out of bed without feeling like your bones were made of lead.

You couldn’t stomach food without wanting to throw it all up later. You couldn’t look in the mirror without despising the reflection. You see a bloated, pale, hollowed out, a shell of the woman you used to be.

And the baby never stopped kicking.

You hated it.

God, you hated it.

You hated the way it never let you sleep. You hated the way your body no longer felt like yours. You hated the constant, suffocating reminder that soon, almost all too soon, you would be responsible for a life you never asked for. A life you were already failing before it even arrived.

But the worst part?

You hated yourself for hating it.

Because what kind of mother resented her own baby before it was even born? What kind of woman laid in bed, day after day, clutching her belly and wishing god, please just make this stop instead of feeling love? What kind of wife watched her husband sacrifice everything for her and still felt nothing but numb, bitter emptiness?

And Kento.

God, Kento.

You couldn’t even look at him anymore without feeling like the most wretched person alive. He was still trying — still holding everything together, still waking up every morning and kissing your forehead, still whispering, “I love you. I’m here.”

But you could see it now — the slow, painful unraveling of the man you loved. The exhaustion in his eyes, no longer just from work but from you. The hesitation in his touch, like he was afraid you’d pull away — and sometimes, you did.

The way his voice cracked when he said, “How are you feeling today, love?” and your answer was always “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t fine.

And Kento knew it.

You could see it every night when he crawled into bed beside you and held you close. The way his hand cradles your stomach, his thumb tracing soft circles over your skin. You could feel it in the way his touch, once so warm and electric, now felt like a desperate attempt to keep you here. Like if he let go for even a second, you’d slip through his fingers entirely.

And you hated that too.

Because you knew you were killing him. Slowly. Quietly. Without even trying. You could see it in his slumped shoulders, in the way his voice grew quieter, in the way he looked at you like he was losing you and didn’t know how to stop it.

And you wanted to scream — Stop loving me. Stop trying to save me. I’m already gone.

But you didn’t.

Because how could you say that to the man who dropped his entire career for you? The man who worked twenty-hour days just to pay for your tuition, your food, your life? The man who still kissed you goodbye every morning and told you, “I love you, always.”

So you did the only thing you could.

You kept shrinking.

You stopped eating. Barely touched your dinner when Kento brought it to you. The smell made you nauseous anyway, and even when it didn’t, you could barely stomach the idea of keeping yourself alive, let alone another human growing inside you.

You stopped leaving the house. Your classes had already been dropped; you told Kento it was temporary, just until you felt better. But deep down, you knew you weren’t going back. Tokyo University had suddenly become a distant dream once again, like a life that belonged to someone else entirely. And you were too far gone now to reach for it again.

You stopped responding to your friends. They texted you constantly, trying to check on you. You know they mean well. You know they just want to be there for you. And that they were excited. But you were having a hard time accepting their well wishes.

“How’s the baby? How’s school? We miss you!”

But the thought of replying made your stomach churn. What were you supposed to say, that wouldn’t come out as a horrible thing?

“I’m miserable. I don’t want this baby. I don’t want this life.”

Would have that gotten you some mercy?

So you ignored them. Deleted their messages. Let your phone die and don't bother charging it. And then you stopped talking to Kento. Not entirely. But enough.

Later on, Kento halted the work on his upcoming project the day after you broke down. No warning. No hesitation. One phone call to his manager, another to his agency, and it was done. His voice was steady, almost unnervingly calm when he said: “I’m taking a break for now. My wife needs me.”

And that was it. He dropped it all like it meant nothing. A project he had poured months of his life into, had gone in seconds. You tried to protest when you found out, but he wouldn’t hear it. His mind was made up before you could even form the words —“Don’t do this for me.”

And then he stayed.

Every single day, he stayed. Morning turned to night, and there he was. Bringing you water when you couldn’t stomach food. Sitting on the edge of the bed while you stared blankly at the ceiling. Holding you through the nights when your body trembled from crying, or worse, the nights when you didn’t cry at all, just lay there like a ghost in your own skin.

He was patient. Devoted. Unwavering.

But it didn’t fix anything.

Because the damage was already done.

You could feel it in the way his touch, once so warm and electric, now felt like a desperate attempt to tether you to the earth. In the way his voice, soft, pleading, loving had seemed to echo against the walls of your hollowed-out chest, never quite reaching you.

In this way you could still feel the crushing weight of your own failure suffocating you, no matter how many times he whispered “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

And the worst part?

You wanted him to leave.

Because it hurt too much to see him like this. Abandoning his career, his life, his future, for someone who couldn’t even muster the strength to get out of bed. You resented the way he sacrificed everything for you.

You hated how the look in his eyes shifted from affection to concern, from admiration to pity. You despised yourself for being the reason his world was crumbling alongside yours. And deep down, you knew. Kento could stay forever, and it still wouldn’t fix what was already broken.

And after that, you stopped going to school.

At first, you told Kento it was temporary, just a leave of absence until you felt better. But weeks turned into months, and soon your professors were emailing you: “If you do not return, you will have to re-enroll next semester.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the truth was, you didn’t care anymore.

Your stomach was huge now. You could barely walk up the stairs without losing your breath. Your back ached. Your feet were swollen. You couldn’t sleep through the night because the baby was always kicking, and every morning you woke up with the same suffocating thought.

"I don’t want this life."

And the guilt ate you alive.

Because you loved Kento. You loved your baby. But you hated your life. You hated what it had become. You hated the fact that you were no longer a student at Tokyo University. You were just a pregnant woman, a pregnant housewife. You hated the fact that you no longer had a future — you just had motherhood. You just had this house, his status as a wife.

And Kento saw it. He saw how you’d spend hours just sitting in the nursery, staring at the crib with dead eyes. He saw how you stopped studying, stopped watching TV, stopped doing anything. It was like you were fading away.

And it killed him.

You could see it in the way his shoulders sagged a little more each day, as if the weight of watching you deteriorate was slowly crushing him. In the way he tried to hide the bags under his eyes from sleepless nights spent worrying about you.

In this way his voice would crack, just barely, when he’d sit next to you and say, “Talk to me, love. Please.”

But you had nothing to say. What were you supposed to tell him? That you hated the life you were about to bring into the world? That you regretted everything — the pregnancy, the wedding, the choices that led you here? That sometimes, when you laid in bed at night, you imagined what it would be like if you just… didn’t wake up?

So you said nothing. Nothing at all.

And Kento tried to be strong for both of you. God, he tried.

He started cooking your favorite meals, hoping that if he made something delicious enough, you’d actually eat. He read parenting books late into the night, convinced that if he just learned enough, he could do this whole thing for the both of you, carry the weight, make up for the pieces of you that were falling apart. He took you on walks when he could get you out of bed, holding your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to hope.

But it was never enough.

It was never going to be enough.

Because the truth was — you weren’t just sad.

You were grieving everything that had come to pass.

You were grieving the life you lost, the person you used to be. You were grieving the dreams you once held so fiercely. Finishing university, traveling, building a career as a chemist on the international level. All of it now reduced to a hazy memory of a different girl. A girl you didn’t even recognize anymore. A girl you resented for being so foolish, for thinking she could have it all.

And you were grieving the love between you and Kento — or rather, the version of it that existed before the pregnancy. Before everything became tainted by your guilt, your depression, your ever-growing resentment for the life you didn’t want.

You knew that Kento saw it too.

He saw how you flinched when he touched your stomach, not out of pain, but because it reminded you of what you were trapped in. He saw how your kisses grew colder, how you turned your head when he tried to kiss you goodnight. He saw how you stopped saying your i love yous first — how sometimes, you didn’t say it at all.

And still, he stayed by your side. But it was breaking him whole.

You could hear it in the way his voice cracked one night when he thought you were asleep.

He sat beside you in bed, his hand resting gently on your belly, and you heard him whisper back to you. “I don’t know how to fix this.” His voice trembled. “I don’t know how to help you.”

And that was when you realized — you weren’t the only one grieving. Kento was grieving too. He was grieving the wife he used to know. The one who laughed too loud at his jokes, who kissed him in the morning just because, who fell asleep on the couch with a textbook still in her lap.

He was grieving the life you both dreamed of late nights studying, early mornings rushing to class, careers that would take you far. He was grieving the love that used to be effortless, the kind that didn’t require whispered prayers in the middle of the night, hoping that tomorrow would hurt less than today.

And the worst part?

You were the one who did this to him.

At least that’s how you saw it all now.

You were the one who dragged him down into this suffocating darkness with you. You were the one who made him abandon his project, his career, his life. All for a woman who could barely look at herself in the mirror without breaking.

And every day he stayed, every day he kissed your forehead and said “I’m here”, you hated yourself a little more.

You hated yourself so much that you started to wonder if maybe — just maybe — Kento would be better off without you.

And that thought never really left.

Even when he painted the nursery walls soft yellow and smiled like he wasn’t dying inside.

Even when he held your hand in the middle of the night and promised, “We’ll get through this. I swear we will.”

Even when he looked at you with a love so devastatingly pure, it only made you ache more.

Because you couldn’t shake the feeling. That Kento deserved a better wife. And your baby deserved a better mother. And you? You didn’t deserve them at all. Around your seventh month, you completely broke.

Kento found you in the bathroom at 3 AM all alone as you were sitting in the empty bathtub, knees pulled to your chest, sobbing silently. You looked miserable with your hair disheveled and your face contorted into this look, full of grief and suffering.

“Baby?” His voice cracked. “Oh my god, baby, what’s wrong?”

And you just shook your head. “I hate this so much.” you gasped through your tears. “I hate my life. I hate my body. I hate everything. I don’t want to do this anymore, Kento. I can’t…..I can’t breathe.”

And Kento completely fell apart at the sight of your tears, falling over and over again. “Baby, no— no, no, no.” he dropped to his knees beside the tub, his hands shaking. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I’m here now. I’ll fix it. I’ll make it better, so—”

“You can’t!” you screamed, your voice raw and cracked. “You can’t fix this, Kento! I’m already ruined! My life is already ruined!”

And Kento? Kento completely broke. Because he realized you weren’t talking about the pregnancy. You were talking about yourself. And you were gone. All there was left now was the shell, that shell he didn’t recognize.

“I should’ve never gotten pregnant, Kento.” you sobbed, your body shaking. “I should’ve never gotten married. I should’ve stayed in school. I should’ve never left the countryside. I should’ve……I should’ve never let this happen.”

And Kento completely lost it. “Don’t say that.” he begged, his voice cracking.

He climbed into the bathtub with you, fully clothed, and wrapped his arms around you. “Don’t say that, baby, please— please don’t say that. You’re not ruined. I swear to god, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. Just don’t give up on me. Please don’t give up on me.”

And you just sobbed.

Because deep down, you already had.

You were right to feel that way.

It was only a matter of time when the labor came early.

You had never expected it — not this soon, not like this.

It was just around thirty-five weeks then. The baby wasn’t supposed to come yet. You still had time. Weeks. You weren’t ready. Your hospital bag wasn’t packed. The nursery still smelled like fresh paint. You hadn’t even washed the baby’s clothes yet. You weren’t supposed to go into labor yet.

But the universe didn’t care.

Your water broke in the middle of the night — and you knew instantly that something was wrong. The pain hit fast and hard, unlike anything you’d ever felt. Sharp, blinding contractions ripped through your abdomen, so intense that it stole the breath from your lungs.

You barely managed to shake Kento awake, your voice cracked and choked, “Kento — my water……it broke—”

And the moment he saw the panic in your eyes, he moved. Kento didn’t even ask questions. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his phone with one hand and you with the other, already calling for an ambulance.

His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the terror behind it. “Yes, my wife is thirty-five weeks pregnant. Her water just broke — she’s in pain — please send someone—”

But the contractions were coming too fast. One after the other, barely a minute in between, and by the time Kento helped you into the back of the ambulance, you knew. The baby was coming now. And the baby would have no mercy on you.

“No, no, no!” you sobbed, clutching your belly as another contraction ripped through you, your body already beginning to push despite your desperate attempts to stop it. “It’s too soon — it’s too soon—”

Kento was right there beside you, his hand in yours, his voice cracked and desperate. “You’re okay, love. You’re gonna be okay. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

But you didn’t feel okay. You felt like you were dying. And by the time you reached the hospital, you were already fully dilated. The doctors barely had time to wheel you into labor and delivery before you were screaming through another contraction, your body forcing you to push despite your terror.

And Kento was there. The entire time — he was there. His hand never left yours, his voice never stopped murmuring reassurances in your ear. “You can do this, love. I know you can. Just a little longer. Just hold on for me.”

But you couldn’t.

Because something was wrong.

You could feel it in your bones. In the way your body fought itself with every push, in the way your vision kept blurring, in the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath no matter how hard you tried. And then, in the middle of a push — you felt it.

A sudden, hot gush between your legs. But it wasn’t amniotic fluid this time. It was warm. And sticky. And you didn’t have to look down to know. You were bleeding. A lot. You could feel how it echoes down, heavy and brutish.

“Kento—” your voice cracked, raw with pain. “Something’s— something’s wrong—”

And then you heard it.

The doctor’s voice, sharp and urgent.

“She’s hemorrhaging. We’re losing her.”

And that’s when Kento lost his fucking mind.

“What?” His voice snapped, pure, raw panic flooding his face. His grip on your hand tightened like a vice. “What do you mean you’re losing her?!”

“Her blood pressure is dropping! Massive uterine hemorrhage. Doctor, she’s losing too much blood—”

“No — no, no, no—” Kento stumbled forward, his voice cracking as his hands shook. “Do something! Save her! Save them both!”

“We need to get the baby out now or we’re going to lose them both, Mr. Nanami!”

And suddenly it was chaos. Nurses shouting. Machines beeping. Someone calling for blood transfusions. And you — fading. You could feel it. Your body was giving out, your vision was growing dim, and the only thing you could focus on was Kento.

“Kento.” you rasped, your voice so faint, so weak. Your body felt like it was drifting. “I—I love you—”

“No!” Kento screamed. He screamed like something inside him was tearing apart. His hands clawed at the hospital bed, his body lunging toward you as the doctors tried to pull him away. “No, stay with me! Stay with me, love! Don’t you fucking do this—Don’t you dare leave me!”

But you were already slipping.

The last thing you heard was his voice, raw and broken.

“I can’t do this without you. Please! Please don’t leave me. Please—”

And then, darkness.

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Nanami Kento couldn’t do anything but collapse in the hallway. The moment they pulled him out of the delivery room. The moment the words the doctor said, all of that rang in his ears like a death sentence. He was sure that something inside him snapped.

And when the door slammed shut behind him, separating him from you, Kento’s knees buckled. He hit the floor hard. Hands splayed out against the cold tile, chest heaving, throat raw from screaming. He didn’t even realize he was still screaming until two nurses rushed toward him, trying to pull him up, trying to calm him down, but it was useless.

Because he could still hear it. The frantic shouts of the doctors. The horrifying words “Massive hemorrhage. We’re losing her.” The sound of your screams cutting off too abruptly. And worst of all — the unbearable silence that followed.

“No—” Kento howled, his voice breaking like glass. His hands clawed at his hair, his entire body wracked with violent, gut-wrenching sobs. “No, no, no— I killed her. I fucking killed her—”

“Sir, Mr. Nanami.” one of the nurses knelt beside him, reaching out. “You have to breathe, you’re hyperventilating—”

But Kento didn’t hear her.

He couldn’t hear anything.

He didn’t care to hear whatever that was.

All he could think about, all he could see was you. Your face twisted in pain. The absolute terror in your eyes when you realized something was wrong. The way you sobbed I don’t want this, Kento, I’m not ready. And he did this. He did this to you.

His body convulsed with the force of his grief, his head slamming against the tile as his sobs tore from his chest like a wounded animal. “I killed her. I killed her. I made her hate her life and now she’s gone. She’s gone—”

“Sir—” The nurse was trying to hold him down now, his entire body thrashing against the floor as he screamed. “Sir, please, you’re going to hurt yourself—”

“LET ME GO!” Kento roared, his voice so raw it barely sounded human. “She’s dying in there. Do you understand me?! She’s fucking dying in there and I……”

Another contraction of sobs wracked his chest, and his fists slammed into the floor so hard that his knuckles split. Blood smeared against the tile, but he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything.

“I made her hate her life.” his voice cracked, his chest seizing with suffocating grief. His hands curled into his hair again, yanking hard as if trying to punish himself. “I did this to her. I made her want to die. And now she’s gone and I’m still here. ”

“Stop, please.” the nurse’s voice broke, her own eyes glassy as she tried to steady him. “She’s not gone. They’re trying to save her in there, with the baby.”

“No.” Kento’s head snapped up, his face twisted in a horrifying mix of rage and agony. His eyes were bloodshot, glassy, utterly devastated. “You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it.” His voice cracked so sharply it sounded like it physically hurt him to speak.

“She wanted to die, to be free of that misery. Don’t you see?” he choked. “She hated her life. And it’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault—”

And then his body gave out.

His chest collapsed onto the cold tile floor, his forehead pressed into it as his entire body shook. Choked, gasping sobs clawed from his throat, so violent that he could barely breathe. His lungs were burning, his vision was spinning, and he was sure, so fucking sure, that this was it. That they were going to come out and tell him you were dead.

And it was his fault.

All of it was his fault.

Because he saw it.

He saw it every single day. The way you sat in the nursery with dead eyes. The way you stopped smiling. The way you couldn’t even say I’m excited without your voice cracking. The way your love for him was slowly being choked out by the sheer weight of your depression.

And he didn’t stop any of it. Instead, he told you to keep going. He told you to hold on. He let you suffer in silence because he thought that’s what you needed but you didn’t. You needed help. You needed saving. And instead, he trapped you in a life you never wanted.

And now you are dying.

All because of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Kento sobbed, his forehead slamming against the tile again, his blood smearing across the floor. “I’m so fucking sorry. Please….please, I’ll do anything. Just let her live. Please.”

And that was the first time in his life that Kento Nanami prayed. He prayed like a man possessed. Like a man who had nothing left to lose. His bloody fists clawed at the tile, his nails cracking against it as he begged.

“Take me,please.” he sobbed, his voice mutilated from screaming. “Please….just take me instead. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Just…. Please don’t take her. Don’t take my wife. Don’t take my baby. I’ll do anything.”

But the silence stretched on.

And he was certain that you were already gone.

Hours continued to make mockery of him.

Agonizing, torturous hours passed — and Kento was still on the floor.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right. Didn’t think. His body was stuck in that same position. Still face down, forehead pressed against the cold tile, hands trembling as he clenched them into bloody fists. His chest was heaving in short, sharp gasps, his entire body quaking as he sobbed.

He was certain you were dead. He felt it. He felt the moment your soul left the room. He felt the moment the light in his life snapped off like a switch.

He was convinced that at any second, the doctor was going to come out, look him in the eyes, and say, “I’m sorry, Mr. Nanami. We couldn’t save her.”

And he would never forgive himself.

Because he killed you.

His fault. His fault. His fucking fault.

He was still gasping, still clawing at the ground, still praying like a desperate man when he finally heard the door open. Kento’s head snapped up. His bloodshot, swollen eyes immediately locked onto the doctor walking toward him, his scrubs covered in blood — your blood — and Kento’s entire body seized.

“Mr. Nanami—”

“Where is she?” Kento screamed. His voice cracked, broke, his entire body lunging toward the doctor like a caged animal. His hands fisted the man’s scrubs, yanking him forward. “Is my wife alive? Tell me, damn it? Is she alive?”

The doctor barely had a chance to respond before Kento screamed again. “Tell me you saved her, goddamn you!”

And the doctor’s mouth opened — and Kento swore the entire universe stopped spinning when he finally said, “…She’s alive.”

Kento’s entire body collapsed. His legs gave out. His grip on the doctor’s scrubs slipped. And then he didn’t realize that he had hit the floor. A gasping, broken sob ripped from his throat. The kind of sob that came from a man who was seconds away from losing everything and his entire body convulsed as he wept.

“Oh my god…..” Kento choked, his hands flying to his face, clawing at his own skin like he was trying to ground himself. “Oh my god. She’s alive. She’s alive!”

“Her condition is critical, Mr. Nanami.” the doctor warned, his voice low but steady. “We had to perform an emergency c-section and a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. She lost over forty percent of her blood volume. We had to resuscitate her twice on the table—”

“Resuscitate?” he gasped, his vision swimming. His stomach lurched. “You mean she….she died?”

“Clinically, yes. Twice.” The doctor’s face softened with pity. “But we got her back. She’s stable now — unconscious, but alive.”

And that was all Kento needed to hear.

He ran. He didn’t even think. His legs moved before his brain could catch up, his entire body sprinting down the hall, his bloody knuckles slamming into every door he passed until he finally found your room.

The second he stepped inside, he broke.

Because there you were.

Unconscious.

Your body was completely limp, hooked up to a ventilator, your skin so pale it looked blue. Tubes were coming out of everywhere. From your arm, your nose, your mouth and there were fresh surgical dressings covering your abdomen where they had cut you open to get the baby out.

Kento couldn’t breathe. A strangled, animalistic sound tore from his throat like something between a sob and a scream and then he collapsed beside your bed. His hand shot out, desperately clutching yours, his entire body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs as he shook.

“I’m so sorry…..oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” Kento’s voice shattered, his head dropping onto your hand as his body convulsed. His chest was heaving so violently that he was on the verge of hyperventilating. “I did this. I did this to you and I….”

He couldn’t stop sobbing. His forehead pressed against your limp hand, his body rocking as he cried like a child. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry….” he choked. “I made you hate your life and I trapped you. I killed you…. oh my god, I killed you….”

And the guilt hit him like a sledgehammer.

Because it was true. All of it.

He saw the way you suffered. The way you faded every single day. The way you stopped smiling. The way you stopped living. And instead of saving you, he kept telling you to hold on. Just a little longer, love. We’re almost there. Just a little longer.

But you weren’t okay. And Kento didn’t listen. And now you were lying there. Pale, lifeless, barely hanging on. All because of him. And the weight of it crushed him whole. He felt like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

And then finally, you woke up.

“…Kento?” your voice cracked.

“Baby.” he sobbed, grabbing your face, pressing desperate kisses all over your skin. “Oh my baby…..you’re awake. You’re awake. I thought I lost you. I thought….”

“…Where’s the baby?”

And Kento completely broke. “The baby’s fine, don’t worry.” he choked. “She’s perfect. She’s beautiful. But you….you scared the shit out of me, baby. Please don’t ever do that again.”

And when they finally brought your baby girl in and you held her for the first time — you did something you didn’t expect. You cried. And then you sobbed. Because for the first time in nine months — you finally felt something coherent. Something good.

“…She’s beautiful.” you gasped. “I didn’t think I’d love her. But I do. I love her so much.”

Kento just collapsed against your hospital bed, sobbing. “I knew you would. I knew you would.”

But things are like the weather.

They were bound to change.

You should have known.

THE FIRST MONTH WAS HARD, BUT AS TIME WENT ON, IT GOT WORSE. You came home from the hospital physically intact but mentally, you were gone. You still didn’t go back to school. You didn’t touch your textbooks. You didn’t even mention chemistry. The once-brilliant student who dreamed of working in a lab was now just… a mother. And you hated it.

Every single day felt like a fog. You were exhausted but it wasn’t the baby’s fault. You knew that much. It was you that was malfunctioning. You didn’t know how to connect with her. Every time she cried, you felt nothing.

Every time she smiled, you felt nothing. Every time Kento handed her to you and said something to praise your beautiful daughter, you didn’t know how to react. You just nodded and let it go. And Kento noticed. God, he noticed.

Kento stayed home for a month. He refused to leave your side. He didn’t take calls, he didn’t attend meetings. He just stayed home. But his contract required him to go back to work eventually. And you… you told him to go.

“Go, you have to.” you whispered, your voice dead. “You have to work, Kento. We have bills. You already missed so much.”

But Kento didn’t want to.

“Baby— no. I don’t give a shit about work. I’m not leaving you like this.”

And you forced a smile. “I’m fine, Kento.”

But you weren’t.

You weren’t.

And Kento knew it.

But eventually, he had to go. He had no choice. His manager was calling nonstop. His agency was threatening breach of contract. He had a new film that needed him and Kento was the lead role. So he left. And the guilt burned a hole in his chest.

The first day he was back on set, he couldn’t focus. His co-stars were talking to him, the director was giving him instructions but all he could think about was you. Home. Alone. With a baby you didn’t love. Kento hated himself.

He was filming a scene when his phone buzzed in his pocket — and when he saw your name pop up, he immediately froze.

“CUT!” the director barked. “Kento, you okay?”

“…Yeah, director.” he croaked. “I just— I need five minutes.”

And then he ran.

He ran behind the trailer, shaking, and picked up the phone. “Baby?” he gasped, panic echoing in his voice. “What’s wrong? Is the baby okay? Are you okay?”

Silence. “…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

And Kento’s heart completely shattered.

“Baby…..” his voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…..” you gasped, voice shaking. “I mean I can’t do this. I can’t be a mom. I don’t love her, Kento. I don’t—I don’t feel anything for her. I just feel empty. And I know she deserves better. I know you deserve better. I think….I….I just….”

Your voice cracked. “I think I ruined my life.”

Kento collapsed. “No, baby. No. Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” He was crying now, gasping into the phone. “You didn’t ruin your life. You didn’t. I promise I’ll fix this. I’ll come home right now—”

“No, you won’t.”

Kento completely broke. “Baby, please.”

“No, Kento. You have to work. We need the money. We need—”

“I don’t care about the fucking money!” Kento sobbed, clutching his hair. “I care about you! I care about our family! Please don’t give up on me, baby. Please don’t give up on her.”

But you just hung up.

Kento completely lost it.

He didn’t go back on set. He stayed behind the trailer, sobbing into his hands, shaking, thinking: “I ruined her life. I did this to her. She was supposed to be in college — not stuck at home with a baby.”

And that thought ate him alive. The next few weeks were worse. Kento was dying. Not physically but mentally, emotionally and spiritually, he was. Every single day he walked onto set, it felt like he was leaving you behind. And it was killing him.

Because all he could think about was you. Alone. Depressed. Hollowed out. Not wanting the baby. And he wasn’t there. He was never there. Every single time he put on that suit, stepped in front of the cameras, smiled for his co-stars. He was dying.

Because he knew. He knew the second he came home, you would be worse. Every day it got worse. Every fucking day.

At first, it was subtle. You were tired. Distant. Quiet. But then the days started stretching into weeks, and suddenly you weren’t just tired, you were empty. Your smiles were forced. Your voice was flat. You didn’t ask about his day anymore. You didn’t kiss him when he got home.

And Kento tried to justify it. It’s just the hormones. She’s overwhelmed. She’ll come back to me soon. She’ll come back to me.

But you didn’t.

And Kento broke down again.

Because the more days that passed, the less of you he saw.

You stopped eating dinner with him. You stopped holding the baby. You stopped getting out of bed. You wouldn’t look at him. And the worst part? You didn’t even cry. You just… stared. Blank. Numb. And Kento couldn’t handle it.

He fucking hated himself. Every single day he drove to set, his stomach would turn. He’d clench his jaw the entire time, his hands shaking as he held the steering wheel because he knew. You were at home. Alone. With a baby you didn’t love. And he wasn’t there. And the guilt was going to fucking eat him alive.

One night, Kento came home early. He couldn’t do it anymore. He was on set, trying to read his lines, but his hands were shaking. His mouth felt dry. His mind kept screaming to him: She’s alone. She’s not okay. She’s not okay. She’s not okay. Go home right now.

So he left. He didn’t even tell his manager. He just ripped off his mic and drove home. And when he walked through the door….You were just… sitting there. On the couch. Completely catatonic. Your body was slumped forward. Your eyes were glazed over, completely hollow. You weren’t blinking. You weren’t moving. You weren’t alive.

Baby?” His voice shattered.

Nothing. Kento’s heart slammed into his throat. He dropped his keys, his coat, everything, and sprinted toward you, falling to his knees in front of the couch.

“Baby, please….” his voice cracked. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs trembling as they brushed over your cheeks. “Please talk to me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

But you didn’t blink.

You didn’t look at him.

You just… stared at the wall.

Kento’s stomach lurched.

His throat closed.

And then you finally spoke.

In a voice so dead, so hollow, that it didn’t even sound like you anymore. “…I don’t want to be a mom anymore.”

“Baby,” his voice broke. He practically collapsed against you, his forehead pressing to your lap as his hands clutched yours. “Please don’t say that. Please, god—”

“I don’t.” you said flatly. Your voice didn’t even crack. It was just… dead. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want her. I don’t want anything.”

Kento’s entire body convulsed.

“Baby, no.” His voice split down the middle. His hands squeezed yours so tight his knuckles went white. “Please don’t talk like that. I know it’s hard. I know you feel alone. But I love you. I love our baby. We can fix this, baby. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”

But you didn’t believe him.

Because the truth was — you didn’t want him to fix it.

You didn’t want help. You didn’t want therapy. You didn’t want him to stay home from work. You didn’t want him to coddle you or tell you it would get better.

You just wanted your old life back. You wanted school. You wanted chemistry. You wanted the future you spent years building. But instead, you were just Keiko’s mother. And you fucking hated yourself for it.

“I never wanted this.” you whispered numbly, your eyes glazed over. “I didn’t want to have a baby. I didn’t want to give up school. I didn’t want this life. And now it’s all I have.”

Kento couldn’t breathe. His chest split open. His hands shook violently as he tried to pull you closer, his head buried in your lap. “Please, baby….” his voice splintered. “Please don’t talk like that. I need you. Our baby needs you. We love you.”

But you didn’t respond.

You just kept staring.

Kento sobbed heavily.

His entire body convulsed. His shoulders shook. His throat ripped open as gut-wrenching sobs tore out of him. “I’m so sorry.” he gasped. His face buried into your lap, his tears soaking your clothes. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

And you didn’t comfort him. You didn’t hold him. You didn’t wipe his tears. You didn’t say anything. Because deep down, you hated him, too. You hated that he got to have a life. You hated that he still had his career. You hated that he still had a future.

And you, who you once knew?

You were just a mom.

You were trapped.

And you resented him for it.

YOU WENT AWAY FOR A LITTLE WHILE. It was a shut-in therapy. Somewhere far. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that felt detached from the life you had been drowning in. Kento made the arrangements. You didn’t ask him to but he just did it. One night, after finding you curled up in the corner of the nursery, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe, he made the decision himself.

You don’t even remember how it happened — one moment you were screaming I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this life anymore, and the next, your husband Kento was quietly helping you with packing your bags.

“Baby….” his voice cracked, his hands trembling as he folded your clothes into a suitcase. “You need help. You need real help. And I can’t—” his throat choked up. “I can’t keep watching you like this. I can’t keep coming home to you like this. I need you to get better, baby. I need you.”

You didn’t fight him.

Because deep down, you knew.

You needed help.

And when you left, Kento didn’t cry. He didn’t break down. He didn’t beg you to stay. He just kissed your forehead, buckled you into the passenger seat, and drove you there himself. The drive was silent. But when you arrived and it came time for him to leave, you felt him break.

Kento clutched your hands so hard you thought he might shatter them. His forehead pressed to yours, his voice splintering as he begged. “Please come back to me. Please get better. Please..... I don’t care how long it takes, just please don’t give up on us.”

And then he left.

And you stayed.

And the first few weeks were hell.

You fought everything. The therapy. The group sessions. The self-reflection. The constant “how are you feeling?” The exposure therapy to bond with your baby. The “you’re not alone” pep talks from strangers who did not know you.

And every single night, you thought about calling Kento. You thought about screaming into the receiver I’m done, come get me, I can’t do this anymore, please just let me go home.

But you didn’t.

Because somewhere deep, deep, deep down, you wanted to get better. And slowly you did. It wasn’t linear. Some days were good. Some days were awful. Some days you held your baby in your arms and felt nothing. Some days you sobbed so hard that you thought you’d vomit. Some days you sat in the therapy circle, refusing to speak, refusing to participate, refusing to care.

But then some days, you looked at your baby and felt something. Not love. Not joy. But something. A tinge of warmth in your chest. A pang of protectiveness. And slowly, slowly, something began to grow. And then six months later, you came home. Kento was there, waiting for you.

The second you stepped through the door, his entire body crashed into you. His arms crushed you against him, his hands cradling the back of your head, his chest heaving as he sobbed harder than you had ever seen him cry.

“Baby!” he gasped into your hair, his voice cracking. “God, I missed you….I missed you so fucking much! I thought you’d never come back to me and Keiko.”

And you sobbed too.

Because you missed him. God, you missed him.

And that night, when you walked into the nursery and you saw your baby again for the first time in months. You cried harder than you ever had in your life. Because for the first time in a long while, you wanted her. And you didn’t hate her anymore.

But… the thing was, your relationship with Kento. It was never the same. You wanted it to be. You tried so hard. Kento tried, too. He was so patient. So gentle. So loving. But something between you both felt… off.

You had a hard time touching him. Being intimate with him. You couldn’t explain why but every time Kento kissed you, really kissed you, or ran his hands down your waist, or tried to pull you into his lap, your body would freeze.

Kento noticed. But he never pushed. He never said a word. He just waited. God, he waited. But the truth was you didn’t know how to give him that part of you anymore. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. You loved him so much. You adored him. You cherished him. You owed him your life.

But every time you tried to make love to him, it felt like you were reopening the wound. It felt like you were back there again. Heavily pregnant, crying yourself to sleep, suffocating in a life you didn’t want. And you hated it. You hated that your body betrayed you. You hated that you wanted to be with Kento, but the second he kissed you, you’d tense and apologize and turn away.

One night, he finally brought it up.

It was subtle. Careful.

“Baby…..” he murmured as you both laid in bed, his fingers brushing over your bare shoulder. “Do you… not want me anymore?”

And your heart dropped. “What?”

Kento swallowed thickly, his voice small. “You never touch me anymore. You never kiss me first. You… you flinch when I touch you sometimes. And I just…. I don’t know if it’s me or if you just… don’t want me anymore.”

“No — no, Kento, I do.” you sobbed, immediately turning to clutch his face in your hands. “I love you. I love you so much. I just…..I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to….. to be close to you. I want to. I really do. I just….”

Kento shook his head. “Baby, no.” his voice splintered. “It’s not your fault. God, it’s not your fault.”

But you still hated yourself for it.

Because every time Kento looked at you with that softness, that adoration, that undying love — all you could feel was guilt. Guilt for what you put him through. Guilt for resenting him. Guilt for pushing him away. And the fullness of the intimacy, it never really came back.

You tried.You forced yourself sometimes, letting him kiss you, letting him touch you — but it felt wrong. Not because of him. But because your body wouldn’t let you have it. Your body still remembers the trauma. Kento never blamed you.

But it killed him. Because every night he’d roll over in bed, aching for you but he wouldn’t touch you. He wouldn’t dare. He knew if he tried, you’d flinch. You’d shut down. And he couldn’t handle that. So, instead all he could do was just… love you from afar.

But how has that ever been enough?

THE FIRST TIME YOU FOUND OUT ABOUT KENTO’S CHEATING, IT WAS PURELY BY ACCIDENT. It must have been years later. After the therapy, after the recovery, after you slowly started piecing your life back together. Your daughter Keiko was already walking, already talking. You had gone back to school part-time, slowly finishing your chemistry degree.

And your intimacy with Kento? It had started to come back. Well, not fully. Not like it used to be. But you were trying your hardest with everything. You wanted to make sure that you could do it again. Your husband was waiting, and he deserved it. He deserved your love so much more than anyone.

You started off small. You started to hold hands and then you started kissing him again. You started letting him touch you again. You even started making love again. Though it still wasn’t what it once was. You didn’t initiate it. You didn’t crave it. You just… let it happen. Because you wanted to be close to him. You wanted to fix what was broken.

Yet, Kento was still distant. Not in the obvious way, no. Kento still loved you. Fiercely. Deeply. His hands were still gentle when he brushed your hair behind your ear. His voice was still soft when he murmured his devotions to you every morning. His kisses were still warm when he kissed you goodbye.

But in his eyes, you could see his eyes so clearly. His eyes always looked starved. Like he was still reaching for something you wouldn’t give him. Like no matter how hard you tried, it would never be enough. And deep down, you knew. You would never be able to give that to him ever again.

You saw it. Every night when he rolled over, half-hard in bed, but he wouldn’t touch you. Every morning when he’d linger in the shower, his back to you, his hand clenched into a fist. Every time you let him inside you, and you could feel the heartbreak in his touch, like he was still waiting for you to love him the way you used to.

And you hated yourself for it.

But you never thought…….

You never thought he’d cheat.

Until one day, you saw the message.

You were on his phone. It wasn’t intentional. His phone was sitting on the coffee table while he was in the shower, and it buzzed. You didn’t think much of it at first — just a glance, a mindless reflex. But then you saw the notification. A text message. From a number you didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was married.”

And your blood ran cold instantly.

You froze as your pupils dilated.

Your hand shook as you unlocked his phone. His password was your anniversary, for fuck’s sake and when you opened the message thread… It was all there. The proof.

It was from months ago. At least half a year. Some random woman. The messages were fragmented. But clearly, Kento had deleted most of them. But there was enough. Enough to piece it together.

The first message was from her. “Hey, I had fun last night :) Let me know if you ever want to do it again.”

And then his response — curt. “I can’t continue on with this. I’m married. I love my wife. And….I have a daughter.”

Then her response. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

And that was it. But it didn’t fucking matter. Because the implication was there. The truth was there. Kento had slept with her. He had fucked her. He had cheated on you. He decided to go on with this, swallowed by the need and by lust.

And you just… You just sat there. Staring at the message. Feeling like the ground was ripped from beneath you. And the thing that destroyed you most was that you weren’t even surprised. Because you knew. You always knew.

You saw it in his eyes every single day. That hunger. That emptiness. That quiet, unspoken need for something you weren’t giving him. And you thought you were fixing it. You thought you were trying. But clearly… clearly it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t confront him immediately. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You didn’t throw his phone at him the second he walked out of the bathroom. You didn’t do anything. You just… sat there. And thought about it.

And the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense.

Of course he cheated.

Of course he did.

You deprived him for years. You denied him your body. You made him watch you suffer, made him sleep beside you every night knowing he couldn’t touch you, made him ache for you in ways you never fulfilled. That’s the worst part. You understood. You understood why he did it. That was the part that made you nauseous.

Because the truth was you had already broken his heart long before he ever stepped out of your marriage. You had pushed him away for so long, turned cold for so long, denied him for so long — that at some point, he just stopped waiting.

And you didn’t blame him.

You hated him. God, you hated him.

But you understood. And you still loved him.

What a foolish game for a wallflower to grow on.

And when he finally came out of the bathroom, his hair still damp, towel slung over his shoulder, flashing you that soft, tired smile. You didn’t say a word. You just kissed him. Hard. Desperate. Like you hadn’t just been crushed to death by your heartbreak.

You grabbed his face, pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his like you were trying to rewrite history. Trying to pretend like you didn’t know what you knew. Trying to convince yourself that he was still yours. Kento froze for half a second, shocked by your sudden affection but then his hands snapped around your waist and he melted into you.

“Baby….” he gasped against your mouth, his voice needy, aching. “Fuck….. what’s gotten into you?”

You don’t say a word to him. Instead, you just clung to him. Like if you held him tight enough, like you could somehow undo the fact that he had already been touched by someone else. You let him take you that night. Hard. Rough. Desperate.

You let him fuck you like he hadn’t been able to for years, you let him do as he pleased. You let him crumble into you. His mouth on your neck, his hands fisting your hair, his voice breaking as he gasped over and over —“I love you. God, I love you.”

And you let him. Because in some fucked up way, you felt like you owed it to him, after making him suffer for so long. You spent years starving him, depriving him of life. So it was only fair that he found his comfort somewhere else.…Right?

Yet you stayed up after all that love making, alone.

No, you knew the correct answer all along.

But you were just too much of a fool to say it out loud.

AND JUST LIKE THAT, IT HAPPENS ALL OVER AGAIN. Once again, you were pregnant with your second child. It wasn’t planned. You never wanted any more children, after all that had happened. But it happened. Yet it wasn’t that surprising. In some ways, this was the only way you could find yourself taking revenge against him. To make him just as miserable as you again.

Just weeks after you found out about his cheating, after you spent night after night letting him have you in every way he wanted, desperately trying to reclaim him, trying to erase the touch of another woman from his skin. You found yourself standing in the bathroom again, clutching a positive pregnancy test. And your stomach dropped.

Because the second those two pink lines stared back at you, you knew. The cycle was about to repeat. The suffocating weight of motherhood. The slow erosion of your identity. The same cold distance that once consumed your marriage was about to happen all over again. And the worst part was that you couldn’t even blame anyone but yourself.

Because you let him touch you again. You wanted to feel wanted, and to take revenge. You wanted to erase every part of every other woman’s palm on his. You opened your legs for him, night after night, desperate to keep him anchored to you, desperate to make him forget about the other woman and now, you were paying the price.

And when you told Kento, he broke. But not in the same way he did the first time. Not with pure, unfiltered joy. Not with a beaming smile and hopeful eyes. No, this time, Kento’s face crumpled. Yet you know that look on his face. It was just like the first time.

“Baby—” his voice cracked. “You’re….. oh my god, you’re pregnant again?”

And the heartbreak in his voice killed you. Because you knew. You knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking we’re not ready. He was thinking not again. He was thinking I just got her back. And now, it is happening again. Yet, you just knew in the back of his mind, he was thinking this was his punishment. This is what he gets for being the worst man on the earth.

The sleepless nights. Postpartum depression. The intimacy issues. The slow unraveling of your marriage. And you could see it, the fear in his eyes. Yet, your husband Kento pushed it down. Because he was Kento fucking Nanami. He was a husband. A father. A provider. And regardless of how horrified he was, he refused to let you see it.

So he smiled.

Or at least, he tried to.

Yet you both knew the truth.

That smile felt like the biggest lie.

“That’s amazing, baby.” he choked, his voice strained. “Another baby. That’s… that’s incredible.”

And then he kissed you, soft and hesitant, like he was forcing himself to be happy. And you felt it. You felt the hesitation. The dread. The underlying regret. But you didn’t say anything. Because you were the one who let it happen. And just like that, the cycle began again.

Kento started working more. He said it was to provide for the baby, but you knew better. You knew it was because he was terrified. Because he was already bracing himself for what was about to come for you to spiral again, for you to shut down again, for you to stop loving him again.

You tried not to fall into the same pit you did last time. You tried to stay upbeat. You tried to keep loving Kento — loving him hard enough to make up for the fact that he once touched another woman. You tried to be a good wife. You tried to be excited about the baby.

But slowly… it just happened again.

The nausea. The fatigue. The aching loneliness when Kento came home late. The bitterness when you saw happy women on campus who still had their futures. The slow, creeping resentment every time you looked at your growing belly and thought I didn’t want this.

And worst of all, you started pulling away from Kento again. Not on purpose. But your body remembered. Your body associated pregnancy with trauma, with pain, with suffering and so it shut down. You couldn’t help it. Every time Kento touched you, your skin crawled. Every time he kissed you, you flinched. Every time he tried to make love to you, you just froze.

Kento felt it.

He felt you slipping away.

He felt your body turning cold again.

He felt the weight of your touchless nights,

He felt your silent dinners, your empty stares again.

And you knew.

You knew it was happening all over again.

But this time — it was worse.

Now you couldn’t stop thinking about her. The woman he had slept with. The one he turned to when you couldn’t love him the way he needed. And every time Kento touched you, you couldn’t help but lay there and wonder over and over again.

Did she feel warmer than you?

Did she kiss him like she wanted him?

Did she make him feel loved in a way you never could?

Kento could see it.

He could see the way you recoiled when he reached for you. He could see the distance growing between you again. He could see the guilt burning you alive. And he hated himself. Because the truth was, he never stopped loving you.

Even when he cheated. Even when he fucked another woman. It was never about love. It was never about you. It was about the ache. The desperation. The years of feeling like he was losing you and just needing something to hold onto. Now he felt like he was losing you again.

And deep down, he knew.

You were never coming back to him.

Not fully. Not the way you used to.

And Kento was slowly breaking under the weight of it.

Because no matter how much he loved you, it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough to keep you from falling out of love with him.

This is the world you gave birth to Nanami Kenshin.

LIFE GOES ON AS THEY USED TO SAY. Twenty five years, two whole decades and a half of that since you and Kento had first stepped into this chaotic life together. And somehow, despite everything, you made it.

You had raised two kids, a boy and a girl. Your Keiko and your Kenshin. They were both smart, both stubborn, both carrying that unmistakable sharpness in their eyes that mirrored your husband as much as their compassion had been garnered from your heart.

In all that agony you had come to know in your life, the pair kept you busy with almost everything they could think of. Troublemaking, homework, soccer games, dance recitals, late-night fevers. Everything about it is the messy, beautiful chaos of parenting that somehow keeps you moving forward.

And then there was Kento’s career, near thirty years as a veteran in the industry. He had gone from being the promising newcomer to a household name. Red carpets. Magazine covers. Award ceremonies where his face shone on giant screens as he walked up to accept yet another trophy. The world adored him. Respected him. Envied him.

And you were right there beside him for all of it.

The photographers always wanted you in the frame. His beautiful wife, standing gracefully at his side, draped in sleek designer dresses and glittering jewelry. They loved the way you smiled for the cameras, how your hand always rested delicately on his arm, how you played the part of the elegant, unwavering woman who had supported her husband through it all.

And for a while, you convinced yourself that this was enough.

That this life, this carefully curated image of family perfection, was what happiness was.

You learned to smile in interviews, to talk about Kento’s dedication as a father and how proud you were of him. You learned to navigate the world of high society — dinner parties with producers, mingling with other industry wives, slipping into that role of effortless charm and poise.

But behind all the glitz and glamour, it was lonely.

With two kids to raise, and a husband to care for, there was little for you.

There was no room for you to be the woman you are.

Kento was rarely home. Always on set, always in meetings, always flying across the country for some event or another. And when he was home, he was exhausted. Conversations grew shorter. His kisses felt rushed. The intimacy you’d once fought so hard to reclaim began to fade again — not because you didn’t want him, but because he was never there.

You kept yourself busy. Raising the kids. Managing the house.

Smiling at galas, posing for cameras, over and over again.

Playing the part of the perfect wife in a perfect marriage.

But sometimes, when the house was dark and the kids were asleep, you’d sit alone in the living room clutching an old photograph from years ago, back when Kento’s hair was still short and his smile still reached his eyes and wonder if this was all there was left.

And maybe it wasn’t enough.

But you told yourself it had to be.

Because you had already sacrificed too much to turn back now.

So, you didn’t think of anything when it broke out in the headlines.

Kento Nanami, the beloved actor, devoted husband, father of two had allegedly been caught cheating again after nearly twenty five years of marriage.

You sat at the kitchen table, having breakfast like normal. The morning sun spilled through the windows, the smell of eggs and coffee filling the air, and the faint sound of the television humming in the background.

“Sources say the woman in question is a production assistant from his latest drama series—”

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look up.

You just kept stirring your coffee, like the words meant absolutely nothing to you. Kento, on the other hand, was frozen. Fork halfway to his mouth. Face pale. Chest rising and falling like he was trying not to hyperventilate. And then, slowly, ever so carefully, he turned his head and looked at you.

“…Are you alright?” His voice cracked.

And that’s when you smiled.

You smiled, soft and easy. Like none of it mattered. Like you weren’t currently listening to the entire nation gossip about your husband’s infidelity. Like you weren’t being branded the foolish, pathetic wife who stayed after her husband cheated twice. Like you weren’t dying inside.

And with a voice far too calm, you said, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kento’s entire face crumpled.

Because he knew.

He fucking knew.

That wasn’t real. That smile.

That sweetness. That unbothered facade.

It was performative.

It was the same smile you gave him after your first child was born, when you were drowning in postpartum depression but still told him “I’m fine” over and over again.

It was the same smile you gave him one hundred times when he told you he was going to be late at home tonight, when he didn’t have to be.

And now, now you are doing it all over again. Feigning nonchalance. Feigning strength. Feigning normalcy. And it destroyed him to bits beyond what he could stand.

“…Baby.” his voice cracked, his fork clattering against his plate. “You don’t have to…. I mean, we can talk about it if you want. I’ll….I’ll explain everything. I swear to god, it’s not what they’re saying—”

You laughed so heartily.

A soft, almost amused laugh.

And you took a sip of your coffee, still smiling. “I don’t need you to explain anything, Kento.”

His stomach dropped. “Wh–what?”

You met his gaze and your smile never wavered. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

And fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Kento’s mouth fell open. “Baby….no. It’s not like that….I swear I—”

“It’s alright.” You cut him off smoothly. Calmly. Almost too calmly. “Really. I don’t want an explanation.”

Kento visibly flinched. His heart was hammering so loud he swore you could hear it. “…You don’t?”

You shook your head, taking another bite of your eggs. “No. I’m just glad you had fun.”

And Kento lost it.

“Baby….” His voice cracked violently, his chair scraping against the floor as he immediately dropped to his knees beside you, clutching your thigh like his life depended on it. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out again. Please, baby. Please yell at me. Cry. Scream. Break things. Just…. don’t act like you don’t care. Please. Please, baby, I know you care—”

You laughed again.

But this time — it was hollow.

“I don’t.” you said plainly, popping a piece of toast into your mouth.

And that broke Kento completely, you were sure.

“No, no, that’s not true.” his voice shattered, his grip on your thigh desperate. “You love me. I know you do. You still love me. Please don’t….don’t act like you don’t….. I’ll fix it, baby. I swear to god, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”

“Fix it?” you echoed, your voice soft. Curious. “Like you did the first time?”

Kento fucking froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Because you never talked about it. Ever. After his first affair, you never once brought it up. You forgave him in the silence. Or at least, you pretended to. You shoved it down, pretended it never happened, and let Kento crawl back into your arms without consequence.

Now you were smiling at him like he was nothing more than a pitiful stranger. “Your ears work fine, don’t they?”

“…I don’t know what to say.” he choked. His hands were shaking. His throat constricted. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please….please just tell me what to do. I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

The look in your eyes killed him.

“Don’t leave you?” you continued, your voice sickly sweet. “Don’t abandon you like you abandoned me when I needed you the most? Don’t make you feel like I loved someone else the way you made me feel for years?”

Tears burned his eyes. “Baby, please—”

“It’s fine, Kento.” You smiled again. “Really. I’m not mad.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You sipped your coffee. “I’m not anything.”

And Kento completely unraveled.

Because he could see it.

The way you looked at him now. Like he was just a man. Not your husband. Not your Kento. Not the love of your life. Just a man who happened to share your bed, your house, and your children. And it killed him.

“Do you still love me?” he finally choked out, his voice so small.

And you froze.

Just for a second.

But then you smiled again.

Just as soft, sweet, cold as before.

“Of course, I do.”

And that was the sick part, wasn’t it?

You did. You still loved him. You loved him with your entire fucking soul. You loved him so much that it hurt. You loved him and you hated him with equal intensity. It was two sides of the same coin and it was tearing you apart.

And yet even if you do love him, you know what should be.

Kento didn’t deserve that love anymore.

And even if you have to act like you don’t love him, so be it.

Let him suffer the amount of suffering you had over that time.

So you kissed his forehead, brushed his hair back, and whispered. “You should finish your breakfast. You have work later.”

And then you stood up from your seat, cigarette on your lips.

And left him sobbing on the kitchen floor, lamenting.

You had errands left to run, after all.

A wife has too much to do, you know?

1K notes · View notes

illyrianbitch · 3 months ago

Text

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Rhys was trying to be serious.

He truly, truly was.

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore.

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing.

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all.

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered.

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her.

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more.

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up.

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?”

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.”

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you.

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy.

”Can I see it?” You asked.

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.”

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye.

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings.

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you.

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm. “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.”

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip. “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious.

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache.

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence. “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow.

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said.

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care.

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.”

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Another pause.

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision.

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed.

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else.

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?”

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it.

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out. Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort.

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt.

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned. For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved.

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more.

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray. A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words.

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry.

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more.

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed. “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh. He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest.

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.”

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple.

You’d done it for Azriel.

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair.

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel. “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now.

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different.

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke. You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?”

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said.

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say.

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene.

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion.

“So... how do I look?”

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Five

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

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@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

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beloveds-embrace · 4 months ago

Note

Neglected omega reader who got taken care of by someone else. Nikolai or Konig. The drama ✨✨

I hope i did KorTac justice, I’ve never written them before except König lol @nightunite pspspsps i have nikto crumbs 🙏🏻

Neglected omega reader p1 + p2

KorTac had always liked you.

From the very first moment they’d met you, they’d been drawn in- pulled by the quiet gravity of your presence and the sharp edge of your competence. You were quick on your feet, sharp with a knife, steady under pressure. Smart and resourceful in a way that demanded respect.

But more than that?

You had heart.

You’d been assigned to their unit during a joint operation months ago. Just a temporary deployment, only meant to last a few weeks, but it had been long enough for them to notice things- little things they hadn’t been able to forget.

The way you’d patched König up without hesitation after a mission went sideways, hands steady even as blood slicked your fingers. The way you’d shared your rations with Horangi after a supply drop came in light, brushing off his protests with a stubborn glare. The way you’d sat quietly beside Nikto on watch, not asking questions when he didn’t feel like talking but always ready to listen when he did.

They noticed you, and they liked what they saw.

Liked the way you worked. Liked the way you took care of your team without ever expecting anything in return. Liked the way you carried yourself- confident but kind. Fierce but soft.

But you weren’t theirs. Couldn’t be.

You belonged to 141, and KorTac had backed off, unwilling to overstep boundaries when you already had a pack waiting for you at home. They’d told themselves it was fine- they were fine- watching from a distance.

But then you came back.

Alone.

Hollow-eyed and sharp-edged, moving like a ghost through the halls of the base, and suddenly?

All bets were off.

The first time König sees you in such a state, it’s in the corridor outside the mess hall.

You don’t look up when he walks by, don’t even seem to notice the sheer weight of his presence as he slows, lingering just long enough to let his shadow stretch over you. You’re leaning against the wall like you’re trying to hold yourself together, arms wrapped tight around your middle, shoulders curled inward. Small. Smaller than he’s ever seen you look before. Smaller than he’d ever thought he’d ever see you.

His instincts itch- Omega, alone, hurting- but you’re not his. And still…

His eyes track the tired slump of your shoulders, the way your clothes hang loose, like you’ve been skipping meals. He scents the air. Picks up the faded traces of peach and rose, but there’s something sour underneath- bitter and wrong, like spoiled fruit. König’s stomach twists.

It’s the scent of neglect.

You should never have looked like this. You should have never smelled like this.

Not you. Not the Omega who had once dragged him out of the line of fire without hesitation, barking orders and holding the line until reinforcements arrived. Not the Omega who had once laughed with him under a tin roof during a monsoon, eyes bright.

The smell lingers after he walks away, clinging to the back of his throat like smoke. But it’s the emptiness of it- the hollowness- that keeps him awake that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering which one of those 141 bastards let their Omega rot like this.

The next time König sees you, it’s in the armory.

You’re cataloging weapons, checking and re-checking the tags with mechanical precision, but your hands shake when you reach for the next one. Just a little. Just enough for him to notice.

König moves closer. Quiet, but not too quiet- he doesn’t want to startle you. You don’t look up until his shadow stretches over your workbench, and when you do, the look in your eyes hits him like a gut-punch.

Flat. Guarded. Resigned.

Like you’re expecting him to scold you.

König’s heart cracks wide open. He grips the edge of the table just to keep from reaching out.

“Doing good work.” He says softly, and you just blink.

It’s such a small thing- barely even a compliment- but your throat bobs like you’re swallowing something down. Then you duck your head and go back to your task, not looking at him again.

But you don’t flinch.

Not this time.

Nikto is next, and he doesn’t hesitate.

He remembers you. Remembers the way you’d stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the rain, eyes scanning the horizon with sharp focus as you both waited for the enemy to make their move.

You hadn’t been scared. Not even a little.

And now?

He catches you outside the rec room, sitting on the stairs with your knees drawn up to your chest. You don’t even react when he approaches, just keep staring at the floor like it might swallow you whole.

Now, you look like you’re drowning.

So Nikto doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t say anything. Just crouches down beside you and sets a cup of coffee at your feet before walking away.

You stare at it for almost five minutes before finally picking it up.

The next morning, he does it again. Same cup. Same coffee. Same wordless offering.

It becomes a routine- something quiet and steady, something you can rely on when everything else feels too heavy.

And then there’s Horangi, who pushes the hardest.

He pushes, because he knows you can take it.

You had before- back when you’d yelled at him for ignoring orders and running off alone, eyes blazing as you shoved him back toward the evac point. He’d liked your fire back then, liked the way you didn’t back down even when he towered over you.

But now?

Now your fire’s gone out, and there’s only one group to blame.

So Horangi pushes. Tests the waters, pokes at the edges, trying to find the spark he knows is still there. He is the loudest of the three, sharp and quick with his words, but he also knows when to keep them soft. He finds you cleaning your gear one night and sits down beside you without asking.

“You missed dinner.” He says casually, pulling out a protein bar and tossing it onto your lap. Pushing past the bubble you’ve wrapped around yourself, yet not being overbearing or too much.

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not your Alpha,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t have to listen to me.”

You close your mouth. Look down at the protein bar. Then, without a word, you tear it open and take a bite.

Horangi grins. And just like that, he’s in.

And when you finally- finally- smile at one of his jokes?

He knows he’s got you.

141 starts noticing the shift almost immediately. Soap catches König lingering near you in the gym, eyes following the curve of your spine as you stretch, and something inside him snaps.

Ghost sees Nikto brush his fingers against yours when he hands you something, and his jaw clenches so tight he can hear his teeth grind.

Price overhears Horangi making you laugh- a real, honest-to-God laugh, a sound he can’t hear any longer even in his dreams- and has to excuse himself before he says something he can’t take back.

It gets worse when your scent starts to change; the bitterness fades first, then the sourness.

The first time Price catches a hint of warmth blooming underneath, it stops him dead in his tracks.

Because it isn’t for him. It isn’t for them.

It’s even worse to know that they drove you to it, and have no one to blame but themselves.

They let you fall through the cracks. Let the weight of their own issues and distractions leave you stranded in the dark, too far away for them to pull you back when they finally noticed you were gone.

And now? Now KorTac is picking up the pieces, with no hesitation.

König steadies you. Makes sure you eat, makes sure you rest, makes sure you feel safe even when the world outside is crumbling. Doesn’t push you away when you, big hand lingering on the curve of your spine until his scent is left there.

Nikto grounds you. Offers quiet comfort without demands, without expectations. Makes sure you know he’s there, always there, steady and unshakable. A lighthouse in the stormy seas, the hand that pulls you out of the swirling ocean.

Horangi pushes and pushes. Draws out smiles and laughter, reminds you what it feels like to be wanted. Finds excuses to bump shoulders or brush against you when you pass, just to see if you’ll let him.

And you do. You let all of them, slowly greeting them with the quietest little purr (cat activation noise).

Because it’s easier to be wanted by them than it is to be unwanted by your own pack.

And slowly- so slowly it hurts- you start to come back to life; your scent changes. Softens. Warms. The bitterness fades and the sourness disappears.

And all they can do is only watch as König takes the space they abandoned. As Nikto feeds the hunger they ignored. As Horangi brings back the fire they let burn out.

And they can’t do a damn thing about it.

Because the truth is- KorTac wanted you from the start, and now that they’ve got you?

They’re never letting go.

#noona.asks #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #cod imagines #kortac x you #kortac x reader #könig x you #könig x reader #konig x you #konig x reader #horangi x you #horangi x reader #nikto x reader #nikto x you #cod omegaverse

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juletheghoul · 6 months ago

Text

ache

a/n: another dope, unhinged request that sent me clean into the sun. I will have girl reciprocate in another chapter! Thanks so much for loving my version of Marcus, hopefully you like where this is going. This is un-beta'd, barely edited. All mistakes and errors are mine! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! (this is before chapter IX)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus' pov, Marcus makes girlie squirt, *feelings*, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

----

He’d been away from his home for longer than he wished to be. Away from her.

He’d been resigned to be gone for two days, three if he was being generous. That was the time he’d been prepared to spare. Those three days had stretched to three weeks.

An endless parade of niceties and feasts and courtesies extended. His presence was essential it seemed, and so he’d had to grit and bear it. He’d slept in those foreign beds and craved her warmth, her smell and her touch so much so that a rage filled him, a restlessness that only soured his mood more and more.

Had he not put his foot down he might have been gone from his house for three months instead of three weeks. He’d fought wars quicker than this.

Only when he was on his journey back home, back to her did the smile return to his face. Only waning when his journey had taken longer than expected, and by the time he’d finally stepped foot inside his house the moon was high, and she was sleeping peacefully in her bed. He’d watched her for a time from her doorway, almost willing her to sense him and wake. She didn’t, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb her, so he retreated back to his chambers and fell into a fitful sleep.

Even in his dreams, she haunted him. He could smell her, feel the warm clutch of her cunt around his cock, hear her passion in his ear. He could taste her lips, could feel himself spilling inside her.

He woke with a gasp, cock aching, heart racing and sweat beading on his brow. The moon was still bright, and the hour late, or early, he could not tell. The only thing he knew for certain was that if he didn’t go to her now, he’d die.

The heavy blanket of sleep shifts to gossamer, fine as silk. The dream, so clear just a moment ago slips away, forgotten as your room comes back into focus. A heavy weight presses beside you, a soft caress pulls you further into wakefulness. Too tired to be scared, you turn towards the feeling, the soft press of familiar lips at your shoulder and are both startled, and delighted to see your Dominus in bed with you. He’d been gone so long, you almost wept to be within his embrace once more.

“Dominus, you’re home.” It’s not a question, more a sleepy, contented statement.

“Yes, Girl, I am at last home.” You press closer, heart swelling that he would crawl into your bed with you. His passion so great, it pressed hot and hard against your belly. “I dreamt about you Girl, could not wait until morning.” His hands roamed, sweeping from your back down to grab at your ass, pulling you ever closer in the quiet dark of your chamber.

“You dreamt about me Dominus?” You smiled into the warm skin of his neck, butterflies swarming in your belly at his confession.

“Yes Girl, I was hoping you would be awake when I got home, I wanted you so bad I ached but you were asleep and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. I found no peace in sleep, even in my dreams I craved you.” His lips descend, soft and so welcome where they meet yours, his tongue insistent. “Did you miss me Girl?” He shifts, pushing you onto your back and fitting himself between your thighs. the heft of him makes your cunt turn to liquid. The absence of him these three long weeks had been difficult, so accustomed had you become to him taking you that feeling him now could have made you weep with joy.

“Yes Dominus, I have been so empty without you, I have missed the feel of you here–” You reach down and grasp him in hand, delighting in the gasp he breathes into your face and guide him into your soaked cunt. “I missed you here Dominus, needed you here desperately. I have gone without your gift for so long.”

His forehead is pressed to yours, your legs bent and high on his ribs while you both catch your breath. Your heart races as he adjusts and rests on his arms, bracketed around your skull. Your nipples harden against his chest as he presses soft kisses to your face, your cunt leaks when he starts to move, a slow, but heavy thrust. His cock is so stiff, so filling that it takes a moment for you to adjust, for that stretching burn to subside.

The moans slip out with every push and pull of his hips into yours and when you move your legs a little higher and tilt your hips he hits something divine. His cock pressing against an undiscovered, almost forbidden part of you with every roll of his hips.

“Is that where you like it?” He keeps his stroke steady, hitting the spot he knows he’s found and you can barely form a thought, all you can focus on is the fullness, on the delicious feeling in your hips, in the deepest part of you. “Answer me Girl, did you miss me fucking you?” He doesn’t speed up, only thrusts harder.

“Yes Dominus, yes, I missed it so much–” He moans and it heightens the pleasure building in your core, in the base of your spine. His tongue is obscene in your mouth, your hands clutch at him, moving from where they clawed at his back up to curl into his waves, gripping at him like talons.

His pace picks up, faster, harder and the feeling grows, something heavy, something altogether too big building unlike anything you've ever felt before. Big enough to almost frighten you. You pull away from his kiss, frantic to warn him.

“Dominus, wait–something–God’s above–” You moan out because he doesn’t stop, he only shifts cat-quick to push at the back of your thigh up towards your chest, opening you up wider and hitting at that same spot harder.

It’s so loud, the wet plunge of him into the cunt he owns, the cunt that weeps and gapes for him and him alone. Your heart races, sweat beads at your hairline and his, the sound of the bed rocking with his movements; all of it ignored and unimportant compared to the feeling.

“Dominus–” your eyes drift down to where he fucks into you, hands pressing at his chest as the crushing wave inside finally crests.

Your body pushes him out with a wet gush and a scream. Your hands claw at him, your body bows almost on its own as you soak him in your climax. He doesn’t stop, instead he holds you down, his strength showing it’s face as he fucks you through the strongest climax of your life.

“That’s it Girl, take it, take my cock, and my gift.” He groans it, filling you to the brim despite your inability to do anything but lay there under him, soul outside your body, and shake with the force of the pleasure he’d given you.

He smiles as he cleans himself after, moving to you to wipe down the mess he’d made of your sex.

Your legs still shake.

“I had heard rumours in my youth that if you were skilled enough, you could pleasure a woman enough to make her burst like a fountain.” He has a smugness about him as he presses the damp cloth to your skin. You are silent still, shocked at the way he’d made you feel, at what he’d made your body do. “You are the first to prove them right. Have you ever done that before, Girl? Has any other man ever made you do that?”

“No Dominus, I have never felt anything like that before.” A shyness creeps in, a vulnerability you don’t know how to express. Your eyes cannot quite meet his and despite the pride you can see in him, he senses it.

“Did you enjoy it? I do not want to chase that again if you did not enjoy it.” He tosses the rag back into your basin, and slips into your bed with you, gathering you into his arms. You are grateful to feel his warmth, to have the comfort of his embrace.

“I did Dominus, I enjoyed it immensely, I am just–I–I,” You stutter, unsure how to explain how you feel and the curiously emotional response that amount of pleasure has borne in you.

“What is it Girl, tell me. I wish to understand.” He pulls you into the crook of his neck, his hands rubbing at your back.

“I do not know Dominus, It is strange. The pleasure was great, greater than any other time we have lain together but it is so much more. It is as though now I am tied to you, I cannot get close enough. If you leave me here now, in this bed I shall die without you.” A shyness creeps in and warms your face, an embarrassment at the intense need you have for him now. So much more than when you are aroused.

“I will not leave you, Girl. I would never leave you. I must confess, seeing how much you enjoyed that changed me as well.” He pulls your sheet up, tucking the both of you in for what is left of the night. “There is an intense pride in me now, that I could be the one to make you feel that good.”

“You always make me feel good, Dominus.” You press your lips to his neck, rubbing at his chest while you make yourself comfortable in his embrace.

“As do you, Girl. I was a mess while away from this house, away from you.” You smile into his neck before moving up to press your lips to his. There is no more need for words after that, instead you both fall into an easy rhythm of soft kisses, and gentle sweeps of your palms. A reacquainting of yourselves with one another, as though it’s been years since your last meeting instead of less than a moon’s turn.

In the safety of the dark, it was okay. The lines of your roles could be blurred, you could kiss him as often as you pleased, you could press yourself closer, and speak words of devotion without fear. You could ignore that this was a slaves bed and not his place.

When morning came, you would wake alone and serve once more, but here, in the dark; that could wait.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x female reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #the general

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pseudowho · 4 months ago

Text

"Now, gently release the clutch as you press the accelerat-- gent--ly-- Yuu--ji--"

"--shi--t--I'm--try--ing--Na--Na--Min!"

"--lan--language, Yuu--Yuuji, a lamp-post! Brake!"

"Shit! I mean, fuck!"

Kento's voice rose, punctuating each lurching stall of the car in first gear. You watched in despair from a distance.

Kento's car, far too powerful in the hands of a teenager, jolted and hiccuped across the evening skyline. The once quiet car park was polluted with screeches and grinding.

You held your head in your hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Teaching Itadori Yuuji to drive was surely the 9th circle of hell.

Over the weeks prior, Kento had tried explaining the mechanics of driving more. He had tried explaining them less. He had tried showing Yuuji videos, and diagrams.

Kento had pulled his hair out, and even considered sitting Yuuji on his lap like a child, and encouraging Yuuji to press Kento's own feet upon the pedals.

You had told Kento that his last idea was utterly mad, and Kento had slumped in resignation and poured himself a second, bigger drink.

The drive back to Yuuji's dorms, at least, was smooth. Kento's shoulders were tense, mountains beneath navy twill. Yuuji looked awkward in the rearview mirror. He broke the silence with a mumble.

"Maybe...maybe I'm not ready to drive yet, Nanamin."

Quiet. The car purred to a stop at the traffic lights. Your eyes flicked to your husband. His voice was quiet, too; measured.

"Any new skill takes practice. It takes time, Yuuji. We'll go out again in a few days. I know you'll get there. I...I believe you'll get there."

And so, Kento and Yuuji did drive again. And again. And again. And again.

Kento came home more dishevelled each time; first, with mussed hair; then, with mussed hair and sweatstains; then, with mussed hair and sweatstains and a straggly, loose tie.

"Maybe he's not ready to drive yet," Kento grumbled into a whiskey one evening, his elbows planted on his knees and his head in one hand. He had dropped Yuuji home in a courtesy car this time.

His own car, with grisly tire arch damage, had been stretchered away to a mechanic as Yuuji bowed with tears in his eyes and stuttered promises of compensation.

Kento wouldn't hear a word of it, but you could see the fissures of anxiety rending him fragile. You could see the numbers racking up in his line of vision; the deep breath and wince as his insurance premiums rose.

"Maybe...maybe he just needs a bit of a push?" You mulled one night, as Kento sat on the sofa, obsessively researching methods to make Yuuji anything less than a hazard behind the wheel.

"Absolutely not," Kento grumbled, his face illuminated by his laptop. "What he needs is some control. Some self-discipline--"

"--Kento, come on, he's just a boy--"

"--and he'll be a man, soon!" Kento snapped, cold and dismissive. You gritted your teeth, knowing there was no arguing with him, when he was like this; when stress had rendered him dogmatic. You bit your tongue to stop the venom leaking out.

"Fine. Just...don't take it out on him."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento's tone was barely schooled. The air in the car ran thick with tension.

"So you press the clutch down, release the accelerator, and slip into second ge-- clutch down-- clutch down-- Yuuji!"

A horrible grind, a crunch, and a stall. Yuuji and Kento lurched forwards. Yuuji's mouth puckered up into a mortified grimace once more. In the back seat, you opened your mouth to reassure Yuuji, but Kento cut across.

"Enough. Enough. You're not ready, Yuuji. Perhaps you won't ever be."

You felt the same knives that Yuuji did. You turned to look at Kento, stunned. You heard, rather than saw, the tears brimming on Yuuji's lashes; his voice was thick as he spoke, barely audible.

"...'m sorry, Nanamin."

You waited until Yuuji was well inside his room, that evening, before you swept past Kento like a winter wind. Kento flinched, and turned to watch you go, silent. Minutes later, as he slid into bed to join you, the silence stretched longer, gravid and expectant. Eventually, Kento spoke.

"I just think...he needs a bit more control, and I'm...I'm sorry--"

"You can't control everything, Kento. Why are you apologising to me?"

It was Kento's turn to feel the knives.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento wouldn't have blamed Yuuji for abandoning the mission, and leaving him to die.

This woodland shrine, mountain-nestled and ravaged by time, had no business being as cursed as it was.

"Grade Two, my arse," spat Kento, staggering out onto the moss-gravel path, with blood dripping from his hands. They were crushed; agony, and Kento's face twisted in pain. He could hardly hold his blade, let alone holster it. "Yuuji-- you've got to get out of here--"

A peachy blur; a boot-gravel skrrrrrr. Yuuji skid out of the shrine, dropping to his haunches beside Kento.

"What do you mean 'you've' got to get out of here?" Yuuji yelped, dodging flung debris from the beast that followed them. Kento swore, reaching one mashed hand into his pocket for his car keys and--

-- Kento froze. He stared at his battered, bloody hands in mute horror. He looked up to his car, through the windscreen, and at the steering wheel which he could not turn,q and blanched.

Yuuji panted, slowly deflating as he watched Kento unravel.

Never before had he seen true horror seep into Nanami Kento. Never before had he watched the light leave Kento's eyes, to be replaced by the looming spectre of certain death.

It made Yuuji's heart clench; and Yuuji decided.

Kento grunted in surprise as Yuuji's hands shot into his tan pockets. "Yuuji-- Yuuji! What are you doing? Leave--"

"Get in the car," Yuuji ordered, already yanking Kento over slippery cobblestones by the elbow. The earth rumbled behind them, their time running short.

"--Yuuji-- you can't drive--"

Yuuji slammed his hands on the hood of the car, and roared, "Shut the fuck up, Nanamin! And get in the fucking car!"

Kento's jaw dropped, pearl-clutching, gravely offended. He opened his mouth to argue, and Yuuji interrupted, ripping the passenger door open and shoving Kento in (who made a muted little 'ouch') with no decorum.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, 'language Yuuji'-- shut the fuck up-- and do as you're told, Nanamin--"

A monstrous thing, a curse of a Curse, punched out of the shrine with explosive force, as Yuuji slammed himself into the drivers' seat.

Still being regarded by Kento with mute horror, Yuuji leaned over Kento and his mangled hands, and pulled his seatbelt on. Yuuji gripped the wheel, turned the key, and took a deep breath.

And boy, how he drove.

Kento's arms flung sideways, slung like an unstrung marionette as Yuuji shot the car into reverse with staggering speed, and spun it into forward facing, to wheel-screech and half-donuts.

Yuuji's foot hit the floor.

Kento barked encouragement at him, as their speed rose, and the creature chasing them sped up to match, with a roar muffled by engine roar.

"--clutch-- 3rd gear-- build your speed! 4th! Put your foot down! Good boy, Yuuji!

Yuuji turned the volume up-- the radio blared. The sound of thundering footsteps quickened behind them. So Yuuji jumped to 5th gear, and flew.

Yuuji grinned, whooping like a howler monkey, driving Kento through branches and over tiny cliffs, swerving trees and leaves and logs and stones and river bridges until--

"Shit-- Yuuji-- blind spot--"

Yuuji laughed, and Kento groaned into his forearm to see one of his wing mirrors ripped off and left behind, the car juddering and slamming and skidding until--

Crash!

The car broke through foliage into glorious daylight, skidding to a halt on an empty dirt road. Yuuji panted. Kento panted. The second wing mirror fell off. The engine smoked. Yuuji turned slowly to Kento, his face falling.

Kento huffed, a rueful half-smile on his bloodied face.

"Mrs.Nanamin said you just needed a push. I should have known. You always were a clutch hitter, Yuuji."

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star-har · 3 months ago

Text

Five more minutes

Nanami Kento x reader | fluff

“You coming to bed?”

Nanami’s eyes flick up from his laptop, already expecting the scolding he’s about to get. But the moment he sees you—soft and sleepy in that silky pink slip dress, hair slightly tousled, lips just the tiniest bit pouty—he knows he’s in real trouble.

“Hello, my love,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something warm and gentle, like he’s already half-softened just from the sight of you.

You step closer, and, as always, he lifts his head just in time to meet your lips. The kiss is short but sweet, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter. But when you pull away, you’re still frowning, eyes flickering to his screen.

“How much longer?” you ask, fingers lightly tracing the back of his chair.

“Five more minutes.”

You blink. Then, your expression flattens. “You said that hours ago.”

Nanami sighs, rubbing his temple. “…Did I?”

You groan dramatically and go behind his chair, leaning over. Wrapping your arms loosely around his neck from behind, you rest your chin in the crook of his shoulder.

He stills, his breath catching just slightly as you hug him from behind.

“You work too much,” you murmur against his skin, your voice taking on that soft, sleepy quality that makes his stomach twist.

Nanami exhales, his hands resting over yours, fingers brushing absentmindedly along your knuckles. “And you’re clingy when you’re tired.”

“Because I miss you,” you whine, nuzzling against his shoulder. “I can’t sleep without you.”

His lips twitch, and his hands shift, one coming up to lightly squeeze your wrist in silent affection.

“You survived before me,” he teases.

“That was before I knew how warm you are.” You huff, squeezing him a little tighter. “And how you’re my favorite pillow. And how your arms feel like the safest place in the world.”

Nanami swallows. His ears burn, and he clears his throat. “You’re not playing fair.”

“You’re the one still working,” you counter. Then, after a moment, you press a tiny, fluttery kiss against the side of his neck. “Come to bed.”

He sighs, shifting slightly. “Five mi—”

“Nanami.”

The way you say his name—half-whiny, half-scolding, but all fond—makes something in him break. He turns his head slightly, his nose brushing against your temple, and lets out a deep, resigned exhale.

“…Fine.”

You brighten immediately, squeezing him once more before stepping back, tugging at his sleeve. “Finally.”

He shakes his head, but there’s no real annoyance there—just quiet amusement as he watches you. Watches the way you bounce on your toes, the way your slip dress sways with every little movement.

You really are the most beautiful, clever thing he’s ever come across.

And when you turn back, smiling over your shoulder, your voice lilting, teasing—

“Come on, handsome. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

—yeah.

Nanami shuts his laptop.

No more five minutes.

I miss my future husband :(

Thank you soooo much for reading pretties ! <333

#nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami fluff #kento nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles

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shy9-29 · 6 days ago

Text

Secretly Yours ☆ 박종성

“academic rivals to lovers” - enhypen campus series

☆ Forced to be rivals in the classroom, you never expected to fall for Jay—the one guy your best friend swore you should never trust. ✉️ wc. 11.3k ⚠️ tw. swearing, bullying, teasing, name calling, third wheeling 💔 false runors 📝: this is honeslty so cute and 4/7 of the members are done! let me know if you would like to be tagged for Jungwon’s trope as I will be writing his next. 박종성 x f reader

🏷️ @starniras @dearestdreamie @tkooooop @xuevkim @deluluscenarios @starboy-library @melodiessvy @steddie-steddie @i-am-not-dal @nct-sticker-127 @elimelbe @wonbinceps

It was a typical Tuesday lunch, and yet, you were finding yourself struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as you sat across from Heeseung and his girlfriend. They were laughing, teasing each other, their smiles easy and natural, as if they were the only two people in the world. You couldn’t help but feel like a third wheel—no, not just a third wheel. You were a joke third wheel, the one that could only sit in silence and watch as your best friend basked in the comfortable glow of a relationship you’d never quite understood.

Sure, you’d been friends with Heeseung for years, but watching him and his girlfriend together, this… thing between them that was so tangible, yet so fragile, made you realize just how much things had changed. You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Heeseung and his girlfriend were that couple—perfect for each other one minute, toxic the next. Always breaking up and making up, but never really fixing anything. Every time they fought, Heeseung would storm to you afterward, venting about how his girlfriend wasn’t understanding him or how she’d said something hurtful. But when the storm passed, he’d always go back to her, and you’d be left standing in the middle, a supporting role, a listener—but never more.

And you never caught feelings for him. You knew better. Heeseung was your childhood best friend, the guy you grew up with, the guy who knew all your secrets, and vice versa. He was like a brother to you, and you couldn’t ever imagine crossing that line. And Heeseung? He never gave you a second thought in that way. He had his girlfriend, and you had your quiet corner of the world, content with your own space.

But now, you were sitting across from them, trying to smile through the awkwardness, pretending you weren’t hurt by the distance that had grown between you two over the years. It wasn’t even about the relationship itself, not really—it was about the way things had changed. Heeseung didn’t come to you as often anymore, and when he did, it was usually because he was angry or upset about something. And you were fine with that—until today.

“So,” Heeseung started, glancing over at you with a tired look in his eyes, “you know that dickhead, Jay, right?”

You nodded, taking a bite of your salad, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“I’m still pissed at him,” Heeseung continued, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t care how much time has passed—what he did to me and her… I’m never going to forgive him.” He stabbed his fork into his pasta a little too aggressively, and you couldn’t help but notice the bitterness in his tone. “He kissed my girlfriend. And not just once. Twice.”

You frowned, looking between Heeseung and his girlfriend, who was sitting next to him, quietly fiddling with her phone. She didn’t seem as riled up about it as Heeseung was. In fact, she looked a little… resigned.

“Relax, Heeseung,” she chimed in, her voice softer, almost pleading. “That was a long time ago. Can’t you just forgive him already?”

Heeseung shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t. I just can’t. Not after everything. I don’t trust him, and I never will.”

You were quiet for a moment, staring into your food, lost in thought. You hadn’t even met Jay in person, but you knew enough about him from Heeseung’s rants—how he’d screwed up everything by kissing Heeseung’s girlfriend, how he was always getting under Heeseung’s skin with his cocky attitude. You didn’t know Jay well, but you couldn’t help but feel a grudge against him, too. Heeseung had always been there for you, and now, it was your turn to have his back.

You glanced at Heeseung’s girlfriend. “I get it. He messed up. But if he’s really your friend, don’t you think you should at least try to move on? I mean, holding onto it forever—”

“I can’t.” Heeseung’s voice was final, cutting you off. “I won’t. I’ve tried, believe me, but it just eats at me every time I think about it. I can’t just forget.”

You stayed silent, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t your place to intervene. You had your own tangled mess of emotions, but you kept them locked away. The last thing Heeseung needed right now was for you to add to his frustrations.

At that moment, the door to the cafeteria swung open, and in walked Sunghoon and his girlfriend. Sunghoon was always the quiet one—the kind of guy who would sit back and observe everything with a detached calmness that almost seemed unnatural. He was an introvert, a man of few words, but when he did speak, it carried weight. His girlfriend, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She was loud, energetic, and always talking, often dragging Sunghoon along in whatever conversation she had going.

They sat down next to you, and Sunghoon’s girlfriend immediately leaned forward, her smile wide and playful. “Hey guys!” she greeted before turning her gaze to you. “So, what do you think about Jay, babe?”

You nearly choked on your food. You had no idea what Sunghoon thought about Jay—none of you really did. He was the kind of guy who kept his opinions close to his chest. He wasn’t the type to engage in petty drama or gossip.

Sunghoon just shrugged, his gaze flicking to Heeseung for a second before returning to his girlfriend. “He’s whatever,” he said quietly, his voice neutral, as though the whole Jay situation didn’t even register. “Not my problem.”

His girlfriend rolled her eyes with a laugh. “You’re so boring, Sunghoon.”

But even as his girlfriend playfully teased him, you couldn’t help but feel that pull again—the strange dynamic that seemed to always exist between you, Heeseung, and now Jay.

You glanced over at Heeseung, who was staring at Sunghoon with a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mix of annoyance, jealousy, and maybe, just maybe, something else.

But you didn’t have time to analyze it. Because you knew, no matter what, the tension was building, and soon enough, you’d be caught in the middle of it all

And what scared you most? You didn’t know if you’d be able to get out of it.

You sat back in your chair, staring at the two couples in front of you. Heeseung and his girlfriend were whispering something to each other, their heads close together, their hands brushing occasionally as if the world didn’t exist beyond their bubble. And then there was Sunghoon and his girlfriend, chatting away animatedly, with Sunghoon’s quiet presence in the background, nodding occasionally as she continued her endless chatter.

You felt a pang in your chest, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You were surrounded by couples. Two of them, in fact—both of which seemed so… effortlessly happy, wrapped up in their own little worlds. And then there was you. Sitting alone at the table, a third wheel, no partner to distract you from the uncomfortable silence.

You groaned, dropping your forehead onto your arms. “Oh my god, I feel so single,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could stop them. You couldn’t help it. The jealousy, the loneliness—it was starting to eat at you, just a little bit.

Heeseung didn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in his conversation with his girlfriend. Sunghoon’s girlfriend, however, let out a laugh, glancing at you with a teasing smile. “You’re totally single, huh?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t it fun?”

You glared at her, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Yeah, so much fun,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Can’t wait to be the eternal third wheel.”

“You’re not eternal,” Sunghoon’s girlfriend said with a wink. “You’re just waiting for the right person to come along.”

You glanced at her, unimpressed. “If the right person is anything like Heeseung or Jay, I’ll pass.”

At that, Sunghoon let out a quiet chuckle, and even Heeseung’s girlfriend smiled softly. But the moment quickly passed, and you were left with the same feeling—surrounded by people who had someone to lean on, while you were left to sit with the emptiness.

It wasn’t that you were against being single, but today, right now, it stung just a little more than usual. The couples’ laughter and shared glances were like a reminder of what you didn’t have. And that reminder was just too loud in the middle of this lunch.

You sat up, trying to shake off the bitter feeling settling in your chest. “Alright, alright, I’m not that dramatic. It’s just… you know…” You trailed off, hoping to change the subject.

Sunghoon’s girlfriend shot you a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just enjoy your food. And if it helps, I can always hook you up with some of my friends.” She gave you a mischievous grin, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

You smiled weakly but couldn’t quite shake off that feeling of being an outsider, watching the world go by in pairs.

It was much later in the evening when you found yourself sprawled across your shared dorm bed, dramatically burying your face in a pillow as the weight of the day’s fifth-wheeling trauma crashed over you all over again.

“I need someone so bad,” you groaned, voice muffled by the fabric. “Like, genuinely. I was fifth wheeling earlier today, Sunoo. Fifth. That’s not even normal. That’s just disrespectful.”

Sunoo, your roommate and longtime partner-in-chaos, glanced up from his skincare routine, dabbing toner gently onto his cheeks. “Honestly? I think it’s kind of iconic. Like, you’re the main character surrounded by background couples. It’s giving ‘independent baddie who doesn’t need a man.’ Very inspiring.”

You lifted your head to glare at him. “Inspiring? My entire lunch was a rom-com montage minus the actual romance. Heeseung and his girlfriend were being all cute and annoying, Sunghoon’s girlfriend was feeding him fries while he looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, and I was there… chewing sad lettuce.”

Sunoo stifled a laugh. “Sad lettuce is such a vibe though.”

You dropped your head back onto the pillow. “I’m not joking, I actually feel like I’m gonna rot away as the token single friend.”

“Please,” Sunoo scoffed, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, legs crossed neatly. “Relationship stuff is so overrated. Love? Dumb. People? Dumber. You know Jake and his girlfriend? I still don’t understand how she took him back after that whole mess.”

You lifted a brow, glancing up at him. “What mess?”

Sunoo gave you a look like girl, where have you been?

“You don’t remember? Back when Jake and Jay had that idiotic bet—the bet?” He rolled his eyes and clasped his hands together mockingly. “Make her fall for me in a week or whatever.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo said, lips curling into a smirk like he’d been dying to spill the tea. “This was way back, before Jake actually caught feelings. But it was real. Him and Jay thought it would be ‘fun’ to bet on who could get someone to fall for them faster. Jake picked his now-girlfriend, and Jay picked some other girl from our econ class—Soobin, I think? Anyway, Jake actually started falling for her mid-bet and had a whole breakdown over it. Jay? I don’t even know what happened with his half. He’s a mystery.”

You sat up, your expression stunned. “So Jay actually did that?”

Sunoo nodded. “Mhm. He never really talked about it after. Most people forgot, but I didn’t. I don’t forget stuff like that.”

Your nose scrunched. “Ew. That’s actually disgusting.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Sunoo sighed. “Like, love is not a game, babe. These guys out here are not serious.”

You chewed on your lip, letting the information settle. The grudge you already had toward Jay—planted by Heeseung and watered by years of side comments—suddenly felt validated. You didn’t know Jay personally, but from what you’d seen and heard, he was just another cocky guy who probably thought every girl wanted him. And now, knowing he made a bet like that? Your opinion of him sank even lower.

Still, a part of you was curious. Why did people still talk about him like there was more to the story? Why did Jake—arguably reformed—still hang around him? And why did you keep hearing Jay’s name pop up lately like he was some inevitable storm you were supposed to run into?

“So,” you said slowly, casually lying back down and folding your arms behind your head. “What do you think about Jay?”

Sunoo raised a brow, turning his head toward you like he was trying to figure out if you were joking. “Jay?”

You nodded.

“Honestly? I think he’s one of those guys who pretends not to care but lowkey cares a lot. Too much, maybe. He’s hot, I’ll give him that—but emotionally? Questionable. Like, he’s the kind of guy who’d flirt with you at 2 a.m. and then act like it never happened the next day. A walking green flag wrapped in red ribbon.”

You laughed, and Sunoo joined in, shaking his head.

“But,” he added, pointing a finger at you dramatically, “don’t let the face fool you. Pretty doesn’t mean trustworthy. Especially with Jay.”

You weren’t planning on letting it fool you.

At least, not yet.

It started with an eye roll.

Jay had made some snide remark about how your thesis summary lacked depth—depth, of all things—and you had to physically stop yourself from lobbing your pen across the lecture hall. You turned to him with the tightest smile you could manage and replied, “Right. Because the guy who spelled ‘Nietzsche’ wrong three times during last week’s debate is suddenly the standard.”

The professor chuckled like he was watching his favorite sitcom unfold. The rest of the class watched with that usual amused tension—the kind reserved for two people who were one sarcastic comment away from either ripping each other’s heads off or ripping each other’s clothes off. You refused to entertain the second option.

Jay was your academic rival. Has been since semester one. He was cocky, smart, and unfortunately, good-looking in a way that made your life more difficult than it needed to be. Every paper you aced, he had to beat by 0.5%. Every time you raised your hand, he’d follow with a rebuttal. You lived to make him eat his words. And from the smug way he smirked every time you got fired up, you knew he lived for it too.

Which is why when Professor Kim announced the University-Wide Academic Challenge, it wasn’t even a question who your competition would be.

And because the universe had a twisted sense of humor, they paired you with Jay for the regional prep rounds. As partners.

“I’ll drop out,” you told Sunoo dramatically that night. “I’ll pack my bags and transfer. I’ll fake my death and become a poet in the mountains before I partner with him.”

Sunoo had just blinked at you and said, “You’re so dramatic. Just destroy him with your intellect like usual.”

But it didn’t stop there. After a few forced library sessions and hours of silent research, the tension between you and Jay reached a boiling point. That’s when the bet happened.

“If I win,” you’d said, eyes narrowed, “you carry my bag, grab my coffee, and walk two steps behind me for a week.”

He had leaned forward, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And if I win, you do the same.”

“And wear a ‘Jay is smarter than me’ sticker.”

“Deal.”

You shook on it like two enemies sealing their fates.

The week leading up to the challenge was ruthless. Debates in lecture halls, snarky notes left in shared textbooks, accidental shoulder bumps in the hallway that were never really accidental. You hated how good he was at keeping up with you. You hated even more that he made it feel… fun.

But after the results came in—after you tied, somehow, impossibly—you both stood outside the library, blinking in disbelief.

“Rematch?” he’d asked.

You tilted your head. “Or we just… call it even.”

He raised a brow. “Truce?”

You nodded slowly. “Truce.”

That truce, as it turned out, involved a lot of late-night study sessions. Whispered insults that started sounding like inside jokes. Accidental brushes of fingers that neither of you pulled away from. And eventually—somewhere between quiz prep and coffee runs—you kissed him.

The secrecy started right then. Because if Heeseung ever found out you were sneaking around with Jay—the same Jay he despised for “making out with his girlfriend twice”—he’d lose his mind. He’d call it betrayal. And you… you didn’t want to lose Heeseung either.

So you and Jay kept it quiet. A little rebellion, tucked between stacks of books and whispered under breathless kisses in quiet hallways.

You didn’t mean for it to become something real. But then again, you never expected him to look at you like that. Like you weren’t just his rival—but something else entirely.

And because you’d been spending a lot more time with him lately—strictly because of competition, of course, and not because of the way he furrowed his brows when he was focused or the way he actually listened when you spoke—you found yourself getting… curious. Against your better judgment.

You still hated him. That hadn’t changed. He was still Jay Park, your so-called academic nemesis, the cocky know-it-all who had allegedly kissed Heeseung’s girlfriend twice and made a game out of breaking girls’ hearts with Jake. Sunoo told you he was a walking red flag in designer sneakers. Heeseung said he was a traitor, a manipulator, a snake.

But… he also carried your books without asking last week. And when you fell asleep over your notes during one of your 2 a.m. study grinds, you woke up to find a neatly scribbled list of everything you missed—and a cup of hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, just how you liked it.

So yeah. You were confused. Just enough to want a second opinion.

You spotted him by the vending machine near the economics building, fiddling with the coin slot and humming some offbeat tune under his breath. Jake Sim. Jay’s best friend. The one person who might actually give you answers.

You inhaled sharply and walked up to him, half-regretting it before you even opened your mouth.

“Hi,” you started, awkwardly. “You probably don’t know me, but I know you, and this might seem kind of weird but—”

Jake turned to you with a crooked grin, eyes lighting up. “Oh, I know you.”

You blinked. “You do?”

He nodded. “You’re the girl.”

“What girl?”

“The one Jay’s always ranting about,” Jake said casually, like he wasn’t just detonating a bomb inside your chest. “The academic rival. The one who talks fast when she’s annoyed and refuses to take help on joint projects.”

You stared at him.

Jake just chuckled. “Yeah. He’s talked about you. A lot.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Right. Cool. Um… that’s not why I’m here though.”

Jake leaned against the vending machine, still smiling like he had front row seats to your mental breakdown. “Go on.”

“I… wanted to ask you something about Jay,” you said carefully, choosing each word like it was a live wire. “Just… some things I’ve heard.”

Jake raised a brow. “Let me guess. The bet thing? And the drama with Heeseung’s girl?”

You gave a cautious nod.

Jake sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, people don’t let that stuff go. Yeah, the bet was real. But it was forever ago, and he pulled out of it almost immediately. He felt bad about it. Still does, I think.”

You chewed your lip. “And the other thing?”

“The kiss?” Jake nodded. “It happened once, and it wasn’t what everyone made it out to be. She kissed him, technically. But it was before her and Heeseung were even together. Jay didn’t even know they were a thing yet.”

You didn’t say anything, trying to make sense of it all—trying to balance what you’d been told for months against the guy who now held open doors for you and left sticky notes with passive-aggressive compliments on your notebooks.

Jake tilted his head, watching you. “You like him, don’t you?”

Your eyes snapped up. “What? No.”

He grinned. “You do.”

“I hate him.”

“Sure you do,” he said, clearly not convinced. “That’s why you’re out here asking his best friend for the whole story.”

You crossed your arms, feeling caught.

Jake just laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

You shook your head, muttering something about this being a bad idea as you turned to leave, but you didn’t miss the way Jake called after you with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“He likes you too, you know.”

Jay won.

By half a point.

You stared at the scoreboard like it had personally betrayed you, your mouth slightly open, the air sucked right out of your lungs. Half a damn point.

Jay, standing just a few feet away with his stupid perfect posture and that smug little smirk, turned to you slowly, like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second you made the bet.

“Guess that makes you my servant for the week, huh?” he said, hands in his pockets, tone smooth as ever.

You rolled your eyes and shoved your notebook into your bag with more force than necessary. “You cheated.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then you bribed someone.”

Jay grinned, tilting his head. “Maybe I’m just smarter than you.”

You scoffed. “You’re not.”

“Then what does that say about you, loser?”

You almost threw your pen at him.

Almost.

But you didn’t, because that would be too obvious. Instead, you threw him a sharp glare and marched past him—only for him to fall into step beside you like he belonged there.

“You gonna carry my bag to class tomorrow?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

“Go to hell.”

“I thought we were already there. Seoul U, midterm season, and you owe me coffee for a week? Sounds like hell to me.”

You hated him. You should’ve hated him.

But you didn’t miss the way he was biting back a smile, or how he didn’t actually push it any further. Didn’t gloat. Just walked beside you, shoulder brushing yours every few steps like he’d forgotten you were supposed to be rivals.

God, you were so screwed.

You found Heeseung outside the library, hunched over his phone with earbuds in, tapping at his screen like the world was on fire. He looked up when you called his name, one brow raised as you approached.

“Hey,” you said, clutching the strap of your bag a little tighter. “Can we talk?”

Heeseung pulled out an earbud, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s up?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want to start anything, but this was already eating away at you. The more time you spent with Jay—forced time, of course—the more those stories didn’t line up. He wasn’t half as bad as everyone made him out to be. In fact… he was kind of the opposite.

“Are you sure Jay’s really that bad?” you asked, quietly.

Heeseung straightened, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to react too fast. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “I just—Jake told me he felt super bad about the whole bet thing. Like he didn’t even go through with it. And the thing with your girlfriend? He said she kissed him. Not the other way around.”

Heeseung’s eyes darkened. “Yeah, well, of course Jake would say that. They’re best friends.”

“I’m just saying,” you pressed, “what if it wasn’t how you remember it? Maybe Jay’s not—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, tone sharper than usual. “Don’t let him get to you, Y/N.”

You blinked.

He scoffed, standing and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Guys like him? They’re good at making people feel like they’re the victim. That’s how they work. He’ll play sweet, act like he’s changed, make you question everyone else—and then the second you trust him, he’ll flip it.”

“He hasn’t done anything to me.”

“Yet.” Heeseung’s eyes locked onto yours, voice low. “Just be careful. You don’t know him like I do.”

You swallowed hard, nodding slowly, but something inside you twisted at the way he said it. Like you weren’t allowed to find things out for yourself. Like he had to be right.

But… the thing was?

A part of you wasn’t so sure anymore.

The next day was actual hell.

You should’ve known Jay would milk the “servant” thing for everything it was worth—but still, nothing could’ve prepared you for how absolutely insufferable he was about it.

“Y/N, can you carry my bag?”

“Y/N, I’m thirsty. You know my order.”

“Y/N, I dropped my pen—oh, oops. Guess you better pick it up.”

It was like every five minutes he found a new way to get under your skin. And the worst part? He didn’t even need the help. You were ninety-nine percent sure he only asked just to see how long it would take for you to snap.

By day four, you were a ticking time bomb.

You were both walking down the hallway after study group, and Jay had just asked you—again—to grab his charger from the common room because he “forgot it,” even though it was very clearly hanging out of his bag.

You whipped around to face him, nearly knocking into his chest. “Do you enjoy watching me slowly lose my mind? Is that it? Is this fun for you?”

Jay blinked at you, clearly trying not to laugh. “Kind of.”

“Unbelievable,” you huffed, arms flailing a little as the rant bubbled up. “I’m starting to think you only won on purpose just to torture me—like some twisted revenge arc. What kind of narcissist actually makes someone fetch their charger—”

And then he kissed you.

Mid-rant. Mid-gesture. Mid-sentence.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was bold and sudden and shut you up instantly, your breath caught between the syllable you were about to say and the warmth of his mouth on yours.

You froze, hands still hovering stupidly in the air.

Jay pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “God, you talk so much.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed.

And he just stood there—completely unaffected—like kissing you in the middle of a hallway was totally normal. Like your heart wasn’t pounding loud enough to drown out every rational thought.

“You—” You opened your mouth.

Jay grinned. “Still talking.”

You almost shoved him.

Almost.

Sunghoon wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He never was.

But he had a way of being in the right place at the right time, or maybe the wrong place, depending on how you looked at it. And when he turned the corner of the hallway that afternoon, a quiet observer like always, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you—mouth still pressed to Jay’s, your fingers curled in surprise around the strap of your bag.

He blinked once. Then twice.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked the other way.

Fifteen minutes later, he found his girlfriend standing outside the campus café, talking animatedly to her friend Stella about nail polish or hair gloss or something equally detailed. They barely noticed him until he slipped in beside them, calm as ever.

“Y/N and Jay kissed,” he said, like he was stating the weather.

Both girls gasped so loud half the quad probably heard.

His girlfriend whipped around to face him, eyes wide. “What?! Since when were you into gossip?”

He just shrugged, gaze flickering toward the library. “I saw it. Just now.”

Stella smacked his girlfriend’s arm. “Didn’t you say she hated him?”

“I did,” she breathed, already pulling out her phone like it would give her the rest of the story. “What the hell—?”

But Sunghoon leaned forward, kissed her cheek gently, and started walking away.

“Wait—where are you going?” she called after him.

“Library,” he said over his shoulder.

Because of course he was. Of course Sunghoon dropped a bomb and just casually strolled off to study like he hadn’t just flipped your entire social circle upside down.

Sunghoon was already at his usual study spot in the library when you arrived, clutching your bag a little too tightly as you scanned the rows of bookshelves like you were on some sort of secret mission.

He raised an eyebrow as you walked in, obviously distracted, your eyes darting around the room. You were definitely not here to study. The fact that you had only been in the library for a few seconds and your gaze had already flitted past the tables where students were hard at work said it all.

You weren’t here for Heeseung. Not at all.

Sunghoon didn’t miss a beat. He leaned back in his chair, watching you for a second, before sliding his glasses down his nose slightly and giving you a small smirk. “Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

You jolted slightly, surprised to see him so casually lounging there. You shot him an awkward smile and then immediately tried to cover it up with a defensive shrug. “Oh, nothing. I’m just… uh, here to give Heeseung something,” you said, voice a little too high-pitched, almost like you were trying to convince yourself of your own words.

Sunghoon didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a small, knowing smile. “Are you sure you’re here for Heeseung?”

Your heart skipped. “Yeah, of course,” you said too quickly, glancing nervously around the library again. “I mean, I just… I need to give him this thing and—”

“You sure?” Sunghoon interrupted, pushing his chair back just a little, his tone shifting slightly to something almost teasing. He didn’t buy it. “Because Jay’s in the cafeteria. Right now. Just thought you’d want to know.”

You froze. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. Your eyes widened before you quickly looked away, trying to hide the obvious flustered blush creeping up your neck. “I—” You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to straighten up. “I wasn’t looking for him,” you muttered, biting your lip.

Sunghoon didn’t say much after that, just shrugged casually and hummed a little tune under his breath as he pushed his chair back and stood up. His expression was unreadable, his quiet demeanor leaving you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Without another word, he simply smiled, offering a half-hearted wave as he walked past you.

You watched him go, unsure of what to make of the interaction. It was classic Sunghoon—quiet, observant, and always somehow getting under your skin without even trying.

You couldn’t stand how he could so easily see through you.

With a frustrated sigh, you picked up your bag and made your way out of the library, heading toward the cafeteria where you knew Jay would be. Even though your heart was pounding and your mind was spinning with confusion, you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to see him.

The thought of Heeseung’s warning echoed in your mind, but you pushed it aside. Sunghoon was right about one thing—things were already chaotic. Maybe this was the only way to make sense of it all.

You tried to calm your nerves as you walked to the cafeteria, but the closer you got, the harder it became to shake the doubt gnawing at you. Would you find the answers you were looking for, or would this just be another mess to clean up later?

When you stepped into the cafeteria, the noise hit you immediately—students chatting, trays clattering, the low hum of conversation filling the air. But despite all the noise, your eyes immediately zeroed in on Jay, sitting at one of the tables by the window, his usual carefree smile on his face as he joked around with his friends.

Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were both relieved and anxious at the same time. He looked just as he always did—easygoing, confident, and annoyingly charming. The problem was, now you knew him differently. The things you’d heard, the things you’d seen—it was hard to look at him the same way.

You took a deep breath and walked towards him, trying to shake off the tension in your shoulders. As you got closer, you saw Jay’s head turn just as he noticed you.

His eyes lit up when he saw you, and despite the complicated mess you two had become, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth at the sight of him. He gave you a lazy grin, pushing his chair back and standing up in one smooth motion.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like he wasn’t the least bit phased by the tension hanging between you two. “What’s up?”

You barely kept your expression neutral. “I need to talk to you.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, glancing at the empty seat across from him, then back at you. “Come on, sit down. You don’t look like you’re here to discuss world peace. I’m guessing you’re looking for something else.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. It felt weird being this close to him again, feeling the electricity between you like it was the first time you’d ever been in his orbit. Everything about this felt wrong. But you had to do it.

Sitting down, you met his gaze directly. “I’m not here to cause any more trouble. I just… need to know what’s going on between us.”

Jay tilted his head, his easygoing expression faltering slightly. He leaned forward, one arm on the table as if he was genuinely interested. “What do you mean? Between us?” His voice softened, and for a second, you could see the shift in him. It was subtle, but it was there.

You clenched your hands together on the table, trying to steady yourself. “You know what I mean, Jay. All of this—the bet, the confusion… what’s real and what’s not?”

Jay leaned back in his chair, the carefree smile from earlier slipping away, replaced by something more serious. “You still don’t trust me, huh?”

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “It’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. When he finally spoke, his tone was different—he was no longer the cocky guy you used to know, but someone who seemed oddly vulnerable.

“Look,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I get it. Everything I did, everything I said—it was wrong. But I’m not that guy anymore, Y/N. I’ve changed. I care about you. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Your heart raced in your chest. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the part of you that was still holding on to the past, to the version of Jay that Heeseung had painted, kept pushing those thoughts aside.

“I don’t know, Jay. It’s just… hard. You and I? We don’t mix well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay’s expression flickered. “I’m not asking for things to be perfect. I just want a chance, Y/N. A real one.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air between you, and for a split second, it felt like you were both on the same page—like everything that had happened before didn’t matter. But then, like a flash of lightning, the reminder of everything that had happened came rushing back.

You shook your head, pulling yourself back. “I can’t just forget all of it, Jay. It’s not that simple.”

Jay leaned in closer, his gaze intense. “I’m not asking you to forget. Just… don’t hold me to who I was.”

Your chest tightened. You were torn between everything you wanted and everything you feared.

“I’m still figuring it out,” you admitted, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even yourself. “But I’m not sure I’m ready for this… whatever this is.”

Jay didn’t respond right away. He just nodded slowly, like he understood, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “I get it. But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

You wanted to say more, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just stood up, trying to make your voice steady again.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said, but your tone didn’t sound as sure as you wanted it to. You didn’t know if you were ready for this, but you couldn’t just walk away.

Jay gave you one last look, his smile returning, though it was softer this time. “Take your time.”

As you walked away, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. What did this all mean? What would Heeseung say? Would Jay really change, or was this just another game to him? You didn’t have the answers. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure who you were supposed to be angry at anymore.

The days that followed were a whirlwind. You and Jay decided to keep things under wraps—something about the secrecy added a layer of excitement, even though it made everything feel a little more complicated. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Heeseung, not yet. The thought of his reaction made your stomach twist in knots. But with Jay, it was easy. Easier than you expected. He was surprisingly attentive when you needed him to be, remembering little details about you that Heeseung and others had long forgotten.

Jay was still Jay, cocky and smooth-talking, but there were moments where he’d let his guard down. The way he’d walk you to class, his hand brushing against yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The way he’d drop a joke here and there, making you laugh when you needed it most. You never thought you’d say it, but Jay wasn’t the player you thought he was—well, not all the time anyway.

Of course, he was still a bit of a show-off. You could never really take him seriously when he’d lean against the doorframe of your dorm, smirking, saying things like, “You know, I’m way too good-looking to be keeping this a secret.”

You would roll your eyes, trying to suppress your grin. “Yeah, you’re such a mystery.”

He’d chuckle, that cocky smirk still glued to his face. “I know, I know. You’re welcome.”

But underneath the bravado, he was kind, listening to you vent about your day, cracking jokes just to make you smile. For the first time, you felt like maybe this whole secret thing wasn’t so bad. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have doubts. It was all so new, and despite everything, there was still a little voice in the back of your mind reminding you of how messy things could get.

You weren’t the only one who had doubts, though. Your first real step in sharing this secret came one night when you were sitting in your dorm room, staring at your phone. Sunoo, always seemed to know everything before anyone else, had been eyeing you strangely all week. He’d been quiet, his teasing always bordering on serious.

“Sunoo,” you started, hesitating as he sprawled out on your bed, scrolling through his phone, “I need to tell you something.”

His head snapped up immediately. “Oh?” He raised a brow. “Spill.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m seeing someone. But it’s secret. And I know it’s weird because—” you paused, running a hand through your hair. “It’s Jay.”

The look on Sunoo’s face was one you’d never seen before. His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open as he blinked rapidly. For a second, he just stared at you, completely silent. Then, as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer, he exploded.

“What?!” he half-yelled, half-laughed, scrambling off your bed and pacing around the room in disbelief. “Hold up, hold up. You’re dating Jay? Jay. The same Jay who—”

“Sunoo, please—” you interrupted, raising a hand to stop him from getting too carried away.

“—the same Jay who practically ruined Heeseung’s life?” He flung his hands up in the air dramatically. “The one you’ve been bashing to me for weeks? And now you’re secretly dating him?”

You sighed, running a hand down your face. “Yes. But it’s not like that, okay? I know what you’re thinking, but things are… different with him. He’s not like he used to be. It’s just—complicated.”

Sunoo was still pacing, clearly trying to wrap his head around it. “Complicated? This is beyond complicated, Y/N! Do you know how much drama this is going to cause? Heeseung is gonna flip. I’m not even talking about how Jay’s gonna react when he finds out that you were hiding this from him. You’re already tangled up in all of this and now you’re—oh my god, why is everything in your life like this?”

You slumped back into your chair, feeling the weight of your decision. “I don’t want to deal with drama. But I like him, Sunoo. And I think he likes me, too. And… honestly, I don’t care what people think. I just wanted to tell you because I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

Sunoo stopped pacing and stared at you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. “You really like him, huh?”

You nodded, trying to hold his gaze. “Yeah. It’s… it’s stupid, but I do.”

There was a long pause. Sunoo looked like he was about to explode again, but then he let out a slow breath, sitting down beside you. “Okay. Fine. I’ll let it slide. But seriously—if you get caught, I’m not helping you out of this mess. You’re on your own.” He raised a finger and wagged it at you. “And I’m keeping my distance from all of this. I didn’t sign up for this chaos, alright?”

You chuckled, relieved by the fact that Sunoo wasn’t completely flipping out. “Thanks, Sunoo. I appreciate it. I promise I’ll figure this out.”

He leaned back against the bed with a dramatic sigh. “You’re lucky I’m your best friend. If anyone else tried to pull this, I’d roast them for the rest of their life.”

“Well, I’m lucky to have you, then,” you said with a grin.

Sunoo shot you a look of mock disbelief. “Just promise me one thing,” he said, raising a brow. “If Heeseung finds out and loses his mind, I’m not helping you clean up the mess. You’re on your own with that one.”

You laughed, feeling the stress of it all lighten a little. “Deal.”

Sunoo was known for two things: his impeccable gossip radar and his inability to keep a secret for more than 24 hours. And, of course, the fact that he loved to stir the pot. As soon as you had finished telling him about you and Jay, Sunoo’s mind started racing. He was already formulating what he would tell Heeseung the moment he saw him. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this juicy tidbit to himself, no matter how much you trusted him to stay quiet.

The next day, Heeseung was sitting in the courtyard, casually talking to some friends, but Sunoo could see it—the slightest shift in Heeseung’s posture when he noticed him coming. Heeseung raised an eyebrow as Sunoo approached, a mischievous grin forming on his face.

“You’re looking like you’ve got something to spill, Sunoo,” Heeseung said, his voice light but clearly curious.

Sunoo couldn’t help himself. He sat down next to Heeseung, his eyes practically gleaming with the excitement of what he was about to drop.

“You wouldn’t believe it, man,” Sunoo started, looking around as if to make sure no one else was listening in. “You know how you’ve been all worried about Y/N and Jay, right?”

Heeseung’s expression darkened, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What about them?”

Sunoo leaned in, lowering his voice as if he were telling a state secret. “Well, turns out… they’ve been secretly dating. For, like, a while now.”

Heeseung froze for a second, the weight of Sunoo’s words sinking in. His jaw clenched, and he quickly glanced around, as if making sure no one had overheard the conversation.

“Wait, what?” Heeseung’s voice was quieter, almost a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe it. “How do you know?”

Sunoo, unable to hold back the excitement bubbling inside him, leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, like he was watching a drama unfold. “I’ve got my sources,” he said, winking. “And it’s not just a rumor, Heeseung. They’re actually seeing each other. Y/N told me everything.”

Heeseung stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, but it was clear the news hit him like a punch to the gut. His face twisted in a mix of disbelief and frustration,and for a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but he stopped himself.

“Y/N would never—” Heeseung started, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt.

“Oh, she would,” Sunoo cut in, nonchalantly. “She’s just keeping it under wraps, like some big secret. But honestly, it makes sense, right? All that tension, all that back and forth between them, it was bound to happen.”

Heeseung stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sunoo. “After everything, she goes behind my back like this?”

Sunoo could feel the anger radiating off Heeseung, and it made him feel a little guilty, but not enough to hold his tongue. “Yeah, it’s a mess, isn’t it? I mean, she’s been going on about how much she hates Jay, but clearly, something changed. Who knows? Maybe it was all that tension, or maybe she just got tired of waiting around. But whatever the case, it’s real. And if you ask me, I think you should be a little more worried about what’s coming next.”

Heeseung looked like he was about to explode. His fists clenched at his sides, and his face was flushed with a mix of confusion and rage. “I—I have to talk to her,” he said, his voice raw.

Sunoo shrugged, not caring that Heeseung was clearly on the verge of losing his cool. “I’m just saying, you might want to figure things out with her before she starts making it official with Jay. Things are already messy enough.”

As Sunoo stood up to leave, he turned to give Heeseung one last look. “You know where to find me if you need more tea,” he teased, before walking away, leaving Heeseung standing there, seething with emotions that were rapidly spiraling out of control.

Sunoo had done his part. Now, it was Heeseung’s turn to deal with the consequences. But something told him this was only the beginning.

You didn’t have to guess who was at the door. The feeling in your stomach told you everything you needed to know. Heeseung.

You stood frozen for a moment before you opened the door slowly, trying to act casual, though the nervous energy in your body betrayed you. There he was, standing at your door, his expression tight with something that looked like anger—and disappointment.

Heeseung glanced at you, then around your room, like he was trying to piece everything together. “What’s going on, Y/N?” His voice was strained, the usual warmth gone. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Why didn’t you tell me about Jay?”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. You weren’t sure how to answer. You could feel the weight of everything pressing down on you. The truth? Would he even believe you if you told him everything? Or would he just think it was another betrayal?

“Heeseung, I—” You began, but he cut you off, his voice sharp.

“Why, Y/N?” His voice cracked through the tension. “Why did you have to keep this a secret? Why with Jay? After everything?”

You could feel the guilt tearing at you, but you didn’t know what to say. The words were tangled up in your chest, but you knew you couldn’t hold back anymore. “I never meant to hurt you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You stepped back, leaning against your desk. “But… I don’t know. Things just happened with Jay, and I didn’t know how to handle it. You and I… we’ve always been so complicated, Heeseung. I never wanted to hurt you, I swear. But Jay and I… we’ve been spending time together. It just happened.”

Heeseung’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing at you. “So that’s it, then? You’ve been sneaking around behind my back with him?”

“No, that’s not it at all,” you snapped, finally feeling the frustration bubble to the surface. “I wasn’t sneaking around with anyone. It just… happened, Heeseung. We’ve both been playing these games for so long. And you—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were about to say something you might regret. “And you, you were always going back to her, your girlfriend, every time you fought with her. It was always me picking up the pieces for you. But no matter how much I helped, nothing changed. So… I stopped waiting.”

Heeseung’s face flickered with hurt, but it quickly morphed back into anger. “So you think I’m the one to blame here? You think I made you do this?”

Your voice cracked as you spoke, the frustration you’d been holding onto for so long finally breaking free. “I didn’t say that. But I’m tired, Heeseung. I’m tired of always being the one who’s there when you need someone to pick up the pieces. And I’m tired of holding onto something that’s not there anymore.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say to you right now, Y/N.” His voice was low, almost defeated. “You know… I don’t even know if I can forgive you for this. Not right now.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart sank as you blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t need your forgiveness, Heeseung. I’m just trying to do what’s best for me, for once.”

Silence fell between the two of you, thick and suffocating. You wanted to say something, anything to fix it, but you knew deep down that there was nothing you could do. Heeseung turned to leave, but then stopped, his back still to you.

“Do me a favor,” he said, his voice soft, barely audible. “Don’t do something you’ll regret, Y/N. You don’t have to do this. You’ve been so important to me for so long. Please… don’t lose yourself in all of this.”

You stood there, unable to respond. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. You were already losing yourself, weren’t you? But maybe I’ve already lost him, you thought as you watched him walk away.

The door clicked shut behind him, but the echo of his words rang louder than anything else. You stood there in your room, motionless, heart racing and chest tight like it was wrapped in barbed wire. You hated how he still had that power over you—how a few words, a stare, and the sound of your name in his voice could unravel everything you’d built for yourself.

He was wrong, wasn’t he?

You weren’t losing yourself. You were just… figuring things out. You weren’t the same girl who used to drop everything the second he called. You weren’t the one patching him up anymore after every fight with his girlfriend. You were your own person now. Someone who laughed too loud at Jay’s dumb jokes. Someone who liked the way he challenged you. Who liked the way he looked at you like you were the only one in the room, even when you were surrounded by people.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t feel like shit.

You paced your room, emotions swirling inside you like a storm you couldn’t control. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. You weren’t supposed to feel this confused. Jay made things easy, simple. You bickered, you competed, you flirted, and—somewhere in between—you found something that felt a lot like peace. Even if it was messy. Even if it was sudden. But Heeseung’s words… they lingered like a bruise under your skin.

Don’t do something you’ll regret.

God. Heeseung always made things feel heavier than they had to be.

You collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, and after a long moment, you grabbed your phone. Your fingers hovered over Jay’s name. You were supposed to call him tonight. To talk about this. To maybe make it official, if you were both ready.

But suddenly, you didn’t know if you were.

Not because of Heeseung. Not just because of him.

But because you didn’t trust yourself not to break the same way again. To fall into old habits. To blur the lines between right and wrong. You’d spent so long being someone else’s lifeline, you weren’t sure how to be your own.

Still, your thumb pressed down, and the phone started ringing.

If there was one thing you did know—it was this: whether it ended in a smile or a disaster, you were too far in to back out now.

Jay picked up on the third ring.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft, almost hesitant. Like he could sense the storm brewing behind your silence.

You swallowed. “Hi.”

There was a pause—long enough for you to hear the faint music in the background on his end. Then, “You okay?”

You almost laughed. Was that a question anymore?

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, curling your fingers into your bedsheets. “Heeseung knows. Sunoo told him.”

Jay sighed, like he already expected that. “Yeah. I figured.”

That made you sit up. “You did?”

“I mean,” he murmured, “I didn’t think Sunoo would keep it to himself for long. He kind of looked like he was gonna explode when you told him. I saw him bolt across campus like he was on a mission.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the edge of panic softening just a little. “God, I should’ve known.”

“Hey,” Jay said gently, “are you okay? Like really okay?”

You hesitated. “Heeseung said I’m losing myself.”

Jay didn’t say anything at first. Then his voice came, steady and careful: “Do you think you are?”

You looked down at your lap, tracing a pattern over your comforter with your nail. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just… I feel like I’ve always been someone to someone. Heeseung’s best friend. The girl who fights Jay in every class. The toxic ex. The girl who makes reckless decisions and kisses people to shut them up.”

Jay let out a quiet, amused breath at that one.

You went on, “I don’t know how to just… be. Without people talking. Without feeling like I owe someone something. Even you. I keep thinking—maybe I don’t deserve to want this.”

There was silence again. Then Jay said, “You do.”

Your heart caught.

“I know you think I’m still that guy from a year ago,” he continued. “The guy who played stupid games and made stupid bets. And maybe part of me still is. But the part of me that matters now? The part that looks at you and wants more than some stupid competition? That part’s real. And it’s yours, if you want it.”

Your throat felt thick.

“I want it,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. But then he said, “Then screw what Heeseung says. Screw the rumors. Screw everything that came before. Let’s make our own version of this.”

You smiled faintly, tears pricking your eyes for no good reason.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he echoed.

And for once, it felt like the world might finally let you breathe.

Heeseung sat slouched on the campus lawn, fingers tugging idly at the blades of grass beneath him, lips pressed into a thin line as his girlfriend rubbed slow circles into his back. Jake and his girlfriend were sprawled out nearby, half-listening, half-whispering to each other in the shade.

“I just—don’t know, babe,” Heeseung muttered finally, eyes locked on nothing in particular. “He’s supposed to be my best friend.”

Jake’s girlfriend sighed, straightening up. “And he still is, Heeseung. You’re just being stubborn.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back on his hands, scoffing. “So now I’m the bad guy for not being thrilled that my so-called best friend is sneaking around with her?”

Jake’s girlfriend exchanged a look with Heeseung’s. “It’s not like they planned it to hurt you. You said it yourself—YN never even liked him. And now she does. What, she’s not allowed to fall for someone unless you approve?”

Heeseung didn’t answer, jaw tightening.

His girlfriend turned to him, her voice softer. “I’m serious, Hee. Jay’s not perfect, but he’s always been there for you. You’re being an idiot if you can’t see how much this means to them. Especially YN. She’s finally… happy. Can’t you just show up for her the way she always showed up for you?”

Heeseung’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, conflicted and clouded.

Then she added, “Also… for the record? I kissed Jay. Not the other way around.”

Heeseung’s head snapped toward her. “Wait, what?”

She nodded, expression calm. “You’ve been holding a grudge over something you only knew half the story of. I kissed him. He was surprised. And yeah, fine, he kissed me back the second time. But we weren’t dating the first time it happened—you just never wanted to believe that.”

Heeseung’s brows furrowed. “And the second time?”

“That one was on both of us,” she admitted, leaning back. “We were technically together, sure. But you wanna talk about betrayal? Don’t forget you kissed Ina.”

The silence that followed was thick. Jake’s girlfriend blinked. Heeseung’s shoulders tensed.

“Okay,” he muttered after a beat. “Low blow.”

“Is it?” a familiar voice chimed in as you approached the group, arms crossed and a raised brow. “Because if I remember correctly, that was while we were still close. And Ina was my best friend.”

Heeseung shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering toward you.

You smiled, tight and sharp. “But hey, let’s keep talking about betrayal.”

He didn’t have a comeback. And for once, neither did you.

The silence this time was yours.

You were leaning into Jay’s shoulder, fingers tangled with his under the table while the two of you quietly scrolled through your phones, pretending not to notice the tension that still lingered in the air after the whole fallout. Things had gotten messy—too messy—but somehow, here you were. Still side by side.

You almost didn’t notice Heeseung walk up until a familiar paper cup was set down in front of you with a gentle thud. You looked up, brows furrowed, ready to snap at whoever was interrupting—until your gaze landed on him.

Heeseung stood there, holding out another cup toward Jay.

“Regular milk tea. No boba. Less ice,” he said, almost grumbling it, eyes flicking away like the words tasted sour in his mouth. “Still your favorite?”

Jay blinked, clearly caught off guard. He didn’t move to take it right away. “…Yeah.”

You sat up a little straighter, eyes darting between them as Jay slowly took the drink from Heeseung’s hand. Heeseung scratched the back of his neck and looked everywhere but at the two of you.

“I figured if I was gonna try not being a dick about this, bubble tea was a decent start.”

Jay gave a short laugh, like he didn’t know if he was supposed to be amused or suspicious. “Thanks, man.”

Heeseung just gave a tight nod and finally looked at you—his expression unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, resigned, or genuinely trying. Maybe all three.

You offered a small smile anyway. “Thanks for mine too.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave a shrug like it was no big deal and walked off, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

Jay glanced at you, then back at the drink in his hand. “Didn’t expect that today.”

“Me neither,” you muttered, leaning into him again.

But even as you rested your head against his shoulder, you felt a pang in your chest. Because Heeseung still remembered.

You took a slow sip of your drink, the sweetness of the milk tea doing very little to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. Your eyes were narrowed, staring at the cup like it had personally wronged you.

“I’m still pissed at Sunoo for telling Heeseung,” you muttered, voice low but sharp.

Jay chuckled beside you, leaning back in his seat. “Come on,” he said, nudging your leg with his. “You know Sunoo can’t keep his mouth shut for more than twenty-four hours.”

“That’s not an excuse,” you snapped, looking at him now. “He promised he wouldn’t say anything. And the second he had the chance to stir the pot, he dumped the whole damn thing.”

Jay shrugged, still smiling a little. “It’s Sunoo. He lives for drama. Honestly, I’m surprised he lasted that long.”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that Jay was taking this so lightly, but you couldn’t deny he had a point. Sunoo was like a walking group chat—loud, animated, and incapable of holding in a juicy secret. Still, it stung.

“I just wanted to tell Heeseung myself,” you muttered. “I wanted to do it the right way.”

Jay softened, tilting his head. “I know. But maybe… it worked out for the better? He doesn’t look like he’s plotting my murder anymore. That’s gotta mean something.”

You huffed, leaning your head on his shoulder again. “Barely.”

“Hey,” he said, brushing his thumb against your hand, “he brought me milk tea. That’s, like, Heeseung-speak for I’m trying.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Whatever. I’m still mad at Sunoo.”

Jay laughed. “Yeah, well, good luck staying mad. He’ll probably show up at our door with a glitter apology card and a fruit tray in, like, an hour.”

You snorted. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll slam the door in his face.”

“No, you won’t.”

“…Yeah, I won’t.”

A couple of weeks passed, and despite the underlying tension, things had gradually settled into an uneasy but workable rhythm. You and Jay were still keeping things mostly under wraps—well, for the most part. Sunoo had already spilled the beans to Heeseung, though. You knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of the group caught wind of it.

So, after a bit of back and forth, everyone finally agreed to a “peace offering.” Heeseung, Jay, and even Sunghoon (with his usual reserved demeanor) had agreed to meet for a casual garden picnic—something to bridge the gap. The only catch? It was going to be a quadruple date. Your best friends and their girlfriends were invited too, making it a bit of a group outing.

The picnic spot was serene, surrounded by the soft hum of the city just beyond the park. The weather was perfect—bright and sunny with a slight breeze. It felt like the universe was giving everyone a little break from the chaos. You sat next to Jay on the checkered blanket, his hand casually resting on your knee. You both helped set up, keeping your movements natural and easy. But as soon as your eyes met Heeseung’s, you couldn’t shake the awkwardness that lingered in the air. He was sitting next to his girlfriend, shooting occasional glances at Jay. You could tell he was trying to keep it together, but the tension was still there, unspoken and heavy.

“Do you think it’s going to work?” you asked Jay, glancing at Heeseung and Ina from the corner of your eye.

Jay shrugged, not missing a beat. “We’ll see. It’s not like we can change everything in one day.” His voice was quiet but certain. His eyes were warm, though, focused on you as he squeezed your hand gently. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.”

As the others arrived, Jake and his girlfriend came over, immediately cracking jokes and setting up a game of volleyball. Sunghoon and his girlfriend, too, joined in—Sunghoon, as usual, staying relatively silent while his girlfriend bubbled with excitement. She looked at him with a playful smirk, nudging him with her elbow.

“Babe, are you actually going to talk today, or are you just going to sit there being a statue?” she teased.

Sunghoon just shrugged, not bothering to respond. But there was a tiny, amused glint in his eyes. His girlfriend rolled her eyes and turned to you.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Jay? You two are still keeping things hush-hush?” she asked, her voice a little too curious.

You shot her a quick glance, unsure of what to say, but Jay was already speaking up. “What’s the point of making things complicated, right? Sometimes it’s better to keep things simple.”

But the laughter from the others couldn’t entirely hide the tension between Heeseung and Jay. You could feel the unspoken rivalry simmering beneath the surface. Heeseung, ever the protector, was giving Jay an occasional hard stare, especially as Jake cracked more jokes.

“Come on, Heeseung. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Jake teased, nudging Heeseung’s shoulder. “We’re all just here to relax.”

Heeseung forced a tight smile but didn’t say anything. He took a deep breath and muttered under his breath, “Still don’t like him.”

Jay smirked. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Awkward,” Sunghoon’s girlfriend chimed in from the other side of the picnic blanket, dramatically glancing between the two boys. “Is this how it’s going to be? You two have known each other for years, but now it’s this… weird?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “I don’t know why everyone’s pretending this isn’t a little messy. It’s been weird from the start.”

But just as the tension began to settle back into that uncomfortable silence, Sunghoon—silent as ever—tapped his water bottle against the ground, glancing at you with a look that could only be described as amused. “So… when’s the wedding?”

You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks. “Shut up, Sunghoon.”

He just shrugged. “I’m just saying, if you two are going to be all secretive, you might as well just get married already.”

The laughter that followed made the air feel lighter, and for a moment, it almost felt like things could go back to how they used to be. The group chattered, eating, and playing games. Sunghoon’s quiet but steady presence made you feel like everything would somehow work itself out.

But you couldn’t deny the awkwardness still lingering between Heeseung and Jay. It wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight, and you knew that. Still, there was a small part of you that hoped, maybe hoped, this would be the start of something different—something better.

As the sun dipped lower, the golden light casting long shadows across the grass, Jay leaned closer, his arm resting around your shoulders. You let your head rest on his, the familiar warmth comforting in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.

He whispered, “It’s going to be fine. Just give it time.”

You nodded, grateful that at least for now, things felt right between you two.

It was messy, sure. But it was yours. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to make it work.

The sound of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the chatter of your friends filled the air, and for once, it didn’t feel like anything was about to fall apart.

Everything was still awkward. But maybe… that was just the start of something new.

enhypen campus series

515 notes · View notes

wolvietxt · 13 days ago

Text

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.” you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.”

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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girl-lostconnection · 3 months ago

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Just something I’m still toying with in my head. Will continue a little later probably

Punk!Ghost x Nerd!Reader

Warnings: violence, bullying, mention of abuse, pretty vague but still a tad heavy overall

Unsweetened lemonade (part 1)

Part 2 || Part 3

Ghost who is all spikes and cigarette smoke and dark circles under deep seated brown eyes. Always so gloomy, always alone, always biting the hand outstretched to him.

In his world outstretched hand means beating. In his world outstretched hand is one fucking omen and he prefers to stay away from it.

People can’t hurt you if they can’t touch you. If you won’t let them.

Ghost never does. He’ll be dead before he lets anyone up close. He’ll be dead before anyone touches him ever again (the voice in his head snarls, the voice in his head a wounded dog, the voice in his head a rabid animal — always fighting, always choking, always clawing uphill).

Ghost is all long limbs and sharp angles, growing too fast, eating too much in a house where it’s never enough for everyone to go around. Simon sucks it up because he’s the oldest, because he can go hungry, it’s no big deal — he’s used to it.

The hunger and void of loneliness sucks open a bleeding pit inside of him and he pushes his face harder into the pillow, choking back weakness.

Tears are weakness. Craving love is weakness. Feeling alone and cold and hungry and wanting his mom to kiss him before bed is weakness.

Weak people don’t survive what he survives. He’s not weak, never weak.

Ghost frankly doesn’t understand you — with your nose always in a book, headphones always in your ears, eyes always a little too distant. He doesn’t understand the quiet resignation that he sees on your face when someone gives your hair a sharp tug or throws mean, disgusting things — words coming out like damn filth, his knuckles whiten and it’s not even aimed at him.

Ghost doesn’t understand why you don’t fight. You don’t understand why he always does.

Fighting never makes it better, fighting means prolonging suffering. Fighting means anger, means screaming, means angry hot tears and red face and pain-pain-pain because it’s not fair, it’s never fair and it shouldn’t be like that.

You force it all back down before it threatens to spill out of you, bubbling and acidic.

Ghost’s lips curl in something very akin to snarl and you glare back. He’s all long limbs and sharp angles and heavy boots and old creaking leather jacket that he wears through all winter. Even when it’s so cold his lips turn blue.

Even when he’s shivering. Ghost still holds his head high, shoulders tense and square — always ready for a fight. Always ready to beat into the ground anyone who tries to beat him.

Never again, never again, never again

You stay silent, headphones already in your ears, but you still watch the broad space of his back. He’s lanky, he’s disproportionate and too big-too long-too much.

You wouldn’t call him pretty at all, his jawline too heavy and out, his eyes deep seated and harsh, his nose big — nose bridge crooked, sharp lines of his cheekbones look like you would cut yourself if you touched.

Ghost looks right back at you, but for some reason doesn’t snarl this time. Maybe he’s just tired, maybe it’s too cold to waist energy on someone like you but his lips are blue and he’s shivering and suddenly you can feel pulling your scarf off.

It’s a mad idea, it’s the worst thing your mind could come up with because everyone knows that Simon “Ghost” Riley is aggressive cunt with chip on his shoulder.

But you know all too well how it feels to stand outside — alone and cold, shivering because people that were supposed to protect you and warm you up — didn’t.

So you pull your scarf off and thrust it in his hands before practically running away, because everyone knows that Simon “Ghost” Riley is aggressive cunt with chip on his shoulder. And you don’t want to be caught in his fire.

You have it enough already as it is.

Simon watches you scramble away, scarf warm and soft in his hands and he wants to snarl again, wants to chase you, wants to ask what the fuck do you think you are doing. But you are already gone.

And he’s cold and he’s alone and he’s tired. Maybe that’s why he tentatively wraps warm fuzzy scarf around his neck and head, nose nuzzling in it immediately.

It feels so good he almost hates you in the moment.

It feels so good Simon feels like crying all over again.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley

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4linos · 17 days ago

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the ghost of what was.

bang chan x fem!reader

synopsis: a relationship ends not with a fight, but with a quiet, devastating sentence. chan walks away without explanation, leaving behind confusion, silence, and heartbreak.

warnings: angst, emotional heartbreak/breakup, mutual pining, love triangle (but not really), unrequited love.

wc: 4268

You never thought it would end like that, with no storm, no explosion, not even the slow erosion of time. Just a conversation that came out of nowhere, the kind that shifts the ground beneath your feet in a way that’s almost too subtle to notice until you’re already falling.

Chan sat across from you on the edge of the bed, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact. But the look in his eyes wasn’t cruel, or angry. It was… tired. Resigned. You remember staring at him, waiting for the punchline because surely this wasn’t real. Not him. Not you.

He didn’t cry. You did.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he said, and the words felt like they were rehearsed, like he’d said them to himself in the mirror over and over until they sounded detached enough to pass for truth.

You didn’t believe it. Not really. Because just a week before, he’d been tracing constellations on your back with his fingertips, whispering sleepy little nothings about your future. He’d kissed your forehead with the kind of tenderness that only comes from certainty. He talked about names for the kids you'd maybe have one day, about places you still wanted to go, about which of you would go gray first.

And now he was saying it was over.

No explanation. No confession. Just vague words that didn’t match the way he used to look at you, like you were the safest place he’d ever known.

You didn’t ask questions at first. You didn’t have the strength. But you stayed up that night, alone in a home that suddenly felt foreign, staring at the ceiling and playing every moment of your relationship backwards in your head, trying to find the part where it all went wrong. You didn’t find it. Because it wasn’t there.

That was the worst part.

It wasn’t a bad relationship. It was perfect. Not in some storybook sense, but in the quiet, stable way that mattered. You talked through your arguments. You knew how to calm each other down. You had little rituals, the way you always kissed twice before he left the room, how he made you coffee in the morning even though he didn’t drink it himself. It was real. It was solid.

So how could it just… vanish?

After the breakup, the days bled into each other.

You stopped measuring time in weeks or hours and instead in how long you could go without crying, without thinking about him, without reaching for your phone and remembering he wasn’t going to text. You told yourself to be strong. You told yourself if you could just hold out, if you could get through the silence, he’d come back with a real reason. Something you could fight for. Something that made sense.

But all you got was quiet.

And then, one day, Hyunjin showed up at your door.

You weren’t surprised, not really. He and Chan were close, part of the same tightly wound fabric of people who had always been around each other, who blurred the line between friends and family. You’d known Hyunjin almost as long as you’d known Chan. He had always been the light to Chan’s quiet warmth, brighter, more expressive, a little unpredictable in the way artists always are. You liked him. Trusted him. And that familiarity is probably why you let him in.

At first, it was casual.

He brought you soup. A coffee. A playlist you never asked for. He didn’t pry, and for that, you were grateful. He didn’t talk about Chan, not at first just offered a quiet presence when everything else felt like it was closing in. He made you laugh when your chest still felt too tight to breathe, and for a moment you thought maybe he was just being a good friend. Someone filling the space Chan had left behind.

But then, little things began to shift.

He texted more. He stayed longer. Sometimes he would just… linger. Watching you. You tried not to notice the way his fingers brushed yours when he handed you a cup of tea. The way he smiled a little softer than he used to. The way he looked at you, not like someone who was checking in, but like someone who was waiting. Hoping.

You told yourself you were imagining it.

That maybe you were just sensitive, raw from the breakup, reading too much into kindness because it had become so rare. But deep down, part of you already knew. Part of you had always known.

There was a moment that tipped it. A small, quiet evening, rain on the windows, a movie playing that neither of you were really watching. You had made some offhand comment about how Chan used to quote that exact line, and the silence that followed felt heavy in the room, as if your words had shifted the air. You glanced over, and Hyunjin was staring at you. Not upset. Not annoyed. Just aching. Like hearing his name in your mouth still hurt.

And then, a few days later, he confessed.

He came over late, like he’d done a dozen times before, but there was something different in the way he sat, nervous, hands clenched, gaze flicking between you and the floor. You offered him tea. He declined.

Then, quietly, without buildup, he said, “I need to tell you something.”

You felt the stillness that followed, the way your heart skipped, not out of excitement, but dread. You already knew. Even before he said it.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words were simple. They didn’t crash into the room or burst out in desperation. They were soft. Careful. Like he didn’t want to scare you.

“I have been,” he added, his voice trembling just slightly. “For a long time. Before the breakup. Before you even noticed.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

Because all you could hear in your head was Chan must’ve known.

You could see it now, the dots connecting. The strange way Chan pulled away toward the end. The sudden coldness. The vague excuses. He must’ve known. And if he knew, and still walked away, this was why. He’d left to spare someone else. Or maybe, to spare himself from watching it happen anyway.

You stared at Hyunjin, heart thudding, the weight of too many emotions crashing down at once, shock, betrayal, confusion, guilt. But the loudest thing in the room wasn’t his confession.

It was your answer.

“No.”

It came out before you could think. Before you could soften it. Before you could pretend you needed time to think about it.

“No,” you repeated, quieter this time. “I can’t.”

His face fell, just slightly. Like he’d expected it but hoped he was wrong.

“I’m not angry,” you said, your voice low, barely steady. “I’m not blaming you. But I’m still in love with Chan. I didn’t move on. I haven’t even started.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just nodded, swallowing whatever heartbreak was blooming behind his eyes. And maybe, in that moment, you both understood that this wasn’t just bad timing, it was impossible timing. Because you weren’t just rejecting him, you were rejecting the very idea that love could simply transfer from one person to another like nothing had been lost.

You were still tangled up in the ghost of a relationship that never got to die properly.

Hyunjin left that night without saying much else, and you haven’t seen him since. But you think about that conversation more than you want to admit. Not because you regret saying no, but because part of you resents that the whole thing ever happened. That your heartbreak became an opportunity for someone else. That instead of answers, you were handed more questions, more silence.

And Chan… he still hasn’t come back.

Not physically. Not in words.

But he lingers everywhere, in the songs you can’t skip, in the way you always sleep facing the same side of the bed, in the ache that shows up at 2 AM when your guard is down and your chest is hollow.

You're still trying to understand it. Still trying to forgive him for walking away without giving you the truth. But some nights, when the world is too quiet and your head won’t stop spinning, you wonder if the truth was never his to say.

Maybe it was Hyunjin’s all along.

And maybe that’s what hurts most of all.

- flashback -

It was late, so late that the hallways of the building were quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed after the world had gone to sleep. Chan was exhausted. His shoulders ached from sitting in the studio too long, hunched over mixes he couldn’t seem to finish. But he didn’t want to go home yet. Home meant you. Meant facing the soft warmth of your smile, your sleepy voice asking if he’d eaten, your arms pulling him into bed like he belonged there.

And the truth was… he didn’t feel like he deserved any of it.

He wandered through the halls, earbuds in, music turned down low. That’s when he heard it, voices, two of them, coming from behind the partially open door to the smaller studio room.

Minho and Hyunjin.

He wasn’t trying to listen. He was about to keep walking, give them privacy, not eavesdrop on whatever venting session was happening. But then he heard Y/N.

And he stopped.

Hyunjin’s voice was quieter than usual, subdued, like it was heavy with something that had been sitting in his chest for far too long.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore, hyung. Every time I see them together, it’s like I’m being stabbed in the same place, over and over.”

There was a pause. Minho didn’t interrupt, he just let him speak. Chan’s feet stayed frozen to the floor, his whole body going cold.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. But I love her. I’ve loved her for a while now. And I know it’s wrong. I know I don’t have the right. But I can’t turn it off.”

Chan couldn’t breathe.

Hyunjin’s voice broke around the edges.

“She makes him so happy. And that’s the worst part. I feel like the villain. Like I’m waiting for something I’m not supposed to want.”

Chan’s stomach twisted so hard he thought he might be sick. He backed away from the door like it had burned him, heart thudding in his ears.

He walked back to the studio in a daze, hands shaking, every breath ragged with something too complicated to name. Betrayal? No. Not quite. Hyunjin hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t tried to take you. He hadn’t even told you. But the weight of those words, of knowing that one of the people closest to him was in love with the person he loved most in the world, crushed him.

At first, he told himself it didn’t matter.

You loved him. You chose him. Everything you and Chan had built together was real. Solid. Safe. He told himself to focus on that, to hold onto it. But the thought kept creeping back in, the idea that Hyunjin was quietly hurting every time he saw you together. That behind every smile, every joke, there was a fracture. A wound.

Chan carried that with him for days, then weeks. It festered in the quiet moments. When you kissed him and told him you loved him, a voice in his head whispered, Hyunjin would give anything for this. When you talked about the future, he imagined Hyunjin hearing it, watching it happen from a distance, bleeding in silence.

He tried to shake it off. But the guilt sank deeper than he expected.

And then came the self-doubt.

What if Hyunjin was better for you? What if Chan, with his sleepless nights and constant pressure and insecurities he could never quite silence, wasn’t the right choice after all? What if you were only with him because he got there first?

He didn’t know when exactly it shifted from guilt to resolve, but one night, alone in the studio, a beat looping endlessly in the background, he made the decision.

He would let you go.

He would break your heart so Hyunjin wouldn’t have to keep breaking his own. He would lie to you. Pretend it had been fading for him. That you’d outgrown each other. That it wasn’t love anymore. Because as long as he told you something final, something sharp, you wouldn’t question it. You wouldn’t wait for him. You’d move on.

And maybe, maybe, Hyunjin would finally let himself try.

It was the hardest thing Chan had ever done.

When he sat you down and told you it was over, everything inside him screamed to take it back. To pull you into his arms and tell you none of it was true. That he still wanted all of it, the house, the wedding, the kids, the future. You. But he didn’t. He made his voice flat. He didn’t look you in the eye. He played the role. He became the bad guy in his own story, because someone had to be.

And then he left.

He didn’t know how he made it out of the building. How he made it to the dorm. How he didn’t break down in the hallway. But he remembers one thing clearly: the moment the door closed behind him, he dropped to the floor and cried like he hadn’t since he was a kid.

And ever since then, he’s lived in that silence.

He hasn’t spoken to you. He hasn’t told Hyunjin what he heard. He hasn’t told anyone.

Because if he did… it would make it real. It would unravel everything.

And maybe, deep down, he knows that someday the truth will come out.

But he also knows it won’t fix what he broke. Because when you walked into his life, you became his home, and he’s the one who burned it down.

Chan had always thought he was good at pretending.

It came with the job, smiling when he was tired, joking when he felt like breaking down, carrying the weight of other people’s expectations without letting his knees buckle. And for the most part, he could manage it. He could look into a camera, sit through interviews, perform like nothing inside him was unraveling. But after the breakup, something changed.

It wasn’t the pain, he expected that. What surprised him was the heaviness.

It sat in his chest like a stone. Not sharp, not unbearable, but constant. Like an ache you forget how to live without. He would wake up, go to schedules, check in with the guys, show up to the studio like always. But everything felt slower. Duller. Muted. Like he was watching life happen from the wrong side of the glass.

The dorm was quiet more often now. Or maybe he was. He barely left his room unless he had to. Hyunjin had stopped looking at him so directly. Members stopped asking questions. Everyone could tell something wasn’t right, but no one pressed. Chan was too good at shutting doors without slamming them.

Still, the nights were the worst.

That was when the silence got loud. When the guilt and the grief curled around him in the dark, whispering all the things he didn’t let himself say in the daylight. He missed you so much it physically hurt. He missed your voice, your hands in his hair, the way you used to hum under your breath when you were focused. The little things. The things no one else saw. The life you’d quietly built around each other, piece by piece, until it felt like home.

And he’d burned it down.

He told himself he did the right thing. That he left to protect you. To give Hyunjin space to breathe, to feel, to maybe try. But it didn’t bring him peace. All it did was leave him alone with the knowledge that he’d given up the one thing he truly wanted.

You.

He hadn’t seen you in almost a month.

And even though he told himself not to check your social media, he did. Of course he did. He scrolled through old photos, read old texts, listened to voice messages until they felt like echoes in his head. But you hadn’t posted much. You’d gone quiet too. And part of him hated that because it meant you were hurting, and he couldn’t fix it.

He had no right to fix it.

But that night, that night was unbearable.

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. The weight in his chest was suffocating, pressing down until he could barely breathe. His fingers trembled as he gripped his phone, staring at your contact name for what felt like the hundredth time that week. He nearly called. Nearly texted. But what could he say?

I lied to you. I still love you. I never stopped.

Instead, he jumped out of bed, barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, phone in hand. He didn’t think. Just moved.

He was halfway to the front door of the dorm, chest heaving, heart pounding like it was trying to force its way out of him, when he froze.

You were standing there.

Your hand was raised, just about to knock, but you paused when you saw him. And for a moment just a breathless, suspended second, you both stared at each other, as if neither of you could believe the other was real.

You looked tired. Pale. Worn down in that specific, quiet way that only heartbreak leaves behind. Your eyes were red, like you’d been crying. Maybe for a while.

And then you broke.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just dropped your hand, stepped forward, and wrapped your arms around him with a kind of desperation that shattered every wall he’d built over the last four weeks. Your face buried in his chest, your shoulders shaking, your sobs muffled by the hoodie he didn’t even remember putting on.

And Chan, Chan, he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled you into him like his life depended on it, like he needed to hold you just to stay standing. His arms locked around your back, one hand cradling your head like he was afraid you might disappear again. He felt your tears soaking through the fabric, felt your fingers twist into the material like you were trying to anchor yourself to him.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His throat burned. His eyes stung. He held you tighter.

He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to feel you again, how empty he’d become without you. You weren’t just someone he missed. You were someone he ached for. Someone who lived in every part of him, even the ones he tried to close off.

And you were here.

He didn’t know how long you stayed like that, wrapped in each other at the threshold of the dorm, hearts racing, breaths shaking. The world didn’t exist in that moment. Just you. Just him. And the relief, the overwhelming relief of finally touching the person he never wanted to let go of in the first place.

When you finally looked up at him, eyes swollen, voice raw, you whispered, “Why did you leave?”

And he broke again.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just the guilt. The regret. The love. All of it written across his face, pouring from his eyes. You didn’t need him to say it. Not yet.

Chan didn’t let go of you, not even for a second as he gently pulled you inside the dorm, quietly shutting the door behind you. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you’d vanish again if there was even a moment of space between you.

Neither of you said anything as he led you down the hall to his room.The dorm was hushed and dark, lit only by the soft glow from the streetlights outside the windows. It felt strange to be here again, after nearly over a month away. But being beside him… it felt like breathing after drowning.

His door clicked shut behind you, and only then did his grip loosen, just enough to guide you to sit down on the edge of his bed. But you didn’t sit. You stayed glued to him, your arms still around his torso, face still buried in the fabric of his hoodie. His scent, faint cologne and warmth hit you like a wave, and your chest ached all over again. You never thought you’d be here again, holding him like this.

“I wanna see your face,” he said quietly, brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

You shook your head without lifting it. “I probably look disgusting. I’ve been crying since… I don’t even know when.”

A soft laugh escaped him. Tired. Breathless. Real.

And something about the sound, that warm, familiar laugh that you hadn’t heard in weeks broke through the wall of shame and sadness wrapped around you. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes still puffy, nose a little red, and gave him a half-hearted smack on the chest.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you whispered, but your lips were twitching like they wanted to smile.

“There you are,” he said softly, cupping your cheek. “God, I missed your face.”

Your throat tightened, and your smile faded. He saw it. Felt the shift. And his hand moved from your cheek to hold yours, threading your fingers together with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache.

And then… the silence shifted.

You could feel it before he spoke. The heaviness in his breath. The way he didn’t meet your eyes right away.

“I owe you an explanation,” he murmured. “A real one. Not that… bullshit I gave you before.”

You nodded slowly, your voice barely audible. “I needed one.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “I know.”

There was a long pause, like he was trying to find the right way to say something that could never be said right. But eventually, he just let it out.

“I overheard Hyunjin… telling Minho that he was in love with you.”

The words landed like a slow, sinking weight in the pit of your stomach.

“I wasn’t supposed to hear it,” he continued. “It was late. I was walking past one of the practice rooms. The door was cracked open. And then… I heard your name.”

You felt your heart pounding in your ears.

“He said he didn’t want to feel that way. That he hated himself for it. But he said he loved you. And I—I couldn’t un-hear it. I tried to pretend like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t change anything, but…”

“But it did,” you whispered.

Chan nodded, his jaw tight. “Yeah. It did. I started seeing it everywhere after that. The way he looked at you. The way he lingered. I don't even think he realized it half the time. And I hated it, hated that it made me doubt everything we had.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

“I thought… maybe he was better for you. I mean, I’m always busy. I’m tired all the time. I get stuck in my own head. You deserve someone who can give you everything without the weight. Someone who doesn’t drag you through their own mess.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Chan…”

“I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “I left because I thought I was protecting you. From tension between the three of us. From the guilt. From seeing Hyunjin hurting every time we were in the same room.”

Your breath caught. “You gave me up for him?”

“I gave you up for both of you,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I thought it was the selfless thing to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, if it meant you could be happy.”

You were quiet for a long moment. The room felt impossibly still.

Then, slowly, you whispered, “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Chan closed his eyes, like the words hurt. “I know. And I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I just ended up hurting you. And myself. And probably him too.”

You reached up, touching his face gently. “You idiot.”

He opened his eyes again, surprised.

“You’re my person, Chan. I didn’t want better. I wanted you. I waited every day, thinking maybe you’d come back. Wondering what I did wrong. And the whole time, you were just… what? Sacrificing us for something I never even wanted?”

His voice cracked as he whispered, “I know. I know. I messed up. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve trusted you with the truth instead of making the choice for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t born of heartbreak. This time, they came from the overwhelming relief of finally being seen, being heard, being held by the person who had never really stopped loving you.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

“I never stopped loving you,” you whispered.

“I never even tried to,” he whispered back.

He pulled you into him again, this time slower, gentler, like he was holding something sacred. His arms wrapped around you, and your fingers curled into his hoodie again, your face pressed to his chest. And you stayed there, for a long time. Quiet. Close. Healing, slowly, in the shared silence of two people who had been broken apart, only to find each other again in the wreckage.

And for the first time in weeks, Chan’s chest didn’t feel heavy.

It felt whole.

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