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marcyvamp1re-blog · 4 months ago

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Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

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lenaswritingandstuff · 4 months ago

Text

Your Teddy ~ Theodore Nott x f!reader (Drabble)

Requested: No

Pairing: Theodore Nott x f!reader

Summary: Theo has only felt pain ever since y/n was kidnapped by Death Eaters, but her return might even be just as painful.

Word count: 811

Warnings: slight mentions of torture; angst; English is not my first language

A/N: I will post the second part on Friday, let me know if you want to be tagged! This is my first time writing for Theo and it's rushed, so I hope it's still alright. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it!

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan

Ignoring the people around him and their confused looks, Theo ran through the corridors, with only four words in his mind - we found miss y/n.

He had spent three months, three months waiting for her to come back, for her to give him any sign, for her to come back to him, for his whole body and mind to function normally again. It had been three months since y/n had disappeared, captured by Death Eaters one week before winter break. The image of her, defenseless and screaming as she was being tortured had been plaguing Theo ever since, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything else other than he didn't know where y/n was, if she was even alive or not, and what kind of atrocities she was facing. He had completely stopped going to class, stopped going to the Great Hall for meals - despite how many times his friends had asked him to come, saying y/n wouldn’t want him to be like that -, staying in his dorm instead, where even despite the constant closed shutters, he couldn’t even sleep, as he had terrible nightmares of y/n screaming for him as she was being tortured every time he tried to sleep.

He had tried to look for her, of course. How could he not? But old Dumbledore had anticipated it, and had ordonned him to not leave the castle without a teacher. The first few weeks, Theo had been going almost every day to Dumbledore’s office, asking if there was new information about where y/n was, and he always got the same answer. I’m sorry to tell you that we do not. But trust, Mr Nott, that we are actively looking for her and that I am sure that we will find her. At the beginning, Theo had somehow managed to control his anger and frustration, but at one point, he had screamed at the headmaster, saying that it wasn’t enough, that no one could understand what it was like, and even had broken a few items.

But, today, Professor Snape had knocked on his door, saying the four words Theo had been dreaming to hear. And now here he was, running to the hospital wing. He only slowed down when he arrived by its door, and, still breathless from the running, immediately opened the door, and then rushed inside to the only bed that was currently occupied.

“y/n!”

“Mr. Nott, please don’t-”

But Theo ignored Mrs Pomfrey’s words and walked past her, instead going to sit on the bed and hugging y/n’s body as hard as he could. Mrs Pomfrey continued to protest and ask him to stop, but he couldn’t care less. All that mattered was here, in his arms. He gently stroked her hair, feeling his eyes burn with tears. All the pain, stress, fear and anger that he had felt from the moment he learned that she had disappeared faded away, replaced with her warmth presence and the feeling that fucking finally, she was safe, safe in his arms like she was supposed to be.

“Cazzo, y/n, baby. I missed you so much.”

You’re here. You’re here. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.

He slightly detached himself from her but only to kiss her forehead and look at her, look at the face and eyes he had fallen so hard in love with. But instead of looking at him with warm eyes full of love like she always did, there was only confusion - which was also shown in her frowning - and that was the moment he realized she didn’t hug him back, or even touched him at all.

“Um, I…I’m sorry, but…who are you?”

If Theo thought he had known pain every second of y/n’s absence, that was nothing compared to the heartbreak her words caused throughout his whole body and mind. He was now also confused, and his arms dropped from her by themselves.

“y/n…It’s me…Teddy.”

Your Teddy.

“You…” He had never struggled to find his words so much before. “You don’t recognize me?”

y/n opened her mouth to answer, apparently embarrassed and turned to the matron for help.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nott, but Miss y/l/n lost all her memories. Professor Dumbledore and I are still trying to figure out why, and how to bring her memory back,” she said with a kind voice, before turning to y/n and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Miss y/l/n, this is Theodore Nott, your boyfriend.”

No! Not Theodore, not Theo, fucking damn it. It’s Teddy for her. For her and nobody else. Teddy.

Her Teddy.

y/n nodded and looked at Theo.

“I’m sorry for not remembering you. I can’t remember anything, really.”

Theo rose from the bed.

“No, I’m sorry.”

Not wanting for an answer, he turned around and left the hospital’s wing, feeling more broken than when he entered it.

PART 2

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luv-lock · 2 months ago

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⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 2

Summary: After your mother's death, your life wasn't the same anymore. Everything was changing so fast and you were just watching.

Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!

The air felt cool against her damp skin as she stood in front of the window, watching the distant glow of King's Landing beneath the night sky. Her body was still warm from the bath, the steam lingering in the room as it slowly dissipated, leaving behind the soft scent of lavender and rosewater.

She let her fingers trace the edges of the windowpane, feeling the cold, hard glass beneath her fingertips. It was quiet tonight—eerily so. The usual sounds of the city seemed muted, as if the world outside had gone still, holding its breath.

Her handmaid, Elira, stood behind her, gently brushing through her wet hair. The familiar rhythm of the bristles moving through her locks was soothing, almost meditative. Elira had always been there. Since the very beginning. They were the same age, but Elira had always known her place—quiet, loyal, obedient. Always there, always in the background, never faltering.

"It still hurts, you know... losing her." She spoke softly, her voice almost a whisper, more to herself than to Elira. She stared out into the dark horizon, her eyes distant. "Mother was... everything. The only person who truly knew me."

Elira didn't respond—she never did when it came to such things. She just kept brushing her hair, silent, attentive, like the shadow she had always been.

The ache in her chest intensified, a dull, ever-present throb that threatened to consume her. Who’s going to love me now? Her mother had been everything. The one person who had always been kind, always been gentle. And now, she was gone. The gods, if they even existed, had taken her away. Not just her mother, but her newborn brother as well.

Y/n blinked slowly, her eyes burning. Why did they take them? What kind of gods would do this? Why leave me behind with nothing? She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t process the emptiness that had swallowed her whole since that day. The pain was constant, gnawing at her insides like a beast that wouldn’t stop.

She hadn’t left this room since they told her. She hadn’t gone to the funeral. What would be the point? Rhaenyra had been the one to carry their mother’s body. She could have done that too. She could have honored her mother, but what was the point when she wasn’t even here? She was dead. Dead.

Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the sensation of the brush moving through her hair. "I loved her. I always did... I was kind to her, wasn't I?" The words felt heavy on her tongue, as if she were asking herself more than Elira. She knew the answer already. She had been kind. She had been gentle.

She sighed softly, her breath fogging the glass in front of her as her thoughts drifted. It was supposed to be a boy. A brother. I would’ve been kind to him too. She had already chosen the Dreamfyre egg for him, already imagined what he would look like with his silver hair and violet eyes.

But now... there was no brother. No mother. Just silence.

Suddenly, a sharp tug at her scalp broke through her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. She flinched slightly, her eyes narrowing as she turned her head just enough to glance at Elira.

"I'm so sorry, princess! Please forgive me!" Elira’s voice trembled, her hands shaking as she quickly let go of the brush, dropping it to the floor. She fell to her knees, her head bowed low, not daring to look up at Y/n. "Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t... please, please, forgive me..."

Y/n stared down at her, unblinking, her mind oddly blank. Elira had always been loyal. She had always done what she was told. And now here she was, groveling on the floor, begging for forgiveness over a simple tug of hair. It was... pathetic.

But she didn’t feel angry. She didn’t feel anything.

"It's alright," she said calmly, her voice soft but devoid of emotion. "You can continue."

Elira hesitated for a moment, her hands still trembling as she slowly picked up the brush again, standing on shaky legs. She resumed her task, this time more careful, her movements slower, more deliberate.

Y/n turned back to the window, her gaze distant once more, her mind drifting in and out of the haze that had settled over her ever since her mother’s death. She could still hear Elira sniffling softly behind her, no doubt still terrified of making another mistake.

It’s fine, she told herself. She’s always been like this. Always afraid. Always apologizing. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

She closed her eyes again, her fingers tracing the cool glass once more, feeling the chill seep into her skin.

“I made a decision,” Viserys looked between his daughters. “I have chosen to name Rhaenyra as my heir.”

The words hit her like a wave of ice-cold water, freezing her smile in place. Wait… what? Her mind stumbled, struggling to make sense of the words. Rhaenyra? She blinked, willing herself to understand, to hear something else, but the reality pressed on her, unyielding.

“That’s… great, Father!” she managed, her voice tight and bright. Her lips twitched, and somehow, she forced them into a smile. She clasped her hands in front of her, feeling them shake, the tremors threatening to give her away. Hold it together, she thought desperately, teeth gritted behind her smile. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them see.

A cacophony of voices began to rise within her, whispering, hissing, each word cutting into her like a thousand small blades. Weak… pathetic… that’s what you are.

Her nails dug into her palms as she continued to hold her smile. No, I’m not weak… he just doesn’t see my worth yet. He doesn’t understand. But he will, he will…

That’s why Father chose her, isn’t it? Because you’re useless. Because you’re nothing.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, who was watching her with a mixture of pride and hesitance. Rhaenyra, the golden girl. Rhaenyra, the heir. Rhaenyra… the one Father loves. Her stomach twisted painfully, but she forced herself to keep smiling, her jaw aching from the strain.

Of course he doesn’t love you, they continued. Why would he? You’re not what he wanted. You’re just a mistake, a failure, a useless little girl who couldn’t be more than a shadow.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat like a drum in her ears. She felt hollow, as if she were disappearing from within, crumbling like ash. I’m not useless, I’m not… But they laughed, drowning her, making it impossible to think.

Look at him. Look at how he looks at her. Do you see that warmth in his eyes? He has never looked at you like that. He never will.

Her hands were trembling openly now, and she clasped them tighter, willing herself to stop, to silence the whirlwind inside her. I am more than this, she thought, but the words felt empty, like something fragile that could shatter with a single breath. She lifted her gaze to her father, but his expression was unchanged, his eyes full of pride—for Rhaenyra.

That’s all you are, isn’t it? A disappointment. A shadow, unwanted and unloved.

Her head swam, and she could barely hear anything beyond the mocking laughter echoing in her mind. But she kept smiling, the mask she wore cracking at the edges, her heart sinking with each passing second. You're wrong. You're wrong about me. Father does love me… he has to…

“Are you all right?” Viserys asked, frowning slightly.

The words jolted her back to the room, and she forced herself to nod, ignoring the way her throat tightened. “Yes, Father,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear down everything around her, but instead, she turned to leave, her face carefully blank.

As she walked away, the voices clawed at her, unrelenting, ruthless.

Useless. Unwanted. Weak. That’s why he chose her. That’s why he’ll always choose her. Because you will never be enough.

It's finally over. It had been a long day, a day that had dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. Today Rhaenyra had been named heir to the Iron Throne and she had to bow before her.

As she walked, Elira, kept a respectful distance behind her, her soft footsteps barely audible. The quiet murmur of the castle, usually so comforting to Y/n, only seemed to intensify the ache in her chest. She quickened her pace, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as the thoughts spiraled deeper. Why her? Why not me?

"Thanks the gods it's Princess Rhaenyra,"

Y/n froze, her entire body stiffening as she heard the words. Her mind raced, and her steps slowed, her breath catching. She looked around the corner, and saw a small group of servants standing near a doorway, talking among themselves. Her gaze narrowed as she caught the full statement.

"Ah, yes, I'm really thankful the King didn’t choose that mad cunt," one of them laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that made her skin crawl.

"What did you say?"

They immediately froze when they heard her, their faces draining of color. She could hear their frantic whispers, the way their voices faltered in fear. One of them, took a hesitant step backward.

The servants' eyes widened, and they all started stammering apologies, their words tangled together in a rush of panic.

"Please, my lady, we meant no harm, we were just—"

"We were just talking, milady. Please forgive us—"

"Please don’t—"

Her eyes locked onto the boy who had spoken the words. He looked terrified now, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. She took a step forward, the rage bubbling over, her movements fluid and quick as she closed the distance between them. The boy shrank back, but it was too late.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Y/n half-yelled, her voice a venomous hiss. Everything that had been building inside her—the anger, the hurt, the rejection—came flooding out in a violent, unstoppable wave.

The servants froze, some of them taking instinctive steps back, but they couldn’t escape.

Before the boy could even react, Y/n was on him, her hands grabbing his hair. With a sickening crack, she slammed his skull against the stone wall. She didn’t even register the impact at first, her vision turning red as the anger clouded her thoughts. She did it again. And again. And again.

The sound of his skull crashing against the stone echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else. She didn’t hear the cries, the pleading, the desperate sobs. She didn’t hear Elira begging her to stop, her voice barely cutting through the haze of fury.

"Stop! Please! Stop!" Elira cried, her voice high with fear, but Y/n was beyond reason now. She could feel the boy’s head break beneath her hands, could feel the blood running down her fingers. The sound of his sobs, his frantic begging, only drove her further into madness.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. She stood there, panting, her breath ragged as she stared down at the boy’s lifeless body. His head was a mangled mess, blood seeping out from the cracks in his skull. Her hands were slick with it, the red staining her fingers, her palms.

She blinked, coming back to herself slowly. The haze began to clear. She looked down at the body, her heart still racing, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Her chest heaved, and for a moment, she could barely comprehend what had just happened. She didn’t even remember how she’d gotten here, or how many times she’d struck him.

He’s dead.

The thought hit her like a punch to the gut. Her heart sank, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface, still clawing at her insides. She turned to look around at the others—the servants were trembling, staring at her in horror, their faces pale and filled with fear.

Why... Why they are looking at me like this?

Y/n glanced down at her dress, now soaked in blood. It was one of her favorites. She frowned as she looked at the deep red stains, the fabric ruined. What a pity.

With a deep sigh, she straightened up, her anger beginning to ebb, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. Her voice was calm, too calm, as she turned to the servants. “Clean this mess up,” she ordered, her voice flat. “And make sure no one finds out about it.”

She didn’t care how they did it, just as long as it was done. She turned to Elira, her voice still controlled, though her emotions were a mess inside her. “Prepare the bath for me,” she said softly, almost pitiful. “I need to wash.”

As she walked away, Elira hesitated for a moment before following her. The others remained rooted to the spot, too afraid to move. Y/n walked through the hallways, the blood drying on her hands, her mind drifting in a haze of confusion and sadness.

I’m so tired. The thought came suddenly, washing over her like a wave. She let out a breath, shaking her head slightly.

But as she entered her chambers, she start thinking about the scene she left behind. The servants would clean it. They always did. But they would never forget. And neither would she.

With that, she closed the door behind her, her thoughts already shifting again, the sadness creeping back in.

"The realm will never accept a woman as their ruler," Rhaenys muttered, her voice laced with the bitterness that always seemed to cloud her words when the topic of succession arose.

Y/n tilted her head and nodded, the movement slow, almost sympathetic. Oh, how tragic, she thought, her lips curling into a faint smirk. All this whining and hand-wringing. Pathetic.

She softened her features, arranging her face into what she imagined looked like mild concern. "Tragic, isn’t it?" she said, her voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed sarcasm that neither of them seemed to catch.

"When I am queen I will create a new order," Rhaenyra said, her tone defiant, her chin lifted as though challenging the world to disagree.

Yes, yes, Rhaenyra, I’m sure you would be a shining example of wisdom and honor, Y/n thought, fighting back a laugh. Keep dreaming.

"Of course you would, dear sister," Y/n replied smoothly, giving a slight, dismissive nod. "The realm would be lucky to have you."

Rhaenys glanced at her, as if sizing her up, before letting out a low, sardonic chuckle. "Men would sooner burn the kingdom than let a woman sit on the throne," she said, a bitter truth in her words that, for some reason, still failed to resonate with Y/n. Power wasn’t something one was given—it was taken. And anyone too weak to seize it had no right to it in the first place.

She hid her thoughts behind a sip of wine, watching them both with a half-lidded gaze, letting their words drift over her like idle gossip. What a pair they are—one too proud to realize her limitations, the other too bitter to let go of her grievances.

"Oh, yes, a kingdom ablaze," Y/n murmured, feigning a wistful tone. "How poetic. Such a tragic tale, isn’t it?" She held out her glass, staring into the dark red liquid as if pondering something deeply moving, though in truth, she was only admiring the way the light caught the wine.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily. "They underestimate us. They see us as delicate things, fit only to be wives and mothers."

"Do they?" Y/n’s smile widened, an amused glint in her eyes. Oh, the endless suffering. Boo-hoo.

Rhaenys was watching her with an arched brow, clearly picking up on the subtle mockery in her tone. "You don’t seem very troubled by any of this, Y/n," she observed, almost as if accusing her.

Y/n shrugged, a slow, lazy movement that exuded indifference. "Oh, I am devastated, truly," she replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from her words. "What a tragic world we live in, where women like us must endure such indignities. Really, it’s heartbreaking."

Rhaenyra shot her a sharp look. "This isn’t a joke, Y/n."

"Of course not," Y/n replied, her voice smooth as silk, unfazed by her sister’s disapproval. "Nothing about any of this is funny." She took another sip, savoring the wine and the absurdity of it all. I should be the one that wear the crown, not you.

Then, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, she sighed and placed her empty goblet aside. "Ah, but I must take my leave, unfortunately." She glanced over at them, feigning a regretful expression. "I’ve a fitting to attend for my dress, you know, for Father’s wedding. It simply wouldn’t do to be unprepared for such an occasion."

The slight in her tone was subtle, but it was there, veiled in a pleasant smile. The wedding going to happen sooner or later. What a spectacle it would be. Their dear father, so desperate to secure his legacy that he’d wed a mere girl, and all to produce another heir—a boy, if the gods were willing, and if not… well, it hardly mattered to her.

"How dutiful of you," Rhaenys remarked, a hint of mockery in her voice. It was clear she saw through Y/n’s thin veneer of civility.

"Indeed." Y/n inclined her head, lips quirking in a smug smile. "After all, it’s so important to play our parts well, isn’t it?"

She glanced back at them one last time, giving them both a pointed look, her smile widening as she took in their earnest, troubled faces. "Farewell, then. Do enjoy your discussion. Such deep, meaningful words, truly," she said, voice dripping with false admiration as she turned on her heel, sauntering away without a second glance.

Y/n strode toward her father’s chambers, Ser Criston trailing like a shadow at her side. She had a perfectly charming smile painted on her lips until she came up short, blocked by two guards standing in front of the doors. Their hands gripped their spears, glancing at each other nervously before looking back at her.

“Step aside,” she said, voice a silky command.

The guards didn’t budge.

One of them, foolishly brave or utterly clueless, raised a hand. “I’m sorry, my lady, but the King has asked to not be disturbed.”

Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re saying I can’t see my father?” Her voice was calm, almost amused. She tilted her head, letting her gaze drift over their faces with cold scrutiny. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

The guard stiffened, clearly feeling her gaze like a blade. “We have orders.”

She chuckled, the sound smooth as honey but laced with venom. “And do you have any idea what I could do to you for disobeying me?” She leaned in, voice dropping low. “I could have your tongues ripped out, have you hanging from the city walls by your intestines, all while you beg for mercy.” She smiled, sickly sweet. “Or I could just tell my father you disrespected his daughter.”

The guards flinched, glancing at each other but standing firm.

She clicked her tongue, gaze sharpening. “Perhaps I should have Ser Criston here peel the skin from your faces, inch by inch? How does that sound?”

Criston’s hand drifted to his sword, his eyes darkening in anger at their defiance. Before he could make a move, Otto appeared around the corner, striding toward them with his usual calm authority.

“Ah, my lord Hand,” Y/n said, smile widening as she turned toward Otto. She cast the guards one last look before redirecting her attention.

Otto looked at her and then at the guards, clearly sensing the tension in the air. “Is there a problem here, princess?” His voice was calm, as if he hadn’t just walked into a potential bloodbath.

She tilted her head, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Oh, nothing major, Lord Hand,” she purred. “Just a minor misunderstanding. These men seem to think they have the right to keep me from my father’s chambers. Quite peculiar, don’t you think?” She cast a smug glance at the guards, watching as they shifted uncomfortably.

The guards started to speak up, but Y/n shot them a warning glare, silencing them immediately. “In fact, I’d say it was downright insulting.”

Otto nodded thoughtfully, his expression neutral. “Well, princess, your father is about to attend the small council meeting. I’ve come to fetch him myself.”

She clenched her jaw, an annoyed sigh slipping from her lips as she finally gave a small nod. Fucking cock suckers. But she kept her expression calm, respectful even. Otto had always been fond of her—treated her like one of his own, in a way. No need to break that little bond just yet.

“Very well,” she murmured, stepping back as she allowed Otto to enter. She watched him disappear into the chamber, then turned her gaze back toward the guards, her expression a warning that needed no words. They quickly looked away, pretending to be more interested in the floor.

Moments later, Otto returned with her father. Viserys offered her a faint, apologetic smile, but his focus seemed elsewhere, a bit distracted. Odd. Otto, too, seemed unusually composed, almost as if there was something else on his mind.

As they walked away, Y/n glanced toward the chamber doors, half-distracted, until she caught a flash of red hair in the corner of her vision. A woman’s figure seated on the edge of the bed—her father’s bed.

Her heart skipped a beat, eyes widening. She had to suppress a sudden laugh, biting her nails as her excitement bubbled up. Oh, now that’s just… delicious.

There’s no way… Is that…? Did Otto really…? Oh, you sly, clever old fox. So that’s why Father’s been so preoccupied. And here I thought he was just mourning my poor Mother.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Criston’s voice brought her back to the present. He glanced at her with concern.

She smiled at him, a flash of brightness that was all teeth. “I’m perfectly fine, Ser Criston,” she murmured, her gaze still lingering on that red hair. Alicent. The Hand’s sweet little daughter, warming dear Father’s bed where Mother once lay. Oh, it was almost poetic.

Without another word, she wrapped her arm around Criston’s, a little too tight, leading him away, her smile widening as her mind danced with happiness. The thrill of it all simmered under her skin, making her eyes glint with a mad sort of glee.

Oh, Rhaenyra… if only you knew. Your dear friend is right here, warming our father’s bed. Such a pity you don’t see it yet. Poor, poor little sister.

Criston glanced at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “Is something the matter, my lady?”

“Nothing at all,” she purred, letting out a small laugh. “I’m just… happy, that’s all.”

As the small council convened, Viserys rose to his feet, his expression serious yet strained. She cast a brief glance at Rhaenyra beside her, who watched their father with rapt attention, completely unaware.

Don’t tell me Father’s actually going to—

“I have decided… I am to marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

The silence that followed was exquisite. Y/n’s smirk widened as she glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, whose face had turned from shock to disbelief. Rhaenyra’s eyes met Y/n’s, wide and wounded, and in that brief exchange, Y/n’s smirk told her everything. Yes, dear sister, I knew. I knew before you did. And now… so do you.

Y/n’s gaze turned cold as she looked across the room at Corlys. He sat motionless for a moment, disbelief and anger barely concealed in his face as he processed what the King had just announced. She barely held back her sneer of disgust.

This pathetic man… offering up his child to this decrepit old fool just to worm his way closer to the throne. What a spineless little weasel. Tried to sell sweet Leana to Father… You’re nothing but a cock-sucking snake, Corlys.

Corlys’ face hardened. Offended, he shot Viserys a withering look before standing abruptly and leaving the room in silence. Y/n’s eyes followed him, the smirk still tugging at her lips. Good riddance, you worm.

Next to her, Rhaenyra had gone pale. She shot a look of absolute betrayal at Alicent, whose face was touched with guilt, as if she’d known this moment was coming yet hadn’t prepared for the sight of her friend’s hurt. Then turning on her heel and storming out.

Poor, naive Rhaenyra… How perfect, to have this all crumble around you while you stood unaware.

But Y/n stayed, savoring the stunned silence that filled the room, and then, without missing a beat, she plastered on her most sincere smile.

“Congratulations, Father!” she chimed, her voice warm as she moved toward Viserys.

Viserys let out a sigh, though a relieved one, as she embraced him, patting her arm gently. “Thank you, my dear,” he replied, clearly grateful for her support.

She released him, turning to Alicent, who was still wide-eyed, not quite sure what to make of the sudden affection Y/n was showing. She shifted uncomfortably as Y/n opened her arms to her.

“Alicent,” Y/n murmured, drawing her in with a tight embrace, voice sweet as honey. She leaned close to her ear, her words just barely audible to anyone but Alicent.

“Oh, Alicent,” she murmured into her ear, “I always knew you were a little whore.” She felt Alicent’s body stiffen, but she continued, undeterred. “You shouldn’t be so pleased with yourself—you’ve married my rotting father, after all.” She let out a mocking laugh, barely a whisper. “I can only imagine… his ‘crown jewels’ are as decrepit as the rest of him. But lucky you, you’re the perfect breeding mare, aren’t you? A nice, wet hole to keep his cock warm,” she added, voice dripping with contempt, “Every night you’ll lay with him, his decaying hands on you, his disgusting, rotting body. I’ll bet even his—” she sneered, “—cock is rotting.”

Alicent’s face flushed, her breath catching as she stood, stunned and trembling in Y/n’s arms. Y/n only smiled, tilting her head to kiss her on the cheek.

“I’m so happy for you, Mother,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Alicent, visibly shaken, managed a faltering smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you… daughter.”

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

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lamour-est-pur · 6 months ago

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A/N bonjour! welcome back, Ace is my favorite character so the next few post will likely be him unless someone else is requested❤ my first language is not English please be patient ❤

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Ace X Reader

Reader and ace get stuck in a snow storm together during a mission

genre-> Fluff

warnings-> use of Y/N

word count-> 4497

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The wind howled like a banshee, whipping snowflakes into a frenzy around you and Ace. You squinted, trying to make out the path ahead through the swirling white. What had started as a light snowfall just hours ago had escalated into a full-blown blizzard. The mission, originally planned to be a quick raid on a winter island notorious for its black market, was now a desperate struggle for survival.

"We can't stay out here much longer," Ace yelled, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. His normally fiery hat hung to his neck by the thin string, revealing windblown black hair plastered to his forehead. Concern etched lines on his freckled face.

Your teeth were chattering, despite the thick winter gear you wore. You cursed inwardly for underestimating the island's weather. "Do you see any shelter, Ace?" you shouted back.

A dark shape loomed up ahead. Ace, with his superior vision, spotted it first. "There! Cave entrance," he pointed, leading the way with newfound urgency.

The cave was a small opening in a rocky cliff face. You practically tumbled inside, collapsing onto the hard, thankfully dry, ground. Relief washed over you as the biting wind died down to a low moan at the mouth of the cave. Inside, it was dark and cold, but a vast improvement over the icy blizzard outside.

The dim light filtering through the entrance barely illuminated the interior. You fumbled in your pack, desperate for any source of warmth. But your fingers brushed against empty compartments – the precious oil lamp you usually carried, lost somewhere in the storm's fury. Panic pricked at your heart.

"Don't worry, (Y/N)," Ace said, his voice steady despite the urgency in his eyes. With a practiced ease, he started rummaging around the cave floor. You watched, a sliver of hope flickering within you, as his gloved hands brushed over the rough, cold rock.

Minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow. The silence was broken only by the dripping of water somewhere deep within the cave and the occasional groan of the wind outside. Just as despair threatened to extinguish the spark of hope, Ace let out a triumphant shout.

"Gotcha!" he exclaimed, emerging from the shadows with a handful of dry twigs clutched in his hand. A sense of awe washed over you. You hadn't noticed any loose branches on the cave floor before. It felt like magic, a testament to Ace's resourcefulness and his unwavering focus on keeping you safe.

He carefully arranged the twigs into a small pile, his movements deliberate, almost reverent. You knelt beside him as he lit the sticks alight with his devil fruit power.

the fire sputtered to life, casting flickering shadows on the cave walls, you felt a sense of gratitude blossom within you. It wasn't just the warmth radiating from the flames, but the silent camaraderie, the unspoken understanding that bloomed between you and Ace in the face of adversity.

He glanced at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Your eyes met, and for a long moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. The storm raged on, but in that small, fire-lit cave, a different kind of warmth bloomed – a slow burn of unspoken emotions, fueled by shared vulnerability and the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

You shifted closer, seeking the warmth radiating from his body, and he didn't pull away. The fire crackled softly, a counterpoint to the storm's fury, as you sat huddled together, a silent conversation flowing between you in the flickering light. You knew this moment, this unexpected intimacy carved from the blizzard's wrath, could change everything. But for now, you were content to simply be there, in the warm embrace of the fire and Ace's reassuring presence,

As the fire died down to embers, Ace kept you close, his steady heartbeat a reassuring presence against the howling wind outside. You leaned against him, drowsiness creeping up on you as the warmth slowly seeped back into your body. Your eyelids fluttered closed, and the last thing you registered was the faint scent of woodsmoke and Ace's comforting presence.

Dawn arrived, painting the sky outside in hues of pink and orange. The storm had passed, leaving behind a world of sparkling white. You stretched languidly, only to realize you were still nestled in Ace's warm embrace. He was fast asleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

A blush crept up your cheeks as you watched him. This unexpected blizzard had forced you closer, a closeness neither of you had dared to acknowledge before. You gently traced your thumb down his cheek, a silent thank you for keeping you warm through the night.

Ace stirred at your touch, his eyes fluttering open. A slow smile spread on his face as his gaze met yours. "Morning,beautiful," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

"You know," he began, his voice low and husky, "being stuck in a blizzard with you isn't so bad after all." A shy smile spread across his face. You couldn't help but return it, your heart skipping a beat.

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was hesitant at first, then deepened as you both melted into it. It was a kiss filled with unspoken emotions, a promise of something more waiting to bloom when the storm finally passed.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. "I never thought I'd say this," he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes, "but maybe getting caught in a snowstorm has its perks."

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(A/N) Thank you for reading❤ REQUEST ARE OPEN please give me your ideas, I write for the one piece characters (Fluff, angst, comfort, smut) once again I do have post lined up that will be going up this week ❤ so please enjoy❤->

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atxxzist · 5 months ago

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spring in our hearts | c.s

summary: the spring where you finally fall in love and experience everything that comes with it; the good and the bad

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: angst, slice of life, slowburn, romance, fluff?

word count: 21.4k

pink.

everything outside is turning pink. the petals fallen from the cherry blossom trees sweeping the streets as the wind carries it away with the cold chill, making the arrival of spring feel so much more real.

pink has always reminded you of love though your best friend tells you to not think about it often. he believes you're horrible at it and has a shallow view on it.

you wouldn't say you're horrible if you don't exactly have the experience for it, your only romantic relationship ever was freshman year of college with a boy from english who found you cute but broke it off after only 3 months because he thought you weren't interested.

yeosang still brings it up occasionally because only texting a boy when they texted you and telling them you could only hang out once a week isn't the way to show someone you do like them.

you thought it was quite the statement coming from yeosang because he wasn't much of a prize either before his current relationship that finally managed to last longer than 6 months.

but he think he has finally found the one. he's sure of it. and maybe he's right about you being horrible to some extent because you wouldn't understand or know the feeling of when someone is just right.

you still don't get how your uncle was willing to move halfway across the country for the 'love of his life', leaving everything he knew behind in hope of making it work, or how your mother married your father against her parents wishes although you know him to be a great man.

even the compromises both yeosang and grace have to make can be hard to wrap your head around, but yeosang always says every time that once you meet that person, you will understand.

"this seat taken?"

your thoughts are broken and your neck snaps away from the window and its petal shower to the voice beside that takes your breath away momentarily because though he's just standing there in his morning hair, grey hoodie, and sweatpants, he looks absolutely out of place in this small cafe.

you shake your head, a knot forming in your throat the longer you stare at this stranger.

"i'll take it, if that's okay with you."

"go ahead," you assure, no idea why you're so captivated by this stranger you've known for less than a minute, eyes unable to leave as he removes his backpack to place in the seat next to him and finally takes the seat across from you.

you clear your throat, scanning the surrounding and just noticing how packed it has gotten within the few minutes you were out before looking back down to the half finished sketch on the table.

"you go there?"

the question pulls your head back up, meeting eyes once again with this stranger who has now comfortably seated himself, confused as to what he's talking about until he points with his chin to the sweater you're wearing that has your school logo plastered all over it.

you let another second of silence slip through before answering in your most friendliest tone because you don't usually get people trying to start conversations often, or at all.

"oh, yes," you say. "it was a shirt my friend didn't want."

you regret the words as soon as they leave, feeling like you wanna smack ur head onto the table because you don't know why you needed him to know that.

you really are not big on school spirits or whatever, but yeosang had offered it to you after he bought a size too small.

and this stranger is probably able to sense your nervousness just now that he attempts to giggle it off, dimples emerging from his cheeks all of a sudden that you can't keep your eyes off of.

you've seen a fair share of good looking guys in your lifetime, but this dude might just be at the very top and you're thinking the only obvious reason he'd even wanna sit with you is because all the other seats were taken.

"well that's nice of them," he says with a warm smile. "it's a well designed shirt."

you nod slowly at that.

"i guess so."

"i just transferred the beginning of this year so i just thought it was cool to run into someone alike."

"oh?" your pitch piques with a unique kind of interest. "y-you also go there?"

"yes. junior, going onto senior next semester. you?"

"same..." you answer, fighting the tiniest smile that wants to break out because what were the chances the two of you are the exact same age, and it's not like you plan on seeing him after this, but to hear how big the possibilites are is a little crazy.

he chuckles, one hand running over his disheveled hair as you're sure the same thing is also going through his mind.

"and then what?" yeosang asks, after you finish the retelling of your encounter with the incredibly cute and kind boy from the cafe.

"what?" you repeat, one eyebrow raised.

"what happened after?" he states, as if asking the obvious while spinning around in the computer chair that belongs to his girlfriend.

"i had to go to class," you answer, unfazed and oblivious much to yeosang's frustration which is why he wanna facepalm right then and there.

"you didn't even ask for his number?"

you shake your head. "no."

"i bet you don't even know his name," he says only sarcastically but he would be right.

"i don't."

you watch in bafflement as yeosang continues to sigh and complain before grace comes bursting through the door with the two boxes of pizza.

"you won't believe what your girl just told me," yeosang opens his big mouth and tells on you the second he can, prompting grace to hum in curiosity because she's just as equally nosy.

"what happened?" she says, placing the boxes on the stand next to the door.

"little miss over here had a cute boy actually talk to her and didn't even ask for his number nor his name," yeosang spews, accusation in his tone like you just committed a crime. "and worst of all, she lost the pen i got her for christmas."

grace gasps in response and plops down next to you as her weight makes the bed sink.

you roll your eyes, dismissing the last comment but going on to defend your name, "okay. you're being dramatic. it's not like i want him to be my boyfriend. i just happened to meet someone pleasant and i'm okay with the idea that nothing more will come from it."

your best friend shakes his head in disapproval and mutters, "you anti-romantic."

"and where did you meet this boy again?" grace asks.

"the cafe i usually go to."

"maybe you'll run into him again." she shrugs.

"maybe," you utter lowly. "but it's ok. like i said, i just thought it was a nice encounter and had to tell yeosang about it but if i knew he was gonna make a big ass deal, i would've just told you."

"excuse you," yeosang chimes in, "i was just looking out for you. you need to get yourself a boyfriend or at least a friend of your own so you won't be cockblocking all the time."

"first of all, i did get myself a friend," you say, your voice a type of snarky, "but you had to go and make her your girlfriend."

yeosang scoffs, the topic making rounds once again and proceeds to stop spinning himself to churn out another comment to annoy you.

"well maybe she became your friend because she was always meant to be my girlfriend."

you met grace as soon as you stepped foot onto campus given she was your literal roommate, and it only took a couple days to become comfortable with each other because the girl was so friendly and welcoming unlike anyone you've ever met before.

it wasn't until a week later that you considered the two of you actual friends, taking in the fact she was someone you saw yourself sticking by even in the far future.

but it only took another month for yeosang to see what you saw in her and snatched her away, recalling how fast their relationship went from friendly to romantic, you were so annoyed with yeosang because if anything went awry, it would've costed you the first friend you've made besides him.

but here's to them going on 2 years and a half so you really hope yeosang doesn't fuck it up because you think with his track records, you're in the right to have some doubts.

ignoring his response, you go on, "and second of all, your bitch ass invited me so how am i cockblocking?"

grace lets out half a chuckle and stands up to head for the boxes earlier, turning to the both of you.

"you both are hangry. pizza?" she offers.

yeosang takes a slice while you shake your head, telling her you're not hungry right now.

"my point is," yeosang continues, "it was the perfect chance and you completely missed it, but it's whatever now. i summoned you today because i've only seen your hermit ass like three times ever since the start of the term."

"well, yes. i wanted to focus on my studies."

"you need to learn how to relax once in a while," he says, with actual sympathy this time, "which is why i think you're gonna love what i have to say next."

but it just mellows out into an almost sarcastic-like tone, as if he knows you're gonna hate the idea but he's still persistent to go through with it.

"what?" you say, unamused.

he adjusts himself in the chair and puts the barely bitten pizza on standby as grace stares in anticipation because you're sure she already knows exactly what he's gonna say.

"so like, remember yunho?" he squeaks.

it takes a raised brow and maybe two seconds, but you manage to remember, blurting, "jeong yunho?"

"yes!" he nods way too excitedly.

all you really know about jeong yunho was that you've met him probably only twice and had less than a conversation when you did, though not failing to recall how soft-spoken and kind he also was.

"it's his birthday... well, technically his birthday already passed, but he's gonna be holding a late party to celebrate it and i might've maybe told him you're gonna come," yeosang announces, ending the ment with a stupid goofy smile like that's gonna lessen the impact.

"what the fuck, yeosang?"

you scowl, and grace jumps in, "i told him not to but he didn't wanna listen."

"it's a great opportunity!" he cowers back, high-pitched and all as he tries standing his ground.

"you know how much i hate parties!" you yell back just as loud.

"you've been to one!"

"one too much!"

"oh come on, y/n!" he slumps back in the chair staring at you like a disappointed parent. "you only have a year left after this semester. do you really not even wanna have some fun?"

"no. i really don't," you deadpan, much to an eyeroll and sigh from him while grace just sits by idly watching.

"it's not gonna be one of those crazy weird frat parties, i promise. just a house party with close friends, yunho said. plus, there's gonna be plenty of cute guys there."

"good for you. maybe you can find someone there," you say unseriously much to a giggle from grace but to an unamused yeosang because he seriously mean it.

he wants you out of your comfort zone at least just once and go and talk to people you might potentially like, having stayed in your own bubble for so long.

"please?"

the desperation makes you fight the urge to give in but you're losing, only huffing in annoyance.

"what happened to 'you're horrible at this romantic shit'?" you cite him word for word, throwing it back in his face.

"that's cause you really are. plus, you were being annoying at the time. but still doesn't mean i don't want you to try."

you think you're gonna regret. you know you're gonna regret it, but a part of you want to do it just for your best friend so you cave.

"i'll go. but if someone pukes on me again, i'm making you clean that shit with your own mouth."

the party starts at 7 p.m. sharp but yeosang's late birthday gift run leaves you guys almost an hour late, lightly knocking on yunho's door at 7:54 p.m. expecting for the house to be flooded with even more people you don't know but you're surprise to see a couple familiar faces in the background when the door comes apart.

"hey!" the tall birthday boy greets all of you, a lady by her side and arm wrapped around his who you can only assume to be his girlfriend sends a friendly smile the same time.

"come in, come in," he ushers, the three of you stepping inside to the much humble and comforting interior, nothing alike a stereotypical party setting and it's already managed to be the better party you've attended.

it's homey, a bit classy, and you should've expected it because the house is also in a relatively safe part of the neighborhood.

"you guys made it!" yunho welcomes again, his voice loud and excited, eyes traveling between your friends before it eventually stops on you.

"y/n, right?" he says, your name almost foreign sounding coming from him.

you nod in response and the taller boy smiles in relief, not typical of him to forget names but also not wanting to mess up and offend you.

"glad you could make it. i was afraid you couldn't because yeosang went on and on about how much parties scares you."

you narrow your eyes at your best friend and his habit of oversharing before a loose chuckle escapes.

"did he now?"

"he did," yunho says, also a small giggle out of him as if trying to ease the mood and make you comfortable. "but don't worry about it. it's not gonna be crazy, i'm sure of that."

"i appreciate it," you thank him, touched by the kind gesture of assurance although the man barely knows you. "i'll try to enjoy myself."

again, you've only seen yunho on two occasions before this and you can barely even recall the second one, only seeing him in passing along with others currently at the party when you'd go seek out yeosang inbetween classes.

yeosang smirks from beside you, happy and impressed from how you're already easing yourself into the situation, clearing his throat and deciding it's his turn.

"this is for you, birthday boy," yeosang says, presenting the gift in his hand proudly as if he didn't panic just almost 2 hours ago when you brought up if he was gonna get yunho something.

"appreciate it, man. i'm gonna put it with all the other gifts to open later."

he takes it into his hold, attention shortly pulled away by another knock at the door.

"i'm gonna get that. you guys make yourself at home," yunho says, excusing himself with his lady still at armrest.

"see, that wasn't so bad," yeosang takes the first chance he gets as soon as yunho's out of earshot, nudging you by the shoulder much to an eyeroll in return.

"don't speak so fast, we haven't even made it past 10 minutes."

"it's gonna be awesome," he states, convinced of his own words. "you, grace, and all the other girlies can hang out or something while i'm gonna go chat it up with the boys."

a visible annoyance paints grace's expression as she huffs, "if that's the case, i'm coming with. you seem to get stupider with every party."

a couple minutes later and a banter between the lovebirds about how reckless yeosang gets when he's drunk, you wind up in the downstairs bathroom of yunho's house, regretting that you didn't take grace's advice of peeing before coming.

at least the bathroom's nice but you don't wanna have to go out of your way and look for your friends in midst of all staring eyes. you already had enough of those making your way here.

the two had said they wouldn't leave you and it's best you guys stick together, but when you finally spot yeosang, he's already chatting it up with someone new when he was talking to wooyoung before--someone you also don't know well except the fact he's loud and extroverted the last time you met him.

grace is nowhere to be found and you're thinking whether you should just go look for her or insert yourself into the conversation yeosang and this stranger who's only visible from the back of his head, is having.

you don't get to make a choice because yeosang is quick to make it for you, sneaking over this person's shoulder and locking eyes with yours, one hand in the air motioning you to come as if you're his pet while his other is now occupied with a red cup.

you can hear him spewing from a distant as you make your way there, telling the person before him, "oh right, san, this is--"

"--strawberry peach?" the voice not belonging to yeosang says, so strange but familiar and recent at the same time, it stops you dead in track once you meet his eyes.

"strawberry peach lemonade?"

you pick your head up at what sounds like a question, following his gaze to your drink on the table, answering a mere, "yes."

"you came to a cafe to get lemonade?" he tease, delivery a type of amused that would've offended you if not for the smile on his lips.

"what's wrong with that?"

he snickers lowly and shakes his head before going back to his book and muttering, "nothing."

"oh?" yeosang is as confused as the both of you. "you two know each other?" because very rarely do you ever know anyone before he does.

"we met the other day," san tells your friend, your lips tight and body too in shock to answer properly. "at a cafe. she got the strawberry peach lemonade."

"oh. oh!" yeosang's volume turns an octave, a realization hitting him and making the corners of his lips go up because this is the guy you were going on about who was so cute and left such an impression you had to tell him when he knows you to not even look twice a guy's direction.

"thank god," you friend says. "i was afraid she went by some alias on the internet i wasn't aware of."

the comment makes both you and san freeze in place before a chuckle comes hurling out of him though he was fighting to bite it back.

you don't blame him because why would you when your best friend just implied he thought it was your possible camgirl name.

"you're fucking stupid," you hiss, a mix between laughing it off and feeling extremely embarrassed in front of the sole person you didn't think you'd ever meet again and this is how you're officially reintroduced.

"well," yeosang exhales, quick to brush off the remark because he has other things in mind, "i'm gonna go look for grace."

you knew it was coming and that he was gonna try to get the two of you alone but you didn't think it'd come this fast, your palms already starting to sweat and your feet feels like it's gonna make a run for it.

"i'll catch you guys later. you two have fun," yeosang bids goodbye as san returns one while you're just standing and thinking of all the ways to get back at him if this doesn't go well.

"a bit crazy, isn't it?"

that soft, melodic tone pulls you away from yeosang's walking figure and to his eyes that could almost melt you on the spot, that strange sensation settling in the pit of your stomach from his lingering gaze.

"definitely a bit crazy," you manage to say after composing yourself, because you do wanna talk to him and not scare him away, but you're feeling a lot more self-conscious than usual.

but whereas you cave easily under stressful situations, san treads through them with confidence, breaking the ice by asking a question.

"that guy, yeosang, you guys together?"

and if you were in the middle of drinking something, you would've spat it right out at such question.

"definitely not," you deny passionately, though it wouldn't be the first; you and yeosang getting the accusation from time to time because you two happen to be of opposite sex and are actually just friends.

"i'd rather lose an arm before picking to settle with him," you add.

you love your best friend, you do. he's always there for you when needed and has been with you through everything, but he's also messy, lazy, and probably the most disgusting person you know.

grace is a soldier for putting up with it for almost three years now and you don't know how she does it.

san chuckles at the response and the pure offense on your face.

"why not? sounds like an overall decent dude."

"i've known him since middle school. he's more a friend than anything and sometimes like a brother. plus, he has a girlfriend, grace."

"ah," san coos, "so you're the friend. he did say he came with his girlfriend and a friend but he thought his friend was trying to hide."

you shouldn't have expected any better from yeosang but you still wanna kick when you do see him, opting to calmly explain yourself, "was just taking a while in the restroom, that's all."

though you're not sure if it was necessary to address that, your cheeks burning a light pink after that san takes notice to.

he giggles it off and you're glad it made him smile at least.

"if i knew i was gonna meet you here, i'd bring your pen, but i don't think neither of us were expecting such coincidence."

your eyes swell a kind of surprise, almost stuttering when you finally speak, "you got my pen?"

you had quickly packed all your things, afraid you were gonna be late for the next class and you were so sure you got everything. it wasn't until you got back to the dorms that you noticed the stylo sketch pen yeosang got you for christmas was missing.

it didn't take long for it to be considered lost forever because there wasn't much hope of finding it even if you went back, but you didn't think it'd wind up in the hands of the boy you met that day.

"yeah, sorry if you came back looking for it. i had noticed you left it and thought it was rude if i didn't do anything. maybe that's why fate sent me here today," he says, snickering at the last comment, though at this point blaming it on fate doesn't seem so crazy.

"thank you," you tell him quietly, moved by the consideration but volume falling behind the progressing loud music though he can still make out your lips.

"no problem." he smiles.

and you don't know how it's possible but he looks even better than last time, the black attire and slicked back hair a contrast to the other day but when you speak to him, it all still feels the same... the slightly mischievous but easygoing personality turning away your initial worries and nervousness until you can't even remember why you had them.

the only thing left to weigh heavy is his usage of 'fate', the impression that you two meeting today was because of destiny and something already set in stone, but you might be overthinking.

"do you wanna go outside?" he asks, practically shouting at this point because the music has completely drowned out his voice.

he can tell you didn't hear him by how you confusingly squint your brows and unintentionally lean closer, to which he returns, whispering into your ear that shouldn't have sparked whatever it did.

you pull away to nod hesitantly and follow him out the backdoor, your throat clogged and body almost frozen if you weren't walking, glad he isn't looking because never in your life has a man smell that good before.

it's probably not the best idea to be away from your friends with someone you barely know, but you also don't have any reasons not to trust san... for now.

the spring air hugs your skin and you shiver slightly, only a thin cardigan to protect from the cold that makes san second guess coming out here.

"if it's too cold, we can go back inside. i just thought maybe you'd prefer somewhere where we could actually hear each other."

you shake your head but throw in a small smile to show you appreciate the consideration.

"it's okay. it is definitely way too loud inside there."

"yeah," he agrees, "and whoever's phone is connected to the bluetooth has a horrible taste in music." the now muffled audio a rock song you cannot make out the lyrics to even back at the house.

you laugh at the remark, the both of you staring into nothingness but yunho's backyard fences, yet it feels nice. safe. comfortable.

"i bet it's yeosang. he puts on the shittiest songs," you talk bad behind your friend's back, getting a giggle from san that makes it worth it.

"by the way, what did yeosang say your name was again?" he asks, turning to you with his full attention after realizing this whole time he doesn't even know your name.

"y/n," you tell him, locking eyes and ignoring the sensation in your stomach again from being this close and alone to someone who looks like that.

"y/n." you listen to him repeat your name under his breath. "you definitely look like a y/n."

the comment makes the corners of your lips turn, telling him he sounds so silly.

"it's san, right?" it's your turn to ask, sure you got it correct because yeosang's voice is loud, annoying, and hard to miss.

"yes," he confirms. "san choi, or choi san."

"choi san," you mumble, "it definitely has a beat to it."

and you're both laughing together the next, it doesn't feel real how easy being with him is. how, you were so hesitant about showing up and not being able to talk to anybody and now you're actually enjoying yourself, the state of your friends completely forgotten.

you don't usually wanna know many people but you wanna know more about san, every expressions he makes and any words he says paid attention and listened to carefully, you hope you won't scare him off just yet.

the conversation taking place after feels never-ending from him telling you about the transfer process to sharing majors and learning he specializes in math, you don't even realize you've both been standing in the cold for a while until a voice calls out to you.

"y/n!"

you look over your shoulder to find grace standing there, only half her body out the door and moving her eyes from you to san, the slight surprise when she sees you're with someone.

"there you are," she says. "i thought you had left without telling us."

you're now fully facing her with san following, watching from the side as you two carry on.

"what happened?" you ask.

she sighs before telling you it's yeosang, not to anyone's surprise.

"he's stupid drunk already and picking fights," she adds, getting second embarrassment again just thinking about how mad her boyfriend had got when he found out wooyoung had gotten yunho the same gift.

it wasn't anyone's fault; yeosang just loses half his braincells when he's under the influence.

you shake your head unamused and swipe san a glare, apologizing and telling him you have to go.

"wait," san stops you before you could completely leave him standing alone in the cold. "your pen. can i still give it back to you?"

you're standing there almost starstrucked-like and nodding your head, stuttering at the fact he wants to see you again.

"y-yes."

"perfect." he smiles. "how about the cafe again? we're both familiar with the place."

"that'll work," you say. "this monday?"

"this monday."

"cool. i'll see you then, san."

"what? no way!" grace yells, after you finish telling her about san and how crazy the coincidence is.

"yeah... i didn't really think i'd see him again," you say softly while settling down on the edge of your bed with grace across in hers, your heart doing a turn just thinking about the exchange between you and san again.

"you're blushing," grace snaps you out, meeting her gaze and batting your lashes.

"what? i'm not," you deny, adjusting yourself in the seat like that's gonna make her less suspicious.

"no. you are." she giggles. "you like him."

the bold statement makes your eyes go wide, shaking your head and denying the accusation on the spot because you can't possibly like someone you just met.

"i don't even know the guy," you tell her, trying to convince her as much as you are to yourself, hoping she won't catch how tense you're sounding at just the mere topic of this guy.

"so?" she shrugs, leaning back with her hands to the sheet. "you can't know a person within one night. finding out about the person is all part of the journey to eventually, a relationship."

you just learned the guy's name and now she's already bringing up the possibility of a relationship.

"believe me, y/n." she sits back up, intensely locking eyes with you and voice stern as if schooling a child. "the almost 3 years i've known you, i've never seen you look at anyone like that."

"you're being dramatic," you say, but the girl is still persistent, repeating herself and assuring you san is special.

"you're meeting him monday, right?"

"yes." you nod, a part of you still nervous but also excited to be seeing him again.

"tell me how it goes!"

when monday rolls around, you don't wanna think grace is right, but from how your heart is pitter pattering in your chest and you even glanced an extra time at the mirror before coming, you're afraid she just might be.

you don't have class till noon, and though he didn't specify the time, you just assumed it was around the same as last time, making yourself comfortable and occupied by scrolling through your social feeds.

the opening of the cafe door is missed and you don't fully comprehend he's here until a small 'hi' pulls you from the screen, looking up as he smiles down at you and you're reminded of why it's so hard to look away from this man.

"hey," you greet as calm as your nerves allows you to.

he takes the seat across and settles his backpack the same as he did before, the smile on him never having left his face the entire time.

"no drinks or what?" he says, the slightly teasing tone lightening up the atmosphere.

"i wanted to wait till you get here," you tell him. "i thought it would be rude if i ordered ahead of time."

he chuckles and shakes his head.

"no worries. i would've understand, but i appreciate the consideration." there's a split second of silence before he continues, "tell me what you want, i can go order."

you hum and think as if you don't get the same thing everytime; san jumping in when you can't seem to make a choice.

"strawberry peach, right?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.

"strawberry peach," you confirm, reaching for your bag to give him the change. "here's--"

but he kindly interrupts you, waving it off and assuring he got it

"are you sure?" you ask, a kind of worry in your voice because you feel slightly bad he has to pay for your $3 drink.

"of course. i'll be back."

and he goes off with a smile; you catching the dimple poking out of his cheek before he left and you think it just might be your favorite thing about him... not that you're keeping track of others.

you thank him quietly when he returns, mind suddenly empty when it comes to topic although you two were just talking a few days ago like you were never gonna run out of things to talk about--then you remember.

"right... so my pen," you bring up, hoping it's not too straightforward but you really wanted to say something.

his face lights up, the realization hitting him as well.

"oh, right right. give me a sec," he says, pulling his backpack and digging through it before pulling out the sketch pen yeosang got you almost two christmas ago. "your pen."

he hands it to you and you accept it with the sincerest 'thank you' you could let out, playing with it in your hand because you did think the old thing was lost for good.

"don't forget it this time," he teases; your head picking up to let out a snicker.

"i won't."

he nods, staring at the pen you've still yet to put away and thinking back to what you were doing the last time you were here.

"you're an artist?" he asks, the question casting your eyes with a twinge of shyness at such wording.

you've never considered yourself an artist. if you did, you think it'd be an insult to actual artists.

"i draw and major in arts but i'm not an artist," you tell him with a shake of your head and a dry snicker this time.

"then you're an artist," he says, shrugging with the most nonchalant expression painting him.

you chuckle, continuing to deny such bold claim.

"just because someone cooks that also doesn't make them a chef."

"that's fair," he agrees, thinking the logic makes total sense. "but i'm sure your arts are amazing."

here's to sitting with probably the cutest guy you've ever met, and he's telling you you're amazing at the one thing you're passionate about and you're not sure how to feel about that.

"you haven't even seen my work," you say, the mischievous tone in this back and forth feeling more like a banter at this point.

"no. but i saw a glimpse," he defends, really set on the fact he thinks you are totally good at what you do even if you are correct about him not having seen the whole thing, "and i'm sure the actual work is amazing."

you reframe from rolling your eyes and bite at your lips instead so the smile doesn't slip, moving the discussion along because you're more interested about him than your unsatisfactory artist journey.

"so what do you do with you know... math?" you ask, trying to not sound ignorant on the topic but that's exactly how it came off.

thankfully, he finds it cute and laughs it off.

"i went into it because the people around me said i was good at it," he says, a bit unfazed and dull. "that's pretty much it, i guess." and ending it with a smile when he catches your gaze again.

"but do you enjoy it?"

there's a quick silence and san tilts his head slightly, quirking his lips to the side before answering.

"it's not bad. if anything, it's been easy, so i'm glad for that at least."

you nod, smiling in return.

"that's good. only one more year and we'll be done."

"yeah," he says, letting out a loose chuckle after. "i can't wait. there's something i want to do after, but for now, we'll have to see what happens."

and you wanna ask him more about it; what is it that he wants to do after and just more about him in general, but you have taken notice of the clock sitting behind him and the fact you only have 20 minutes to get to campus.

you kindly thank him again for returning the pen as well as the drink, and in the midst of all turmoil and conflicted feelings because you don't know how to ask if you're gonna see him again, he's the one who fortunately suggests you guys exchange numbers.

you leave the shop with one last wave to him and his handsome smile ingrained in your head for the rest of the day.

but you're still not sure you like him just yet. not until summer.

after almost six hours, a few rest stops, and long stretches of desert roads, the heat of the much southern california is felt along with the sight of palm trees spread out everywhere.

"we've arrived, ladies," yeosang announces, finally parked into the hotel's parking lot after missing at least two turns before he found the place.

as soon as you step out, the summer air is annoying and you wish you hadn't wore long sleeves. but you like summer because it always marked the end of a semester and then the beginning of a new one--the fact you're so close to almost graduating.

you were planning to not do anything all summer, just eager for some rest and break away from the stress that came with school and your part-time job, but yeosang was quick to scrap all plans and make some of his own.

said his friends were gonna go down south and out of town for a whole week and invited him, and he wanted you and grace to come along since it would be the last summer break you all would share before graduating.

you told him you would come as long as he would be driving and he didn't have any problems. he thinks you and grace are terrible drivers though you would say otherwise.

"and who are these friends of yours again?" you ask, taking your luggage out of the trunk and staring up into the hotel you guys would be staying at, amazed at the amount of floors the building holds.

"you know," yeosang replies, shutting the trunk after he's made sure nothing's left behind, "yunho, wooyoung, and some others at the party."

you hum at the vagueness of the answer, following both your friends to the hotel's lobby that has a mix of modernness but also slight tropical and beach vibes, the color scheme a combination of white, woodsy brown, and green.

after being given your room keys, you don't wanna do anything but lay down and rest for a bit though yeosang should be more tired than you, he still has enough energy to roam the rest of the hotel when grace asked.

your room is a single queen bed and has almost the perfect view to beach if not for the huge palm tree that happens to sit in front.

yeosang and grace had initially wanted just one room together to save on cost but you didn't wanna be that person, and especially the third wheel to everything, so you cut your losses.

it's gonna be hefty on your wallet but it's only for a week, and plus, you get your own privacy and space away from the eyes of your friends.

the late preparations and long drive left almost no free time, so instead, the night is spent on the rooftop restaurant of the hotel where grace wanted to eat at, and after finishing your meal, you excuse yourself to go shower and sleep first because you want to wake up early for breakfast.

you wind up in the dining room alone at 7:30 in the morning because both your friends moaned and groaned about it being too early.

your breakfast consists of two pancakes, scrambled eggs, a banana, and a cup of coffee; choosing to settle on a table in the far corner.

you watch the many guests go in and out of the dining room, also keeping yourself occupied with your phone while eating hoping to finish fast enough so you'll be able to go back upstairs to do your makeups and pick out an outfit since your friends want to go sightseeing later.

and you were doing pretty good keeping your eyes to the entrance of the dining room, but you must've missed their arrival, because as you go to shove a piece of pancake down your throat, the slight tap on your shoulder makes your head turn.

"san..." you say his name so naturally, it just instinctly rolling off your tongue.

you haven't seen him in a while, but now he's standing in front of you although you're almost 6 hours away from home.

"hey, y/n," he greets, the smile you also haven't seen in a while making all of that strange sensation come back as he takes the seat across from you.

"hey," you say, your shock now morphing into actual joy at the fact he's here. "what are you doing here?"

"wooyoung invited me," he answers, nodding off in a direction that your eyes shoot to, seeing wooyoung, yunho, and a couple others from the party just as yeosang said, huddled around an area of the room you can't believe you missed.

"oh," you mumble, as if all of this should've been expected and it's no surprise san is here too.

"and where are your friends? what are they doing to be leaving you alone like this?" his voice a mix of teasing but also concern, it's hard to tell which one is louder.

but you laugh, telling him your friends stayed up way too late last night and didn't wanna get up this early.

"i see." he nods. "well, good thing i found you." he smiles again, every single time making your heart strangely tight.

you didn't see san much after the cafe meeting, or at all. the both of you busy with either school, work, or other responsibilities, most of the interactions were limited to texting, and even then, it was hardly a daily occurence.

though you guys did exchange instagrams and he poked fun of you because your profile picture was a digital painting you did of yourself and you had 3 posts only--all of them also of art works, he at least complimented you.

said you have an amazing gift and all that even if you're still trying to believe it yourself, you appreciate the kindness.

"yeah," you say. "kind of crazy we were going on the same trip and didn't even know it."

the realization makes the both of you giggle in sync, the conversation and atmosphere so easy flowing, it's hard to believe you haven't talked to him face to face for a few months now.

"but again, we were kind of occupied with our own thing and all that," he tries reasoning. "but i'm glad you're here. it will be fun, you know. wooyoung they're all a little loud but i'm sure you got a friend to match the energy."

you nod, a smile on your lips almost the whole time and your food going cold because san just said he's glad you're here.

"oh for sure. we will fit just right in with yeosang."

it was a night where you and san texted for much longer than usual when he told you how him and wooyoung became friends. the boy younger than him by a few months but so much more extroverted and chaotic in every other way.

nonetheless, he said wooyoung is a great friend to have and he's grateful for the wonderful people he's met through him.

you were mostly focus on the initial surprise and shock of seeing san here, you didn't even realize he's sat down with you the entire time before he's even got anything to eat.

"you should probably go grab something," you tell him, your tone sweet and concern even if you've yet to really become close to this man.

he briefly checks over his shoulder to find his friends still occupied and not seated, shaking his head.

"i'll wait for them. besides, if i go, i'm afraid you're gonna try to run away."

you can't help the squint that takes over one of your eyebrows, the line between teasing, being friendly, and flirting blurring into one and you feel you're giving yourself too much credits for even thinking of the possibility of the last one.

but before you can say anything, a rather familiar and nice-sounding voice beats you to it.

"hey, y/n!"

it's yunho, face and body language as kind and welcoming as ever, and with his girlfriend wrapped around his arm who you've also learned from san, prefers her korean name, jiwon, over her american given one.

"hey!" you try to be enthusiatic as much as you allowed yourself to without the help of yeosang. this is usually his field of expertise.

they ask about your friends whereabouts the same as san, and you give the same response as they hum and nod in understanding.

"well it's perfect we ran into you here then," yunho beams. "we're thinking of hitting the pool this evening, you guys care to join?"

you're probably the worst person to ask out of your group, swimming not really being your thing and all, but you give yunho your words that you'll ask yeosang and grace first, guaranteeing the fact the two are gonna say yes.

they eventually excuse themselves and bid you goodbye, the process catching some of the other guys attention as they take notice to you and give out small waves before disppearing to get breakfast.

"awesome. i guess i'll see you then."

san snaps you back, meeting his gaze and throwing a smile that could melt you on the spot.

"we'll see," you mumble.

"i should probably leave you to finish your food then. you leaving soon?" he looks down at your plate and you follow, feeling almost embarrassed at the mess that you've only half ate.

"yeah. i think i'm good for breakfast." you chuckle lightly.

he pretends to pout, quirking one side of his lips.

"aww i'm sorry for distracting you. yeah i really should get going."

"oh no you're good. i'll just be on my way."

"alright. i'll see you later?"

"yeah, i'll see you later."

and with that, after watching him walk away as he bids one last farewell, you clear your table and head back upstairs; the encounter heavy on your mind as you start rummaging your luggage for an outfit.

"no no. you don't understand. you need the perfect swimsuit!"

grace's voice ring throughout the tiny store at the beachfront and you're regretting telling her san's gonna be there at all. because now, she's dead set on impressing san and making sure you wow him tonight.

currently, she's trying to convince you to give in to a black two piece that has the bottom hiked so high up your waist with barely any coverage for the buttocks, you think your father would disown you if he sees you in it.

yeosang distracts himself by the glass and hat sections, leaving you girls to talk amongst yourselves, though he doesn't shy away from passing snide remarks because he knows you even better than grace and that you're shopping way out of your comfort zone.

"girl, i'm looking for clothes to swim in, not to seduce him," you say annoyingly when she won't give up.

"you don't know that!" she squeaks, giving the two piece another once over. "you're gonna look totally hot in it!"

"then buy it for yourself." you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. "i'm not wearing that in front of like what? 8 or something guys."

she frowns before dropping a loud, "fine!" placing the piece back on its rack and turning to you to mimick your posture. "you are such a pick me."

the comment makes you scoff, rolling your eyes at your best friend's antics.

"excuse you. just because i'm a lot more reserved and hesitant doesn't mean i want to be different or whatever society wants to paint us more shy girlies."

"yeah yeah," she brushes you off, waving in the air. the topic one you two already had one too many times. "but i won't need it for myself because i already brought a cute swimsuit from home."

"well that's great. then maybe we can just head back to the hotel," you say, delivery a type of sarcastic to play along but she clearly isnt very amused, pouting and scoffing at you the entire walk back.

"i don't wanna be the only one in a swimsuit!" she yells at you in the comfort of your hotel room, having came down a few minutes ago because she wanted to know what you're gonna wear.

but you dismiss and excuse her complaints with a roll of your eyes. "you'll be fine, grace. and even if, more power and attention to you."

little did you know you'd end up being the odd one out, finally showing up to the pool with your friends and seeing everyone in appropriate attire while you're out with a pair of gym shorts and a black t-shirt, having told your friends you're probably not gonna swim.

"hey guys!"

the voice just now belonging to hongjoong, who you recognize and remember the few occasions you happened to see him with yeosang. he's a year older and already graduated but is definitely the backbone of the group, yeosang said.

everyone already there greets all three of you, friendly smiles and welcoming body languages, the amount of people is quite overwhelming but you try your best to hide it, returning the gestures with a smile of your own.

some's sprawled on the lounge chairs, some already in the pool, and some sitting idly in the hot tub.

but you don't see him anywhere.

you didn't come for him in particular (if you did, you would've bought the two piece your friend so hard tried pushing). you came for your friend and the kindness of his other friend group, but your eyes do naturally search for him and you notice his absence immediately.

but you don't wanna ask. it just doesn't feel right to.

"well don't just stand there! get your butts in the pool!" wooyoung splashes the three of you as you flinch and instinctly try to protect the sketchbook you brought along in case your friends get pulled away by their extroverted activities and you don't have anything better to do.

"jung wooyoung! i'm gonna get you for that!" yeosang shouts, the boy's teasing doing exactly what he wanted as your friend jumps in the pool and chases after a giggly wooyoung.

grace chuckles beside you, pulling you by the wrist. "come on, let's go." but you're quick to stop and tell her you're gonna sit for a bit first.

she sighs but lets it go, threatening to get you wet and soak the sketchbook if you don't get in after a while.

you watch your friends and even if you're not the one having all the fun, the fact they look like they are makes you happy enough, shaking your head and giggling when you see grace and yeosang attempt to do a breath-holding contest or tries submerging the other's head into the water.

you made sure to choose the chair furthest from the pool because you don't want yeosang pulling anything funny.

a couple doodles and swimming competition between wooyoung and yeosang for the 4th time, the sudden voice in your ear makes the hair on your skin raise, flinching slightly to turn and meet his gaze.

he goes from expressionless to a smile that you almost want to poke his dimples for having the guts to show up this close.

and when he pulls away, asking what you're doing, you barely register his words because you're too busy trying to not drool over this man being shirtless and looking like the best art you've ever seen, making anything you've ever created pale in comparison.

but fortunately (or unfortunately), you don't get to dissect him for too long because you're more curious who the lady standing beside him is and why you haven't seen her before.

she's in a ruffle yellow swimsuit with sunglasses and a sunhat that goes perfectly with whatever aesthetic she was going for. and you think she looks like what grace probably had in vision for you when she wanted you to wow san.

"san! ashley! get over here!" you all snap to the call of hongjoong as he waves in the air from the pool, the water stopping at his armpit.

ashley.

"you coming with us?" san asks, his tone welcoming and inviting, but you're gonna sit this one out.

"i'm good," you answer with a small smile, and he quirks his lips to the side at that, dropping his shoulders at the answer before nodding.

"alright," he says. "but you can always join us whenever. if not, i hope you'll have fun," he refers to the sketchbook in your hands and you feel it sinking deep into your chest, a bit embarrassed by the fact but he just laughs it off.

"i'll see you," he bids, making his way to the others and guiding the new girl (to you) by the small of her back.

and you really try to focus on the sketch, your inspirations drawn from people, places, and things around you. the current sunset absolutely beautiful in its orange hue, but you can't miss the laughters and fun san is sharing with the new girl, and you don't miss how the more you're with this man, the more a type of longing blossoms.

how, everytime he's in sight, your eyes just naturally follows him. settles on him. like you just wanna look at him all day.

you shake the thoughts off, which becomes quite easy once yeosang and grace along with a couple others decides they're done for good, and seonghwa, the oldest of you all, suggests to end the night by sharing dinner together.

it's on him and hongjoong, he said.

the rooftop restaurant feels different this time in the company of others. you stick close to your friends and observe everyone else like a lost little puppy when you have nothing better to do.

it's loud and chaotic and you're struggling to keep up with everyone and everything, but you manage to catch the smile of san when grace starts going off about something embarrassing you did in freshmen year as revenge for not getting in the pool.

you shout and defend your name and dignity but it doesn't help much with yeosang jumping in, leading to a long night of teasing and bullying from your friends in the face of everyone as they laugh at the 'endearing' friendships you guys share.

and by the end of the night, you almost forgot about san or the fact you guys barely interacted. not until you're fresh out the shower and recovering your social battery that you get the first text from him in a while.

san: it's true the story your friend told?

you can't even help the chuckle that escapes, catching yourself and going on to reply.

y/n: 😭 i hate grace lmfao

san: it's okay😅 we all just casually poop our pants in the middle of the night

y/n: 🙄

san: kidding 😁

san: hey. i was thinking if you'd like to get breakfast together tomorrow?

san: im sorry we didn't get to talk a lot today. you looked so uncomfortable during dinner 😅

the comment flusters you, thinking about the fact san was watching and saw how out of place you really looked.

y/n: just not used to big crowds lol

san: i can see that

san: but it's okay. it'll just be us tmr 🙂

y/n: won't your friends be there?

san: nope. they dont like the food lol

san: how about urs? will they be coming?

y/n: most likely not. those two don't wake until almost noon

san: perfect lol. i'll see you then?

y/n: maybee 😀

and he probably didn't push too hard because it's almost like he knew you're gonna be there; waking up before it's even 7 and sitting at the same table from before, watching guests go in and out of the room hoping to catch the boy that sent you the text last night.

his face lights up the same as you when he enters, waving in the air and heading your direction, you really shouldn't feel so nervous but excited at the sight of him walking.

"hey!" he greets cheerfully, sliding into the seat across with a smile.

"good morning," you return, hands curled in your lap and happy he can't see them because you wonder what he'd think.

"how you'd sleep?" he ask the same time he combs over his morning hair, never in your life has someone looked so good doing so, you didn't even think it was possible.

"good," you manage to answer with composure. "and you?"

"alright." he shrugs. "wooyoung was just mostly drunk and annoying from last night's dinner."

a small giggle also laced with empathy escapes from you. "well i'm sorry to hear. i hope today will be better."

he nods. "hopefully." then realizing you haven't even gotten your food, talking in a concerned tone, "don't tell me you were waiting for me."

"i was," you say. "don't worry about it. i'm not that hungry. the dinner last night kept me filled plenty."

"if you say so..." he lingers a bit before continuing, "should we go now?"

"sure."

you also get close to the same thing you got last time, with the exception that they've switched out pancakes for waffles, getting a question from san after sitting down about your food choices.

"well, i really only eat korean foods," you tell him. "i'm not too fond of anything else besides what's on my plate right now."

"ahh. so you're a picky eater?"

"somewhat. that's why yeosang hates going out to eat with me."

san lets out a quiet snicker, something more mischievous bubbling in his eyes that you don't read into.

"you talk about yeosang a lot... does yours and his relationship ever bothers your other friend?" he asks, the question stopping you from sipping your coffee.

the friendly and harmless tone still in the air but you can't hide the fact the question flusters you a little.

"well, me and yeosang have known each other for a while... even before grace, so she understands that we don't see each other like that at all."

san quirks his lips and nods, taking your words for it.

"why?" you speak again. "do we give out that kind of vibe?" you ask worriedly, because you would never want to unintentionally (or intentionally) hurt grace in any ways. on your life you have never seen yeosang for more than the annoying middle schooler you couldn't get rid of.

but as san shakes his head, you feel a sense of relief, watching as a light smirk creep up on his face.

"just wondering," he says, so calmly but eerie at the same time, you can't quite grasp the intention. but then something else comes over, and you forget all about deciphering san's answer; not really wanting to but letting the intrusive thoughts win.

"and that girl you were with yesterday? you guys together?" you ask, no menance in your voice; just a natural curioisity because you wanna know... not for any reasons deeper.

"she's a friend," he answers fast and casual. "i know her from my previous school because we were under the same program and have similar interests and whatnot."

"i see," you mumble, a light smile anyone would've missed because you don't wanna admit to anyone why the fact brings you a sense of comfort.

but it doesn't cut it with grace.

"that's what they always say!" she cries dramatically, after storming into your room when she was finally done sleeping past noon and the events of yesterday hit her.

but you don't have any reasons to doubt san, even if you love your best friend and wanna take her words for it, you don't think it's fair to assume someone you barely know is trying to take your man that isn't really your man.

"for all you know, they could be fucking behind doors."

"grace!" you yell your friend's name at such accusation, your ears turning red at even the thought of it.

"sorry," she mutters, but barely meaning it, only shrugging off what needed to be said.

"i just don't want you to be hurt in the end," she says, voice a kind of sympathy you didn't even know you need.

because yes, you think san is handsome. he is kind and unusually attentive to you for whatever reasons, and seeing someone else by his side made your stomach queasy all for the wrong reasons... but you don't feel justified in feeling a certain way just because your friend says you should.

you're not with him and you still don't even know if you wanna be with him.

“trust me, grace,” you assure her, a confident smile settling on your lips that she only frowns to. “i’ll be fine.”

and as much as she wants to believe it, it’s hard not to doubt knowing the way you are.

how, though you’ve navigated through life barely getting romantically involved with boys, it wouldn’t be difficult for someone like san to get you wrapped around his fingers if he wants to.

the guy way too charming; how he just casually checks all criteria from looks to personality, the girl herself rooting for you and him initially, but quickly rethinking the choice after last night.

yet, you don't let what your friend says get to you. or at least you try not to, but it's loud and it bothers you through the day... if someone as likeable as san would be able to hurt you.

if he could lie and deceive you and not even feel bad about it.

but when he pops by your side at night; yours and his friend group having the want to go clubbing, and he stays with you almost entirely, neglecting the girl grace said you should be worried about, you can't even remember why you doubted him in the first place.

not when he'd ask questions about you all night long as if he really wants to know you, so interested in the arts and work you do and accompanying you when everyone else is busy enjoying themselves.

and especially when he'd get breakfast with you every morning until the trip is over, a part of you glad but another saddened by the fact because you know you won't get to see him everyday anymore.

you'll have to go back to the old routine of working and assignments, no more butterflies or feelings of tightness in your chest and stomach, uncertain when you're gonna even get to see or talk to him again.

but one thing you know for sure, is that by the end of summer, you're positive you like choi san.

you're positive you like san, because every time your phone rings with a notification, you can't help but wish it's him--replying to a meme you've sent a few hours ago, or asking how your day has been.

that when grace commented on how your art style has changed, as if they've been pulled and inspired by someone or something, she wasn't just trying to tease you.

grace also being the same person to explain the feelings in your chest and stomach, and why your breath is taken away each time whenever you see him.

even if she was skeptical a few months ago and yelling in your face he's gonna hurt you, seeing the way he is around you has calmed her mind to some extent.

the way he actually treats you with interests and and respect, listening and nodding when you talk and asking you about everything, managing to convince your friend somewhat he might take a liking to you and that you won't come out of this wounded.

he's even become closer with yeosang; the craziness of just how different but also alike these two are, able to carry a conversation on for hours and making grace and you feel forgotten.

"so you guys are coming, right?" san asks the three of you in a corner of the library, quick to associate the spot with you and your friends after asking about your whereabouts one day.

"uh--"

"of course!" yeosang beats you to it, both you and grace narrowing your eyes at the boy in the middle. "we wouldn't wanna miss it."

grace sneers and throws yeosang another look.

"right, because the other two parties where you made a clown show of yourself wasn't enough." she shakes her head and lowers it back to her notebook, mumbling under her breath, "i'm not babysitting."

yeosang pouts immediately, putting on an act and a voice to go with it that makes you wanna throw a punch his way.

"babe, please..."

"no."

"it'd be the last college party before we graduate."

"no."

then he turns to you and hopes you'll take pity.

"y/n?"

you fume under your nose and follow grace as you start scribbling so he gets the hint, because you also don't wanna go to this party. even if wooyoung's the one throwing it and you're all gonna be graduating soon.

you'd rather just end your college career in peace.

"san's going so you're already automatically going anyway," yeosang says, losing his patience and throwing you under the bus to be petty, receiving a kick to his ankle from under the table in return.

"you really should think about coming," san brings it up one more time on the walk to your next class, after leaving the lovebirds in the library to talk it out between them.

you come to a stop when you've both reached the building, standing before him with your textbook curled in your arms and quirking your lips to the side.

"i'll think about it, but if grace don't wanna come, yeosang probably won't."

"why not come by yourself?" he suggests, like it's the easiest thing in the world. but he knows you well at this point, adding, "i know it's probably scary going without your friends, but trust me, you won't be alone. i'll be there so you won't ever have to worry about it." he smiles.

and his words. his body language. his smile. they all come off so sincere and genuine, you just wanna believe him and everything he says.

that he won't ever hurt you. make you feel inadequate and question everything about yourself, because liking someone isn't supposed to feel painful and it isn't supposed to make your heart ache.

but when you show up to the party without your friends, the people you recognize doesn't do anything to ease your anxiety, especially when the number pales in comparison to people you don't recognize.

and by now, you're more than sure you like san because despite his efforts to make you feel welcomed and comfortable amongst the sea of strangers he knows scares you, it doesn't matter when the girl beside him makes you feel uneasy all night.

when butterflies and a beating heart are replaced by the wish to run, liking someone is no longer fun.

"what! you are such a liar!" ashley squeaks with a giggle, pushing san's shoulder lightly in a friendly banter. the kind that makes you feel like you're intruding and disrupting something confidential by following san all night like a lost puppy.

"no! i'm forreal," san defends himself from the girl's teasing, his cheeks flushing pink even in the bad kitchen lighting.

"you were messing with her!"

he chuckles and you're wondering why you're still even here--or how the conversation of san and another girl not you or ashley even started.

"i promise, we were just friends," he says.

ashley shakes her head, smirking the same time she drinks from the cup in her hand, and when she looks san in the eye, she isn't just the girl san's friend with anymore.

because if grace were to yell in your face again about this girl and all the reasons you should be worried, you would agree with her.

even if you still don't feel justified... you like san now, and you can't help but think she's a threat.

"cute, isn't he?" she turns to you, her gaze burning and making you feel small on the spot. her confidence something she walks with proudly and with an aura you hate yourself for even admiring, "but unfortunately a hard one to tie down."

her words and tone cryptic, you can only blink as you try to digest what she said just now and if it was meant to be a dig at you.

you clear your throat, not feeling any bigger with the volume but excusing yourself either way to use the restroom.

just sit in there and think of any excuses in order to get out of here, regretting not staying with yeosang and grace to watch alice in borderland for the 5th time while eating wingstop.

because if you did, you wouldn't be feeling this way. out of place and with the boy you like slipping right by the palm of your hand.

your phone buzzing in your lap takes the moment away, looking down to see the one person you wanna hear from, even if he's also responsible for the doubts in your head.

san: hey. you good?

san: im outside the bathroom. i don't wanna knock though bc im scared it might not be you in there lol

you don't respond, instead going to open the door even if you should be contemplating about a valid reason to go home, chest and face nearly knocking into him, you can only gulp.

"hey." he smiles.

"hey," you mumble, wondering if he can even hear especially with the amount of bodies littering the hallway, but he does judging by the reaction.

"you okay?" he asks, voice concerned the way it always is.

"yeah..." you answer, your stance so awkward. "just needed some space." you try laughing it off, to which he returns one much to your relief.

"i see. well, should we go somewhere quieter? with less people?"

"actually..." your volume simmers, afraid he's gonna take it the wrong way. "i was thinking of going home."

he stares at you a second too long before responding with a simple "oh." the wheels going off in his head until an idea comes over. "that's fine. i can take you home."

"no, you're good. yeosang said he'd pick me up when i'm ready."

"no, let me. i want to. plus, i invited you so it's only fair."

and you weren't gonna argue with him; not when he was already pulling out his keys and telling you to follow him out the house and into his car.

"aren't you a little drunk?" you tease, after watching him pull at the seatbelt.

"a little." he smirks, turning to you. "but i'm good for the most part. i didn't drink that much."

right. because he was mostly engaged and immersed in conversations and banters that you weren't a part of, with the girl you're still wondering what happened to.

"where did your friend go?" you ask, as casually as possible.

"ashley? she got pulled away by some pool table game wooyoung they wanted to play."

you just nod, though the many unanswered questions about this friend bothers you, moving to look ahead and admire the size of wooyoung's house the same time san starts the engine. and that's when you realize, this might be the first time you and san are actually alone.

without hotel guests, nosy friends, partygoers, or people that frequents the cafe, but more importantly--without being behind the screens of your phones.

"the university's dorms, correct?"

"correct."

as he drives you back to the place, he can't stop asking questions.

"how'd you like it there?"

"pretty good. i have all i need, and the best part is i get to room with grace, so."

he sends a small smile your way in midst of driving, and you think he looks so attractive doing so. his hands on the wheel and his relaxed stance as he listens attentively like the boyfriend you never had.

"that's great," he says, coming to a stop at a red light, looking your way immediately. "that's a nice outfit by the way. i can't believe i didn't tell you earlier."

and you really wanna blush and grow shy at the fact he pays you this much attention, but you really just giggle instead.

"well thanks. you look pretty great yourself."

he steps on the gas at the green and scoffs but the corner of his lips pulling into a small smile.

"you're just saying that to say it."

you wanna tell him he don't even know how much you mean it. how unbelievable it is-- the fact he just walks around looking like that all the time.

but you chuckle it off and you're sure he's just playing with you, the drive weaving through the fall weather and city lights as an air of fresh and relief come over, you can't believe you were so apprehensive not even 40 minutes ago back at wooyoung's party.

"here we are," he says, pulling into the dorm's parking lot you had to help him find.

"thanks," you tell him. "i appreciate it."

"no problem," he replies, a silence lingering after and an expression on his face that something's clearly bothering him. "hey..."

"yeah?"

"i'm sorry about tonight... if anything made you uncomfortable."

you only smile, though the reminder makes your heart heavy with today's events, you're happy he noticed and care.

it seems to just be how he is; eyes and ears always attentive and sometimes a little too curious.

"it's okay," you assure. because even if you are upset, it doesn't feel like you have the rights to. as if you're just making all of this up in your head to ruin the night. "i think it was mostly because yeosang and grace wasn't there," you lie.

"i understand. would've been a lot better if they had made it."

"yeah, but it's okay. you going back after dropping me off?"

he nods. "i have to, unfortunately. wooyoung would want me to."

you hum lowly in acknowledgment, your legs closed together and your throat tight all of a sudden.

"well i hope you'll have fun the rest of the night. i'm sorry i couldn't stay longer."

"i'll try to," he says, a quiet giggle leaving. "won't be the same without you but probably should've picked a better place, you know."

"it's all good," you say with a smile, head whipping around to the darkly lit dorm building and its entrance. "i should probably get going."

"should i walk with you?"

you look at him while unbuckling your seatbelt, shaking your head. "i got it. i'd rather you get back to your friends."

he opens his mouth to say something but quickly takes it back, trying again.

"hey," he says so softly, you can almost melt into the look in his eyes, staring at you with blinking lashes.

"yeah?"

"so i thought this was really nice, you know... the car ride and all." he stops for a second to find his words. "i was wondering if you'd like to do it again? i think the cafe's nice, but this is a good change of scenery."

and you wonder if san can hear the beating of your heart especially in the quiet of his car, but you quickly pick yourself up to answer, "i'd love to do this again." you smile, and san returns one.

"perfect. i'll text you."

"i look forward."

which is why even if you didn't have the greatest of time; most of the night spent in self-doubts and regrets, you also don't beat yourself up for what he could be doing after he dropped you off.

what he's doing at the party or who he's having fun with, because afterall, he asked you out.

said it with a sweet look in his eyes and a tone to match, you'd rather look forward to what went right than what didn't; sleeping under your sheet in the dark of the night, sacrificing any uncertainty for restful sleep.

"these fries are way too salty."

you listen to san complains, his posture relaxed but face scowling at the fast food he just shoved down his throat a few seconds ago.

a laugh bubbles out of you and you shake your head, munching on the fries you protested on getting, but san way too stubborn to convince otherwise.

"you're right. maybe we should've gotten burgers," he says, looking at you and placing the food back in the bag. "never again."

"maybe," you mutter with a quiet giggle.

san had texted you exactly two days after the party, the reminder cracking the biggest smile on your face that grace took notice to and immediately wanted to know the cause of.

"it's totally a date!" your friend says, squealing after you tell her of why you wanna blush just now.

"it's not a date."

she sighs and rolls her eyes, prying your phone right from your hand that gets you up from the bed to fight her.

"he even put a smiling emoji. what else would that mean!?" she continues squeaking and dodging your attempts, until you manage to snatch it back.

"i think he's just being nice."

he picked you up, asked for suggestions on what to eat (and didn't listen), and paid for everything before pulling into the parking lot of a store opened 24 hours.

"so..." he starts speaking, hands cleared of salt from the fries and now looking at you through his car's lighting. "excited to graduate soon?"

you nod. "of course. and you?"

"for sure," he answers, attention pulled away to the front merely before meeting your eyes again. "any plans yet?"

"not much luck. kind of figure i'll think about that after," you answer with a dry chuckle. your bleak future not something to laugh about, but it's a way of coping. "you?"

and you asked out of pure curiosity and interest, but at the way his face falls, you would've thought you insulted him. watching his eyes go dark and almost nervous, the atmosphere shifting when he just sits in silence for too long.

"sorry," you mumble apologetically, bringing light to his eyes once more when he just shakes his head.

"no, you're good. i'm sorry. i was just thinking."

"it's okay," you assure, "if it's still something you're thinking of."

"yeah." he smiles, the act almost forced, but you try to not linger on the thought. why he tends to shut down when you ask too many questions and want to know too much... the same he does to you.

"hey," he attempts to revive the atmosphere he was responsible for killing. "can i ask you something?"

you tilt your head slightly at that, placing the empty bag of fries back where it came from and nodding in response.

"we talked about this briefly, but i really wanna know how you felt about the party. you didn't look like you enjoyed it at all." and it wasn't because yeosang nor grace were there.

you swallow, unprepared for the topic to make it back around, but answering with honesty to the best of your ability; just slightly leaving out what really shattered your confidence that night.

"it's just hard for me in general to really enjoy myself in that kind of setting." though you tried and was having some fun, until you weren't.

"i understand, and i appreciate you for trying. i just still feel bad for pulling you along when it was clearly out of your comfort zone, so i have to make sure."

it's the way he speaks and acts, always asking about you and caring about your wellbeing more than he should--that makes it hard to want to be upset when he doesn't want you to do the same in return.

when he closes himself off, always with the invisible barrier you shouldn't cross because he doesn't wanna tell you more than what you should know.

"it's just more so i also didn't really know anyone there. everyone else were occupied, and you were uh... talking to your friend," you say, mumbling the last part because you think you might be pushing it, but san doesn't seem fazed. he just shifts in his spot.

"yeah," he answers coolly, "hard to get her to stop talking once she starts." a light smile curls up at his lips and you try to not let it bother you.

but it's like he can read your thoughts; knows exactly the concerns running through your head and the apprehension overtaking your face when he spits the next sentence, "there's nothing going on between us, if that's what you're wondering. when i said she's a friend, i mean it."

and you don't know whether to be relieved or embarrassed he knows you a little too well.

"though she did like me at one point, that's the past," he adds, searching you for any signs of a reaction, and he gets one he also knows too well.

when your lips goes into a pout and your eyes swell with a type of curioisity in them, eager to poke your nose where it doesn't belong.

"and did you... like her back?" you ask timidly, knowing it isn't your ground but unable to help it.

san's snicker leaves you in confusion, and even more when he just shrugs.

"we're better off as friends. that's what matters."

the answer doesn't lessen the knot in your stomach nor does it bring you any form of relief, even if san doesn't particularly owe you any.

"what's with the face?" his voice snaps you out of your thought and to puppy eyes and blinking lashes staring right back almost mocking you as if he knows exactly what's making you so upset right now.

"nothing," you say, faking a smile. "just thinking."

but there's a shift in atmosphere again, whether you and san wanna acknowledge it or not. something tense that makes you a little on edge, but in a way different from before--the food and drinks and being parked in a public space forgotten at this point.

"have you ever been in a relationship before?" he asks abruptly, the question making you swallow the tension as you try your best to keep the composure.

"i've been in one," you answer, not disappointing him when you return the question, "how about you?"

he smirks, one eyebrow raising when he simply says, "two."

"two?" you repeat, voice raising like you don't believe it. "you look like you'd have a lot more experience."

the comment makes him laugh, his body falling and head thumping against the car seat while his gaze never leaves you.

"what makes you think that?" he says, the smirk once again creeping to his lips as he stares at you in amusement, the scene and tension having switched up so fast, you don't even remember when it ever felt like this in the presence of san.

when all friendliness and formality were gone and replaced by something else that makes you wanna be bolder and get closer to him.

you shrug lightly. "guess it's the way you carry yourself." that makes it so hard to believe.

"either way, if i'm gonna get into a relationship with someone, i have to know them well first and i'd have to be sure it's something i want."

you nod in agreement, though san never particularly striked you as the type to think so much about these kind of things... but again, you feel he's also just barely letting you into a certain part of him he haven't ever.

"that's fair. i would agree," you say, only to a chuckle from him that makes you squint in confusion. "what?"

both his hands are now behind his head and he's looking so entertained for whatever reason.

"you just seem more like the kind to go out of your way to avoid any romantic interactions," he says, giggling after with dimples you can't even admire because you're more flustered by the comment.

"it's more like... i find those things hard unless i'm attracted to someone," you clarify even if you know he's right to an extent, "and it's not often i am attracted to someone, so."

and how funny that when you finally are, he's sitting right across from you with a smirk and unaware of how he's making you feel just being in the same perimeter--or so you think.

"the first guy i was with, i always found intimacy difficult... especially kissing," you add, unsure if you're stepping over the line but you and san are old enough for this.

you're sure he even enjoys it, if the mirth in his eyes and the widest smile on his face says anything.

"maybe you didn't like him that much?" he suggests, tone thrilled like it's some form of fun guessing game. "or he was probably just a sloppy kisser."

"no, like... he was good but i was the one who couldn't kiss for shit," you defend your ex's name, feeling like you have to because he wasn't a bad guy.

"i see," he mumbles, the smirk settling into a soft smile. "at least it was enjoyable for you."

"yeah," you answer, the conversation getting so much more awkward for you. "how was your first kiss like?"

"it was okay." he was anticipating such response by how fast he replied. "it was both of our first time and i did it at the time because i really thought she was the one, but funny to think about it now."

there's a quick silence after as you just stare, the next question already at the tip of your tongue.

"and did you also thought the same for your second relationship?"

he nods to it, gaze now locking yours right back and the even longer silence makes you think he's gonna kiss you. with only the two of you in the car and the moon high in the sky, it's the perfect setup.

but instead, he takes you back to the dorms after moving on and forgetting about the whole conversation and drops you off with a sweet and friendly smile.

he doesn't kiss you. not this time or any others when he could've.

even if it would've been nice if he did. if he was sure it was something he wanted, and that you were the one. but it's okay, because you've convinced yourself that being with him is enough.

happy and content he still sends good morning texts, and still wants to hang out once in a while. that he still comments under your instagram posts that happens once in a blue moon, and he still sends you stupid memes.

because you're just the slightest afraid that if you try pushing your feelings onto him, he might not wanna do any of those things anymore.

so you keep him close; even if not in the way you really want, he's still beside you. that's what matters.

"he likes you, y/n!" grace preaches while pacing back and forth.

you were just enjoying your day off and with a book in your hand when your roommate and best friend came back from a date--with the first thing on her mind somehow being you and san.

"he doesn't," you answer, annoyed at this point and already having put down the book after losing your place at least three times due to her.

"no." she pouts and plops down on her bed facing you. "i've seen the way he looks and act around you. my instinct has a 90% accuracy."

seen how san's eyes would always linger on you whenever you're in the room, and having caught the smiles that would usually decorate his lips when you do something clumsy or endearing.

going above and beyond to do and say things that if yeosang was to do and say to another girl, she'd drag him by the ear and make him sleep outside.

but the statement's only met with an eyeroll from you.

"your instinct said san and ashley were fucking and they weren't, so?"

"that was the other 10%," your friend yaps, calming one second after. "i want you to just trust me on this one. if he doesn't like you, he wouldn't do what he does for you."

but you just can't help but to grow more irritated even if it's done out of good intentions. you're already frustrated and confused and grace isn't helping.

"maybe because he's just a nice person in general," you tell her, never having witnessed san be rude and unkind to anyone ever.

your friend sighs, her shoulders dropping but still wanting to encourage and give you some form of hopes because she knows how much you like san. how much you wish he'd ask you out.

"he might be just as scared of rejection or messing up the friendship," she says, then pauses because it's gonna be out of your comfort zone but you have to try. "why don't you ask him out?"

your eyes go wide and you cringe at even the thought of it, telling your friend she's crazy for even thinking of it.

san doesn't like you and you're sure of that.

if he did, he probably would've told you by now, and he would've kissed you all those times when he had the chance. when it was just you and him in his car, in your dorm room, and back at the restaurant.

so you didn't plan on telling him, because you didn't think you could like san even more than you already did.

like him so much to the point that keeping it in was actually painful; when it felt like the only form of relief was to tell him.

at least not until spring again.

"what are you doing?" san's voice pulls your eyes from the sketch and to his face as he stares at you amusingly, your posture incredibly funny to him since you're trying to hide what you're working on.

feet planted on the cushion of the cafe's chair and elbows on your knees with your sketchbook just below your eyes, gawking and peeking at him for the last hour or so.

"i'm making art," you tell him, a giggle bubbling out after that san shakes his head to.

spring has returned. the petals once again fallen from the cherry blossom trees with the wind carrying it away in the streets as the cold chill from winter quiets down even if you still shiver and need a sweater.

you and san are seated at the same table in the corner and he's currently watching the spring show, his eyes following lone petals when they're still attached to the root until they become nothing but scatters on the streets.

his grey hoodie and sharp features a sight to see, especially when it's next to a big glass window with a view to match, though you think san is more beautiful. more than any spring blossoms or art.

feelings of butterflies and a fast heartbeat now replaced by something else--not that you still don't get them once in a while, but everything feels more natural. comfortable.

you find yourself caring for him in ways you usually didn't before. whether he ate, slept, or is genuinely feeling okay--you wanna know and hear all about it.

when he's happy, you're happy with him. but when he's sad or dejected, you also can't help but to feel the same. the last couple of months a ride of events that really tested just how strong the bond and friendship between you and san really is; never would you have predicted you'd grow to care so much about anyone else besides yeosang and grace.

"you shouldn't really be doodling. instead, use the time wisely to really think about what you wanna submit for the exhibition," he says, arms now crossed and eyes away from the window.

"don't worry. i already got an idea," you assure, a playful smile on your lips.

among other things san has helped you with, he was the biggest advocator in you entering the student art exhibition that will be taking place shortly just after the end of the semester.

you've always felt self conscious putting your work out, always choosing and picking carefully even when it came to posting on social media. and even then, your account is privated so only those close to you could see.

art is the only thing you've ever felt truly good at, letting your creations define you more than necessarry, and you're so afraid you'll be told one day that what you do and love isn't good enough.

"i want to but i'm also really not sure," you say, in the peace of the library with san across; the distress and conflict on your face as clear as day.

"why not?" san frowns. "i've seen your work. they're good enough to go in a museum, y/n."

the compliment makes you roll your eyes the same time you let out a scoff. "you're just saying that."

he shakes his head. "i'm so forreal. you're the best artist i know."

"i'm the only artist you know."

"that's not true. i also know uh... leonardo da vinci."

you laugh at that. "but i don't have an artwork worth at least 800 million, so unfortunately i am not better."

"i really don't think the mona lisa's all that great. any of your work would blow it out of the water easy."

there's a second of silence before you start laughing again, prompting san to giggle in return, but he starts, "i'm serious. you should really do it. plus, you'll be graduating soon. i think it's a great opportunity."

"when is it again?" he ask.

"june the 18th," you say, placing your sketchbook and pen down. "you'll be there, right?"

he nods at first, a simple smile settling on him. "of course," he answers, "i'll be there. i promise."

and as the day goes on, sitting in the comfort of the cafe with san as you continue the sketch you started and he occasionally switches between sipping his coffee and the assignment on his laptop, it gets harder to ignore the even stranger feeling that encloses you almost completely.

when the blooming of flowers and trees are fresh, along with the soft, gentle breeze of spring--you think you might be in love with san.

it seemed like it was just yesterday that you were talking graduation with yeosang and grace, but not even a year later, it's become a reality with your cap and gown sitting on your bed and the graduation ceremony merely a week away.

you think, even if with barely any plans after but to move back with your father and see where life takes you, you're still excited.

excited for the next step and for what's to come.

but san on the other hand, never seems too thrilled whenever you bring it up.

you know him to be an open person, always willing to talk about anything and everything; not a single mean bone in this man, except when it comes to talking about himself.

who he really is and who he wants to be after... he never wants to talk about it, so you try to not push it. be understanding and figure that maybe he isn't ready, yet.

that when he wants to tell you and wants you to know, he will.

but it's been a year since you've known him, and with each passing day, what you feel for him only grows gradually; so much that being friends just doesn't cut it anymore.

the feeling of love both exciting but also suffocating, you didn't even know.

you don't mind being friends with him, but staying that way means stopping what could be, and for some reason, the confidence that san feels the same also grows with every moment spent with him.

you didn't use to think so. dismissed grace's "instinct" and all that, chalking it up to san's natural personality to be kind and treat everyone with respect. but you started to see what she was talking about a while ago. you'd like to believe it.

how he's been a lot more touchy and sentimental these past few days; a look always in his eyes like apprehension that you can't quite read into but know something's on his mind. like he wanna say and tell you about it but can't.

then when he texts you the day just before graduation, asking if you two can talk later on in the evening, you certainly feel like this is it.

that he didn't do all of those things for you just to be nice or to be a friend. why else would he had asked to talk if it isn't something significant that he couldn't annouce through text?

you enter san's car that evening with a beating heart and a tight stomach, feeling so nervous and sick, you feel the food you ate just an hour ago coming back up.

and though it's a scene you're all too familiar with--you and san in the parking lot of the university's dorm building, there's an air in tonight's meeting you can't quite gauge.

something tense that makes the both of you sit in silence for a few seconds too long, nervousness gnawing at you once more while you start to doubt if the same is what's causing the current discomfort on san's face.

"hey," you start, trying to lighten the atmosphere that has gotten so awkward already, and you haven't even confessed. "how has your day been?"

he finally lifts his head up to look at you, his hands off the steering wheel and settling on his lap as he try to smile forcefully, you can tell.

"it was good, yeah..." he answers, tone dull and tired, you wonder if maybe he didn't get enough sleep. "you?" he asks in return but it doesn't sound like any other times.

like he didn't ask because he's genuinely interested, but because he has to.

"it was also good. yeah..."

you swallow down the knot in your throat, another long silence engulfing the car as you and san listen to footsteps and chitters of students having just arrived.

"i have something to tell you," you both say and turn to each other at the same time, the scary coincidence of the timing has both your eyes wide as echoes of giggles let loose temporarily.

despite the unpredictability of the other person and the possible turmoil after, you both can laugh for now.

"you go first," he says, nodding his chin your direction and sitting with a beating heart just a tad lower than yours that to you, fills your ears and the entire car.

you take a deep breath, your fingers naturally finding each other in moments of distress and finally uttering the words you've been wanting to tell him for a few months now.

"san, w-we've known each other for about a year now and i know this might be dramatic of me, b-but you're probably the best thing to happen to me," you speak so fast, another habit of yours when under pressure, barely looking him in the eyes to even notice the look in them, "and, and... i think what i wanna say is i like you. i really really like you and i wanna tell you that."

and when you finally level his eyes again, so relieved it's out now, but when you only see the cold, indifferent reaction, nothing like you predicted, you fear the worst.

and when san breaks your heart for the first time, you know you messed up majorly.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, almost murmuring and keeps his head down as if ashamed to say such thing, "really really sorry."

messed up by letting feelings get in the way of a wonderful friendship with a wonderful person, and let his act of kindness get to your head because how could san ever possibly feel the same?

"no. i'm sorry," you say, volume barely above a whisper and voice between crying and staying strong in front of him. "i-i shouldn't have said that."

"no. it's okay. don't feel bad," he tries assuring in his usual calm and collected tone, but even he knows you don't believe him. but he means it, because he has way more to feel bad and be sorry for. "it's just..."

he can hardly look you in the eyes, your expression of heartbreak and guilt something he should be going through instead.

"i'm gonna be leaving in two days."

it suddenly feels like the world stopped at the drop of those words. your chest constricting and your breath hard to catch, the rejection nothing compared to the realization.

the hard reality that you're gonna be losing san. one moment as if he's right in front of you, you could almost grab him, and the next he's slipping right out of your grasp. just like that.

loving someone is such a horrible, awful feeling.

"w-where to?" you ask, the crack in your voice makes san wince and he can't wait for the night to be over with. for him, and for you.

"seoul, south korea," he answers lowly, pausing before adding, "that's what i wanted to tell you tonight."

and suddenly, everything makes sense. like having found pieces of puzzles you couldn't ever; it all hits you at once.

the first time you met him.

“i went into it because the people around me said i was good at it,” he says, a bit unfazed and dull. “that’s pretty much it, i guess.” and ending it with a smile when he catches your gaze again.

“but do you enjoy it?”

there’s a quick silence and san tilts his head slightly, quirking his lips to the side before answering.

“it’s not bad. if anything, it’s been easy, so i’m glad for that at least.”

you nod, smiling in return.

“that’s good. only one more year and we’ll be done.”

"yeah," he says, letting out a loose chuckle after. "i can't wait. there's something i want to do after, but for now, we'll have to see what happens."

the party.

“cute, isn’t he?” she turns to you, her gaze burning and making you feel small on the spot. her confidence something she walks with proudly and with an aura you hate yourself for even admiring. “but unfortunately a hard one to tie down.”

and all those times he'd dodge your questions and never want to answer anything concerning what it is he actually wants to do, or even how he grew up.

simply because san never planned to stay.

he was always meant to go after... even if he got to know you. he never wanted to be anything more with you.

you can't help the sense of betrayal that blooms from deep within, never wanting to have any ill feelings toward san but the hurt is so strong, you don't remember a time in your life you've ever felt this way before.

being mislead for so long and kept hidden in the dark. but even then, you can't seem to bring yourself to hate him.

a tear pricks your eye and you attempt to wipe it away, voice hoarse when you speak again, "that's what you always wanted to do, right?"

san just nods, unable to see him clearly through the tears multiplying and his gaze that has turned away.

"hey," you say, a soft call that san responds to, his fox eyes staring back that you're gonna miss. "i hope it goes well." you smile, a mixture of bitter and sweet.

"i know it will," you say once more, swallowing the knot dying in your throat and searching san for any reactions.

maybe you don't know who he was before or who he's gonna be after, but you know him right now. the boy you met a year ago and made you feel so many things; butterflies down to heartbreak--who, you're still so madly in love with, you don't even have it in you to wish him anything but well.

why would you wanna keep him in the small palms of your hands when there's a world out there much bigger waiting for him. a world that could make him so much happier and content.

you would never be upset about that.

when it looks like san isn't gonna say anything, his mind continuously in thought but lips unable replicate, you're the one to break the tension yet again, figuring he just needs time.

even if he's had time... to prepare all of this and for what he was gonna say, yet he's drawing nothing but blanks in the actual presence of you.

"i should uh, i should probably go," you announce when the silence sits for too long. "graduation is tomorrow and grace wants to wake up early in preparation."

he nods just as he's done cowardly before.

"i'll see you there?" your voice squeaks slightly for the first time tonight; some kind of hope and excitement in them.

you don't know whether he nods or hum, or if he even answers. just a vagueness to his expression that you take for a yes, because why wouldn't he be.

but if you knew at the time, that when you go to search for the familiar head of black in the crowd during the ceremony and you wouldn't find him, you would have said more

if you knew that even during the celebration after; a restaurant across the streets your friends wanted to go to, that he still isn't gonna come, you would've stayed longer last night.

tell him everything and wish him all the good in the world... if you knew that was the last time you would see him.

act like you're not constantly checking the door of the restaurant in hope he'd show up even for one last time so you won't feel so dejected and have all of yeosang, grace, and wooyoung look at you with pity.

say you're just tired and continue acting like your heart didn't do a flip at the drop of his name when yunho asks about his whereabouts and wooyoung tells the group he's busy packing for tomorrow morning.

none of them seem to be aware he was leaving, besides wooyoung and your friends (for obvious reasons).

hold back your tears and attempt to not crack when you finally get wooyoung to yourself, telling him if he could give something to san.

something you've been planning to for a while but wanted to wait till it was finished, and when it was, you kind of forgot about it. until suddenly.

assure wooyoung it's okay when he tells you he's told san on plenty of occasions he needed to let you know.

and finally, when you get back to the dorms, you allow yourself to cry in grace's arms but also assuring her you're gonna be okay and she doesn't need to stay up with you

when it's past midnight, hugging your knees on edge of your bed in the dark watching as the trees sways outside the window, you wonder if this was how your uncle and mother felt.

why your uncle decided to move halfway across the country and leave everything he knew behind just for love, and why your mother still married your father despite everything against them.

a part of you finally starting to understand all the sacrifices and compromises yeosang and grace makes.

love is so strange.

you give into the events of today and curl up in bed, pulling the blanket over and closing your eyes.

before the blooming of flowers and trees, and the soft, gentle breeze of spring could even pass, san leaves you.

a month later

"don't be so nervous. you look great."

grace turns you by the shoulders to the mirror and you can hardly recognize yourself. the short black satin dress hugging your body and skin adorned in jewelries that doesn't even belong to you, nor are the heels on your feet.

you really didn't even think you'd be going, let alone have your work accepted for the exhibition among hundreds of other submissions.

have your work out in the open and on display for people other than your friends to see and judge. it's nerve-racking, but grace think you should at least dress for the occasion.

"yeosang said he'll be here in 15," she tells you.

you're nervous just sitting around, and even more so on the way to the gallery, the awful music yeosang has blasting not helping a bit.

"cookie points to whoever finds y/n's art first," grace says from the front, her lips turning upward as she challenges her boyfriend.

"that's easy. we can probably see the watercolor and blue from a mile away," he teases, prompting grace to smack him lightly by the arm; his comment making a scoff leave your mouth.

they don't know what you submitted. you didn't want them to, saying you wanted to really surprise them and get an honest opinion as it was the piece you probably took the longest on and put the most thoughts to.

the arrival doesn't make you feel any better, more cars than you predicted lined up at the front and in the parking lot, you have to take a deep breath.

"hey," yeosang says, his head peeking over the car seat with a small smile, "tonight's gonna be great. you go in there and get familiar with everyone and we'll meet you soon?"

you nod, unbuckling your seatbelt and undoing the wrinkles on your dress, ready to head out.

"good luck!" grace squeals just before you're out the car, waving to your friends as they grow further away to find parking.

you've been here a couple times before but never for your own work, of course. making way inside and glad that the first face you see is one of your professors from a class you had, his smile welcoming and you keep yourself close until it's time for the showcase, your natural tendency to stick close to people you know.

you finally spot your friends halfway into it, the two shamelessly standing in front of your work and shooting you looks they know is gonna make you flush in embarrassment.

the night goes on and that feeling of nervousness and anxiety easing the more other students also talk to you and compliments your work with you doing the same in return because everyone here is truly talented.

each and every artwork telling a different story and probably held closely by the artists themselves.

"see! that wasn't so bad," grace says, having ran to you the second you're free from the circle of students and professors, pushing you playfully by the shoulder and getting a giggle in response.

"i guess so."

"by the way, love the art!" she squeaks, so much happier and excited than you.

"and it definitely wasn't because your name was written on top that we knew, but your style is just too distinct," yeosang adds, "only thing different this time is it's pink."

you smile, the process of having to come up with something you'll be okay with everyone else seeing all coming back. how, it took a while, but once you knew, you wanted it to be as perfect as possible.

the pink cherry blossom tree next to a body of lake and the field next to it decorated in countless dandelions, all painted in the style you're best at--the watercolor really bringing life to the picture.

it's not often you can say you're proud of your own creations, but you can say you really like this one.

"well thanks, guys," you tell them, a laugh bubbling out at the end. "really appreciate you two coming out tonight."

"well, duh." grace rolls her eyes dramatically, her lips turning to a smile after. "we know this means a lot to you."

"for sure," yeosang says, checking the surrounding briefly before continuing, "you should probably finish up things here with everyone else first. me and grace are gonna head out to a shop nearby and we'll come pick you up when you're ready?"

"yeah. i probably should." because seeing the rest of the students and professors stuck in conversations, it doesn't seem right to just up and leave. you need a proper farewell at least. "i'll let you guys know."

you spend the next couple of minutes out of courtesy attempting to talk to anyone you could until the place mostly start clearing of visitors.

saying one last farewell to the professor you're most familiar with, you turn a corner to head out with the plan to call yeosang when you're stopped in your track by a figure suddenly emerging from the walls and now in your way.

when you meet his gaze and take in the fact he's dressed for the occasion, the suit he's wearing clad onto his body too perfectly (though when does he not look good in anything), you almost want to be angry it looks like he planned to come here tonight.

"san..." his name falls off your lips. a name you haven't said since a month ago and didn't plan to any time sooner.

"hey," he greets, awkwardly and quietly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants that shows off his legs you didn't even realize were so long.

but you're mostly just thinking and wondering why he's here. he isn't supposed to be here. he left a month ago to go chase his dreams, so why is he all of sudden standing in front of you in such a small gallery.

"w-what are you doing here?" you ask, no anger or pain in your voice though he thinks there should be; only curiosity the way you always sound.

"i promise i'd come, remember?"

“when is it again?” he ask.

“june the 18th,” you say, placing your sketchbook and pen down. “you’ll be there, right?”

he nods at first, a simple smile settling on him. “of course,” he answers, “i’ll be there. i promise.”

he did. but he also left.

you feel you might be going crazy, like this is all a dream and he's only a figment of your imagination because he wouldn't come back just for this. not for you.

"san," you say, a knot on the horizon, "you left. you left a month ago." like you have to remind him of the fact as if speaking to a ghost.

"i know i did..." he hangs his head in shame and you can only stare, the situation so unreal, you wanna try slapping yourself to see if you'll actually wake up. "and i want to apologize for doing so."

such words bringing upon a web of emotions, both you and san still standing smack in the middle of the public gallery and you're trying to keep your composure.

heck, you're still trying to process the fact he's really here.

"can we talk about this outside?" you say, voice soft and timid, alluding to the current scene that san takes a hint to. the walk out the most quiet and awkward as you both try finding some form of seating, settling on a bench not too far from from the entrance.

a couple seconds that feels like an entire minute passes before you start again, san's heartbeat loud and hammering from beside you.

"you don't have to apologize. you went after your heart, why would i be mad about that?" you mumble, but the volume still loud in the quiet night, the air of spring about to be summer soon.

san exhales in preparation, his chest rising and falling to what he knew you were already gonna say because that's just how you are. all of what makes you so likeable and easy to fall for. though right now, he doesn't need forgiveness or even an ounce of your kindness.

he doesn't deserve any of it.

"because i lied to you," he breaks it, straight and clear, and the reminder throwing you back to the month before that you wanted to forget so bad.

you don't wanna cry and you didn't plan to cry tonight but the tears you're currently trying to blink away says otherwise.

"you didn't lie... you just kept things from me," you try justifying, part of it to console your own self. because you'd like to think that though san omitted details, he never said anything that wasn't true.

"and that makes it any better?"

there's a quick, uncomfortable silence before you speak, eyes down on your lap. "i'd like to think so."

it would be a lie if you say you don't think back to that night often. the conversation and then the awful realization in the car that gave you one of the most most awful case of a heartbreak. nothing in comparison to your mother's death, but a different kind for a different lesson.

how, you've tried so hard to not linger because the longer you did, the more sick it made you, creating doubts in your head that you were certain could never be answered because san left.

but you do think about it. if san simply struck up a friendship with you and did everything he did knowing you were exactly the kind he could never develop romantic feelings for.

that the reason he never seemed to really want any of that, or even gave into advances from other girls was only because he was leaving. but if he wasn't, would he have given any of them a chance? would he have given ashley a chance?

but you don't really wanna ask him any of that.

"so, are you visiting, or? what really brings you here?" because you don't believe that he came back just for this. just for you.

he told you leaving was what he always wanted to do, and now he's suddenly back here, and you can't think of any good enough reasons to do so only after a month of being gone.

he takes a deep breath and for the first time after sitting down, you turn and look at him, even if he's avoiding your gaze to look ahead into nothingness.

"you know, i probably moved more in the span of 4 years than you have in your lifetime," he speaks, face in eternal concentration, you just wanna listen. "i don't know. it's complicated i guess... but it was difficult to really feel like i belonged anywhere." he shrugs, the same time the bittersweet smile at the corner of his lips is visible.

"wasn't ever that close to my family members and i try to not stick with the same people for too long. ashley and especially wooyoung were just more persistent than your average person." he pauses, then continues almost hesistantly, "because i knew if i did, i'd end up hurting them."

and how funny and hypocritical of him because you're the person he ended up hurting the most. the one he completely shut out and gave no closure to, because he didn't think he'd grow so attached to you in the matter of just a year.

"but that's just how it works, right? there are things you have to sacrifice in order to find happiness," you say, at this point still trying to excuse his actions although you still remember feeling hurt and betrayed not that long ago.

"but i wasn't happy over there." he squeezes his eyes shut and his lips curl together in frustration, as if trying to get through you because you're failing to understand the point. "i came back because i was the happiest while i was here. i came back for you."

he knows it's selfish. how beyond hurt you must've felt when he left, and now all of a sudden showing up asking for a chance, the turmoil of mixed emotions you're probably going through at the confession.

just a month ago, he literally ghosted you. and just a few months before that, he made you think he was gonna kiss you... when it was not kissing you that he had a hard time with.

he wanted it be as quick and painless as possible, and kissing you was only gonna do the complete opposite. if he kissed you, he would've wanted to stay. but given how everything turned out, he should've just not pushed the friendship at all.

should've never texted you, never invited you out, and he especially should've never talked to you to start with. but again, he's a bit selfish by nature and couldn't help but to be intrigued by you when he shouldn't have.

but he especially shouldn't have opened the door to wooyoung that night of the graduation, still able to recall the exact outfit he was wearing as the boy glared at him with a certain look of disapproval before he could even say a word.

"y/n asked me to give you this," wooyoung says, sounding tired from the day or maybe he's still just mad at san and doesn't really wanna talk.

san sighs and hesistantly takes the pink envelope, wooyoung's gaze burning into his before the boy says his final farewell.

"you know, you're really an asshole."

and it was almost like wooyoung showed up at 1 in the morning after a long day just to give it to san out of spite in hope he'll feel guilty, and it worked.

because the content in it played a big part in san ultimately deciding to come back, the sketch of him that day in the cafe with his grey hoodie watching the petal shower along with a short note attached to it haunting him day and night.

Because of you, I had one of the best years of my life. I hope things are better in Seoul, and thank you truly for being the greatest inspiration - y/n

so he came back for you, and he means it... though you don't look like you believe it the slightest and he doesn't blame you. he's done nothing but fed you doubts.

he hears a hard swallow from you that he finally turns to, your eyes glossy and lashes fluttering to hide it.

"san, you shouldn't be saying things like that. you know how i feel about you," you say, sniffing due to a clogged nose because you're not doing very good at not crying.

san's scooted next to you, his leg brushing yours and hands on your jaw as you look up at him, never this close or intimate before, butterflies in your stomach that you wish wasn't there.

"it's true. i mean every word of it. i've liked you for so long, you have no idea."

he's not sure when he started liking you, his guess is probably during the summer trip. but he remembers looking forward to your texts and thinking how pretty you are and how he wanted to get closer to you, even if he shouldn't have.

"then why did you leave?" you ask, your eyes vulnerable and lips pouting that he wanna kiss and soothe.

you understand him chasing his dreams, but if he liked you; if he came back afterall, why did he leave in the first place?

"because i'm not used to staying in one place for too long." his thumbs drawing circles and tending to your cheeks. "i want to travel. i want to see the rest of the world... find a purpose in life and see what else is out there waiting for me."

you open your mouth to say something but it's like he already knew, cutting you off before you could even start doubting again, "i don't see it as having to make sacrifices in order to find happiness, more so just putting it off for the time being. the rest of the world can wait because right now, i want to be happy with you."

he can still be happy with you and achieve his other dreams when the time is right. he don't wanna have to choose one or the other when he can make both work with efforts.

"so you don't have to think about it now, but when you do, i just want you to know i like you. really really like you, and i'd love to give it a shot if you're willing. only when you're ready, of course."

and yes, the man quite literally ghosted you and broke your heart in such a short amount of notice, you could barely process it at the time. but you also can't deny the way he makes you feel.

how, whenever he's near, your stomach still feels funny and your heart wanna do flips. and with him this close, you definitely still wanna kiss him.

it's not possible to get over such a man in just a month, but you were healing slowly and ready to accept the fact you won't ever see him again. and then he comes back and is inches away from your face, telling you everything you've ever wanted to hear.

the sudden sound of your phone going off at a notification makes the both of you jump as san pulls away and clears his throat.

you quickly search your purse for your phone and see a text from yeosang on the screen.

yeosang: u ready?

"it's yeosang,'' you tell san, locking eyes with him briefly and awkwardly. "he wants to know if i'm ready to be picked up."

san nods, the air going quiet until an idea comes over. "i can take you." and when you don't answer, he tries testing if he can lighten the atmosphere even if just a bit. "i am renting the car so just don't make a mess."

but when the silence drags on and san can't read your expression, he thinks you don't want anything to do with him at this point, and rightfully so.

"yes," you say, the response picking san's head up to see a small smile you're trying to fight, "yes we can give it a try, and yes, you can give me a ride."

there's something shy but also daring in your tone, san sees the blush raising to your cheeks that brings out the widest smile from him, jumping in your arms to give you the biggest hug.

when he finally pulls away, the look of surprise on your face has him apologizing but you only shake your head with a smile.

"thank you," he whispers, "for giving me the chance. i promise i'll make it up to you."

you nod to his words, the smile still on your lips but unable to say anything due to the overwhelming (good) feelings.

then he goes to scratch the back of his head, a look of awkward and hesitant crossing him before finally saying it, "can i uh, can i kiss you?"

"yes," you actually answer, a giggle that cannot be contained leaving shortly.

and when he does kiss you, his lips just as soft and gentle as you imagined, the kiss even better than you had in your head, you're glad that your friend's instinct was right.

that san does indeed like you and everything he did wasn't just out of kindness and respect.

when you're both pulling away and indulging in a fit of laughter after and shaking your heads at the turn of events, you know he kissed you because it's something he wanted. because he thinks you might be the one.

when the blooming of flowers and trees are fading, along with the soft, gentle breeze of spring that finally passes, you're still in love with san and you're sure he feels the same way.

#a shiton of dialogues #be warned #ateez angst #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #san x reader #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #san angst

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