#i would not trade any of my memories for the world

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[kitten4sannie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝟏 - 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞

pairing: mafia! ot8 x undercover officer! reader (fem)

genre: mafia/organized crime au, drama, angst

w.c: 3.3k

ch. summary: after countless months of preparation and ensuing anxiety, you finally revisit the infamous Black Pirates, but from the other side of the law, and it’s almost as if you’ve never left.

ch. warnings: not too many….uhhh very light depictions of violence, a bit of blood, a bit of manhandling (not the sexy kind), mingi is unhinged (?) and has a gun lmao, no smut this time but just you waittttt

a/n: hi thereeeee i cannot tell you how excited i am to share this with you all 🥹 this is my first mini series and i’ve never tackled anything this big before so please be patient with me when it comes to updates~~ (also this chapter will be the shortest of them all given it’s the intro hehe) but aaaaaaa i’m so happy we can go on this journey together >w< now sit back, relax, and enjoy ~ and if you like, please pleasee share your thoughts and feedback with me <33

song rec: scene 1 - value ~ ateez, concrete jungle ~ bad omens

fic masterlist

“Are you ready for this?” 

All you could hear was your heart thumping inside your ears, unable to focus on your Commander in Chief’s loaded question, tuning into the sounds of keyboard tapping and faceless chattering about the current crimes and cases that were plugging up the figurative drain of your local prescient, rather than what he was saying to you. Were you ready to infiltrate one of the most prevalent crime families your law enforcement agency has come to know and loathe over the better part of the year? Not as their friend, but this time, as an enemy? They had half your city in the palm of their hands and were itching to take it over, pushing the drug and gun trade into overdrive, washing countless loads of dirty dollar bills, and in turn, leaving you and your agency to clean up the mess they left behind — and what a mess they always made. Bullets, bodies, and broken dreams. Crime and punishment. Officers, regulations, and yellow tape. An endless game of chess that nobody ever seemed to win. The perpetrators of this game, their faces never left your mind, etching their likeness inside the grooves of your memory even after being away from them all for so long, at least, until now — if you stopped being such a goddamn pussy and answered your boss. 

“Y/N…? You can back out if you need to…” He gave you an apologetic smile. “Given your history, I know it might be a lot on you. We can always put somebody else in instead.” 

“No..!” you suddenly protested, bringing a closed fist near your mouth as you forcefully cleared your throat. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve been preparing myself for this since you helped me…change course and join the academy.” Realizing you were digging your nails into your palms, you relaxed your grip, leaving red idents behind. “And, of course, when we realized what the Kim Estate was actually doing behind closed doors.”

“It certainly wasn’t tennis,” the seasoned man chuckled softly, leaning back slightly inside his fraying office chair, rubbing at his eyes from underneath his reading glasses, not aware of how prominent his eye bags were becoming. He let out a small sigh. “Y/N, I have a lot of trust in you. Going back into that world as an undercover operative is not a walk in the park under any circumstances, but this…they have proven to be unpredictable. I’ll ask you once more. Are you sure you can handle this case?” 

In all honesty, you were never too sure what you could handle, both in your professional and personal life, but the uncertainty never stopped you from diving in headfirst. And this, this case, being one of the dominos that would knock them all down, well…it was simply too delicious to pass up. 

You stood up, bowing your head to your superior, before giving him a knowing nod. “I’m ready, sir.” 

-

Your closest friend back in your police academy days and fellow undercover partner, Yeonjun, was the first person you spotted upon exiting your boss’ office, well, specifically his bright red hair, slowly navigating past the maze of desks and whispering coworkers to make it over to him, privy to the looks some of them gave you as you slipped past them — though it didn’t phase you anymore. Your past did not define you. At least, that’s what your therapist had been telling you the past few years. 

“Hey, partner,” Yeonjun greeted you with a smile, reaching out to hand you a paper cup full of freshly steeped coffee, leaning back to sit down on the crowded surface of his desk. “Tomorrow’s the big day. You ready?” 

You took the steaming cup, your jaw tensing as the bitter liquid hit your tastebuds. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Choi.” You always thought of someone else when you uttered that surname. He was the complete opposite of your partner here: calm and collected, soulless when he wanted to be and full of love the very next moment, erratically ticking between the two like a malfunctioning metronome. You hated him for it. 

“Hey, it’s just Yeon, now. Come tomorrow, I won’t be my normal sexy self.” He pulled his freshly printed fake ID out of his t-shirt pocket and held it up to your face, replicating the toothy smile he had inside the picture. “Well, still sexy, yeah?” 

Chuckling, you leaned in, studying the fake ID, impressed by how real it looked. “Very sexy, Yeon, but remind me why you dyed your hair red? Is it the quarter life crisis settling in?” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, tucking his ID back into his pocket. “Ha-ha, funny. I just thought I should look the part if I’m going in as some renowned hacker.” 

You pushed a few files out of the way to lean against Yeonjun’s desk beside him. “Have you been studying up on your skills then?” 

“Of course, I have. I know I joke around a lot, but I’ve  dedicated my life to this, Y/N…” 

You looked down at Yeonjun’s hand, the one that rested on the desk in between you, his fingers drumming against the surface. “Good, because they don’t play around…”

The drumming stopped. Yeonjun turned his head to look at you, a flicker of light inside his brown eyes, like he was trying to understand you. “Do you…ever think about your life before the academy? Before this? Do you wish you could go back?” 

You bit into your lip, gazing past Yeonjun’s hand at one of the files that contained information about the very people you would be betraying. “I…just want to be good. Do what’s right…That’s why I left all of that. It’s why I’m here now.” 

He leaned over slightly until his shoulder pressed into yours, using his pinky to nudge at yours. “Not many would do what you’ve done, y’know. Giving up their way of life for something like this.” 

You nudged back, staring into the half empty cup of coffee you were still holding onto. “Not many people are this stupid.” 

“Not stupid.” Yeonjun pretended to clink his empty paper cup against yours, giving you a soft smile. “Brave. You’re the key component of this entire operation, Y/N. That’s huge. You’ll make a difference. Isn’t that what this is all about?” 

“Maybe…you’re right,” you replied softly, once again distracted by the folder from before, the one that was slightly open just enough to reveal the image of a man with slick back hair, dressed in quaint Victorian style clothes, with a big bow wrapped around his neck. Kim Hongjoong, owner of the Kim Estate and leader of the Black Pirate Organization. You knew him all too well, and all his closest cohorts. Would they recognize you? You hadn’t seen them since you were a young girl, forgotten by most and lost inside a system that didn’t care about you, except for the ambitious young man that swore he would one day be sat atop his ivory tower with those that followed his path. And now there he was, living the high life inside his big shiny mansion, sipping on fine wine, while you were still forcing down bitter instant coffee day after day, surrounded by people that looked at you, but never really saw you for what you were, whatever that was. Maybe Hongjoong knew. 

“Y/N…? You’re staring off into space again…” Yeonjun whispered near you, getting up from the desk once you came back to Earth. “Anyways, it’s late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow. We should get going.” 

“You’re right, we need as much rest as we can get.” You stretched out your legs before standing back up, just now noticing that you were the only two left inside the workspace, the light from your Chief’s office still peeking out past the dusty blinds. Maybe your Chief knew. 

Packing up your briefcase, you smiled at Yeonjun. “Should I dye my hair too?” 

Yeonjun pouted, resting his own briefcase against his hip. “That’s my thing.” 

-

Particles of dust and dirt filled your lungs, joining the blood that you began to choke on. It hurt to breathe, but your body carried on supplying oxygen to your lungs, not giving you a choice in the matter. You rolled over onto your back to face the night sky, your teary eyes focusing on the twinkling stars and the bright blue moon that loomed over the town, storm clouds rolling past until they blocked out the pretty view. Heavy rain began to pour down, soaking you to the bone. Even though you were losing the will to live, you still held onto the silver pair of scissors that you used to prove a point, even though it might’ve cost you your life. That was still something. However, your dear mentor still stood over you, his neck being clutched tightly by his trembling fingers, crimson slowly slipping past them. 

“See what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you? Ungrateful brat,” he choked out in between shallow breaths. Frustrated, he let out a gurgled growl, tossing his bloodied shank onto the dirt road beside his feet. You could’ve sworn you saw tears slip down his flushed cheeks, but then again, it was raining. “I didn’t want to do this…but you gave me no choice.” 

His closest companion took a step forward to securely grasp his upper arm, urging him, “Sir, we need to get you to the nearest hideout. I won’t let you bleed out like this.” 

The disheveled man’s other trusted subordinate placed a gloved hand on one of his shoulders, squeezing into it with urgency. He surveyed you past his foggy glasses, pushing them up the slope of his nose. His eyes were once filled with a sense of endearment when he looked at you, but now, they held contempt. “She made her decision, sir.” 

The struggling leader turned his head to look back and forth between his dear followers, then at his men who all waited behind them, their rain-streaked faces contorted with conflicted apprehension. They stood perfectly still like statues, until the all too familiar sound of sirens rang out in the distance. That’s when they all scattered, like rats, escaping from the flashing lights and disappearing into the dark of the night.  

Your soon to be killer was the last one to leave, looming over you as though he was Death himself, beads of rain, sweat, and blood dripping from his chin and down onto your face below. “Just one question, darling…” He held his neck tighter than before, growing dizzier from all the blood loss. “Why?” 

A small, self-satisfied laugh painfully bellowed from your chest, causing you to grab at your stomach where it had been sliced into. “The blade cuts both ways, sir. I was just following your lead…” You weakly lifted your hand up in the air, as though you wanted to reach him, but simply couldn’t. “Why aren’t you proud of the monster you created?” 

The man began to beam at you, but the corner of his lips stretched to an unfathomable degree, as though he had carved a smile into his own face. He lifted his chin up just enough to rid himself of the shadow that was cast over him, his brown eyes now void of anything, simply black. Soulless. “Oh, darling…the monster was always there. I simply dug it up.” 

You suddenly woke up and sat upright in your bed, your entire body covered in a layer of sweat, leading you to desperately kick off the comforter that had trapped you inside the sweltering heat. Upon realizing you were no longer caught inside a warped memory from your adolescence, you looked down at your stomach, lifting up the edge of your shirt to see if your scar was still there, sighing softly when you saw the jagged patch of skin. 

Your past doesn't define you. He doesn't define you — none of them do. And, now, you had the opportunity to create your own definition, and get a little revenge while you were at it. 

-

“Do we ring the doorbell…?” Yeonjun asked from beside you, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, getting a bit dizzy from trying to take in all of the glory of the Kim Estate. 

You were too busy studying the faded stains of blood left on the stone floor below to notice how out of character Yeonjun was already behaving, not that you could blame him. A similar prick of anxiety was already embedding itself into your mind, but you waved it away as soon as it made itself present. “We may be entering a lion’s den, but we won’t behave like them. I’ll knock.” 

Yeonjun nodded swiftly, clutching the handle of his messenger bag tightly inside his sweaty hand. “Hopefully they don’t eat us alive.” 

You gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, making sure you didn’t disturb the positioning of the micro earpiece that was sitting just behind your tragus. “They won’t, as long as we prove our worth.” 

You grabbed onto the obnoxious ivory door knocker, and just as you were about to make your presence known, you found yourself being yanked into the mansion by someone much bigger than you, Yeonjun’s squeaks of protest becoming background noise as soon as the man slammed you against the nearest wall. What felt to be the cold barrel of a compact handgun pressed up into the bottom of your chin with a click, your assailant’s focused, deep-set eyes boring into your own. “Is this how you welcome all your guests?”

“Not all of them…some I leave dead on the doorstep before they can even get a chance to beg on their knees,” the man muttered in a distinctly gravelly voice, a small chuckle bubbling out of his throat. Usually, the people he dealt with would be pissing themselves at this point, but it just seemed to be another day for this strangely familiar visitor. 

You could almost see your partner out of the corner of your eye, already on his own knees, his distinctively red hair being held onto by a nameless man in a 3-hole knit balaclava. It was then that you angled your head up slightly to get a good look at your old friend, feeling the barrel push harder into your skin. “Every guard dog has to have their fun, right? And, if you blew my head off now, well, where’s the fun in that?” 

“You’re right, doll.” The tall man’s plump lips quirked up into a smirk, slowly dragging his gun past your chin, down your neck, and along the softest parts of your body, poking and prodding at you in an attempt to humiliate you. “Should I see how many new holes I can give you? Fill them all with hot lead?” 

“At least buy me a drink first,” you said through gritted teeth, trying not to show any discomfort when he pushed the loaded gun roughly into your abdomen, directly into your scar, not that he could’ve known it was there. 

He seemed to enjoy your pained response, leaning his head back to let out a sudden laugh, one that was short and abrupt like a bark. “You’re one crazy bitch…” The man licked over his plump lips. “I like that.” 

It was just then that somebody else entered the foyer, their presence so distinctly powerful, the lot of you couldn’t help but notice before he even stepped foot in the room. “Is that any way to treat a valued guest, Mingi? I thought I trained you better than that.” 

Mingi immediately de-cocked the gun and brought it behind his back, tucking it away inside the waistline of his tailored pants. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Seonghwa patted Mingi’s shoulder with a gloved hand, giving him a small nod of understanding, before turning his attention to you and Yeonjun, the both of you cautiously standing with your backs against the paneled wall. “I do apologize for my guard dog. We try to keep him on a tight leash, but sometimes…he gets loose.” His shifting eyes formed half crescents. “You understand.” 

Yeonjun glanced over at you for guidance, and you responded with a small smile, before nodding your head obediently at Seonghwa’s words, Yeonjun following your lead. “It’s not a problem.” 

Seonghwa clasped his hands together, shaking his head slightly, a strand or two of raven hair falling past his forehead from where the rest of it sat perfectly still. He couldn’t seem to understand why he was experiencing a bout of deja vu. “Where are my manners?” He pressed his palm into his chest, and gave a small bow. “I’m Park Seonghwa, the second in command, if you will, here at the Kim Estate.” 

Yeonjun bowed back instantly, pushing his dyed hair behind his ears as he stood up straight. “My name’s Yeon. That’s what I go by online.” 

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raised up slightly. “Ah, I know you.” He chuckled to himself, glad that he was able to pinpoint the air of familiarity, but still annoyed that something wasn’t quite right. “You’re that hacker that’s going around and fucking with the local government, aren’t you?” 

Yeonjun was glad he didn’t eat too much that morning, otherwise he would’ve already thrown it up by now. He brought a peace sign up to his face and smiled. “That’s me, professional shit-stirrer at your service.” 

As more men began to trickle into the foyer to see what all the commotion was about, Seonghwa slowly turned his attention back to you, the true object of his frustration. It’s like he had seen you many times before, in a dream, perhaps? In the casino they ran behind closed doors? Or maybe you were one of the many playthings that were brought in to appease the voracious appetites of his degenerate cohorts. Either way, Seonghwa both loved and loathed the way you were already inside his mind, like you had already lived there, and your existence had simply been unearthed by the sands of time. 

“And, you are…?” he asked in a slow, calculated manner, his head tilting to the side. 

“I’m a diamond expert,” you explained vaguely, motioning to the large suitcase of supplies you were holding. “I can see the value of most things from a mile away, much like your dear leader.” 

Hongjoong was already aware of your arrival. You could feel it in your bones. 

Seonghwa brought a closed fist to his chin, nodding at your words, still not completely sure why he felt so uncomfortable. “But, who are you?” 

Your bubbling amusement was starting to rush to the surface, unable to keep yourself from smiling. And, just like that, you reunited with your dear mentor, except on opposite sides of the chess board. You were delighted everyone was there to witness the beginnings of your awaited rematch. “Why don’t you ask him? I think he’ll have an idea of who I am,” you replied giddily, prompting you to motion your head to the man that stood above the rest of you. 

You felt something stir within the men that looked at you, as though what had been hidden for so long had finally come to light. You weren’t a ghost, much to their surprise — well, at least, not yet. You were, of course, taking a gamble with your life, and your partner’s as well, but risks were meant to be taken, rules were meant to be broken, and strings were meant to be cut.

As though right on time, Hongjoong dug his nails into the mahogany railing of the expansive landing, his free hand unconsciously adjusting the bow that was wrapped securely around his neck. He understood the most out of all them. Value. You looked up to him, moving your fingers as though you were using a pair of scissors. 

“Remember now?” 

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[talksungchan]

strangers who knew each other very well 𐙚 jung sungchan

༄.° WORD COUNT: 18.6k ༄.° PAIRING: riize's jung sungchan x female!reader ༄.° TAGS & WARNINGS: exes!au, angst, fluff, slightly aged up riize ༄.° SONGSPO: scott street - phoebe bridgers ; woojooin - seo youngju ; spring into summer - lizzy mcalpine

༄.° SYNOPSIS: you're back in town for the first time in four years because your best friend is getting married. it sounds easy enough, apart from the fact that you broke the best man's heart 4 years ago and haven't dared shown your face since. ༄.° NOTES: inspired by hong sijun and son jua from melo movie aka my all time favourite k-drama second couple !! the title comes from the episode that focuses on them in the drama <3 this is kinda similar to my other second chance romance sungchan fic, but i think i wrote it differently enough to be a worthwhile separate fic :>

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i. anyway, don't be a stranger

You knew this day was coming, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

The train screeches to a halt and the passengers around you get up in a buzz to collect their belongings and crowd around the double doors.

You watch stoically as they step out of the train for an adventure in the big city or to return to their busy lives. You stay still, clutching your carry-on suitcase and just wait, maybe even until you're kicked off the train.

Seoul Station is the last stop on the route, but you're in half a mind to jump platforms and get on the next train going to somewhere you hoped was far away from here.

"Ma'am," you hear a voice call out to you kindly and you turn to face a young woman with a slightly concerned look on her face, "Is this your stop? The train ends here."

You blink, "Yeah, it is. Sorry- I'll get going."

"Have a good day," she wishes you sweetly, but you know that's a luxury you will find hard to come by these days.

You pry your large suitcase from the luggage compartment and step out into the station.  You're still underground, but it hurts like no other to finally step foot in your home for the first time in years. Breathing this air doesn't feel refreshing; it feels like you're suffocating.

Sluggishly, you navigate the maze that was the station until you surface to the public area. You're not that familiar with the place anymore; it's been a long time, but you make it up to where you had arranged to meet your best friend, finding her already there.

"My Y/N," Hana envelops you into a tight, warm hug as soon as she lays eyes on your solemn face, "How are you?"

"I'm good, Hana," you reassure her as best as you could muster.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't get you from the airport," she apologises as she pries your luggage out of your grip, "Taro had the car, but he's on his way to pick us up outside."

You faintly remember her saying something about last minute wedding errands he had to run that precluded your best friend being able to pick you up herself off the plane.

"I could have made it to your house by myself," you chide, "I used to live here, after all."

Hana's smile falters for a second at your voluntary mention of the past, but she brushes you off, "I wanted to welcome you back."

You notice her avoidance of the word home and you're thankful because a reminder of what was once a happy memory has turned into the opposite is something you've been trying to forget.

She leads you out of the busy station and to a pick-up zone outside. It's a sweltering summer day with the sun beating down relentlessly. It's something you haven't missed about Seoul after trading your extreme weathers for the grey skies across the world.

"Look, Y/N," Hana begins hesitantly as you watch the cars zoom past you, "Thank you for coming all the way here and doing this for me. I know it's gonna be hard for you, but I'm still here for you, okay?"

You knock shoulders lightly, "What kind of a best friend would I be if I missed your wedding? We've been planning our weddings since we learned what one was."

Hana chuckles lightly, mind flashing back to the days you spent designing wedding dresses and choosing songs for your wedding playlists, "I know right?"

You fall into silence as you both reminisce. Everyone thought you were going to get married first. You always wanted to get married young, ever since you met your first love at 14 and started dating at 16. You had everything you wanted planned out- the cake, the flowers, the shoes, the gifts, the groom.

Life doesn't always work out the way you want it to- you learned that at 22.

"I'm an adult, Han," you exhale, "I promise it'll all be okay. I can do this."

"You're the best, Y/N. I really missed you, by the way," Hana admits as her eyes lock onto a car.

It's only been 7 months since you last saw each other, but you spent the first 22 years of your lives practically conjoined until you moved away 4 years ago. You'll never forget the shock and joy you experienced when she turned up at your door alone out of nowhere with a rock on her finger and a gift box asking you to be her maid of honour for her wedding set in 7 months time.

"I missed you too," you return fondly.

A large, black car stops in front of you and the window rolls down to reveal a face you haven't seen in a while.

"If it isn't the Y/N back in Seoul," Shotaro flashes you his famous smile from the driver's side. You wave at him excitedly and drag your bags to the boot that he's opened from the inside. It's a busy road and he can't hop out and help, but between you and Hana, you fit the bags into the spacious boot. It's not even that much- you've only packed to stay two weeks.

You climb into the backseat and Shotaro turns around to take in the fact that you're really here. You reach over to squeeze his shoulder, "I haven't got to say congratulations in person yet, so congratulations on the wedding. You bet that we're going to have another best friend talk soon."

Shotaro and Hana choke in surprise at your menacing words. The Japanese man crinkles his eyelids in amusement, "I wouldn't have expected anything less, but thank you Y/N."

When they started dating years ago, you had cornered Shotaro at a house party and warned him so terrifyingly about what you would do if he ever broke your best friend's heart that he couldn't look you in the eye for the rest of the week. It was fair anyway, considering the talk your own best friend had given your first love when you started dating.

The drive to their house was a fair journey that you spent with your eyes screwed tight pretending to be asleep. You couldn't bare the thought of having to look out the window and catch the familiar streets you had grown up on and made so many memories on. This trip was always going to end in heartbreak for you, but you wish to delay the onset.

Hana calls your name softly when you arrive and you do a slow-blink to try to convince her. You don't know if she believes it, but she doesn't say anything otherwise.

It's weird that you haven't stepped foot in her adult home after you made her childhood home your second one and lived in the same apartment through your college years. You can still picture her teenage bedroom with the pink walls and the Fin.K.L poster across her double bed. You spent hours and hours in your college rooms eating ice cream and watching films together. Now, you don't even know the number outside her door.

"Welcome to our humble abode," Hana smiles proudly as she unlocks the front door.

They live in a very nice area, afforded by Shotaro's idol choreographer salary and Hana's lawyer income. It's obviously a beautiful home, decorated very cosy with sprinkles of their personality dotted around.

They show you to the guest bedroom and point out all the items Hana prepared for your two week stay in the house, despite the fact that in ten days' time, they were jetting off to their honeymoon the morning after the wedding. She had put together an adorable and thoughtful welcome basket with everything you might need and your heart clenches at the kindness of your best friend.

Over these years, Hana has been patient in coming to you versus you coming to her. Your blatant refusal to come back to Korea has limited your live meet-ups to once a year, twice if you could find some wiggle room in your budgets, but her wedding meant you couldn't put it off any longer and had to face your fears.

While Hana was your best friend, Shotaro had his own best friend acting as his best man. You always knew this was coming- even from the moment you introduced your best friend to your first love's best friend in freshman year of college.

He wasn't the only reason you were avoiding coming back, but he was the main one. You'd like to think that time heals all and maybe it has, or maybe it's just shoved that little pocket of pain deeper and deeper out of sight until the day you finally are forced to face it. Unfortunately for you, that day has come.

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Hana was kind enough to give you the night to settle before everything kicked into full force. She knew it would be too much for you to get off the plane and have to face your ex-boyfriend, so she pushed the meeting that required both of you as much as she could until there was no time left.

You woke up bright and early, although your stomach was in ropes at the thought of seeing him again. You hoped that the very long list of errands you had to do would distract you enough from all the emotions swirling in your stomach.

It was only 1pm, but you had already visited the bridal shop to do a fitting of your maid of honour dress, considering you couldn't try it on when you were over 5000 miles away. Thankfully, it didn't need a lot of alterations and you could pick it up in the next few days. She continued distracting you by trying on her wedding dress in front of you, causing you to shed a few tears. You were virtually present during her dress hunt, but seeing it for the first time in person really made it sink in that your very best friend in this world was getting married.

The very next thing in your agenda was a meeting with the wedding planner to finalise the timings of the day. You were going to meet at a café- a safe and public space for you to finally see your ex-boyfriend after a number of years that you wished you stopped counting.

Hana parks her car along the road opposite the café and the second you stepped out the car, you were slapped across the face by the side-profile of your first love through the large window, a wide smile on his features as he chatted with his best friend.

Hana squeezes your hand, "Tell me if it gets too much. I know it's gonna be hard."

Sungchan looks so familiar that your heart squeezes at the sight of him. It's the body that you fell asleep across for years on end, the hair you used to run your fingers through when you talked late at night, the smile that made your heart race every day- it was still him.

Your breath hitches when he begins to turn in your direction. Before you can make eye contact, Hana tugs at you to enter the café, murmuring reassurances towards you that she was going to be here for you- even at her own wedding events, she was still being selfless.

"Hana, Y/N," Shotaro calls the two of you over as soon as the door jingles open and he spots you, "I ordered your drinks."

Hana squeals at the sight of the indulgent hot chocolates, but worriedly looks over at you to see your reaction. You're looking down at your feet and Sungchan is staring straight up at you.

"Hey, Sungchan. How are you?" Hana chuckles awkwardly, tugging you to her side to sit down at the round table. When the wedding planner arrives, they'd sit between you and Sungchan, so you could have that distance.

"Good, Hana, thanks," he breaths out as the corners of his mouth drop, "Hi, Y/N. It's been a while."

Your eyes shoot up to meet his, "Uhm, yeah. Hi, Sungchan."

It feels like you haven't said that name out loud in years- it brought you too much pain before. You're immediately saved by the wedding planner, thankfully, who appears out of nowhere and apologises profusely for her delay. She denies ordering a coffee, and begins to spread binder, papers and tablets all over the table.

Hana squeezes your hand under the table and your eyes point down to your thighs.

"Maid of honour and best man, I take it? It's nice to meet you both," the planner Jian smiles sweetly after catching her breath, "How'd you guys know the couple?"

You nod with a terse smile, "Childhood best friends."

Sungchan lets you finish before he bumps shoulder with Shotaro, "College roommates. We've been attached at the hip ever since."

"Looking forward to your speeches on the day then," she muses, "Shall we get started?"

You focus your efforts into concentrating through the meeting and trying to not let the pit growing in your stomach distract you. You were here to help out your best friend and her soon-to-be husband, so you gave your opinion when you felt it necessary and not much more.

You haven't been physically present through the past few months, but Hana had clued you in to everything she was doing as it was happening. You'd been discussing your dream days for years on end, so you felt like you had good opinions for the final touches of the plan.

After two hours going through every single detail, you wrapped up and Hana was beginning to talk about what she was going to cook for dinner.

"We have some salmon in the freezer, I think. That's enough for the three of us," she links arms with you as soon as you stand up, practically dragging you out of the store to avoid any more time alone with your ex-boyfriend.

"I was gonna go home after this, remember? My parents are unfortunately expecting me," you remind her regrettably. It's been a while since you saw your family- maybe a year now?

"Oh. Do you want me to come? I can drive you! I haven't seen your parents in a long time-"

You hear a cough behind you, "I'm heading that way actually. It's my dad's birthday soon so we're gonna have a meal at home. I can take you, but only if you're comfortable with that."

Sungchan's confident and unwavering tone freezes you on the spot, your eye moving to the side to gauge your best friend's reaction. Her eyes transform into sorrow as she presses her lips together. Hana looks at Sungchan, "It's okay, I can take her. I want to."

It makes sense why Sungchan would offer a lift practicality-wise. His family lived on the next road over from your house and you used to walk to school together after he moved to your school at 14.

Shotaro sighs behind Sungchan, "Hana, we still have that Zoom meeting with the venue co-ordinators. It's in like 40 minutes."

Hana curses under her breath, "Well then I'm sure Y/N will be fine taking the subway. Right?"

You're looking down at your feet, unable to even see the expression on Sungchan's face. You don't know his motivation to offer you a ride 45 minutes across the city to your old neighbourhood, and as pure as you know his heart is, you genuinely don't know how you could cope sitting in a confined space with your first love for that amount of time.

In the corner of your eyes, you see him shrug nonchalantly, "Whatever's easiest for you. See you guys soon."

You lift your head up in time to watch him wave goodbye and turn around. His face is seemingly neutral, but you hadn't spent 8 years of your life learning everything there was to possibly know about him to not be able to read the emotions behind his eyes at the very moment.

"Wait, Sungchan," you slip out of your friend's grasp, "I'll come with you."

Hana catches your wrist and hisses under her breath, "Y/N, what? Are you sure about this?"

You try to give her a convincing smile, "I'll text you when I'm coming back, okay? I don't think I'll be too late anyway."

Shotaro waves you off with a puzzled glance and you do a small jog to catch up to the distance he traversed with his long legs.

Sungchan gives you a half smile and shoves his hands into his pocket, "What made you change your mind?"

You nibble on your lower lip, "It's about to be rush hour on the subway. It'll be impossible to get a seat."

Sungchan nods at your response and points out his car across the street. It's a lot nicer and newer than the car he used to take you around Seoul in. You wondered briefly when he got rid of it.

Wordlessly, you enter into the passenger side, buckling your seatbelt and trying to keep your eyes trained in front of you. If you thought too much about the situation you put yourself in, you feared you might jump out of the moving car.

He turned on the radio to a quiet, but comfortable volume. A new song that's dominating the charts is playing as he reverses out of his spot and joins the cars on the roads.

"When did you get back?" Sungchan reluctantly begins.

You were hoping for a silent car ride, but you knew that was just in your dreams, "Yesterday evening."

"How was your flight?"

"Long. It's about 13 hours straight in the air," you hum.

"Is it? Wouldn't know- I've never been to London," it's not obvious, but there's something deeper that you can't figure out in his tone- is it snide? Snark?

"The climate's quite different over there," you reply back shortly, "It was hard to get used to."

"There must have been something you loved there so much that it kept you away for 4 years," he says, "Or something you hate here."

You swallow nervously, "Can we not do this, Sungchan?"

He scoffs, "When will we ever?"

"Is it necessary? I thought we said what we needed to say back then," you huff, letting your eyes flutter close in frustration. You should've known this wasn't going to be an amicable ride- that that disappointment in his eyes when he was walking away wasn't something to latch onto and hope, "I'm only here for 2 weeks. Can we just be civil until their wedding? That's what I'm here for."

"So even after 4 years, you have nothing to say to me?" his voice cracks in the most delicate way and if you looked to the side, you'd see his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel tightly.

"What do you want me to say, Sungchan?" you sigh in defeat.

"I don't know, Y/N," he runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly, "Do you regret it? Leaving?"

Your heart constricts in your chest as you shook your head, "I can't."

"What?"

"I can't regret leaving. Otherwise everything I did it for and did there becomes nothing," you confess, "I shouldn't."

Sungchan exhales a puff of air into the car, "This is gonna be so much harder than I thought it would be."

You agree silently and don't say another word for the whole drive.

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ii. and i can wish all that i want, but it won't bring us together

Shotaro and Hana decided to forgo the traditional bachelor and bachelorette parties. They themselves were far too busy for that, let alone thinking about the time and effort it would take to coordinate 6+ people on each side to do an activity or vacation. Plus, on Hana's side, some of her bridesmaids weren't all too familiar with each other having come from different periods of her life, so she didn't think that cooping all of you up in a vacation home a week before her wedding was worth her energy. She loved you all separately, but that didn't mean you would all have to be best friends.

Thus, the couple decided on a joint dinner hosted in their home just to get everyone acquainted with each other. You'd spent the afternoon with the other girls picking out jewellery you wanted to all wear for the wedding and returned home to find a spread of food prepared by the private chef the couple hired.

Despite the fact that you were dreading to face Sungchan again after the disastrous ride home, you were also excited to see Shotaro's other groomsmen, who were also old friends of yours from both high school and college.

When you entered their home again after your group shopping trip, you were immediately crushed by a tall figure.

"Y/N-noona," you hear Anton sniff as he hugged you, "Do you still remember me?"

You gasp and let out a nervous chuckle, "Don't be silly- hey Chanyoung. Long time no see, right?"

One of the worst parts about your breakup with Sungchan was having to relinquish your relationship with the boys too. It wasn't that they had to choose sides or anything, but you just thought it was easier for everyone involved. Of course, you still texted them occasionally on birthday, holidays and randomly throughout the year, but you hadn't seen any of them other than Shotaro since the breakup.

"Stop hogging her. We all haven't seen her in four years," Seunghan bumps Anton out of the way to envelop you into a comforting hug, "I almost forgot what you looked like, noona. You don't post on SNS."

"Has anyone entertained the idea that she's actually a British spy now?" Eunseok smirks as he takes his turn hugging you, "Welcome back Y/N."

Before Shotaro came into the picture in college, Eunseok and Sungchan were the first package deal. They were the closest in age to one another and were family friends growing up. Eunseok was the reason Sungchan moved to your school when his family relocated to the area. They adopted Shotaro in college and found the other boys along the way.

You've known Eunseok as long as you've known Sungchan and he was one of the ones who took the breakup the hardest out of all of your friends. Hana was your best friend since childhood and Eunseok was Sungchan's- that's when it felt like people had to take sides, no matter how close you also were with Eunseok.

"I missed you guys," you whisper lowly into Eunseok's embrace.

"You should have invited us to London," Sohee sniffles when he takes his turn hugging you. Wonbin joins the two of you in a group hug.

"Well then I'm inviting you now. I'd like to take you to Buckingham Palace so you can see your twins," you joke at Sohee, ruffling his hair, "Bin, how are you?"

"I'm great, noona. Honestly," he smiles softly at you. You've never had the deepest nor most complex relationship with Wonbin, but you take comfort knowing you're both satisfied at the low-maintenance friendship you've formed.

You realise quickly that a member of the wedding party is missing when you spot Shotaro mingling with the bridesmaids. Eunseok seems to read your mind immediately, "Sungchan's in the kitchen."

"Did he tell you?"

"About the car ride?" Eunseok grimaces and you mirror his expression, "Everyone knew this was gonna be hard. Neither of you should force anything or expect anything from yourselves."

You sigh, "I know. Doing that just makes everything worse. Besides, this week is about Taro and Hana. I don't want to draw attention from them or cause any problems that might affect them too."

Eunseok nods understandingly, "I guess so. But just think about yourself okay? That's who should be the most important person to yourself always."

You spot Hana trying to beckon you over, so you excuse yourself from Eunseok and wander over to your best friend, who slides her arm around your waist.

Four out of the 5 other bridesmaids are all her friends from the law firm she began working at since graduation 4 years ago. The other one is her cousin who lives in the opposite end of the country, but who she visited every summer and holidays. You're all around the same age, but you haven't had the chance to meet them or even speak to them outside of the bridesmaid group-chat Hana put you all in 6 months ago until today.

"How's it seeing the boys again?" Shotaro hands you a flute of what you think is a mimosa.

"I missed them," you admit simply with a small smile.

"You went to college with all of them, right?" Taehee questions curiously, "You really haven't seen any of them since you moved to London?"

"Taro and Hana have visited me a few times in London, but that's it," you press your lips together, "It was just a lot of things that stopped me from coming back."

You haven't said anything to the other girls about your ex-boyfriend, mainly because this week was not about you and your finicky relationship, so they're all none-the-wiser to your situation.

"Shall we go over to the dining room?" Hana suggests, sniffing the air when the chef throws open the dining room door and the smell of the food floods out, "I'm so hungry!"

Their usual dining room table has been replaced with a temporary set up for the 13 of you in a large, round table. You stick by Hana's side and immediately take the seat next to her, sighing in relief when Eunseok takes the other seat beside you. You try not to look up, but you practically feel Sungchan's presence in the room when he enters and takes a seat on the other side of the table, flanked by Seunghan and Anton.

When the starter is brought out, you're engaged in a conversation with Eunseok and the bridesmaid beside him about the places you've travelled in Europe. Mina's well-travelled herself and Eunseok is far too fascinated hearing what you've been getting up to since you left.

"Did you visit Paris? You must have," Mina wonders, "It's so close to London- I'd be going every weekend!"

Your heart drops and you swallow, "No, not since I left Korea."

"You've visited before?"

You hold yourself back from looking up, "In the past, just once."

"Isn't it lovely? It's one of my favourite cities in the world," Mina gushes excitedly, "I love art and museums, so Paris is my element!"

You recall back to the summer before your senior year of college and the week you spent running around Paris in the evening, dancing along the Seine and holding your first love under the moonlight. Every time you were invited to Paris since then, something would stop you going- it would only remind you of the most beautiful week you had spent with Sungchan as your anniversary trip.

By the time the entrées arrive, the conversation has moved onto updates from Eunseok- how much his little brother has grown since you last saw him, how his family got an adorable new dog and how his parents are getting older. Your families were friends too, just like Hana's family and Sungchan's family. It's a shame you missed out on so much, but you know it's your fault anyway.

You make it through dinner by ignoring that steady thrum in your veins and the pumping of your heart just being in the same room as the one who haunts your memories, but it becomes harder when the couple moves you into the living room to mingle and chat with flutes of mixed alcohol.

"We actually have a task to do for tonight," Hana smirks slyly as you all turn towards her, "We haven't actually figured out who you're gonna walk down the aisle with."

"We thought it'd be better to choose after seeing who looks good together," Shotaro shrugs, "Height differences and that."

Hana claps her hands definitely, "Okay, everyone just go stand with a partner and then me and Taro will shuffle as we see fit."

You freeze, having not been informed of this by your best friend beforehand. With a glimpse of hope, you tug at Eunseok's sleeve and he looks at you with a confused glance.

Jiwoo frowns at you across the room, "Wait- I get it for the rest of us but the maid of honour and best man are walking down together, right?"

Your face probably mirrors Sungchan's - like a deer caught in headlights as you both begin to chuckle awkwardly.

Hana's eyes widen as she looks at you apologetically, "I suppose so. Though it doesn't have to be."

"It makes most sense that way," Taehee agrees beside Anton.

"Um, then Sungchan and Y/N, you guys can just sit down or help us match," Shotaro quickly splutters out.

Nodding in agreement, you float over to Hana's side again, like two opposite poles on a magnet. She smiles at you sheepishly and you subtly dismiss her. It's her wedding- you just had to suck it up. Sungchan takes a seat away from where you were standing, trying to busy himself on his phone.

In the end, it took an excessive amount of time to decide on the final pairings, made all the more difficult by the absence of the girls' heels that played a part in the decision-making. You had no idea that something so trivial could take up so much of an evening and cause such hilarious tiffs fuelled by wine. 

Hana gasps from the corner, "Wait, where's the camera? I want pictures of everyone for the scrapbook."

Shotaro retrieves a baby blue polaroid camera displayed on their book shelf and loads a new cartridge of film inside. Your heart is beating fast as Hana shoo's each couple against a deemed-aesthetic backdrop and snaps a single, quick photo of the two that prints out in just seconds.

Surely she wouldn't do that to you, right?

But when her head turns towards you and a soft, pleading smile graces her features, you're resigned to standing up and following the orders she's sending telepathically.

"Sungchan, c'mere. I need one of you and Y/N," Hana calls out gently.

Wordlessly, he rises from the spot he's been planted on for the better part of an hour and positions himself beside you, with a good distance separating your shoulders.

Hana raises the camera to her eye, but she clicks her tongue in frustration, "I can't get you both in."

"Just step backwards," Sungchan advises, his tone light, but with an edge.

"I want all the pictures at the same angle," she counters, "Just move a little closer together."

"Y/N won't bite, right?" Mina laughs jokingly, to which you try your best to give a convincing chuckle.

He shuffles a little closer to you, the fabric of your shirts brushing against each other delicately. You're focused on keeping the smile on your face as neutral and natural as possible, silently pleading your best friend with your eyes to hurry up.

She finally counts down and clicks the button, the flash blinding you for a split second. Before you could even fully regain your vision, Sungchan has already traversed the room to join Seunghan and Wonbin nosy through the bookshelf.

Ouch. He really wants nothing to do with you.

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iii. you left me no choice but to stay here forever

Exactly one week before the wedding, Hana bursts into your room with a panicked look.

"What's wrong?" you gasp at her state, scrambling up from the edge of the bed where you were scrolling lazily on your phone.

"Taro forgot to pick up the wedding rings," Hana pants out, clear frustration in her eyes, "The jeweller's going out of town tomorrow."

"Oh!" your own eyes widen, "Do you need me to go pick them up then?"

"Yeah, please! If you can," she smooths out the white dress she was wearing, "I'd do it but it's the opposite direction to where we need to go and we're already running hella late."

You stand up and steady her by her shoulders, "Don't worry about it. That's what I'm here for, yeah? To make your life easier."

Hana relaxes with a sigh of relief and pulls you into a hug, "What would I do without you?"

The couple were off to another one of their endless wedding appointments, which was seemingly going to take up their whole day. It was still just the morning, but Shotaro was running down the stairs already, calling for Hana to get in the car.

"I'll text you the address, okay? I'll also text the jeweller that you'll be coming," she smiles gratefully before disappearing out of the front door.

Instead of buying traditional wedding rings at a famous store, they decided to have their own personal set made that was completely tailor-made and customised for them at a small, local business. You thought it was sweet how they wanted to design the ring that would symbolise their union and love together instead of any old, generic piece of metal.

Taking the subway over to the store wasn't a bad experience- it was a hot walk over to the station, but the carriages were air conditioned and not terribly busy. It's a stark contrast to the hot, cramped and dirty tube of your current home city.

The jeweller's shop is in a part of the city near your old university; you used to frequent the area a lot, so you were experiencing major nostalgia walking the streets again after a long time. You even contemplated visiting your favourite stores and coffee shop after picking up the rings, hoping that taking a trip down memory lane won't hurt you too much.

When you reach the shop, it's empty save a couple sat across an attendant looking at rings together at a table in the corner. At the check-out desk, an older gentleman is polishing a set of gold rings.

"Hi, my name is Y/N! I'm here to pick up the wedding rings for Hana and Shotaro," you inform the man.

His eyes crinkle with a smile, "Ah, you came first. Wait here while I get them. Feel free to take a look around as well."

You frown at his words but dismiss them as you spot the case filled with rings of all styles and metals. There's some engagement rings with dazzling precious stones and intricate bands, but there's also a bunch of unique sets of rings that you assume are ready to sell.

When you were younger, you used to think that you wanted the largest diamond with the most elaborate designs and stones to show off. As you grew older, you realised that you just wanted a ring that would signify the love your other half had for you, no matter the size or price.

Your finger traces along the display case, humming lightly as you evaluate them all and try to guess what Hana and Shotaro's rings would look like. Would they be silver or gold? Would they have diamonds? Would they be engraved?

"Y/N?" the deep voice startles you from behind and you jump on the spot.

You turn, meeting face-to-face with Sungchan. Your heart skips a beat.

"Sungchan, what are you doing here?"

His eyebrows are tugged together in confusion, "Shotaro asked me to pick up the wedding rings."

Your mouth dries, "Ah. Hana asked me to do the same."

"Really? They didn't talk about it?" Sungchan frowns.

"They were in a rush, to be fair," you say awkwardly.

"Oh, okay. Well if you're here, then I guess I'll go," he nods, turning his body towards the door, "See ya."

"Oh, you must be the best man!" the jeweller laughs a full-bellied laugh as he emerges from the back, "Must have been some miscommunication with the bridge and groom as I got two separate messages telling me they each sent someone here."

"Yeah, that's me," Sungchan chuckles, "If I'm not needed then I'll head off."

"Have a look at the rings," the jeweller beckons the two of you over instead to a free desk with chairs on either side, "We'll be shutting the store down tomorrow for a couple of weeks, so inspect and make sure it's all okay. I have some information to pass along to the couple too."

Reluctantly, Sungchan approaches the table with you and takes the plush seat beside you. In another universe, you look just like the other couple in store, grinning at each other with lovestruck smiles as you tried on different rings. You push the thought away and swallow the mass in your throat down.

The jeweller takes out two red leather boxes from inside a small carrier bag that has a sticker with their names on it. He sets out the boxes in front of you and moves the bag aside.

"The couple requested the rings to be engraved so there's no risk of you taking away the wrong rings anyway," he clarifies as he picks up one of the boxes, "This one's for the bride."

When he opens it up, you're floored in awe at the beauty of the ring. It's a band of beautiful diamonds sparkling under the light of the store. He tilts the ring and brings it up closer to your eyes until you can see the small letters on the inside- S&H.

"It's beautiful," you whisper.

He twists the ring around in his grip, "No diamonds missing, no cracks or gaps or breaks, yes?"

When you nod in confirmation, he shows it to Sungchan who wordlessly inspects the precious stones. The jeweller places it back in the box and does the same with Shotaro's ring, which has less diamonds but is still shiny.

He puts the boxes back in the bag and shows you the booklets he had places inside, "There's ring care instructions, the certificates for the warranty and what to do if there's anything wrong with the ring."

You nod as you take in the information.

His eyes soften, "Please send my regards to the lovely couple. I am heartbroken to not be able to send them off with their rings. I hope they love it."

"I'm sure they will," you hum as you take the small bag from him, "Thank you."

He spots the absence of metal on your fingers as you reach over, "Ah, no wedding or engagement ring on you, hm? Come and visit my store in the future if you happen to need one."

The back of your neck heats up, "No ring on me. I'll keep you in mind."

"What about you, best man? A lucky lady in your life?" he turns to your companion and drops him a wink, "Gotta get as much business as possible."

Sungchan flashes his bare fingers, "I'll come to you if the time ever comes."

Four years ago, you imagined that you would be way past this stage. It twists your heart to know your best friend gets to do all of it first. You're inexplicably happy for her that she's found the love of her life that she wants to spend forever with, but you always wished you could be doing these steps together. You both always wanted to get engaged at similar times, to get married in consecutive years, to have kids all at the same time, but you've fallen behind already.

"Y/N?" the jeweller calls out softly, breaking your trance, "Everything alright?"

You offer a small smile, "Yeah, sorry. Thank you for your time and the rings."

He waves you off with a genuine smile and you leave the store with Sungchan following behind you.

You take one brief look at him and his unsettled expression and murmur, "See you again soon."

"Wait, how'd you get here? By train?" you nod at him and he sighs, running a hand through his hair, "Come. I'll drop you off back at their place."

"That's not necessary. I can handle myself-"

Sungchan gives you a pointed look, clearly unimpressed, "You're carrying around rings worth thousands. Can't risk you losing them or getting robbed."

You look down at the bag, embossed with the logo of the jeweller's, "Uhm, you can just take it if you want and give it to them when you next see them."

"I'm sure they'd wanna see their rings as soon as possible when they get home," Sungchan argues, "Just get in the car with me, Y/N. We don't even have to speak."

Your mouth flattens into a grimace as he begins stomping towards his car parked along the road. Wordlessly, you climb into the passenger seat and secure the bag on your lap. He starts the car and turns on the radio loud enough where you couldn't hold a conversation over it.

You make it 15 minutes into the journey by watching the city go by through the window in front of you. You recognise most places, but it still is not completely all familiar.

It's hard to relax when you're in the car again with the person whose heart you broke. Your fingers grip into the bag and you try to control your breathing so your heart wouldn't run as fast.

"You're getting a call," Sungchan murmurs as he turns the radio down.

You're about to tell him that it's okay and you'll take it later, but when you take out the phone, you see it's your mother. She's a busy woman who doesn't always get the time to speak with you, so you always try to answer her calls.

You mumble a sorry to Sungchan and raise the phone to your ears, "Mhm, mother?"

"Hi my darling, I was just calling to check up on you. What are you up to?"

"I just picked up the wedding rings because Hana and Taro are busy and the store's closing for a bit," you tell her, "I'm on my way back to their house."

She gasps in delight, "How exciting! You're taking a taxi back? It sounds like you're in a car."

You debate internally whether you should tell her, "Sungchan is driving me back to their house. We were both accidentally sent over to the jeweller's."

"Sungchan?" her voice is reluctant and shaky as she utters his name.

"He's the best man," you can tell he's listening by the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel and his knuckles are turning white.

"Of course, you said," your mother remembers what you told her at dinner a few nights ago, "I'll leave you to it. Say hello to Sungchan for me- I haven't seen him and his family in a while. Will they be at the wedding?"

"I suppose," you murmur, "Love you, bye."

Your mother parrots the sentiment before the line clicks.

"My mother says hello," you tell him quietly.

Sungchan forces a small smile, "Thanks. It's been a long time."

Your heart aches at the thought of just how much your family loved and adored your first boyfriend. You started dating and hanging out when you were still teens in your childhood homes, so he and his family got friendly with yours and eventually became close. You've taken endless group trips together and merged your family so well, thinking that you were going to be forever.

The rest of the drive is done in near silence. Sungchan doesn't turn the radio up again, but he also doesn't utter a single word. You felt like you could hear your heartbeat in the quiet.

When he pulls up to the drive, he barely gives you a look as he gets out the car, "I just need to get my jacket I left the other night."

You swallow and nod, following him to the front door where you enter the passcode to get into the house.  You don't really know what to do with yourself after you placed the bag on their coffee table.

Is it rude if you go to your room? Should you offer him a drink? Do you just wait by the door until he leaves?

Sungchan finds his jacket in a closet along the stairwell and he drapes it across his arm. You're waiting awkwardly in the middle of the front room when he stops in front of you with an unreadable, frustrated expression. He squints his eyes slightly at you before letting out a soft sigh.

"What?" the word drops from your mouth quietly.

He shakes his head, "It hurts to look at you."

The words feel like poison injected straight into your veins. Your mouth goes dry and hangs open, "Do you hate me?"

Of course he does. Of course he hates you.

You left him.

"I thought I did. I carried so much resentment over the past 4 years but looking at you again like this," Sungchan pauses and meets your eyes, "It just... hurts."

"I'm sorry," your head hangs low, "I'll be gone soon. You don't have to worry. You don't have to see me at all after all this."

Sungchan lets out a sarcastic, dry chuckle, "I wish that could be the case. What about when they have their first child? What about when the others start getting married too?"

You open your mouth to try and say something, but he continues, "I thought I was finally moving on or at least forgetting. It was a hard 3 years. Then, Shotaro tells me he's proposing and Hana says you're going to be the maid of honour and that in 7 months you'll be back in Seoul. I spent 7 months thinking about what to say to you when I see you again. 7 months wondering what it was going to be like between us. And then you come back and you can't even look me in the eyes. And I don't know what to say to you. And you're saying that I never have to see you again after. What do I even do with myself, Y/N?"

"I'm sorry," it's all you can say as you choke up and tears start forming on your lashes. You feel so pathetic, knowing there was nothing in the world you could say to make this easier.

"Even if you are, that doesn't fix anything," his voice cracks, "Do you actually not regret leaving? Leaving me?"

He brings you back to the other day in his car and you swallow nervously, "Of course I do, but I felt like it was the only choice I had back then. It was getting harder and harder to be with each other. We were fighting all the time for no reason and I had no idea how to fix us. And then I got that job offer I couldn't turn down and you got a good job here in Seoul."

Sungchan's hands ball into fists, "Every couple goes through hard times. I would have gone to the ends of the universe to fight for us. You were everything to me. Was I not to you?"

You snap, "You don't know how hard it was to leave."

"And you don't know how much worse it is to be the one left behind," his voice raises slightly in frustration as you realise that he's crying too, crystal tears falling from his pretty eyes, "What went wrong with us, Y/N? I still don't understand."

"I had no idea who I was without you. We spent every waking moment tethered to each other. Don't you think we needed to grow?" you whisper, "We were fighting so much I thought you would begin to resent me and that it meant we had outgrown each other."

"I wish we could have talked more about it before you left. You gave me no choice, Y/N. You just moved across the world and left me behind," the pain in his voice is evident, "I know I wasn't being a good boyfriend at the end. It was stressful starting that job and becoming an adult in the real world after college, but if you'd given me the chance-"

"There's no point talking about the what-if's," you interrupt him, "It'll only hurt us more."

"Do you still love me?" he questions suddenly.

Your face pales as you look up at him. His tears are flowing so fast, but so delicately- you wish you could reach up and dry his tears with your fingers, not too dissimilar from the way he used to kiss the tears off your cheeks in the past whenever you would have squabbles.

"What?"

He gulps, "I've spent 12 years loving you since the moment I met you. I'm so scared that I'm going to love you for the rest of my life."

"Sungchan-"

"I can't let you leave again without telling you. You have to know it's only ever going to be you."

Sungchan sniffles as he takes a step closer to you. His jacket that was on his arm is discarded on the floor.

"I'm so sorry," you whimper again as your eyes flutter shut. You bite your lip to try and control the tears.

Before you realise what was happening, you feel the soft pad of his thumb tug your lip out and then the pressure of his own mouth against yours as he captured your hot tears in his kiss. And like it was a reflex, you melt into his body and part your lips, giving him access and trying to forget that this was a terrible, terrible thing to do.

His large hands come up to cradle your face and he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall. You're both sobbing into the kiss, but you can't pull away even if you wanted to.

You haven't kissed anyone in 4 years and Sungchan's lips on yours feels like you finally came home to him. It's desperate, sloppy and you're both choking on your own tears as you move your mouth against his. Your heart and your brain have disconnected from each other and your hands are gripping the fabric of the jacket he was currently wearing like your life depends on it.

Time freezes in this moment with him and you don't know how long you're kissing for until you've both stopped crying and your mouth goes numb.

He presses his forehead against yours, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too."

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iv. but you come back with gravity

You don't say anything to Hana when she knocks on your door later on in the evening once they returned. She texts you after, asking if you were awake and if you wanted dinner. You wait 30 minutes before replying that you were in and out of sleep, exhausted from all the exploring you told her that you did after collecting the rings. You're thankful she leaves you alone after that but not before apologising over the mix up with Sungchan and that she hoped he didn't bring you any trouble.

You toss and turn in the bed all night.

When the next day comes, you force yourself out at the crack of dawn, commandeering over the kitchen to cook your friends some breakfast. It was the least you could do for them as they hosted you. You knew Hana would be awake soon since she was still working remotely for a few days. Shotaro, on the other hand, could afford to take some leave by busying himself more than usual in the months prior to the wedding to make up for it.

When Hana comes down yawning, you greet her tiredly, "Hey."

"Awww, my Y/N cooked for me?" she pouted sweetly at you, "You're too sweet. I could get used to this; why don't you come back and live in our spare room forever?"

Your stomach flips on itself, "Do you think I should?"

Hana was about to bring a mouthful of egg into her mouth when she stills, "I mean I was joking but I don't think you are. You want to move back?"

The image of Sungchan from yesterday with tears in his eyes is burned into your brain and you can see him every time you blink, "No... it's just that-"

"Whatever it is, I would say move back. I'm the first- no the second person who wants you back here," she quips.

"Who's the first?"

She glares at you like you're stupid before tossing a piece of kimchi on top of your rice, "Did something happen yesterday? With Sungchan? Did he say something to you?"

You're in half a mind to blurt out the truth, but you stop yourself. You're here for your best friend and to make her life easier before her wedding, not to add problems. Maybe when she's back from her honeymoon and you're alone again in your flat in London you could tell her over FaceTime, but you hold your breath for now.

"No," you shake your head, "You getting married just has me thinking about my future. Like where I'm gonna end up and settle."

She shoots you a sympathetic look, "When did life suddenly whizz by? One second we're giggling by our lockers writing confession notes and the next we're thinking about where to root our lives. Anyway, I want you here, but more importantly, I want you where you're happy. I can tell it's been hard for you to come back here."

"I'm just kind of lost in life. I thought I could build a life in London and stay there forever. I have- kind of, but there's nothing that's actually keeping me there. If I packed up and moved away, no one is missing me," you sigh.

Hana claps like she suddenly had a bright idea, "You know what you should do while you're here? Open a dating app! Maybe you'll find your reason to stay."

You look at her like she's grown 10 heads, cause WTAF?

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," you deadpan.

Hana rolls her eyes, "Seriously? Why not? Are you still in love with him or something? I thought that seeing him again would give you closure and you can finally move on."

You stay silent and she groans, putting her head in her hands, "Jesus, it's done the opposite, hasn't it? Made you feel things again?"

"This is not about me. Or Sungchan. Stop, stop," you frantically dismiss her, "No talking about my tragic love life. You're literally getting married!"

Hana sighs at you, "I am, but doesn't mean I can't care and worry about you. I have enough of myself to share with those I love, honestly. Getting married to Taro is gonna be one of the greatest things ever, but you know, I love him every single day regardless and not much has to change. It's a big deal to us but life still goes on for everyone else."

"I'm so happy you guys have each other," you tell her, voice dropping to a whisper.

"It's all thanks to you and him," she reminds you, "And if you realised that you still love him, I won't judge. I just don't want either of you to get hurt again."

You nod slowly, trying to internalise her words, "I'll be okay, right?"

She reaches across the table and squeezes your hand, "You're gonna be fine, my love. Whatever happens."

You finish up breakfast talking about what you were gonna do during the day instead. It was 6 days until the wedding and you were scheduled to pick up your dress from the tailors after they finished the adjustments. Hana was going to do some work first and then you both would go out and get the dress together, then have some brunch with some of your old friends from college. A lot of them stayed in town, but you both had lost touch with some of them after your move and Hana's fancy job she got straight out of school.

Spending the rest of the morning trying to relax proved to be futile. Every time you were left alone with your thoughts, all you could think about was Sungchan's lips on yours, the pressure of his body caging you in- and then the emptiness you felt when he ran away as soon as.

How could he tell you that he still loved you and proceed to flee after kissing you? Your brain and heart are in complete tatters.

You're still thinking about him by the time Hana knocks and tells you she finished up her work and you think about him the whole drive over to the bridal shop.

You think about him when you try on the dress again. You think about whether he'd think you're pretty in the dress. You think about the wedding dress you'd have picked if life went to plan.

On the whole walk to the brunch restaurant, Hana gave up on trying to capture your attention. She just links your arms together and hums into the air.

Minjeong and Jimin are already sat at the table when you arrive and they spring up in delight at the sight of you and crush you between them.

"Holy crap, you've been away as long as we knew you," Minjeong whines as you all sit down. Like the boys, you messaged her on special occasions and haven't substantially talked since, but you'll always hold a lot of love for the few friends you made in college.

Minjeong and Jimin lived in the apartment next to yours for your entire college journey. They too were best friends from childhood and you and Hana mirrored them in so many ways.

"How are you? How's London?" Jimin asks curiously.

"It's weird to be back, for sure," you smile slightly, "But I'm happy to see you guys again. London's London- busy, gloomy, grey."

"Did you make friends okay over there? Find a new man?" Minjeong raises her eyebrows. Jimin elbows her in the side and gives you a sheepish look.

It wasn't like you made a public statement that you and Sungchan broke up, but people must have noticed something was up when you started posting in the UK and disappeared off each other's social media accounts.

"Still just me," you chuckle, "Anyway, what are you guys wearing to the wedding?"

Jimin claps her hands excitedly and rushes to her phone to show you the photos of their dresses. They're coming in complimentary pastel yellow dresses with frills and all.

"You guys are gonna look so good! Like cute little twins as always," Hana squeals in approval, "No dates for either of you?"

Winter grimaces, "We've not been as lucky as you in that department. I don't know if we scare each other's potential suitors off."

"Taro was terrified of Y/N for a while, remember?," Hana reminisces fondly, "He was my first proper boyfriend, so Y/N really lay on the act thick to make sure he would treat me well."

"And my screening process worked, didn't it? You're the one getting married in 6 days," you quip at her.

"Yes, I have you to thank of course," she nuzzles into your side, "Why does it now seem like I'm not going to be attending any of your weddings anytime soon? I want to attend one that's not my own!"

Jimin snorts, "I can get eloped for you, if you want. What age did you guys want to get married?"

Winter sighs, "I wanted to get married out of college," and then gives the stink eye to her best friend who mutters under her breath that she should have tried harder then.

"Around this age would have been nice, I think," you say sadly, playing with the rings on your fingers and trying to imagine how they would look beside a wedding or engagement ring.

"I told her to go on a dating app earlier, but she said no," Hana informs them.

"That's modern dating now, unfortunately. We can't all have high school or college sweethearts," Jimin purses her lips in thought, "Or how about you just get back together with your ex?"

It's Winter's turn to smack her friend's arm in shock, "Yah, that's so out of pocket, Jimin! Sorry Y/N."

You attempt to keep your face neutral as Jimin giggles innocently, "Sorry Y/N. It's just that I heard that he's been single this whole time. You've seen him recently, right?"

"He's Taro's best man," Hana nods, "We've had a few wedding events and dinners since Y/N got here."

"It's not really up to me, I think. I'm the one that up and left."

Winter reaches across the table to grab your hand and comfort you, "You must've had your reasons, Y/N-ie. Sorry, I know you probably don't want to talk about it."

"It's fine- it's just complicated," you smile softly in reassurance.

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v. i could go on and on and on, and i will go on and on and on until it all comes back

4 days out from the wedding and you find yourself alone in Seoul again. Hana and Shotaro decided they needed a spa day to relax just before it got incredibly intense over the weekend and asked if you wanted to join. Of course, you weren't going to sandwich yourself in the nearly newlywed's plans.

You remember the café near the jeweller's you wanted to visit, eager to see how time has changed the shop just as it had changed you. Taking the subway was tiring, of course, but you occupy your time by people-watching through every stop. It's a weekday, so the carriage isn't so busy during the middle of the day. You're lucky enough to find a row of seats and be able to rest your feet.

The walk to the café from the station isn't long, but you walk slow and take in your surroundings on the sunny day. It's hard when your memories are so entwined with the one you didn't have anymore.

Every corner you turn, you can still picture you and Sungchan there walking, holding hands and bright-eyed. He'll probably have said something ridiculous that made you laugh and you'll have playfully hit him on his arm and cuddled into his side as he dropped a kiss on the top of your head.

Being in Seoul brings back all the nostalgia of your youth.

You order a refreshing iced drink, slightly sad that you don't recognise the cashier behind the till. Your feet carry you to an empty table before you can realise it's the one you liked to sit at before- by a window, far away enough from both the front door and the toilet, and with a view of the main street in front to watch the world go by. You know there's a charging port at your feet and that it takes 12 steps to get to the stand with the tissues, sugars and stirrers. You know that you've spent many hours hunched over on the seat, trying to complete each essay and assignment. You know what you like off the menu and what you don't. You know that it's where you had your first date with Sungchan in the city when your parents let you out at 16 together.

It hurts to remember the very first time you were here, giggling, flustered and nervous for your very first date with a boy- the same boy you'd been infatuated with since the first time you laid eyes on him 2 years prior. Sungchan had carried your bag on his shoulder the whole train ride over and tried his best to look all tall and tough to protect you in the big city despite it being one of his first times going to the city without an adult. He had opened all the doors for you, pulled out all the chairs and paid for all your drinks and food as he listened to you ramble about cute cakes and pastries.

You had talked about your high school exams, what you wanted to do in college and how you imagined your futures. He had told you all about his sweet family, his love for football and things you never got to know about him in a group situation.

On the way home, with the sun about to set, he held your hand the whole way.

You stop reminiscing when a figure takes a seat in front of you, and then you're thrown straight back in.

"What are you doing here?" you ask Sungchan tentatively, unsure what to make of his presence.

"Hana told me you might come here today. I was going to come to the house to see you," Sungchan says simply, playing with his fingers, "I didn't really have any way to reach you."

Of course- your Korean number was long deactivated, you had unfollowed each other on social media and your temporary number was shared only with those you deemed it necessary.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, expression slightly menacing from the way it brought a pang to your heart to look at him. You knew exactly how he felt when he said it hurt to look at you.

"You left, Sungchan. You told me you missed me and then you left," you murmured quietly, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings.

He sighs longingly, "I know. I'm sorry for that. But my head's a mess, I'm confused and I don't know where we stand."

"You're the one that kissed me," you continue accusing him.

"You kissed me back and I didn't expect it. You told me you missed me," he bores his eyes into yours, "But you're going to leave again in a few days and I don't know if my heart can handle it again to watch you walk away."

"What's our options here?" you grip the cup in your hands tightly, "We just forget everything happened, just get through the wedding and then never look back?"

"Is that what you want?" there's a tinge of hurt in his voice.

"What I want and what I can have are two different things."

He pauses and then swallows, "What do you want?"

"You said it- it's only ever going to be you," you confess.

There's no point lying to him; you know each other better than you know yourselves- or at least you did. He knows your soul like it's his own, learned you inside and out over the years you grew up beside each other. You might've changed a bit away from each other, but you were each other's anchor in your formative years. Of course he knows you.

You watch his eyes transform with hope and then hesitancy, "What's stopping us from being together then?"

"We haven't spoken in 4 years and the most we've done here is argue," you remind him, "And I could love you with all my heart and every inch of my being, but that doesn't mean we'll work again."

Sungchan looks at you with those big, brown eyes that transports you 10 years back, in the very same seat, as he asked you to be his girlfriend, "Can we just try?"

10 years ago, you had blushed and hid your face in your hands. He had laughed sweetly, melodiously, prying your fingers away from your visage. You had giggled out a small 'yes' and he had entangled your fingers together in glee.

But now you're 10 years older, cheeks less puffy and the passage of time eroding at the innocent naïvety you both held. But love has no timeline, hope even less.

You're the one to reach over to his restless fingers and entwine them in yours, "Yes."

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You have more questions than you have answers. You have more anxiety than you have reassurance. Your head spins the minute you attempt to solve all the newfound puzzles and dilemmas in your head, but you try to bury them back deep into your brain so you could focus on your task at hand and what you came here for.

Like most brides before their wedding, Hana was starting to get a bit nervous. She had absolutely no doubt about marrying Shotaro of course, but it was a lot of stress to deal with all the moving parts and logistics of actually holding the wedding. Every evening, you've been sitting with the couple, going through their to-do-lists and wedding plans to make sure you didn't miss a single detail.

To be honest, there's nothing left to do until the rehearsal dinner you were hosting tomorrow, which was the day before the wedding. Overthinking details unnecessarily would just add stress to the couple, so you've been trying to reassure them everything was going to be perfect.

"It's actually so close," Hana exhales slowly, as she closes her eyes and tries to relax.

You're sat outside in the lawn chairs of their garden, basking in the late afternoon summer sun, "My best friend is going to be a married woman in 2 days."

"And then you're going to leave again," you can hear the pout in her voice, "When's the next time we can take time off work so we can properly hang out without the wedding planning being the center of attention? HR probably won't let me for another 6 months, but I'm itching to come visit you in London already."

"Don't act like your wedding isn't the most exciting thing that's ever happened to either of us," you scoff at her.

"It is, but it's literally consumed our entire life," Hana puffs out, "I'm excited to see it come together, though. Make sure you try and have fun at the wedding too, okay? I know I asked you for a lot of favours as my maid of honour, but I still want you to have a good time. Maybe meet one of Taro's cousins or studio friends."

You flush red at the sudden thought in your head, "Don't say anything, okay, but Sungchan and I are gonna, um, come to your wedding together-" Hana slaps her hand over her mouth and you sit up, "I said don't say anything!"

Over the past 2 days, you'd been texting and chatting on the phone a lot in the times you could. He was still working during the day as a hot-shot physiotherapist for one of the elite football teams in the city, so he didn't have time to see you when you were available. You'd agreed to be each other's dates to your best friends' wedding, even though the time you would spent with each other was probably going to be very limited with your duties. It's the thought that counts.

Hana's peering at you with the widest, most shocked eyes, "What did I miss? What the hell?"

"It's nothing," it's everything, "We just got to talking a bit, decided to see if it might go anywhere and stick this time. We're taking it like really slow."

Hana rolls her eyes, "How slow do you have to go? You're already each other's greatest love- oh don't give me that look!" she reaches out to poke your exasperated expression, "I get it. You don't want to get hurt and you don't want to hurt each other. Just don't stand in the way of your own happiness."

"I'm sorry to make it about me," you sigh, "We're not going to be obvious at your wedding or anything."

She reaches over to take your hand, "Babe, I told you, your happiness is my happiness and I mean it. You know I've always rooted for the two of you."

Hana was the very first supporter of your relationship. While she came to know her soon-to-be husband through you and Sungchan, you only ended up together in the first place by Hana getting fed up of you dancing around each other and basically telling Sungchan to ask you out on a date. She'd spent 2 years listening to you go on and on about the cute guy that moved into the neighbourhood and watched as he fell for you with every waking day. You were both too shy to make a move, until she cornered him and convinced him that you would definitely say yes to a date (even the blind could sense that you'd say yes in a heartbeat).

"I love you. I'm so lucky to have you as my best friend," you sniffle, squeezing her hand.

"Save the confession for your Prince Charming. I think he just got here," Hana nods behind you, in the direction of the house.

"What? You didn't tell me he was coming over? He didn't say!" you scramble up to your feet, afraid to turn around knowing you'd find him leaning against the door frame of the garden door.

"Hey!" you hear his familiar sweet voice.

"Sungchan-ie, come here," Hana beckons him over and motions for you to sit down again, "Come join us. What are you doing here?"

"Taro asked me to hang out," he shrugs and takes the chair besides yours, flashing you a sweet smile as he did so, "Sorry for breaking in, but I thought you two would be out having girl-time and getting pampered."

"Our appointments were pretty efficient," Hana shrugs. You had spent the morning doing your final beauty treatments and touch ups - nails, brows, last-minute hair tweaks, lashes, facials and all. You managed to get through them all quickly and ended up having enough time to lay out in the garden with a cocktail on the side-tables, "Taro should be home soon, though. He's probably caught in some traffic back from the airport as he picked up his family."

"Do you want a drink?" you ask him, motioning to the pair of glasses.

"D'you make that?" he quirks in amusement.

You nod, "I befriended the bartender at the pub I live near. She taught me how to make some good cocktails."

"You're full of surprises," he chuckles at you, "Up for passing on that knowledge?"

You look back at Hana, who simply turns her face away with a smirk as she closed her eyes to appreciate the sun. You get up with Sungchan and motion for him to follow you into the kitchen.

"You told her? That girl cannot keep a neutral expression to save her life," Sungchan utters behind you, his tone amused.

"I said we were going to the wedding together, if that's okay," you prepare the ingredients in front of you.

"Mhm, more than okay. I'm sure she was happy to hear that," he muses, "Did she tell you how thick she laid it on in the weeks before you got here? Every time I saw her, she would remind me that I shouldn't miss my chance when you got here."

You gasp at your scheming best friend, "No way! She's the one that's been telling me to get on a dating app! And wanted to set me up with Taro's colleagues!"

Sungchan pouts in faux betrayal, clutching at his heart like he got shot, "Back-stabber! I thought she was on my side!"

You laugh at his antics, "Nah, I think she was playing the long-game with us. Anyway, watch and learn, yeah?"

Sungchan watches in fascination as you show him how to make a salt and chilli rim and how to mix a cocktail together. He's delighted at the way you shake the drink in the shaker the same way bartenders do it and begs you to let him try. You watch him carefully to make sure that the liquid wouldn't explode everywhere throughout your best friend's house and he's smiling in triumph as he strains out the drink into the cup.

You'd forgotten just how adorable he is when he's not trying to ignore you in the room.

"You're an expert too," you clap happily, "Like it?"

"Best cocktail I've ever had! Thank you!" he proclaims, and then sticks himself by your side, slinging a casual arm around your shoulder to pull you close, "I didn't get to say hi properly. Tell me about your day."

"We just went appointment to appointment," you show him your nails that he coos at, "Went café hopping a bit and then came home to chill since it was so sunny."

"Mhm, it'd be so nice to go to the beach," Sungchan sighs dreamily before his expression changes, "Oh, yeah. When are you going back to London?"

"I've got three full days after the wedding," you try to keep your voice steady, not wanting to give away how unsettled you felt about all the uncertainty, "We can spend that time together, yeah?"

He smiles gently, reaching up to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and then placing his large palm on your cheek, "We can make the most of it. Then I'll find a good time to come see you in London."

It makes your heart skip a beat, "That'd be nice."

Sungchan's eyes furrow together as he maintains his warm touch on you. He leans down, "Can I kiss you?"

You don't reply. Instead, you reach up and press your lips against his. This time it's sweet and full of adoration instead of the angst and desperation of a few days ago. He smiles against your lips and you taste the hint of salt, vodka and a little something sweet. When he pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours and exhales, content and feeling like he can finally breathe again.

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vi. i trust the universe will always bring me to you

The day comes around all too quickly when time had been passing so slow in the week before. The rehearsal dinner was beautiful, but over in a flash and then suddenly, you were in the guesthouse of the venue, watching with teary eyes as your best friend in the world clips her veil on.

Her mother sniffles next to you, clutching your arm tightly. Hana was biting her pink-stained lips, trying to keep herself from crying off her pretty makeup. The room's drop-dead quiet with all eyes trained on her on her special day.

"My beautiful baby," Hana's mother coos at her only daughter when she looked over at you all expectantly for your reactions.

"You're gonna make me cry! Stop it," she whines adorably, but accepts the tight squeeze her mother wraps her in.

She turns to you and you have to look up to blink the tears away before you can hug her again, "The most beautiful bride in the world," you whisper fondly, "I am so happy for you, Hana."

"Thank you for being here with me," she says sincerely, squeezing your hands, "And for being my best friend in the world."

She gives her bridesmaid hugs too until the coordinator tells you it's time for your best friend to get married. You all file out of the room in order to walk over to the ceremony hall, with Hana being the last one to leave. Ahead of you when you get to the entrance, you finally see the boys all huddled around Shotaro, who looked both nervous and giddy at the same time.

Hana stays hidden from the groom, but you spot the tallest boy of the group and tug on his sleeve.

"Y/N," he gasps when he turns around, his gaze softening into pure adoration, "Oh, baby, you look so beautiful."

The dress you picked out with Hana falls perfectly on your body and the colour is the perfect complement to your skin. The fabric drapes delicately in all the right places and hugs where it should. It makes you feel incredible, especially when Sungchan reacts the way he does.

"You look really handsome too, Sungchan," you reach up to straighten his tie as you all file into your orders.

"Shall we?" Sungchan asks nervously, offering his arm out to you as he notices the other pairs link together.

You smile at him, entwining your arms together and pressing yourself into his side. Before you forget, you turn around to see Shotaro rubbing his hands together.

"It's gonna be amazing, Taro," you reassure him.

Shotaro sighs in relief, "I just can't wait to marry her."

You're happy to know your best friend gets the happy ending she deserves.

Sungchan nudges you when the door opens and the pairs start walking down the aisle. It goes by in a heartbeat for you- you don't even remember what happened between the time you started walking and the time you and Sungchan separated to stand on either side of the altar.

When Hana walks in, you almost cry again. She's radiant in white and her eyes are so full and shiny with love as she keeps her eyes on her groom waiting for her. The wedding is beautiful and the vows make everyone laugh and cry.

You meet Sungchan's eyes multiple times through the ceremony and each time, he gives you this subtle, but comforting smile to reassure you that he was there. You wonder if you'd have been in Hana and Shotaro's place earlier had everything not happened.

Ever since she asked you to be her maid of honour, you've been preparing for the speech you were asked to give at the reception. You're nervous the whole time as the MC introduces you and prepares to hand you the mic and Hana gently squeezes your hand before you stand up with a fond look in her eyes. Sungchan on the other side of Shotaro is still looking at you like you hung the stars.

"For those that don't know me, my name is Y/N and Hana has been my best friend since we were born," you begin slowly, taking the time to breathe, "Our parents are friends from the same neighbourhood and we grew up together, practically as twins. When we were young, we were as inseparable as they came and did everything together. We went to all the same schools, all the way up to college, which was when I introduced Shotaro to her.

"Hana was the reason that I was able to date my first love by her meddling in high school. Ever since then, I had wanted to find the perfect match for her to share her heart with and to make her happy. Sorry Shotaro, but Hana has been my other half since birth and I felt like I knew her well enough to know who she'd click with. When I first met Shotaro in that tiny freshman dorm, I knew he'd be perfect for Hana.

"Taro and Hana are two of the most loving, gentle and caring people I have in my life and I can't be any happier to know that my best friend is loved the exact way she deserves. She's the best person I know and knowing I played a part in introducing her to her person makes me so happy. Even though I'm thousands of miles across the world, their love inspires me every day. They've felt like a married couple since the day they started dating and their love hasn't flickered or weaned once since.

"It feels just like yesterday when Hana and I were planning our dream weddings in our childhood bedrooms and here we are now, marrying you off to the love of your life. May the rest of your life together be filled with endless love and happy memories. I love you both so much."

Hana is tearing up by the time you finish your speech and you have to gulp to hold your own tears back. She stands up to hug you tightly and Shotaro follows beside her. They both thank you for the lovely speech and you hand the mic over to Sungchan once he's announced.

"When I met Shotaro on the first day of freshman year, I was honestly terrified. He looked so intimidating and scary up until I found out that it was only because he wasn't quite fluent in Korean yet and was actually from Japan. We were roommates in freshman year, so we got to know each other pretty well. He's been my best friend since and I'm grateful to have such a thoughtful, considerate, sweet and of course, talented, friend in him.

"Taro and Hana's very first date was at a diner on the other side of the city. What you two don't know is that Y/N and I actually followed you there and spied on you in wigs and glasses," you gasp in remembrance at the memory and burst out into a large smile, "And then we swore to each other that we'd keep this secret until your wedding day after your disastrous first date when you both came home crying in frustration because you liked each other so much that you were too nervous on the first date. We had to chaperone your next few dates and it was such an honour for us to watch you fall in love with each other with our very own eyes.

"I met Hana at 14 and I was scared of her for a few years, but even then, I knew she was a crazy loyal best friend to Y/N, who would do anything for her best friend's happiness. Even now, she shows me she cares in all the small and big ways and having the two of them in my life makes me feel very lucky. And even though I cringe at you two for still being in your honeymoon phase 8 years later, I couldn't be any happier that you have each other to have and to hold. Thank you for everything you've done for me and I also love you both very, very much."

Later on in the night after the dinner and cake-cutting, Jiwoo, Seunghan and Sungchan join you at the bar getting the signature cocktails created by the couple.

"You guys did such lovely speeches," Jiwoo says sincerely, clinking her drink against yours.

"Thank you. I didn't want to embarrass them so I held back on that aspect," Sungchan chuckles.

"And you mentioned that Hana set you up with your first love. Are you still together? Are they here?" she asks you curiously, innocent to the situation.

Seunghan coughs into his drink and has to turn around to control his face. Sungchan tenses up beside you, but you look over at him and smile softly, "Yeah, he's here."

Jiwoo's eyes widen in shock as she begins to laugh awkwardly, "Oh! I'm sorry- I didn't know you guys were together! Hana never mentioned!"

"Don't worry, Jiwoo," you reassure her.

"Jiwoo, look- Mina's calling you over," Seunghan points out across the room, where Mina, Taehee and Anton were chatting at a table. Jiwoo flashes a sheepish smile before she disappears away into the crowd. The younger boy looks between the two of you, "I thought that was taboo."

Sungchan rolls his eyes at his friend and places his free hand around your waist to the bewilderment of Seunghan, "None of your business."

He slaps his palm across his mouth, "I knew it! I knew this was going to happen."

"Don't go around telling everyone now," you request from him, "It's Hana and Taro's wedding after all."

"Of course," Seunghan nods enthusiastically and then relaxes into a soft smile, "I'm happy for the two of you, though."

He's whisked away by Eunseok and Wonbin, who both stare confused at your proximity but decide against saying anything as they get chased down by Hana's eccentric grandmother who always loved Eunseok when you were all younger.

Sungchan squeezes at your waist, "How you feeling?"

You look around the room at mostly familiar faces and the sight of your best friends breaking it down on the dance floor, "It's crazy- like, they're really married! When did we all grow up so fast?"

"I know, right? They'll be having kids soon, I bet," Sungchan agrees with a fond stare over at the couple, "The wedding was so beautiful as well."

"But then it's over just like that," you sigh, "Well, I guess those two are going off to their honeymoon literally tonight, so it won't feel like it's over for them yet."

"Oh, tonight? They're just leaving you in the house alone?" Sungchan raises an eyebrow curiously.

"Mhm, Hana didn't want me to book a hotel for just a few days," you say off-handedly, not picking up on his tone.

"Oh," Sungchan gulps, "I don't want you to be alone- do you, maybe, wanna come over?"

When your head whips around to look at him, he's already flushing red. You don't know if it's the alcohol or something else, but he's gnawing on his lip. You just give him a reassuring smile, "I'd like that, actually."

After some dancing with your best friend and childhood friends and some mingling with the parents, you're saying a very tearful goodbye to Hana and Shotaro in the foyer of the venue. Their bags are packed and with them and they're about to head to the airport to jet away.

"Promise you'll come back more often, yeah?" Hana is crying into your shoulder, "Thank you for everything you've done this week. I'm gonna miss you so much."

You have a feeling you'll be back much sooner than another 4 years.

"Enjoy yourself, okay? You're gonna have such a great time, Mrs. Osaki!" you sniffle into her jumper.

You embrace Shotaro in a similar fashion as he also thanks you for the help. He drops a wink as he says, "Check on the house at least once before you go, okay? I know you probably won't be there much."

"No idea what you're talking about," you try to keep a straight face, but you both burst out laughing.

You watch them ride off into the night in a blacked out SUV and try to dry your tears as you feel a weight drop on your shoulders in the form of an arm, "Ready to go? The taxi's coming soon."

Sungchan's presence is warm in the blustery foyer, "Yeah."

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You rest your eyes with your head on his shoulder the entire journey back to Sungchan's place. His hand finds home on your thigh, the pad of his thumb brushing repeatedly over the silk of your dress. His suit jacket sits comfortably around your shoulders as you doze in and out of sleep, but the car stops before you've even realised.

"We're here, Y/N," he whispers to pull you into consciousness. He thanks the driver and rushes around to your door to open it for you.

It's dark when you step out and the nearest street light doesn't illuminate your surroundings enough for you to recognise what part of the city you were in. Sungchan grips your hand in his tightly all the way through the side-street and into the lobby of the apartment building.

He keeps quiet beside you, only the pattering of your heels and his dress shoes echoing into the empty room. You come to your senses quickly and then gasp.

"Sungchan," you freeze beside him.

He chuckles softly, "Yeah, I know."

"No one told me," you say quietly as he leads you to the elevator, "Chanie."

"It's home," he shrugs as he presses the floor of the apartment.

You're nervous when you get off at the floor, then it grows as he keys in the code on the pad. You gulp at the order of the numbers- the same sequence it's been since you moved in four and a half years ago.

"Welcome back," Sungchan murmurs behind you. He places his hand on the small of your back to gently guide you inside, since your feet were planted into the ground.

It smells exactly the same as when you left (though more of his scent and none of yours) and then he turns the lights on and you choke up as it looks nearly identical as before. It's the very first home you and your first love moved into together and it breaks your heart all over again to know he's been living here this whole time.

The shoe rack you picked out still sits by the door, but it's only occupied by large men's shoes now. The artwork you and Sungchan bickered about is still hanging above the chest of drawers on the other side of the door where you used to dump keys and bags and other knick knacks you collected for the 6 months you lived here.

"Oh, baby, don't cry," Sungchan is now in front of you, wiping at the tears you didn't even know were falling.

"Why didn't you move out?" you lean into his touch.

"Because this was our first home," he says, "And this was all I had left of you."

You crash your body against his, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly as your tears soaked into his dress shirt, now stained with your makeup.

"Shh, don't cry, my love. It's okay. I was strong enough," Sungchan murmurs into your hair as he presses his lips into your scalp, "You know that I love you, mhm? I always will."

"Channie, I love you," you cry even harder as he squeezes you, "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know. But you came back home to me," Sungchan sighs contently, smoothing your hair down to comfort you, "That's all I can ask for."

"I ruined us."

Sungchan shakes his head, "No, baby. You're here now. It's fine."

"It's all my fault."

Sungchan unwraps your arms from around him and takes your hand to lead you to the bedroom you made home in the past. He sits you down at the edge of the bed as you cry and crouches in front of you, holding your hands.

"You look so, so beautiful, my love. Don't cry, come on," he soothes, "I'm here, Y/N. I'm here."

Sungchan finds a packet of makeup wipes from your bag and swipes gently at your face as you sniffle and try to stop your tears. He goes through a few before the makeup is no longer staining your face and he hands you some tissue to blow your nose from the sobbing. While he waits for you patiently, you look up at the ceiling to try and stop the hot, silent tears that kept escaping.

"Do you think we'd have been married by now?" you ask, guilt surging in your vessels, "We always wanted to get married as soon as possible."

Sungchan's soft gaze falters for a second, but then he comes up to sit next to you and wrap you in his large arms, "It doesn't matter, Y/N. It's not your fault."

"But I left," you mutter.

"And I made you feel like you had to," Sungchan pats you comfortingly, "We'll be better this time, mhm? We'll know better."

"But what if I'm not the same person anymore you used to love?"

Sungchan furrows his brows tightly together, "That's nonsense. The moment I saw you again in that café, I knew. You're still the one who has my heart. I promise."

He holds you a few minutes longer, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you halt the crying. You grip onto him tightly, afraid he was going to leave you- ironic, isn't it?

When you finally calm down, he drags you to the bathroom to brush your teeth together with his spare toothbrush and he washes your face with a foaming cleanser while you do the same to him. When you're applying his moisturiser on your skin, he watches from behind you, arms holding onto your waist as he blinks slowly through the mirror. And when you realise you don't have any clothes, he unzips your dress from the top and dresses you up in one of his favourite shirts, adoring the way it swamps you.

He gives you this look and pulls you under the sheets, immediately tackling you into a hug and covering your body with his.

"This isn't really taking it slow, is it?" you hum, tracing shapes onto his bare arms.

"It is for me," Sungchan's eyes flutter shut in contentment, "If I had things my way, we'd be up on that altar beside Taro and Hana. How does a double wedding sound to you?"

You gasp and break out into laughter as you shove against his body, but he pulls you in tighter, "Shut up. You'd so be the type to propose at someone else's wedding."

He scoffs, as if offended, "Hell no. Do you wanna know how I'd do it?" you miss the way his voice wavers. His eyes are still closed and you're staring into his chest, "In a flower field or meadow, you in a pretty dress. Maybe we'd have a picnic, but it would be definitely be on a sunny day because you're extra happy when the sun is out. I'd set up a camera or something. Say I want to take pictures of us and there's no one else around. And when I succeed in distracting you, I would get down on one knee and you'd turn around and start crying, probably. And you'd love the ring too."

Your voice drops to barely a whisper, "Seems like you've thought about it a lot."

"You were the only person I could have ever imagined spending my life with. And I didn't want to spend any time apart from you," Sungchan admits, "When I bought the ring after saving my first few pays, I got scared and I pulled away. I had no idea it would drive you away in the end. I'm sorry for that."

Your heart stops, "The ring?"

He lets out this heavy sigh as he turns around and reaches over to pull his nightstand drawer open. He digs around into the depths of it and pulls out a box. It looks tiny in the palm of his hands and he presents it to you with his big brown eyes suddenly tearing up. He's doing that thing where he's nibbling on his lips and looking up and away to stop the tears falling.

"I don't want you to feel guilty or sorry. I just need you to know everything before we can start again," he mumbles, "If you want to open it, you can. Of if you don't, you don't have to."

For the countless time since the day started, you're crying again. You're in his arms, again.

"Sungchan," you cry out, "You were going to propose?"

"I wanted forever with you," he coo's sweetly, brushing the hair out of your face to plant kisses on your cheeks, "I still do."

You take the box from his hold and open it slowly, breath hitched. He's right- you love it so much that your stomach twists into itself. You had always wondered what ring would call to your heart- you didn't think you could describe it if someone asked, but Sungchan had known then, even without asking.

"It's a bit dusty now. I haven't looked at it in a while," Sungchan giggles.

Your heart is beating fast, almost out of your chest as you eye the metal and the precious stone. It's even better than any ring you saw in that jewellery store with him. You can feel his eyes locked on you as you take the ring out from its plush cushion and inspect it close up.

The room is only lit with a dim lamp, but the stone sparkles in the dark anyway. You can see something engraved inside the band, but your hands can't stop shaking long enough to read it. Sungchan's looking at you and he looks nearly exactly the same as he did 4 years ago in this very spot.

"Do you like it?" he asks quietly, "I picked it out by myself."

You don't say another word as you toss the box beside you and slip the ring effortlessly on the finger it was intended to rest on. Sungchan opens his mouth but you catch the gasp with your kiss as you smash your lips against his. He makes this strangulated noise as his fingers dig in to the side of your hips to pull you over him and his tongue slips into your mouth.

You kiss fervently, ferociously, having been devoid of his taste for more days than you wish would have passed. The cold metal of the ring digs into the side of his cheek, but Sungchan has never known more bliss than this.

"You can't take it back," Sungchan pants against your lips as he captured them again in a hot kiss. His hands slide up your bare flanks under the loose shirt and you detach from his mouth just to be able to gnaw at the side of his neck in that one spot you remember he loves.

His sweet mouth curses into the still air, "Fuck, Y/N."

"I love you," you murmur into his neck as his hands run wild, "I always will."

Sungchan places a hand over yours, the stone now digging into his palms. It's worth it, he tells himself now. You're here, he tells himself.

"I love you. It'll only ever be you."

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vii. i'm always, forever, runnin' back to you

The city is too polluted for you to ever feel like you're taking in a breath of fresh air. You should probably hold your breath, even.

Though the sky is teetering on the border of blue and grey, the sun still peeks through the clouds and greets you with a diffuse, warm light. You're humming to yourself as you walk down the street, head up to avoid walking into anyone. There's no music in your ears because you want to appreciate the rare sunny days that look like they'll be pulled from under you at any minute.

Your surroundings are familiar, having walked them nearly daily for the past few years, but when it comes to a crossing, you turn left today and instead of right. It's a diversion you take on special occasions- a diversion that takes you to your favourite café in the entire city. They serve the best cakes and pastries that are the cherry on top to anything you have to celebrate. Sometimes it's a promotion, sometimes a birthday and other times just a hard day that you didn't think you would make it out the other side of.

Before it comes into view, your phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey," your best friend's voice rings out through the speaker, "You finished work?"

"Mhm, I'm walking to that café I took you to now," you tell her, "What are you doing up? It must be, what? 2 or 3 in the morning there?"

"Late night at the office anyway with this huge case. I just got home," she sighs and you can finally hear the exhaustion in her voice, "But I also couldn't miss this. I'm proud of you."

"It's kind of a bittersweet feeling," you hum thoughtfully, "Thank you for calling, Han. But get yourself to sleep now."

"Are you at the café now?"

You nod before you realise she can't see you so you affirm verbally as the shop front enters your field of vision. You're met with a surprise that causes a smile to spread on your face.

"Yeah, just got here. I'll talk to you and Taro soon, okay?" you coo at your best friend who bids you farewell before you hang up the phone.

There's a tall figure leaning against the brick wall beside the shop entrance. He's got his hands in both pockets and he's watching your every step with an impatient, but fond stare.

"You said you weren't here yet!"

"Took your time, hm?" his voice is the closest thing that feels like home now until you walk straight into him and wrap your arms around his torso, "Surprise!"

"It's my last time doing that walk," your own voice muffles against his black shirt.

"How was your last day of work?" Sungchan strokes your hair gently as you bury yourself closer.

"I cried a bit saying goodbye to my co-workers," you admit, "But I know this is the right choice. I didn't even mean to stay here this long."

Sungchan hums from above, "Thank you for choosing this, though."

You look around the street you find yourself on in this area of London, knowing it's the last time you'll be here for a long time until you decide to come back and visit.

"Home has always been where you are," you pull away from him to intertwine your hands, "I miss Seoul and everyone there. London has taught me so much, but mostly that I can't live without you. These past 5 months were horrific too."

"Well, we're on the other side now," Sungchan leads you into your favourite café, the one you showed him when he first visited London 5 months ago just a few weeks after your friends' wedding.

You recommend things to order and end up with a generous spread on the table. Sungchan watches with a loving gaze as you arrange the plates to form an aesthetic birds eye view and you snap away with your phone camera.

You handed in your notice as soon as you got back from the wedding, but you had to wait to wrap up the big project that you had just started back then. Sungchan flew to London three weeks after the wedding on a whim and you had spent those two weeks he could work remotely playing house in your apartment in the evenings and showing him around the UK on the weekends. Then, you were apart for 5 months as he saved up his holiday time at his work and you were only connected via late night and early morning video calls to satisfy the itch of being together.

It wasn't always easy, of course. There were some weeks that you were able to spend more time with each other than others and it got frustrating at times, but you always managed to put it back into perspective that it wasn't long until you were reunited again without a looming flight to take you away.

He arrived in London a few days ago, helping to pack up your place while you were tying the last few loose ends at your job. It always felt nice coming back home to him at the end of the day and going back to Seoul feels like such a relief knowing you're going to come back home to him again every day for hopefully the rest of your life.

You and Sungchan share each dish, savouring your last bites for the foreseeable future. He takes photos of you when he thinks you're not looking and you kick against his feet casually. It feels like you're still in your honeymoon phase, even though you should be celebrating 10 years of your relationship this year. To be fair, it's only been 6 months since you've rekindled, but your love still burns bright like it was never encased into a small flicker.

He holds your hand the entire walk home, brushing his thumb on your skin as he talks your ear off about everything and nothing in the world. Being by his side brings you this peace and comfort that you didn't even realise you were lacking, as if your body has just been running on auto-pilot the past few years without him, surviving only long enough until you were finally reunited again.

"Hana's gonna be so excited too," Sungchan exhales, an air of anticipation in his voice.

One thing about you and Hana- you could keep secrets for the benefit of the other. She knew how shocked you'd be when she turned up at your door in London over a year ago with that ring. You decided to turn the table on your best friend, waiting the 6 months until you got back in Seoul to tell her about the ring that was sitting on the ring finger of your hand.

Even your parents don't know yet, wanting to wait until you could tell them in person. In a perfect world, Sungchan would have liked to ask your parents for your hand in marriage beforehand, but considering how excited they were to see you two holding hands and slow-dancing together at the wedding, neither of you think either set of parents would care.

Your mother has been begging for Sungchan to come and visit the house while you've been in London, claiming she was due a catch up with him, but you begged her to relax until you were back in the city.

"We'll have so much to do when we get back to Seoul," you hum along, "Hana and Taro seemed kinda stressed doing all of it too."

"But now they've experienced it, they can help us," Sungchan shrugs and goes quiet for a second before he starts kind of giggling.

Though it makes your heart burst at his adorable nature, you look at him quizzically, "What?"

"We're getting married," he continues that cute noise as he squeezes your hand in a pulsatile manner, "I'm getting married to the love of my life."

You roll your eyes playfully but your cheeks are turning pink as joy blooms in the depths of your bones, "Yeah, yeah, and lucky you, you didn't even have to organise a proposal."

Sungchan gasps and he splats your still-entwined hands over his heart like he was just shot, "Y/N," he whines, "I told you I would organise one! You don't know how much I want to properly propose to you."

You chuckle at him softly and nudge his side, "I'm just playing. You know that our moment was perfect. It was so very us."

"Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna plan the most perfect wedding for us too," he smiles down at you.

"What did I do to deserve such a sweetheart like you?" you press a kiss into the back of his hand as the two of you enter the tube station together.

You know he hates it whenever you talk about feeling guilty for the past or not being enough for him. You've been working through your feelings over these months, trying to be more open while he does his best to reassure you. But Sungchan gives you this look, just perfectly content in this moment, "I'm just for you, and you're just for me. It'll always be that way. Now let's go home."

a/n: thank you thank you thank you for reading. find my masterlist here & all likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are so, so appreciated <3

[juletheghoul]

covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life. 

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder. 

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation. 

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake. 

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart. 

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her. 

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean. 

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her. 

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day. 

-

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself. 

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face. 

He wanted her to want him. 

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment. 

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack. 

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her. 

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing. 

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her. 

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had. 

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least. 

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler @somedayheaven @flw3rrr

[chewingcyanide]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secretly pining over someone is never fun—even less so when they’re your childhood best friend, and dating someone else.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —all the angst, jealousy, thoughts of inferiority, cursing, big sadness from reader over here, not proofread i got better things to do

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — my valentine’s day jhughes special (albeit a day late ☹️), as promised! sorry it took me so long. couldn’t figure out how to end it. this is unapologetically self-indulgent. also not a wip, but i HAD to do it to em. i’m sorry if your name is brooke or bianca. i love you. promise. maybe we’ll make a part two, if yall like it enough!

₊⊹ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @dancerbailey3, @bellstwd, @kashee-h, @crazycat-ladys-blog, @brucewaynegfreal, @love4dlr, @jackhughesily, @leavethemonsteralive, @loveforaugust, @43hughes, @nathandoe, @choppedlamphandscowboy, @bunting58, @angelayse, @ru-kru, @sleepretreat, @nonsensical-nonsence, @maih23 (if your name is white, i couldn’t tag you!)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everyone knows the saying you never know what you have until you lose it. Truth was, you knew exactly what you had—you’d just never imagined you’d lose it.

You never imagined you’d lose him.

A shared childhood and mothers’ who found friendship with each other had brought you and Jack Hughes together, kept you glued even as skin stretched and futures diverged—where he’d gone on to be a star hockey player, you’d quietly came into adulthood, trekking through the difficulties of college.

In your younger years, Jack had always been there. Life of the party, a mirrorball everyone gravitated to for its decadent shine—you, contrastingly, felt like a sore thumb at parties, attending them only to see the smile on Jack’s face. Differing personalities and life routes aside, Jack was your person. The first person you called whenever you were sad, or happy, or bored. The one who knew all of your test scores first, who took hours long flights just to visit you during breaks in the season.

Distance nor time had left a lasting mark on your friendship, kept together by constant phone calls and texts. Whilst you remained imbedded in the hustle of Toronto, Jack was trapped in New Jersey—a gap that you closed every summer, when mutual desire to see one another (as well as his brothers) brought you and him to Michigan for a few months.

From childhood, to high school, to now—it had always been you two. Jokes passed in the years, swirling around with assumptions of the two of you ending up together, finally realizing it after years of proclaimed friendship. For Jack, it’d never been romantic. Loving and caring, a relationship he’d never trade for the world, but the intimacy ended there. Memories of him outwardly flirting with girls in front of you at bars or parties flashed in your mind any time you figured maybe; he’d never given any indicator that you were or would ever be more to him than his best friend.

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

College had stolen much of your time—left none for a love life. But truthfully, that didn’t much phase you.

Hookups, flings, boyfriends—all of them paled in comparison to Jack. A childhood crush perpetuated by maturation without loss of contact, Jack had just… always been there. Always a best friend, never a lover; the hanging axe of rejection was too dire a outcome for you to ever consider telling him. Killing a friendship you’d grown with would kill you. And maybe he felt the same way, maybe the kisses he reserved for the crown of your head and the guiding hand he kept on the small of your back meant something, but you couldn’t continue existing if they didn’t.

So, a dutiful friend, you kept quiet, spared the connection and suffered in unrequited love.

And it hadn’t really changed until Jack had gotten a girlfriend. In all your years of knowing him, he’d had a few—though they rarely lasted more than a handful of months, and a selfish and bitter part of you liked that. Sometimes they overstepped, viewed themselves above you in the ranking of Jack’s life; he made painfully clear they never would be.

And it felt good, to be that cherished. But then you remembered he didn’t actually love you and it felt a whole lot less impactful.

Not Brooke.

Brooke, a box-dye blonde with a less-than-stellar reaction to your friendship with her boyfriend, was unarguably beautiful—unapproachably so, someone you’d picture whenever thinking of the girl Jack would end up with. You knew it would never be you, but you hated that it was her, hated that it was finally cemented, the coffin wheeled out.

A friendship you’d cherished for years had been weathered down by the abrasive actions of his girlfriend. It left a bitter taste in your mouth; Jack never seemed privy to Brooke’s nonverbal dislike of you, and you never made comment of it. If Jack was happy, what did it matter? If you said anything, all you’d appear to be was a child throwing a tantrum, the attention torn from them. You refused to jeopardize Jack’s happiness, even if it meant shredding your own.

Brooke tolerated you; that was the best word you could think of. There was surely no excess of love, but you didn’t think she flat out despised you, either. Passive aggressive to the point of just being aggressive, snide looks whenever she didn’t think you could see, intentionally separating you from Jack whenever the two of you were talking—it all made you hate being around her, and by extension, him.

So when he’d invited you to dinner with him—and some of his teammates, a monthly ritual at his house—the knee jerk reaction had been to decline, lie, run while you were still free from the piercing glare of Brooke; because you knew she’d be there, clung to his side, as if you had any intention of taking him away.

… Well, you’d did have the intention. Never the will, so then again maybe she was right to hate you. Feelings you’d never act on, words you’d never say—none of it mattered. She had him. Not you. Never you.

You should’ve said no.

Pouting eyes and pleading lips caved you. As soon as you’d agreed, you’d regretted it—knew in your bones it would only serve to wedge the knife in your heart deeper, solidify the loss of a what you thought would be a lifelong partnership. Your platonic soulmate, twin flame pinched out by hateful fingers.

Getting ready for the dinner felt like preparing for a cage fight, where all night you’d have do endure blow after blow—them kissing, them touching, him loving her in a way you wished he’d love you.

Night blanketed the sky by the time you’d arrived to Jack’s home, shadows slipping by the window, shapes of people telling you that you were likely late—the stone in your stomach had slowed you monumentally. The torture was self-inflicted, you knew. There would be no pity when your heart finally gave out.

She did this to herself, they’d say. Hearts can only endure so much before they break.

Voices coalesced into one as you pushed open the door, welcomed by the familiar atmosphere of friendship and loud laughter. You’d completely forgotten to text Jack that you’d gotten here—and for some reason, as you crossed the threshold into the gaping space of his living room, you felt like an outsider. Sudden eyes landed on you like bullets, and all you saw was Jack—his side taken dutifully by Brooke, always beautiful, striking in a way you didn’t think you’d ever been.

Looking at her, it made sense why she was the one Jack chose. Why you hadn’t been. A best friend. Childhood acquaintance. Faded t-shirt he’d strung along for too many years, even as the design weathered away and the fabric weakened. He’d gotten a shiny new one, the novelty still in tact, yet he hadn’t let you go.

Some part of you, deep in the caves of your wounded heart, wished Brooke would ban him from your presence. Maybe then your hurt would lessen. You knew you’d never be able to let go on your own.

Jack’s eyes caught you, stood awkwardly in the mouth of the hallway. He attempted to stand, only for Brooke to tug him down by his t-shirt—the shirt you’d bought him for his birthday last year, impressed with two hearts holding hands. She said something to him, something low and hissed between clenched teeth. Before you could see his reaction, Nico was invading your space, arms winding around you.

“There she is!” he announced, the ground leaving your feet as he lifted you playfully. “We were waiting on you to eat. Sure do like to take your time.”

Residual bitterness faded at Nico’s words—Jack may have been your best friend, but years of being attached to him introduced you to his teammates; they were always kind, if a little overbearing. A big brother that toed the line of overprotective and well-wishing.

Grateful for the attention distractor, you allowed your shoulders to relax and lungs to decompress. The first cut at seeing Jack, still happily in love with Brooke, was already dealt; you just needed to get through the dinner, and not look like a hostage while doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, shoving Nico’s shoulder as he brought you towards where the others were gathered in the living room. “Make fun of me for driving like a grandma all you want, at least I’m safe.”

Not looking at Jack took more self control than you’d care to admit. Blurring in your peripheral, a mess of colors stacked atop one another, you knew if you glanced—saw the claim Brooke was staking for all to see—it would only make you want to leave. So you didn’t.

Luke was next to greet you, offering a pity-imbued smile. Despite never mentioning your affections for his older brother, you knew he knew; saw it in the way he would look at you, the frowns offered. In times when Brooke inadvertently talked you down, it was Luke who told her off, put balm on the wound.

A side hug and a soft smile—you barely were able to muster one yourself. “How have classes been?”

You graced Luke with an exasperated groan. “Terrible, thanks for reminding me. Economics is kicking my ass.”

Luke sat. You remained standing. A loose thread peeking from your sweatshirt seemed far more intriguing than eyes you were trying desperately not to meet.

“Tough luck,” remarked Luke, conversations reviving after the novelty of your arrival wore off. You recognized a couple of faces around you—Dawson, Jesper, Alexander, and John. Faces you’d become acquainted with in your years of being Jack’s friend.

The title felt a bitter reminder of your ceiling, never surpassing Jack’s best friend. Loved and cherished, a desired presence, just not how you wanted. Who were you to complain? It was better to be his friend than nothing at all; to have a little piece of him, proof that at one point, you’d mattered enough to get it.

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

Where once Jack’s name was a regular occurrence, flashing on your phone screen—texts, calls, FaceTimes, they all faded once Brooke came into his life. Movie nights on his couch, reruns of old films that you could quote down to the last line, stopped. You knew Jack cared enough to extend invites, but at this point, you figured it was more out of pity and shame than actual want of your company.

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

Eventually, everyone made their way into the dining room. Chairs lined a large wooden table, one chosen and haphazardly assembled by you and Jack when he’d first bought this house. Scratches imbedded in the finish sent flashes of dropped hammers and clumsy feet into your mind, memories that felt too far to touch.

Mind far afield, you sat down—somewhere between Luke and Nico, far enough from Jack to be inconspicuous but close enough to feel the sharp burn of his eyes. It was petty, you knew, to have still not greeted him. Not that Brooke would’ve likely even let you. A sadistic part of you wanted him to feel even a modicum of the agony that rattled you whenever you were forced to watch him and Brooke, wanted to wonder and question why you were so cold.

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

Body detached from your mind, the last thing you expected was to be spoken to—least of all by Brooke. But there her grating voice was, verging on overuse, but you knew that was just how she talked. Chafing and annoying and awful—

“Still no boyfriend?” A venomous smile curled her lips; friendly to the untrained eye. You knew better.

Your fingers twitched. The food in front of you spoiled, appetite evaporated. Of course she asked that—both a jab and a reassurance; if you had a boyfriend, her relationship with Jack would be safe. Not that it wasn’t, regardless.

You wished you could scream at her, leap across the table and force her to hear your words: you’d never have Jack. Want him, yes. Spend years pining over a boy who looked to you like the sister he never had, absolutely. But actually have him, feel his love in every touch and kiss? No. That wasn’t on the cards for you; you’d folded long ago.

“Nope,” you drawled. The pressure of Jack’s stare caved you—you caught his eyes, eyebrows creased, the wrinkle of his forehead that made itself prominent whenever he was annoyed.

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

Catching Luke’s gaze only irked you further, alit the urge to push out of your chair and flee Jack’s home. Pity swelled in his eyes, the beginnings of a frown quirking down his lips. You didn’t want pity; didn’t want to feel like the entire world was in on some inside joke you’d never understand. Everyone saw it, your love for Jack. Saw the lovestruck comedy that was your life—girl loves boy, boy isn’t even aware of it, hilarity ensues.

Everyone but Jack. And honestly, that was for the best.

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle the frown when he found out. Jack Hughes, always kind, never malignant, searching for a way to politely turn down his best friend without taking an axe to the connection. Really, there would be no bloodless way to let it die—so you lived in moments between, where nothing felt impactful or important or real.

When Jack was without Brooke, you could almost imagine he was your Jack—the one who turned down every girl so that he’d be free to go to prom with you, the one who got banned from a restaurant for life for pouring a drink over your cheating ex-boyfriend’s head. The Jack who always protected you, always cared, even when all of his friends couldn’t understand it.

That Jack who currently hand his arm around the back of Brooke’s chair, shoulders touching—a casual thing, something you’d done with countless strangers, yet it felt impactful enough to make bile swim in your throat.

“Probably for the best,” Luke interjected after the conversation—if it even was that—between you and Brooke came to an awkward stalemate. “Guys are dicks.”

A tension somehow always existed whenever you were in a room with Brooke. One you never wanted, never fed into. Like a shadow, the morning mist, it hung thick as smog. Choking you, nearly forcing you from the room.

“You’re a guy,” you laughed weakly, offering Luke a pointed look.

“No one at college, then?” Nico piped up. You felt bad for not looking at him, but he was too close to Jack and Brooke—you didn’t want to see them.

Cozy, warm in a way you thought only you’d ever be with Jack. Familiar, united. Their relationship didn’t seem as superficial as his past ones had, woven together under the pretense of good sex and no real connection. Watching Jack love his new, perfect girlfriend made you physically ill; and maybe that was dramatic, maybe it made you a backwards person with failing morals—you couldn’t care anymore.

Years of hiding your love, months of watching his own be poured into a girl that wanted you out of his life—it wore you down to your bones, dangerously close to burning to ash.

“Most of them are… strange, to say the least,” you responded with a wince. And that was true; your major seemed to just attract men whose one quality was making women uncomfortable. “Plus, having a boyfriend would just distract me. Finals are coming up and I’m already worried about how I’m going to do on them.”

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

A wince followed Luke’s words. Eyes fell to where Jessica was rubbing her hand—Jack apologized, albeit half-heartedly. Confusion overcame you; had he squeezed her hand too tightly?

In the past, you’d had boyfriends. Not that they lasted very long. Somehow, there was always something wrong with them—something only Jack could see; he’d endlessly nitpick, nag, explain why your newest boyfriend wasn’t good enough for you.

They were too old, too uptight, not nice enough. Always something. And without fail, Jack was right—scarcely did they make it past the first date before some measly excuse fell from their lips. But maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was you. So, with an aching heart refusing to connect with any other but Jack’s, you gave up. Delved headfirst into college work and stayed below the waves, even as they began to drown you.

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

Conversation picked up then, thankfully fell away from you. Limelight sufficiently dimmed, you allowed yourself to watch Jack; a habit you’d never quite shaken, even in the embarrassing moments when he caught your peering gaze.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen in love with Jack—just that you had, and now you couldn’t touch the bottom of him. Water filled your lungs, suffocated you, but if drowning meant being near him, you’d happily do it. Dying in his platonic embrace seemed better than dying all alone.

Ruffled brown hair, the sort of charm that every boy-next-door seemed to possess, and clear blue eyes that shone every emotion like a transparent window to his soul—all of it made Jack Jack, the boy you loved, would admire even in moments he didn’t think he deserved reverence.

You’d seen it all: the self-deprecation after his failure of a rookie year, dwindling confidence, tears imbued with hurt and disappointment, frustration of someone who knew they were better. It was you who’d been by his side, proved an anchor to a person you couldn’t live without.

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

For most people, that would be the last step off the cliff, boneless body breaking against the canyon. Not you—so full of hope and dreams, undeterred by every sign the universe gave you. You weren’t his only, but at least you were one.

Jack’s lips parted into a smile, one you could tell was real—his kissed Brooke’s temple, pinched her on the side. An intimate moment in a crowded room. You felt almost as if you were trespassing, a stranger watching two people in love. Part of you didn’t even associate that boy as Jack, because you couldn’t understand how he could love someone so averse to you, so… mean. But then again, it wasn’t about you.

It was about him. Accommodations had been made for years—leaving parties early because you were uncomfortable, blowing off his guy friends to comfort you after a bad date, scrapping his wants and his plans because of something to do with you.

He was probably sick of it. Sick of you, dictating what he could and couldn’t do. Who he could and couldn’t date. Because who cared if Brooke hated you; Jack loved her, despite it all. And that was what made dread swirl into a storm in your heart, ribs nearly cracking under the rate it was thundering at.

Abruptly, you stood. Felt the chair nearly topple. Eyes came to you—Jack’s friends. Yours, yes, but Jack’s foremost. You were just intruding, butting into a life that no longer fit you. Time had passed, the wishful minds of children grown into adulthood. He didn’t owe you anything anymore, especially when all you were was a storm cloud over his parade.

Just as soon as you had, Jack stood, concern clear in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Your tongue felt like lead. “Nothing—nothing, sorry. I’m—I need to use the restroom.”

You didn’t wait much longer before leaving the room.

Air felt scarce, lungs punctured and deflating quicker than you could patch the holes. Clumsily, you pushed open the door to the bathroom, steadied your shaking hands on the edge of the sink. Looking at yourself, reflection marred by the onset of tears, all you could do was compare—compare to Brooke, to every girl Jack had ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved.

Was it their features, doughy lips that worshipped him in a way you didn’t? Was it their bodies, womanly and free in a way you didn’t like to be? Or was it deeper, were their souls crafted from the same light, in a way you’d always thought your own had been with Jack’s?

Idiot, fool, dreamer—you were all of it. Like a lap dog, bird in its teeth, you always returned, remained dutifully at Jack’s side for the moment he might open the screen door and finally let you in.

Brooke had every right to hate you. Perceptive in a way Jack wasn’t, she saw what everyone else did—the lovesick eyes, foolish faith chaining you to him, an unrealized desire that would never be acted on. Had you been in Brooke’s place, you would’ve hated yourself as well.

Water poured from the faucet, gathered in your cupped palms. Attempting to desecrate any evidence of tears, you gently splashed the water in your face—went to dry it when you heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

Cold crept up your spine. Eavesdropping was wrong—you knew that, yet still found yourself leaning against the bathroom door to catch Brooke’s words.

“What’s going on?” came the response, likely the voice of Bianca, Brooke’s best friend. You’d met her once at a game (met was a loose word; she’d given you a snide look and taken to ignoring you the entire time).

Brooke’s voice lowered to the point where you were forced to strain to hear her speak. “You know Jack’s little pet?”

A lapse. Your heart seized, taken by some concoction of shame and surprise.

“No.”

“Yes!” responded Brooke. “She’s fucking everywhere. I asked Jack not to invite her tonight, and lo and behold—”

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

“I did.” Vexation laced every letter. “I told him it made me uncomfortable how close they were, how she was always around, blah blah. He got defensive, but he said he’d talk to her.”

“Clearly not,” Bianca muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re childhood friends, yeah? He probably feels like he has to stay her friend, or something. I mean, Jack’s a good guy, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone; if he dropped her, he’d look like a douche. I’m sure she’ll get the hint eventually.”

Footsteps began, voices fading along with them. “I fucking hope. It’s honestly pathetic.”

Blood roared in your ears, drowned out the sound of your beating heart—if it was even beating anymore. Something bitter and hot invaded your airways, lashed like whips against your flesh. It was no secret Brooke disliked you, disliked the closeness of you and Jack, but to hear it, the vicious way it fell from her lips—it made your gut twist and constrict, pushing bile towards your throat.

Pathetic. They thought you were pathetic, hopelessly waiting, like a dead plant praying for flowers that would never come. Lovelorn, seeking affection that only came by way of friendship and never more; they were right, and it became evident with a strike of lightning to your body.

Is that truly how Jack felt? Was he waiting for you to give up, so to spare you the hurt of being let down? Had you become baggage? Chained to him, the memory of childhood the only thing keeping you relevant, when times were less impactful and his life didn’t center around being a professional athlete. The stain of youth, remaining only for its joyful memory; that’s all you were now—a memory.

Just like your love, it seemed everyone saw Jack’s hints but you. Rose-colored lenses blurred everything but what you wished to see; of course you missed them, ignored them so your narrative remained intact.

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Head pounding, the squeeze of an oncoming migraine rattling your brain, you opened the bathroom door. Felt like a trapped bird all the way back to the table—you just had to get through dinner, only an hour or two, so as to not raise any suspicion, and then you could fade from Jack’s life.

Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t even spoken to you tonight, though no fault of his own; Brooke kept her claws deep, and it was clear he didn’t want to risk an argument. Not that you could blame him—she was his girlfriend. Her. Not you. He didn’t owe you anything.

Conversations filled your ears, ostracized you—every time you had opened your mouth before, it had felt wrong, the scratch on a vinyl everyone skipped over. You saw him first—noticeably tense, chair a bit further away from Brooke that it had been earlier. Tensed forehead, hands balled on the table; you longed to ask what was wrong, as you were used to doing. But you imagined talking to him, and it somehow felt wrong, a peasant addressing a king.

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

No longer empty, occupied now by Bianca, who was talking casually with Brooke, as if her actions hadn’t changed your entire perception of the situation. There were no more seats. No more room. The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, hit with the same sting of antiseptic on a wound—there wasn’t any more room for you at the table, just as there was no room for you in Jack’s life.

Maybe this was always meant to happen. Childhood didn’t remain forever, and it seemed, neither was your friendship. You’d always wondered why Jack had chosen you, someone so dissimilar to himself and his friends. Eventually, you made peace with it. His friendship was a balm to everything negative. Now… here you were again, more ostracized than ever.

What were you supposed to do? The long haul wasn’t meant to have an end.

Everyone was looking at you now. Stage fright, you lost your speech, thousands of eyes from a crowd looking at you, spotlight centered on your face, and you couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

Blue eyes found you, stood stonily at the entrance of the dining room. Jack’s eyebrows knitted, confused as to why you were still stood. When he saw Bianca, his lip curled. Frustration sparked, bemusement painted over. Once more that protective streak flared, something you were so used to—it had once felt the greatest trophy, proof that the Jack Hughes cared enough to stand up for you. It felt a sore consolation now, a reminder that, as always, you’d be the meek girl from his childhood he was forced to drag along, defend, shield from his new life that he fit into perfectly, that you spilled out from.

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

Brooke glanced at her boyfriend, annoyance flashing on her face. Their conversation paused. “What?”

Jack nodded towards Bianca. “She took her seat,” he explained in a clipped voice. “Get up.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Jack, it’s not a big—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Tension sparked in the air like a misfired firework. “She needs to sit and Bianca took her place, so—”

“It’s fine!” The words spilled out before you could second guess them. They came out raw and pained and everything you didn’t want to appear as; pity pooled from everyone, that sort of second-hand pity you saw on strangers faces when you’d lose your footing and fall.

It was too much. Pins dug into your skin, all of a sudden too tight. You needed to leave. Now, before your bones crumbled and heart gave out and finally everything burst.

“I—um, I should probably get going, anyway,” you said, nodding as if trying to be convincing. “With finals comin’ up I should get in as much studying as I can.”

Determination was something you’d always admired about Jack; it only irked you now. He stood, shrugged off Brooke’s outstretched hand and came to stand before you, and God—it was a disservice to not admire him, even as annoyance creased his eyes and drew inwards his lips. Beauty, in such a raw form, it startled you. Growing up, he’d always been the center of everyones attention. The hockey prodigy, the first overall draft pick, the franchise player for the Devils.

You? You’d been nothing special. Yet he’d still chosen you. And here he was, apparently doing it again—but why? Why when he had a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life and fun friends did he always come back, when clearly you were no more than a burden?

You tried not to seem spiteful. You did. But it was so hard to hide your wounds and ignore their pain. He may not have seen them, but they were unfortunately still there. And it seemed they always would be.

“You can’t,” he said, searched your gaze—he’d always been able to see straight through you, with such simplicity it frightened you. You tried to shuttered your expression, hide your pain. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. “Dinner’s just started—”

“Really, J, it’s fine.” Heat bored into your face where you knew Brooke was staring, daring you to express any deeper connection with Jack past the sheltered friendliness you were currently forcing.

You weren’t going to budge. Jack saw that, and so he sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, God. Nothing was ever easy. Pushing and pushing and pushing until you weren’t sure you even wanted to get up anymore, to even try. Every time you did, right back down you went, encapsulated by everything Jack.

Freedom felt a forgotten thing. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t love Jack, when he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, main star of the play.

And honestly, you were tired. Tired of wishing for something that would never happen. Tired of being viewed as the shackle around Jack’s wrist. Just tired.

“No need,” you muttered noncommittally, saw the way Jack’s face twisted with concern and confusion and everything you didn’t want to see. “It’s your dinner, J. With my grandma driving, I’ll get home safe.”

The attempt at a joke didn’t land. Smile didn’t even begin to twitch his lips. “It’s dark outside,” he stated, an obvious fact that held no weight for anyone but you and him. “I always drive you when it’s dark.”

That was true enough; your inability to see properly at night meant Jack became your chauffeur, not that he ever complained—even still, it was another thing he did for you, time sacrificed to accommodate you. Prepared to leave his own dinner, his own girlfriend, just to make sure you didn’t have to do something you were uncomfortable with. Conceptually, it was sweet, a sort of gesture that would’ve normally made your heart soar. Now? It made you feel like a burden, an incapable little girl still hiding in the shadow of her protector, afraid of the sting of daylight.

No more.

“I’m going to be fine,” you reassured. Jack didn’t appear convinced—he never was satisfied when it came to you, to your safety, unless he was directly involved. “Stay and have fun.”

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

Brooke’s voice proved the nail in the coffin; a part of you heard the undertone of excitement shot through her words, the possibility of your leave alleviating any annoyance your presence had brought. Without you, Jack’s attention would be fully on her. Without you, he wouldn’t have to concern himself on whether you were having fun and if you were okay.

You. You. You.

You’d considered yourself Jack’s anchor, the grounding of his mind—unfortunately, you’d forgotten an anchor also keeps a thing in place, forcing inactivity.

Let her go.

It rang like a death knell, struck sharp as a poisoned dart, invisible but so unmistakably fatal.

Gathering what remained of your dignity, you grabbed your purse off of your—Bianca’s—chair, caught the commiseration shining in Luke’s eyes like a tarnished trophy. It only stung, reminded you that you needed pity.

Before you could flee the room like a scolded dog, Jack caught your wrist. Heat bloomed, a fever rushing to your head—his simple touch made you sick with want and need and something deeper that would never be realized or fostered. Something you had to let die.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said softly. Fingers gently squeezed your wrist. Where once you’d feel comforted, you just felt trapped. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

Honestly, you’d expected some dark cloud to cover you when finally you decided to move on. A procession of funeral goers flocking like crows, unable to understand why you’d abandoned a years-long friendship over something insignificant. Over words spewed from hateful lips.

But it wasn’t what you’d overheard. Deeper, a more sharp knowledge that even if Jack loved you, held you closer than anyone in his circle of friends, he’d never want you in the way you desired. And for a while, that was okay. Because he existed separate of everything—and then came Brooke, and it all crumbled.

You could handle him not loving you. You couldn’t, however, handle him loving someone else so openly.

Street lights blurred behind tears, a mess of streaky lights like a watercolor canvas. Flashes of nights when Jack would drive you home, insisting on taking the wheel so that you didn’t have to toe out of your comfort zone, they haunted you like a inescapable film reel on repeat in your mind. Memories fogged by lost youth, angry words from Jack’s lips as he’d stand up for you—never a party person, denounced for draining the fun. Jack never let those insults slip lip before he was barking at whoever said it.

A responsibility. A burden. The lines had become blurred in recent years.

The latter seemed more fitting.

Through a barrier of tears, you were able to send Jack a text as your car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

me

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

Fingers hovered over your screen. Make movements to draft a text. Nothing seemed sufficient.

You let the text stale. Sit stagnant on your phone. Jack would likely worry, eventually call—you just wanted to fall into a void and never return. Not after the mess you’d made of dinner.

The mess you’d made of your life.

Making a ghost of yourself was far more difficult than you’d thought it would be.

Incessantly, Jack had texted you, called you—you didn’t answer any of them. Silence felt a balm to your shame. Selfish, you knew, to just ghost Jack without offering any explanation, but nothing would be sufficient, not without souring the connection you were hoping would die without pain.

Cowardice, craven, pathetic—you knew you were all of it. To you, you were giving Jack a chance to pull back, to fizzle the friendship of his own accord. Maybe then it would’ve stung less, if the desire of its end was reciprocated, mutual. As it were, it was not.

Even with your withdrawal, Jack still tried. Shot texts, called and punctuated them with voicemails, sent you TikToks and Snaps and everything he would normally do if everything was fine; but it wasn’t. And you knew he knew, could sense the urgency in his attempts at communication.

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

Despite your best efforts, you didn’t appear as unaffected as you hoped. While your insides were shredding themselves, you tried valiantly to paint over your visage with the normal happy-go-lucky smile you always wore. Most people, if they noticed, didn’t comment on it.

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

Since your freshman year of college, Kaylen had been your roommate—low maintenance, intelligent to the point of making you stupid without even trying. As such, she was far more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

There’d been times you confided in her about your feeling for Jack, sought out advice that never seemed good enough. Because no one but yourself could fix the valley that had split between Jack and you. You could seek outward help all you wanted, but nothing would change unless you did something—and, really, you weren’t sure that was even a good idea anymore.

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

Sunlight bled through your shut eyes, forced a wince. Hands rolled you onto your back, the somewhat stiff mattress of your bed providing a measly cushion. Sleep intruded on, your hands extended, attempted to push away the figure you knew what trying to rile you.

“Go away,” you grunted, throat thickened by sleep and other terrible emotions.

“No,” Kaylen hissed. When finally you opened your eyes, her squinted expression invaded your vision. “Look, I’ve let you be miserable for two days, but it’s getting ridiculous. What the hell happened with you and loverboy?”

A jolt nearly paused your heart mid-beat. Thinking about Jack stung in a way you didn’t like to admit, mainly due to the fact that it was painfully embarrassing that he had such a control over you.

“Don’t call him that,” you muttered, bit your tongue to stop anything else from spilling out.

Kaylen’s eyebrows quirked. “So it is about him?”

Nails scraped your lungs. “No—yes—fuck,” you moaned, sitting up and balancing your forehead on bent knees. “It’s… all fucked up, K. I don’t know what to do.”

A sigh left her lips. You felt the bed dip as she climbed beside you. “I can help if you tell me.”

And so you did, started at the beginning of dinner to the end, as you left like a dog defeating in a cage match, heart crying blood. Comforting circles were rubbed into your thigh, but all they did was remind you how Jack used to trace shapes onto your leg, or arm, or back—how he touched you, just to know you were there, with him. He said it placated him.

It was shameful, how bile teased your throat even imagining it.

Rationally, you knew everything was your doing. Loving Jack, torturing yourself by being in his presence whilst he focused his attention on his girlfriend. Expecting any semblance of affection or intimacy even as another held his heart, branded her name over your own. It was always going to happen—knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

When finally you finished, the conclusion of your mournful, self-pitying tale followed by the sting of unwanted tears, Kaylen’s thoughtful silence waned. Her lips pursed, fingers twitching. You expected her to berate you; what had you expected, stupid girl? He has a girlfriend!

Instead, Kaylen hugged you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulled back with that pitiful smile you’d seen one too many times—one you’d be fine with if you never saw again. “He cares about you—”

“Not how I care about him, though,” you finished, and Kaylen gave a weak nod.

“I mean, if you told him what Brooke and her little bitch of a friend said, I’m sure he’d leave her. He’s done more for less.” That much was true. Regardless of whose lips it came from, Jack didn’t tolerate disrespect towards you—cut long time friends off for assuming they had any authority to speak poorly of you.

And you knew—knew with the same certainty that you knew your own name—that Jack would break up with Brooke if he knew how she’d spoken of you.

That should’ve made you giddy. Bursted bright light in your chest at the prospect of having Jack to yourself once more. Instead, it made you feel heavy, sand packed into your bones. Who were you to invade his happiness? If he’d chosen Brooke, so be it.

Sure, she’d disparaged you, but Jack’s life wasn’t yours to dictate anymore. If he wanted Brooke, he’d have her, until he decided to leave—not because you decided for him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eyelids heavy, the residue of late-night tears remaining on the skin, you felt the fight leave you. Kaylen frowned. “I just want it all to be over.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Seriously? You’re giving up on an eight year friendship because of something some dickface said about you? I thought Jack meant more to you than that.”

Kaylen’s words stung. Made you defensive, because she was right—you were giving up and you did care about Jack, but the pain had become too much. “It’s not—it’s harder to explain than that. He’s outgrown me, K. Everyone can see it but him. I’m an obligation, a burden, and yeah, maybe he loves me as a friend and maybe he wants me around, but his friends never have—his fucking girlfriend doesn’t. And at this point, I just want it to end, I want him to be happy without the conditions of making me happy.”

Silence followed. Contemplation showed clear on Kaylen’s face. You could tell, even without her words, that she didn’t agree—but, she didn’t comment on that. Rather, she placed a hand on your leg and squeezed.

Just like Jack always did.

“It’s your life, babe,” she conceded. “And if you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you—but you have to be content with it.” She gestured to you, the nest of blankets and red-rimmed eyes. “Because this? This isn’t happiness over a good choice. You’re miserable without him, and it’s been barely two days. Think about what you’re doing before it’s irreversible.”

With that, Kaylen got up and went to her own bed, and neither of you made comment of it for the rest of the day.

Her words came again and again like a fractured turntable. Of course you were miserable—Jack had been a constant in your life for eight years, consistently preserving your peace, including you when you’d never felt more like an outsider. Happiness was synonymous with Jack, his smile, his presence, him.

Did you regret your decision? Yes, and no. You regretted the way you’d gone about it. The petty silence, ignoring a person who’d made your younger years bearable. Your friendship deserved a better death than that, a reason rather than just… fading from existence, as if it never mattered in the first place.

That wasn’t the message you wanted conveyed, and so with fingers unsteadied by aftershocks, you texted Jack.

You weren’t sure how you’d explain, if you could tiptoe around the actual reason. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe that was okay.

me

i’m so sorry for everything. i’ll explain in person. can we meet up?

Your response came half a second later. As if he were waiting. That selfish part of you prayed he had been.

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

me

yeah. that’s good. brooke won’t be upset?

Asking after her made you want to puke, but you knew it was necessary—she didn’t like Jack even breathing near you, having an entire sit down conversation with him was certainly out of the question.

Thrice, the little text bubble appeared and disappeared on your phone screen. You could sense the apprehension without any background knowledge.

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

It was shameful, the backwards type of pleasure that brought you.

Maybe you were a terrible person. A terrible friend. You tried to reason that it wasn’t wrong to love someone, to wish they were yours.

me

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

i’m not. i’ll see u tn. 7:30 work? have dinner w the guys.

me

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

The hard part wasn’t even over, and your heart was already breaking in two.

Sweat beaded at your palms, the cold claws of apprehension raking down your spine. Countless times you’d been stood here, facing the lifeless beige of Jack’s apartment door. This time, however, you stood here knowing it was the last time. A silent farewell to familiarity, the ties finally cut. Jack would fight, you would cry, and maybe he’d be able to change your mind—it seemed such an unlikely outcome that it calcified every inhale in your throat.

Shaking hands rapped the wooden door, where behind would come the execution of a friendship you’d held like a crutch for years upon years. Your childhood had died, and maybe it would’ve been better had it been left there as well, so as to spare you this heart-rending pain.

Even still, you wouldn’t have traded those years for the world—everything they taught you, through pain and happiness. It made you who you were, brought you to his doorstep with melancholy eyes and a failing heart.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, urgent in a way that picked up your heart rate. The next moments you imagined with brutal clarity—Jack’s hopeful gaze, blue in a way no one else’s ever had been, the soft slope of his nose you teased him for, scrunched whenever he was particularly concerned. How he’d usher you in, hear your words, plead for a moment to explain, and then admit his love for you.

That was how you dreamt it. Unsurprisingly, it was not how it went.

Instead of the door opening to reveal the man you’d love for a lifetime, the squealing hinges were followed by a face that nearly knocked you backwards. Previous indifference smeared into flat-out disdain as Brooke’s eyes caught your figure, engulfed in one of Jack’s faded hoodies and likely disheveled in a way she’d never experienced herself.

Arrows punctured your lungs, sole your breath and defaulted your barely beating heart. Brooke was here. At Jack’s apartment. After they’d supposedly broken up. Had he lied? Was he tricking you, making you the fool? He never would, you knew that, but your wounded mind spun falsities to perpetuate your pain, as if punishment for trusting him in the first place.

“What do you want?” Brooke grunted, leant against the doorframe. Lips twitched into a smirk, the smile of the victorious.

You’d never considered yourself a violent person, but the urge to punch her in the teeth itched your fists. “Is Jack here?”

Her face fell. Something dark flashed in her face—she hesitated a moment, tossed a look over her shoulder. “Yes.”

The curt response was better than nothing, you supposed. “Right, well, can you tell—”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair. Adjusted the clasp of her necklace. “We were kind of in the middle of something. Come back later?”

The axe struck down.

Gravel filled your throat. Suffocated you. If Brooke knew the affect of her words, for once it didn’t show on her face. Years of life had taught you many things, drug you through agonies you wouldn’t relive for anything, yet somehow, this was the worst pain.

To be betrayed, trust snapped by a single action, it stung. Wormed venom in your veins and contaminated your bloodstream, poisoning your heart. Realistically, Jack hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to hook up with other girls, to love them—he had, for years.

That wasn’t the issue.

No, it was the fact that he’d set a time, invited you over, and somehow forgot? Or had he set it all up, just to rub it in your face, get his lick-back for your prolonged silence towards him? Either way, it hurt, hurt like a bitch.

Made stone, all you did for a moment was blink at Brooke before a voice called from the background, “Who is it?”

Jack.

Fright found you then, broke away your shell of stone. You couldn’t let him see you, the dog wishing once more to come in from the cold. If he’d planned it, and saw you, he knew he’d won. If he hadn’t planned it, then he realized that—irrecoverably—he fucked up. Both choices felt like a criminal trial you didn’t want any part of.

“I—um—have a good night,” you rushed out, feet stumbling over themselves as you practically ran away from Jack’s door.

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

Maybe this was your sign. The one you needed to finally pull away.

Because Jack Hughes didn’t love you. Not past platonic soulmates—a relationship stained with past memories, ones that made both of you incapable of letting go, even as you outgrew it.

You were done being second best. Done trying to squeeze into a place you didn’t fit anymore.

If Brooke was Jack’s choice, so be it. You didn’t want any part of it anymore.

[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ a footnote in your life. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x best friend!singer!reader

୨ৎ genre: angst

୨ৎ content: unrequited love, tension

୨ৎ note: part of my superache collection <3 based off the song footnote!!

୨ৎ wc: 1.5k

you knew better than anyone that your feelings for billie were unrequited. it wasn’t hard for you to see—if anything, it was painfully obvious. you were almost certain that she knew of your feelings too, that she was aware of how you felt and couldn’t bring herself to feel the same. 

in fact, you knew full well that she knew. you remembered the time at a party where you had the drunk slip up, the memory haunted your every living moment. “i love you,” you had murmured under the lights, just drunk enough to be stupid with your words but not enough to ever forget the moment. 

billie had simply smiled. “oh girl, sober up. you don’t know what you’re talking about.” why would you have lied? everyone could see the hearts in your eyes when you looked at her, everyone knew. she knew. so why? why did she keep pretending it wasn’t real?

still, those were the only words that left her mouth before she’d driven you home and helped you to bed—she’d even left you breakfast for the morning. she really made it impossible not to adore her with your whole soul.

mortified by her casual reaction, you had lied to her face when she asked you if you remembered. “remember what?” you had simply asked, and billie hadn’t noticed the way your hands were fiddling behind the back and your heart was beating out of your chest. of course she hadn’t noticed. she didn’t care enough to notice. 

she seemed almost relieved that you ‘couldn’t remember’, she had dropped the topic without another word and continued with her day like normal. you hadn’t, however, because to you the world had just ended. 

that was four months ago now, and you were still infatuated with her.

despite it being so clear that this adoration was unrequited, you couldn’t simply stop liking her. you’d tried—tried to push your feelings under the rug, to focus on your friendship. because you adored your friendship with her—she was kind, funny, perfect. maybe you needed to stop loathing the friendship, considering that you’d never be more than that. maybe you needed to be grateful to have such a kind, funny, perfect girl as a friend, rather than acting as if you were above having just a friendship with her, as if you deserved more.

you were trying. trying to be happy with what you had, because you knew that having her in your life was more than most could dream of. that didn’t stop the yearning that took over whenever it was late at night and you were alone in your room. it didn’t make the countless songs you’d written about her any less soul crushing, any less meaningful. 

one evening, you were out for dinner with the tour group—you were an opener for billie’s europe leg of her tour, and you fit into the group as if you’d always been there. that made it worse, because why did you have to get along with her friends? with her mother? if nothing was to come of the two of you, if you were destined to remain simply friends, why did you fit so perfectly into her life? you’d entangled yourself in the spiderweb of billie’s life, you played karaoke with her friends and you traded recipes with maggie.

you would be perfect together, if only she could see it.

as you sat in the restaurant, in between billie and jane, billie leaned into you and whispered something in your ear with a soft and contagious giggle. your lips curled up into a smile, and you whispered back to her. it was moments like these that kept you on that high, that kept you hopeful despite it being truly hopeless. 

you were shaken out of your lovestruck trance by the voice of a waitress, “some wine for the cute couple? it’s on the house.” 

billie’s head snapped up, and an amused smile spread over her lips, “thank you.” she turned to you with that expression, the carefree smile that showed you that this was merely a source of entertainment—she didn’t think anything of the fact that everyone thought you were together, because why would she? she laughed softly when the waitress had left, “everyone thinks that, it’s so funny.” 

but it wasn’t funny, not to you. to you, the fact that everyone saw the two of you the way you wished you were was like twisting the knife. you were perfect together, you and billie. but she didn’t see it, so you’d never be the one, not in any lifetime. 

but you forced out the words, “yeah,” with a smile plastered on your face. “it’s hilarious.” it wasn’t hilarious. in fact, it made your stomach twist and your heart clench. the mere thought of the fact that she found this funny, and that you’d never be hers….well, it left a sour taste in your mouth. you’d lost your appetite, so the wine they had given the two of you wouldn’t be going to much use. billie poured you a glass, and you simply shook your head and passed it to jane instead. 

you were quiet for most of the dinner, and maggie had turned to you during a moment where billie was talking to ava, “you alright, dear?” 

with a heavy swallow and yet another smile plastered over your face, you nodded. “yeah, i’m okay.”

maggie knew you weren’t, she could see through that. she too was well aware of the feelings you were harbouring for her daughter, and you could feel the sympathy. part of you hated the sympathy, the fact that everyone pitied you. you weren’t the only one in love with billie, and surely you’d grow out of that adoration at some point. 

the dinner passed in a blur, and when you’re back to your hotel, billie tugged you into her room, flopping down on the bed and looking up at you from where she lay on her back. her lips were painted with a smile, one side pulled up ever so slightly more than the other as her eyes followed you around the room. she was talking about some movie she watched, her words falling from her lips and barely making their way to you. you were trying to listen, but her voice was soft and sweet, and her hair was splayed out on the bed underneath her… you were painfully aware of the things that you wanted so badly but could never have, so when she finished talking about the movie, you spoke. 

“did you enjoy tonight?” 

the question was simple, but you both knew what you meant. some wine for the cute couple. some wine for the cute couple. some—

“yeah! it was fun, the food was amazing.” she spoke with a slight grin on her lips, “the waitress was so sweet, it’s funny how everyone thinks that.” 

your eyes travelled to the floor near your feet and you exhaled softly, a barely noticeable reaction to her words. looking back at her, you spoke, “do you remember that one night a few months ago?” 

her brows furrowed, and you felt a pang of guilt for ever lying to her, even though it was undoubtedly for the better. “i thought you said—”

“i’m sorry, i do remember. but…”

“sweetheart…”

your heart twisted at the pet name, because it truly was like she held your heart in her hands. you could feel it breaking and she wasn’t even trying to break it. perhaps that was the worst part. billie loved you. billie was your best friend. but she didn’t—couldn’t—love you in the way you wanted. 

interrupting her words, you spoke softly. “i meant what i said that night.” 

“so you…”

“yeah…”

billie was sitting up now, her hands clasped loosely in her lap as she watched you—with that same sympathy in her eyes that maggie had shown earlier. 

“...i’m sorry.” 

“do…you think you’d ever… y’know…” you trailed off, but she knew what you meant.

“oh honey, i…” she sighed, “i love you so much. you know that. you’re my best friend. but i don’t think i could love you like that. i don’t want to make you think that it’ll happen. i’m sorry…”

you shook your head, “no, it’s okay. i get it. i shouldn’t have brought it up, i already knew the answer.”

“oh sweet girl, i really am sorry-”

“billie, stop. it's okay. i understand. just…” you trailed off once again before speaking softly, “just don’t forget me, yeah?”

and just like that, you left the room. all the lyrics you’d written for her, all the songs? well, they would remain a part of your heart forever. billie was permanently etched into your heart—a never ending love that you’d never truly be able to part from. billie was the one for you. but you weren’t the one for her, and that was the harsh truth of life.

 is it truly better to love and lose than never love at all? with how this was making you feel, you doubted it.

but it was okay, as long as you at least got a footnote in her life. as long as she didn’t forget you. 

so i'll just take a footnote in your life

and you could take my body

every line i would write for you

but a footnote will do

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @billiessillywife @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann

[snoopyhughes]

gave you too much but it wasn't enough (qh43)

In which you wonder if your relationship with Quinn might end in death by a thousand cuts.

This is my submission for the eras tour fic challenge hosted by @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy! I am thrilled to be a part of this event. I received DBATC, and if you know me you know any kind of angst is not my wheelhouse, but I was thrilled to get this challenge and try to create something angsty. It will never be unresolved in my world but hopefully this does the trick :) 2.5k words, fem reader, no warnings that I know of, not proofread.

When Quinn was named the captain of the Vancouver Canucks, you had never felt so proud.

Being with Quinn for two plus years at the time, you were over the moon to see the love of your life, your favorite person in the world, being given such an honor, an honor he worked so hard for, an honor you know he deserved. Quinn was one of the most dedicated people you've ever met. With that dedication of course, comes time. Quinn dedicated countless hours to improving his game, practicing with his teammates, working out in the gym, going on runs, anything he could do to be the best he could be, he was doing it.

Under the moonlight, as you and Quinn celebrated his accomplishment, he promised you that he wouldn't stray away. That his commitment to the team wouldn't outweigh his commitment to you. To being a loving partner. A companion. However, when you woke up, stretching your arm out to feel an empty bed yet again, despite knowing that it couldn't have been much past 7 am, you wondered what went wrong. What happened to cause those promises to crumble. His words to be empty, lifeless. Void of meaning. When did you and Quinn become a couple that told each other lies? Told each other things just because the other person wanted to hear them, not because they genuinely intended to fulfill them.

It was the start of Quinn's second season as the Canucks captain. At first, you thought it was too good to be true. Quinn was thriving in his new role, yet still being the perfect partner. Attentive and on time, compassionate and loving. Now, that version of Quinn is a distant memory, mocking you as you think of him.

It started after the holidays in Quinn's first season of being captain. You chalked it up to post holiday stress and all star weekend buzz, maybe even trade deadline drama. Then the all star game passed, and even the trade deadline. Shortly after you started blaming it on the playoff push, then the playoff loss. And now here you were in November, searching for answers, trying to figure out what happened to the love of your life who turned into a stranger right in front of your own eyes, with nothing you could do about it but watch it happen.

You got yourself ready for work, looking around in the bathroom, on the bedside table, and eventually the kitchen to see if maybe Quinn left you a note, a cup of coffee in your favorite travel mug, a bagel from your favorite bakery around the corner, a sign of his love, signs that he used to never leave the house without showing. Just as you thought, there was nothing. You couldn't even remember the last time you felt Quinn kiss your forehead before he left for God knows what. Another workout, another two mile run after the three miles he did on the treadmill, or locking himself in his office watching film.

Work came and went that day, taking the long way home, dreading going home to an empty house. You thought it would be worse trying to interact with the stranger you lived with, but the silence, the emptiness, the sterile, unwelcoming cold was always worse. You stared up at the traffic lights, wondering if others saw just how foolish you felt. Writing lines to a story that was long over. Grasping on to the book, hoping for a surprise ending, one that would make everything worth it.

To say you were surprised to see Quinn's Porsche in the driveway was an understatement. Usually on practice days he didn't get home until well after 6 pm. You unlocked the front door, not expecting much. Just because he was home, doesn't mean he wasn't locked up in his office, taking notes from last night's game. A game that you never bothered to go to anymore. You knew the other WAGs missed you, people speculated about your absence on the internet, always cruel and judgmental. You couldn't bring yourself to go. You had learned to despise hockey for taking Quinn from you.

You opened the door and were surprised to see Quinn in the kitchen, grabbing a snack. Quinn looked as surprised to see you as you were, almost like he didn't know where you were, or if he even remembered that you lived there. Quiet "hi's" were exchanged, Quinn leaving a soft kiss on your cheek then awkwardly brushing past you to go towards the fridge.

"I thought we could have chicken and pasta for dinner tonight. It sounded good on my way home, I hope that's okay," Quinn muttered out, but already getting a pot of water for pasta ready, as though it didn't matter what you truly wanted. "That's okay," you offered back. "I'm gonna go sit down and read my book. If you need me, just holler." You offered and Quinn gave a nod in response. You wanted to grunt and groan under your breath. How could this be okay with him? It was as though you didn't know him, despite him knowing everything about you.

You tried to distract yourself with your book, but frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. You wiped them away aggressively, not wanting Quinn to see you cry. He couldn't muster up simple greetings, and an I love you would be almost toxic coming out of his mouth. He didn't care anymore, that much was obvious. So why should you?

You didn't know how long time passed, but it was enough time for Quinn to come over with a plate of dinner, unaware of your state. Your heart swelled. Most days, you had been eating dinner at the table, the memories of the two of you loved up on the couch, enjoying your meal and watching your latest binge watch were long gone. It seemed that Quinn was looking for one of those nights, until he saw your tears. His face dropped, setting your plate down and kneeling in front of you.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" He asked, trying to get you to meet his eyes. You shook your head. How could he be so oblivious? "Are you serious?" You ask and Quinn's expression changed, like you had hurt him. "What do you mean by that? Why would I not be serious?" he asked, causing you to shake your head. "Quinn, things haven't been right between us for months. You leave me everyday without saying goodbye or even kissing me goodbye, you act like spending time with me is the worst thing in the world. I never go to games anymore because I resent hockey for taking you from me. When you were named captain, I was so proud of you I could explode. Now I can't even bare to be in the hockey setting because it reminds me of everything you chose over me. Quinn, I don't even know if you love me anymore." You took a breath after getting it off your chest, but at the same time a wounded gasp came out of Quinn's mouth, like he was a wounded animal.

"You think I don't love you anymore? How could you think that?" he asked, clearly hurt by what you had said. "What else do you want me to believe, Quinn? I can't even remember the last time you told me you loved me. And beyond that, that you ever even showed that you might. I feel like I live with a stranger. You can't honestly tell me that you have felt satisfied in this relationship. That you feel that we love each other to the fullest, that we love spending time together. I haven't felt confident that you feel that way in a long time." At this point you both had tears in your eyes, Quinn feeling devastated by what he was hearing.

Of course Quinn wasn't 100% satisfied with your relationship. He wasn't delusional enough to believe that everything was perfect. He knew that hockey had been his number one priority lately, and he had been trying to make that not be the case.

"Baby, I know I haven't been putting you first lately, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am. But I feel like it's only been this way since the start of the regular season." This had you scoffing immediately. "You don't seriously believe that. Quinn, I could say I have felt this way on and off since January." This caused another hurt gasp to leave Quinn's lips. "Why didn't you say something..." he trailed off, hurt, but he knew the answer.

"I shouldn't have to beg you to love me, Quinn. I shouldn't have to tell you that you have been neglecting me, neglecting us. If you truly can't see what's been going on, I don't know how I can explain it to you. If you think that this relationship has been satisfactory for both parties, I can't change your mind of that. But I won't be treated like this any longer. I think we should spend some time apart." Quinn backed up as soon as the suggestion came out of your mouth, looking like he had been shot.

"You don't mean that, you can't" he gasped. "Quinn, I'm not saying I want to breakup. If I didn't believe this was salvageable, if I didn't believe you could fix this, I would just say I wanted to break up. I believe we can fix this, but I think some time apart would do us good. For us both to figure out what we're looking for and what we truly want. If we find that this is still what we want, that's great, I believe that we will make it work. But this, this... arrangement, this isn't working. I know you seem shocked and hurt, but I know you don't believe that this is working for both of us, or honestly either of us."

"I'll go stay with Petey, I don't want to be in your way," Quinn suggested and you shook your head. "It's okay, really. I can go stay with Brock's girlfriend. Since she lives by herself it won't be awkward for any of us. I do believe we can make this work Quinn, I just don't think we can do it in these conditions." You put your hand on his cheek and his face softened, leaning into your touch.

"Tell me how to fix it, please, I'll do anything," he begged, tears steadily streaming down his face. "I can't tell you that, Quinn. I want you to figure out. To understand where I'm coming from, and want to work to fix it. I haven't been perfect either Quinn, we can both work on this. I shouldn't have to tell you that spending time together once a month isn't enough. I don't know how it can be enough for you, either. If that's okay with you, then this just isn't going to work."

"I'll fix it baby, I promise, I'll do anything." he whispered, almost defeatedly but feeling much better. "I believe you, baby. I do."

-------------------

The flowers started on Mondays. Each Monday, a different bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers arrived at your office. The message was also different each week but it always ended the same way: " I love you, I believe in us." You texted Quinn every week when the flowers came to let him know you got them and to send your thanks. After four weeks of flowers, you were sitting in the front room of Brock's girlfriend, Bella's, apartment, getting stuff done on your computer on a chilly Saturday afternoon. A knock on the door sounded, causing you to pause your work. You had been staying with Bella long enough that you felt comfortable getting the door. Not to mention Bella liked to sleep in super late on weekends, meaning you would be the only one to even be available to open the door.

Your heart sank to your toes as you looked through the peephole, seeing Quinn. He looked different. If your gut was right, he looked tired, a far away look in his eyes, almost as though he missed you as much as you missed him. You didn't want to believe it, wary of getting your heart broken. He was holding something in his hands, fidgeting with it as he waited for the door to open.

"Y/N, hi," Quinn whispered out, taking a step towards you. "Hi Quinn, it's great to see you. How have you been? Would you like to come inside?" You asked, causing him to shake his head. "I can't stay, but thank you for offering," he stopped himself, wanting to keep boundaries in between you two in order for you to be most comfortable.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other, and I wanted to come ask you something. I was hoping you'd like to come to the game tomorrow night? I was hoping this would be enough time, but if not it's okay." His voice was shaky, unsure, almost like he was scared of your response. "I'm not sure, Quinn. Won't it be weird that I'm there? I don't want to cause any drama." You said apprehensively. You were also nervous of what that step in your relationship would be.

"There would be no drama at all, babe. You could just sit with Bell in the stands if you would prefer that, but I know the WAGs have really been missing you. I heard Millsy's daughters have been waiting for you to paint their nails on intermission again," he joked, causing you to smile. His heart melted at the smile on your face, finally feeling fulfilled, that he made you happy.

"I'll be there, Quinn. You can put me in the box. Don't worry about parking, though. I'm sure I can catch a ride with Bella." You both smiled, joyful at the step in the right direction for the both of you. "I can't wait."

________________

For all the time you had spent at Canucks games, you never thought you would be so nervous about what to wear, but here you are. Finally, settling on a stylish Canucks long sleeve with no distinction of Quinn on the shirt, paired with dark jeans and sneakers.

Quinn played a great game, getting a goal and an assist, the Canucks winning 3-1. You were ecstatic. Being back at the games, with your friends, cheering on Quinn, just felt right. It felt like where you were supposed to be. When you met Quinn after the game, he couldn't help himself either, jogging up to you and wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up off the ground. "Quinn!" you exclaimed, laughing out loud. "You did so good!" You laughed as he set you back on the ground. "It's because you were here, my good luck charm." He mused, causing you to blush.

Before he could stop himself, Quinn asked: "come home with me?" Your breath shortened, definitely not expecting that to come out of his mouth. "Are you sure?" You asked him, heart racing at the idea of going home with Quinn, truly where you belonged. "I would want nothing more."

It felt at times that no matter how much you gave to Quinn, it would never be enough. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves, you both knew that all you could give would always be enough for the both of you.

[daycourtofficial]

Amber eyes, looking into mine

Summary: Eris finds something in his study that triggers him into a frozen state of panic. Who better suited to pulling Eris from his past than his future?

Author’s note: I wrote this in under an hour so please be nice and if there are any typos, no there aren’t 💕 Also technically this is part of my gingerfucker series, but can be read alone and she doesn’t make an appearance, it’s all Eris and the baby okay byeee

TW: panic attack, mentions of being whipped and being burnt

Word count: ~1k

A trade agreement sat on his desk, one that predates his tenure as high lord. Eris had found the document stuffed away in a drawer, abandoning what he was searching for as soon as he recognized it.

His father’s large, obnoxious signature at the bottom, the ridiculously high tariffs on imported goods. He could hear the whip in his ears, feeling his body tense with memory.

It was all too much. He had spoken with his father about the deal, wanting to give incentives for traders to come into Autumn rather than deterrents. Beron had laughed at him, telling him that everything anyone needs can be found in Autumn.

The night hadn’t ended there.

Beron had whipped him for having such a ridiculous idea in front of the other courtiers.

“No son of mine will appear so idiotic before others,” he had said, his voice ringing in Eris’s ears. 

Eris was seated in his chair in his study, but his mind was elsewhere. Down deep, deep in the dungeons of the Forest House, a trek he made many nights, his blood dripping through the house as he limped back to his own chambers.

Chubby hands grip the fabric of his trousers, a body too small traveling up his legs, climbing for what they love most in this world. Little feet find their footing on his thighs, hands leaning against his torso to support their weight.

Amber eyes look at him, searching for praise at the impossible task they just completed. 

His eyes.

What his eyes used to look like, before Beron burnt the joy out of them.

Eris is frozen in place, caught in a spiral of hatred and loathing by his son. His beautiful, wonderfully funny son, who looks at him with the love and adoration his mother looks at him with.

If his son knew all that he had done to prevent Beton’s ire, would his eyes still look for Eris in every room? Would his eyes still fill with tears, his lungs exhaling every breath at bedtime, unable to sleep without seeing his father one last time?

The spitting image of him, his mother finding an old portrait of himself at this age, his son a direct image of the portrait. Was this how he looked when Beron began his tirade of cruelty against his family? Did soft coos of a babe turn into wails at any contact with Beron?

All he had ever known was the flame, the flame within himself that refused to be extinguished, and the flames his father tormented him with for centuries.

He feels those flames on his skin, his own flame desperate to fight it. He feels the heat licking up his forearms, he feels it cascading down his back in waves, searching for every inch of unclaimed skin. He clenches his fists, desperate to bring himself back to reality. Instead, his breathing becomes more ragged, his jaw clenching.

He can smell the flesh burning off of him, feel his stomach churning, his throat filling with bile at the smell, so strong he could taste it.

Tiny fingers grip into his hair, yanking lightly, trying to find balance. The feeling jolts him back, back from the past, back from a place that doesn’t exist anymore. 

The babe stands in his lap, toes gripping his trousers as he tries to learn how to use them. A warmth so unnatural from something so young radiates off of his son. A tear splashes onto the little foot, which the babe immediately burns off. 

Giggles fill the room at his show of his powers and Eris is finally able to move again as he wraps his arms around the young princeling, so unaware of how the world can burn.

He holds him in a tight embrace, squishing his face into the tiny neck, breathing him in. He gives himself five seconds, clutching the clothes covering the babe’s chest.

Five.

He breathes in deeply, his chest heaving with sobs that escape his mouth.

Four.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. It had never been fair. Nothing was fair.

Three.

It took hours to kill Beron, centuries of scheming, and his presence was still felt throughout the court, throughout him-

He feels something cold and wet on his neck, tiny hands still gripping his hair, but his son is slobbering across his neck, his cheek, the movement tickling Eris’s neck. He laughs as he realizes that his son is mimicking how they make him laugh by blowing raspberries into his neck, his cheeks, his stomach.

He delicately pulls the face from his neck, leaning his forehead against his firstborn’s forehead. His eyes are wide with wonder. Everything is new to him and the worst thing he’s experienced is dropping his favorite toy in a mud puddle.

He looks at his father, not sure what to make of him, until Eris slowly smiles at him, his eyes lightening with fondness, catching a bit of the spark from his son’s eyes.

And the baby in his arms smiles back, grabbing Eris’s nose in excitement as he babbles noncoherent sounds. Eris stretches his legs out, sinking into his chair a bit, letting his back relax into the chair. Eris responds to the babbling, occasional hums and responses to whatever he was trying to convey to his father. 

Someday, the words would come. They would flow freely, spilling from his mouth in anger, in sadness, in disbelief. They would come more easily, small things setting off his memories and not allowing him to think of anything until they left him. He would share the burden of his memories.

Someday, the words would come. But not today. Today the incoherent babbling was enough.

[pinkslipxox]

Forever:

Summary: surprising Billie with your wedding dress 💋🤗

Warnings: fluffy wife Billie 🥹❤️💍

——————————————————————————

A surge of nostalgia hits you like a gentle breeze as you admire yourself in the mirror. The delicate white wedding dress hugs your figure beautifully, your hair cascading softly around your shoulders, and the diamond tiara resting on your head. Memories of your wedding day to Billie begin to play in your mind like a silent movie, her bright eyes and smiling face, the soft brush of her lips against yours, and the sweet sound of her voice reciting her vows all feel as if it was only yesterday. Your heart skips a beat as you realize that she will be home any second, and with excitement and anticipation, you hurry to the foyer to greet her.

Marrying Billie was the best decision you’ve ever made. You could hardly believe that you have the privilege to call her your wife. The bond that you share is built upon a firm foundation of love and respect, resulting in an unbreakable bond between the two of you. Three years have passed like a blink of an eye, yet despite the many challenges that inevitably come to any marriage, you wouldn’t trade any moment together with Billie for the world.

Warmth floods through you as the door opens. And you hold your breath. Her eyes land on you, and she freezes, her expression turning from exhaustion to sheer disbelief. For a moment she stands there silently, her gaze tender as tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh my god…” she whispers, and the way her eyes widen fills you with joy.

“Surprise!” you beam, delighting in her reaction, outstretching your arms out for her.

“Y/N, my love,” she whispers, breathless with emotion, her ocean blue eyes widening in disbelief as she takes slow, deliberate steps towards you. Billie’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in for a gentle embrace that feels like home. She’s soft and warm, her touch sending delightful shivers down your spine. “You look… absolutely stunning.”

“Billie…” you sigh blissfully as she gently pulls you closer, your wife’s lips pressing gently on the crook of your neck. You then pull away slightly. With a teasing yet loving smile, you ask Billie, “So, you still want me after three years?”

Billie’s laughter is like music to your ears, light and bubbly, as she closes the distance between you. “Want you? I would choose you every single day.” Her hands cradle your face, soft and gentle, and you can feel the affection radiating from her.

Your wife cups your face tenderly, bringing your lips into a soft kiss. It’s sweet and lingering, full of every ounce of love and devotion you both share. When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and she gazes deeply into your eyes, her expression filled with adoration.

“Pretty girl,” she murmurs, the nickname wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace. You can’t help but smile widely at her affection, feeling adored in every possible way.

“You’re the pretty one,” you reply, nuzzling against her hand that still caresses your face.

Billie chuckles softly, leaning down to plant another kiss on your lips, this one even sweeter than the last. The world outside fades away as you both get lost in each other, wrapped up in the warmth and love that fills the room.

“Hmmm… there is something from our special day I’d like to recreate,” Billie begins, her warm, husky voice sending a delightful shiver down your spine. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes, and you can only imagine what she’s thinking of.

“And what might that be, sweetheart?” you purr and you can’t help the smirk that curls on your lips.

“Our wedding night,” Billie murmurs, her fingers delicately resting on your hips, and you bite your lower lip.

“Oh really?” you breathe, looking up at her, love dancing in your gaze. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“You know,” she replies with a smirk, her lips brushing against your ear, “I have some ideas…”

With that, Billie plants yet another kiss to your lips, passionately, and you melt into her. Nothing else matters but the two of you, standing together, lost in a world that feels just right. As you and Billie absentmindedly travel to the bedroom, you know that every moment of every day seals the promise of forever between the two of you. Just as it should be.

For as long as you both shall live.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Love Was Never Part Of The Plan - 2

Summary: You are a jewel thief who’s semi-retired, but you agree to take one last job. However, there’s a catch: you have to steal the jewels from an auction where your former lover is now the head of security.

Character: Security!Bucky x Thief!Female Reader

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , -

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Here’s his love story—it’s sad, but true.

It’s about a girl he thought he knew.

He should’ve known it from the very start:

She would leave him with a broken heart.

To anyone who doesn’t really know James Barnes, he’s cold. Stoic. Grumpy. Untouchable.

The kind of man who speaks in sharp looks and clipped nods.

But those who’ve looked past the surface-those rare few—know the truth: Bucky Barnes is a hopeless romantic.

Bucky is, deep down, a hopeless romantic—the kind of man who still believes in grand gestures, in handwritten letters, in the idea that love, like art, should be timeless. He’s the kind of guy who memorizes poetry without telling anyone, who slows down to watch sunsets, and who once drove hours just to see a Monet exhibit.

That’s why, after leaving the Navy, he chose to work as head of security at The Valmont Gallery. To outsiders, it seemed like an odd move—a former soldier trading battlefields for brushstrokes—but for Bucky, it made perfect sense.

This museum wasn’t just a building filled with paintings. To him, it was a quiet sanctuary. A place where stories hung in frames, and emotions spilled across canvas in color and shadow. He had his favorite artists—Turner’s storms, Van Gogh’s loneliness, Monet’s light, and the haunting rawness in a lesser-known Austrian painter whose name no one could pronounce.

His former Navy superior once shook his head and said, “Barnes, you’ve gone soft. You used to clear buildings with night vision, now you guard water lilies?”

Bucky had just smiled. "Better than guarding nothing," he’d replied.

It was one of those quiet, slow-moving Fridays at the gallery. Bucky was still new, as a security officer. The days were quiet—routine checks, sensor maintenance, directing confused tourists—but that day felt different. That was the day he met you.

You looked like any other visitor at first. A little lost, maybe overwhelmed, holding a crumpled museum map and standing in the middle of the corridor between sculptures and abstract paintings, clearly trying to find your way.

“Need a hand?” Bucky asked, his voice calm, laced with curiosity.

You glanced up, your lips curling into a smile that caught him off guard. “I’m trying to find the Monet gallery. I thought I was close, but somehow I ended up by the Mesopotamian section.”

He gave a small chuckle, that signature half-smirk on his face. “Monet’s on the second floor. You missed a turn somewhere near Picasso.”

“Figures,” you sighed with a dramatic shrug. “Art leads to chaos.”

He liked that line. Enough to remember it later.

He offered to walk you there—protocol said he shouldn’t linger with guests, but he was new and maybe just a little too intrigued. On the way, you told him about your favorite Monet painting, how light played in “The Water Lily Pond” like the surface of memory. He wasn’t expecting that depth, or the way you saw the world—like everything had a secret to uncover.

After that day, he started seeing you every Friday.

At first, he thought it was a coincidence. Maybe you were just another art lover. But then came the casual conversations, the way you’d stop by the same bench near the impressionist wing, the way your gaze would wander before it landed on him.

He started timing his rounds to pass by your favorite galleries. You started bringing coffee, “coincidentally” at the same time he took his break. One day, you brought two cups.

You never told him much about yourself—no last name, no job, just bits and pieces. He never pressed. Maybe part of him knew you weren’t exactly who you pretended to be. But he didn’t care. You made him laugh. You made the quiet halls feel alive. For a man who spent years surrounded by orders, war, and structure, you felt like chaos—and he loved it.

Then one day, on his worst day, a piece of jewelry was stolen from the gallery. Around the same time, you told him you were leaving to pursue your dream job in archaeology. He couldn’t bring himself to stop you from chasing your dream, so he let you go. That was his biggest mistake.

He misses your lips. The way your smile would form half a second before your eyes caught up.

The touch of your hand. Your warm, sleepy embrace. The scent of your shampoo in his pillow.

He misses you in a thousand little ways that never quite left him.

His friends from the Navy saw the change. How he carried silence like armor.

They told him, half-joking, half-sincere,

“She’s your Peggy Sue, man. You won’t find her unless she wants to be found.”

It felt impossible.

Still, some part of him—foolishly, quietly—kept hoping.

The first year passed. Then the next. You never came.

Eventually, the hope rotted into a quiet ache. He buried it under routine. Security checks. Night patrols.

He convinced himself he’d moved on.

And today—You walked back into his life. When he had the chance to move on. The universe must have a cruel sense of humor.

You looked like a Madonna in motion.

That’s how his heart described you.

Same eyes, same presence—but more confident now. You carried yourself like someone who’s been through fire and learned to dance in the smoke.

Even your silence had weight.

Bucky swallowed hard and stepped forward, fighting the surprise tightening in his chest.

“Hi,” he said, a bit too fast. He rubbed the back of his neck. “How are things? You’re back from…?”

You hesitated for half a second before smiling. “I was in Cairo. Digging things up. You know—archaeology.”

“Oh. Yeah… yeah. Right.” He nodded, eyes flicking to yours and then away.

You pointed to the name tag on his chest. “Congrats, by the way. Looks like you got promoted.”

He glanced down and gave a small smile. “Yeah. I did.”

There was a silence between you—thick with everything you didn’t say.

Looking at him made your stomach twist with guilt.

Because no matter how you tried to justify it, the truth was simple:

You had used him. Played him for access. Took what you needed and vanished like a shadow.

And still—he stood here. Not angry. Just… older. Sadder.

Still kind. Still Bucky.

After the job, after the thrill of pulling off the impossible, you’d waited for that rush of satisfaction.

But all you felt was a hollow space where something used to live.

You didn’t know what you were missing—until it was gone.

Shit.

You could see it in his eyes—the shift. The flash of betrayal in his gaze was impossible to miss.

Of course he was angry. You deserved it. You didn’t just break his heart. You shattered the trust that came with it.

And now? You were back in his world like a ghost wearing red lipstick.

If this failed—if he hated you—you’d accept it. Walk away. Get the security plans the hard way.

Worst case? You’d have to sleep inside the gallery for a few nights and map it all out yourself.

You forced a tight smile. “Well… nice to see you, Bucky. I won’t bother you.”

You took a careful step back. Then another.

You turned, walking off slowly, heels clicking gently across the marble floor as you let your eyes wander.

“One… two… three…” You counted in your head, heart ticking with anticipation.

The gallery had changed. Now, it showcases more works by Van Gogh, Monet, and even Picasso.

You whistled. God, these paintings were calling to you. Your fingers itched to get them.

Behind you, Bucky stood frozen, staring at a painting of an angel descending from the clouds—soft light breaking through a war-torn sky. It looked like hope. Or a warning.

He didn’t believe in signs. But something about it… felt like you. Like you were some message from the universe.

Maybe a second chance.

Maybe just another test.

You had just hit one hundred in your mental countdown when—

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” His voice cut through the air, low and cautious. “I want to hear about your archaeology adventures.”

You paused mid-step. Your stomach flipped.

Fuck. You knew he’d come after you.

You knew his weakness—and it made you feel like shit all over again.

Still, you turned slowly, letting a small smile tug at your lips. “Sure. Coffee sounds… nice.” Now, you have to make up stories about your trip to Cairo—which you never actually took.

💎💎💎💎

The café was cozy, dimly lit, with jazz humming softly under the sound of quiet chatter. The two of you sat by the window, the city passing in blurred motion behind the glass.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled to his forearms, veins visible beneath his skin. He looked good. Better than before. Grown into himself.

You stirred your coffee slowly, then finally spoke. “I just… I want to say I’m sorry. For being a bitch. For leaving the way I did.”

He exhaled, eyes darkening as he looked at you. “You didn’t just leave. You disappeared.”

He tapped a finger on the side of his cup. “I waited. For a while. Thought maybe you’d come back."

You looked down, pretending to study the swirl of milk in your cup. “I was scared,” you lied softly. “Scared of how much I loved you. I wasn’t ready.”

Bucky watched you carefully, jaw tight. “You don’t get to vanish and walk back in like it’s nothing.”

You met his gaze, held it. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

There was a pause. Then he sighed, eyes softening. “You always were good at showing up right when I think I’ve stopped missing you.”

Your smile faltered. You hated how easily he disarmed you.

But then, you saw it—his phone.

He laid it on the table beside his coffee.

Now.

Your own phone slid beside it with casual ease, your fingers brushing the edges.

Edward’s trick was working.

Data sync initiated. Files, messages, and security protocols—everything Bucky had access to would silently mirror onto your device.

You didn’t flinch. Just smiled, sipping your drink.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, his fingers almost grazing yours. “You really became an archaeologist, huh?”

“Mmm.” You nodded. “Mostly sand and bones. Not as glamorous as it sounds.”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice lower now. “You look good covered in secrets.” He learned that you were really good at keeping secrets. He tried to find out where your archaeology site was, but he found nothing. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets.

You laughed, cheeks flushing slightly. “Is that your way of flirting now?”

“Is it working?”

You looked at him through lowered lashes. “Maybe.”

He looked at you like he didn’t want to let you go again, his eyes lingering just a moment too long. You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and intense, as if it was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words.

You shifted slightly, awkward under the heat of his stare, suddenly very aware of the space between you. It was as if time slowed, and all you could hear was the pounding of your own breath, your mind scrambling to find something to say.

“Well…” you said, tucking your phone into your coat. “Thanks for the coffee.”

You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Who knows,” Bucky said, his tone softer now, almost wistful. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

You raised a brow, half-smirking. “I hope so.”

‘We will,’ you thought. ‘But you won’t even see it coming.’

💎💎💎💎

The day had finally come.

The grand gallery buzzed with life. Guests began arriving in sleek, chauffeur-driven cars—stepping out in silk gowns, tailored suits, and dripping jewelry that screamed power. Diamonds as big as marbles flashed under chandelier light. Laughter tinkled like glass. Champagne flutes clinked. Old money mingled with new greed.

Inside, cameras scanned every inch. Security in pressed uniforms flanked each corridor, tense but composed. The main hall was lined in velvet ropes, leading to the crown jewel of the night:The Lazarus Diamond.

Set in a custom pedestal beneath a spotlight, the diamond glowed like it had swallowed a star. Rumors claimed it had been in the hands of dictators, queens, and even floated in space once—no one really knew. But everyone knew this: it was worth more than most countries.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, preparing to begin.

And then—

The lights went out.

Gasps tore through the crowd. Someone screamed. A champagne glass shattered. Panic rippled like a wave.

“Stay calm!” one of the security officers shouted.

But the crowd didn’t listen.

Seconds later, the backup lights kicked in, flooding the room with dim, amber emergency glow.

All eyes turned to the pedestal.

Empty.

The Lazarus Diamond was gone.

Meanwhile…

Inside the narrow crawlspace above the ceiling, you grinned in the dark.

A whisper came through your earpiece—Edward, smug as ever.

“That was easy. See? Told you. Four million bucks in under five minutes. Not bad for a Tuesday.”

You rolled onto your back, catching your breath as adrenaline surged through your veins like wildfire.

You did it.

Years of silence, pretending to be clean, pretending to have moved on—it had led to this moment.

And it felt damn good.

You slithered through the vent like a shadow, dropping into the restricted storage area below. You landed softly on your feet, knees bent, barely a sound.

Quickly, you stripped out of your stealth gear and into the gallery uniform stashed in the cabinet—white button-up shirt, black slacks, and a name tag that read Claire. A bun and red lipstick completed the look.

You smoothed down the shirt, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the exit.

You pulled the door open—

And stopped cold.

Bucky stood just outside, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

A half-smirk played on his lips. His jaw was tense, his eyes sharp and dark.

“Hello, darling,” he drawled, eyes locked on yours. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? Not a damn chance.”

Your heart slammed into your ribs.

You recovered with a slow smile. “Well, shit.”

Author’s note: What do you guys think? Any ideas on how Bucky found out she’s the culprit?

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[blueteller]

The "Scent of Arm", according to Ron

There was that bit early on in the TCF series that I didn't get for a really long time.

Ron, on sight, recognized a certain scent "lingering" on Choi Han, which made him and his son Beacrox believe that he was a member of Arm. He recognized it from many years ago when the Molan residence was attacked by the members of the secret organization.

The thing is, the scent disappeared after Choi Han washed up at the Henituse mansion, thanks to Cale's hospitality, causing a major divergence. In TBOAH, Choi Han would not get the chance to "freshen up", and the Molans would follow him out of the city, abandoning their jobs as servants of the Henituse family solely because they suspected him of being from Arm. Later on, that suspicion would get cleared up and they would stay because they got actual trace of the organization.

However, in TCF, after Choi Han got cleaned up a bit, Ron instantly changed his mind and decided "no, it couldn't have been Arm after all, there is no way those guys could have come here all the way from the Eastern Continent".

So, that begs the question... what was the "scent of Arm", exactly?

My first thought, on my first time reading, was "of course, it was the scent of blood and murder, because Choi Han just came from a massacre". But that.... doesn't make much sense, does it? Ron is an assassin. He used to deal with murder and blood on a regular basis, it was literally his job. Why would such a generic scent would immediately make him think "it has to be Arm"? Even if we think of it as trauma because Arm destroyed his home, that still doesn't really add up. Especially when after Choi Han cleaned up, he instantly changed his mind. Just because the guy washed up that didn't make him any less dangerous or strong. So blood and murder as the scent of Arm, that's out.

My thoughts on the second re-read went into a slightly different direciton. Maybe it had something to do with the scent of the Forest of Darkness? Specifically, the dead mana from that forest? We know it's special, since dead Dragon mana is basically non-existent in the natural world, due to the fact that Dragons who died a natural death would turn into dust, not decay and create dead mana. The swamp with the Dominating Aura also acted as a container and let it thicken up over time in the poisoned water. That kind of rare, specific smell would make more sense as something that Ron could recognize on sight, right?

However, after thinking it over, I realized that also did not make that much sense either. Even if we accept the fact that ordinary mooks from Arm could have dead mana smell just because they traded some of it to the mermaids to help them fight against the Whales... all of that happened MUCH later than the fall of the Molan family. Why would Arm lackeys in the Eastern Continent smell like the forbidden region of the Western Continent? We can't even assume it was the extremely general dead mana smell that Ron confused as the scent of the organization, because Ron isn't an idiot; even if he doesn't know any dark creatures personally at this point, he KNOWS what dead mana is. And that's still too common thing to see Choi Han smell of it and instantly decide: yes, this guy must be related to Arm! Like, come on. That's such a farfetched conclusion. Ron wouldn't be that dumb.

My third take, was Black Despair, which is something that is EXTREMELY specific and directly related to Arm. Think about it: it does not occur naturally, Arm mass-produces it for demonic purposes, and the lackeys can all smell of it on both continents regardless of the timeline, since the White Star has been doing this stuff for a 1000 years. Also, Ron would not realize what it is, being a regular human and all, just know the smell of it and have a very averse reaction to it due to the traumatic memory it was tied to, as well as the nature of Black Despair itself. Now, I finally felt like I was getting somewhere!

There was still that lingering doubt in my mind, however. Would regular Arm assassins really smell of Black Despair? Like, all of them? Really? There's no way the Red Stars let their disposable foot soldiers anywhere near the stuff. Of course, there was the possibility that they were using it for some brainwashing black magic ritual, that let them "create" those type of suicidal pawns. But, still. I was a bit uncertain. Would Choi Han really smell of the same stuff simply because he killed a bunch of people who smelled of it??

That's when it hit me.

The smell wasn't Black Despair specifically... it was simply despair!!!

Think about it! All Arm forces SHOULD smell of despair. Either because they cause it, they feel it themselves, they spread it, and the black magic they use is fueled by it!! With despair being a literal force one can sense, of course it would have a powerful, lingering stench.

And most importantly? Choi Han's attribute is also despair!

It you think about it this way, it all becomes clear now! Choi Han was soaked both in despair from the Arm assassins he killed, the despair of the Harris Villagers that were murdered, AND his own lingering despair that radiated from him because of his trauma and the attribute he developed!!! So when he came to the Henituse mansion, of course he was a huge red flag for the Molans! They recognized the exact same despair and instantly decided to get rid of the threat!

HOWEVER. What happens the next day in TCF? Choi Han washes up. Choi Han's clothes are new, clean, his attribute is safely tucked away due to lack of danger, and most importantly? His despair starts to disappear because of CALE! Choi Han has hope, a new objective – paying Cale back – a goal in his mind, and he shows a softer, vulnerable side when he tells Cale "but you don't even know who I am". Choi Han's despair isn't all gone of course, not even close. But he isn't soaked in it anymore.

And Ron SEES all of this, sees this guy who was just REEKING of despair the day prior but has a whole new vibe today, and begins to doubt. Because of course he does!! If Choi Han was really a member of Arm, there's no way all that scent of despair could have disappeared after a single bath. So he comes to the very reasonable conclusion that he was wrong, and stops worrying about Arm's return.

Of course, later on he catches onto the scent again as he travels with Cale, so he follows the trail, separates from the group as early on as the Plaza Terror Incident, and after getting the very public confirmation that Arm is, indeed, on the Western Continent, he goes off to track Redika down all the way to Hais Island 5.

And that's why, my friends, I believe that the "scent of Arm" that Ron was talking about was Despair. Not Black Despair specifically, just the scent of Despair that Arm causes all around the world. A bit different from Choi Han's own despair, but similar enough to be confused with it.

[leychin]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Could be seen as a continuation to All of It, but the idea came from @tenkomura, bc when am i ever not thinking about something she said

Maybe you hate your younger self for being so naive.

Perhaps its because you cling to the memories of before, when everything was so much simpler and All For One was commanding Shigaraki to act. When he messed up, or when you messed up, All For One simply caressed your heads in such a comforting way that the loss felt like nothing.

Oh, how you loved him. Everything was so much easier when it was him. Yes he was the future, yes you were the symbols of fear, but to you he was just Tomura. Its the silent understanding that you both had, that even though the entire world was against you and the cause it was okay because you were together.

He loved you, it didn't need to be said. Even when the league expanded, it was still just you and him. Not to say he doesnt care for the league, because that would be a lie. But the love he has for them pales in comparison to the love he holds for you in the crevices of his heart. Its heard in the blood pumping in his veins and its sung in the whispers of his calm breathing when he's with you.

But you're villains. Villains don't get an ounce of peace. So when the league has ended Overhaul's short lived reign, and everyone's stopped and caught their breath. You sit with him in silence on the side of a bare highway that you'd been walking.

Maybe its foolish, but you follow him like a dog. You watch as Shigaraki opens the case of quirk erasing bullets. He stares. Almost like he wants to test if it works.

You sit next to him, sat shoulder to shoulder now. He simply says "If I erased my quirk, we could be normal." And you don't need to be a genius to know what he means, he means if he didn't have decay he would have a home. If he didn't have decay he wouldn't be All for One's subject of interest, id he didn't have this damn quirk he could be normal with you.

Would there even be a you though?

"Hm, maybe." you supply "You wouldn't have met me though, and I would trade any chances of being normal if it meant i got to be with you." you say, and Shigaraki stills.

"I... I think I would too." he smiles, its a crackly smile that makes blood speck on his lips that you just want to kiss already.

"When this is all over, lets go on a date. Okay?" you ask, your eyes now gazing up at him with hope.

Shigaraki's eyes widen, and looks to the quirk erasing bullets and quickly shuts them. "You promise?" he asks almost eagerly, and you hold up your pinky "pinky swear!"

Oh you fools.

Which is what's left you to stare at Shigaraki's tube. His body floating in the liquid endlessly for whats felt like years, but you know its only been a month or two. You feel so naive for ever thinking it would just be over, because of course its never over.

He would be the new holder of all for one. Because fate stops for nothing and no one, not even love. You hate yourself for being naive enough to hope that you would ever get to love him peacefully. You hate him for not realizing when you did that All for One was using you both. You hate All for One for taking your lives away from you.

This would never be over, Shigaraki will never give pinky promise kisses again, and he'll never build redstone farms for you when you get too frustrated and rage quit. He's never going to reach out for you again, and you're going to spend the rest of your life reaching for someone who's never going to reach back.

You press your head to the glass and cry. The doctor is used to your sobs though ans has grown to ignoring them, which you suppose is a win. But it still doesn't soothe the ache in your chest as you wish for everything to be different, and you pray every night that this is a bad dream. You pray that this is a nightmare and that night Shigaraki did use that quirk erasing bullet. You pray for this to be a bad dream of his and he never developed decay.

Because you would never trade your life with Shigaraki for normalcy, but you love him too much to watch him do this. You wished he would trade you for normalcy because loving him through this and always is simply too much.

[box-writing]

Loving you brings heartache.

⇥ summary— He knew falling in love with you would only bring heartache. But he fell in love with you anyway. ⇥ contains— Lilia Vanrouge x Gn! Reader, Reader is a human, long-lived species x short-lived species, Lilia's POV, Angst, medieval/fantasy au?? Does not follow the plot of the game. ⇥ a/n— English is not my first language. Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors. I actually hesitated to post this cuz idk if this turned out alright. ANYWAY, have some lilia vanrouge fic <3.

The ancient moon hung like a silver coin in the vast expanse of the dark sky, bathing the world in its soft glow. A lonely fae wandered, untouched by the relentless march of time. For centuries, he had lived in solitude, a sentinel to the beauty and fragility of mortal lives, until one fateful evening, love drew him into the warmth of humanity.

At a vibrant festival in a village, where laughter mingled with the melodies of distant flutes and the sweet scent of blooming flowers filled the air, he caught sight of a cute human. You.

You were radiant—a fleeting burst of life whose very essence seemed to dance within the glow of the lanterns that adorned the night. Lilia felt a pull, a magnetic connection that transcended the barriers of his eternal existence. 

Don’t get attached to a human. His mind echoed, yet his heart betrayed him as he approached you, and the two souls intertwined in a way Lilia had never anticipated.

Don’t fall in love with a human. It would only bring heartache. The voice in his head repeatedly echoed, yet he fell in love with you anyway.

Time together was a gift wrapped in fleeting moments. Every shared glance, every whispered promise became a jewel he tucked away in the depths of his heart, knowing full well the inevitable sorrow that would follow. He chose to love you despite understanding the cruel fate of mortal lives—the brilliant flame would flicker and fade, leaving him in an unending twilight of longing.

Seasons flowed like a river, and you blossomed through the years, your laughter echoing in the quiet corners of his soul. Together, your love crafted a tapestry woven with memories: sunlit picnics by the riverbank, secrets shared beneath starlit skies, and the simple joy of being together. Each heartbeat resonated with profound beauty, yet every joyous moment Lilia had with his human was laced with a lurking shadow—the relentless passage of time. 

You would change, while he remains the same.

As the years turned, he noticed the changes—the gentle silver streaks in your hair, the way your laughter sometimes carried a weariness that hadn’t existed before. It struck him with a quiet horror, for every cherished memory, he could count the strands of time that separated your spirits. He held your now wrinkling hands in his scarred one, feeling the warmth recede like the sunset, and felt as though the very earth beneath him trembled.

On a day that arrived much too soon, Lilia found himself beneath the ancient oak tree with his beloved human, where both of your love had first ignited. Its gnarled branches held witness to your unwavering bond; he wanted nothing more than to freeze that moment in time. But time was a relentless tide, and as you leaned against the sturdy trunk, he felt an emptiness grow, a contrast against the love that filled the air around them.

“I would trade everything for just one more moment with you,” he murmured, despair threading through his words. He caressed your hand, seeking your fading warmth.

With clarity that shone through your fading eyes, you responded with a small smile, “You are the reason I have lived each day so fully.” Your voice grew softer, making Lilia’s heartache. Why must you leave him so soon?

“If I were reborn, will you love me again?”

“Of course, my love. I would travel each corner of the earth just to see you again,” Lilia swore as his grip tightened on your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I’d find you in every life and love you again.”

"Thank you for loving me. I love you." And in return, he would love you for all eternity.

As you slowly closed your eyes, Lilia felt the last flicker of your warmth fade away like the final ray of a sunset. As the light left, silence enveloped him, heavy and profound. Falling in love with a human hurts.

Grief became his only companion, a shadow that walked beside him as he roamed the world deprived of his lover’s laughter. He carried your memories—each shared gaze, each moment of joy—like a delicate glass ornament, fearing it might shatter if exposed to the truth of his existence. Time, it seemed, was no longer a gift but a curse, stretching out endlessly before him in a hollow landscape devoid of color.

“I love you, my dearest human.”

Loving you hurts. But he will still love you anyway.

wc— 747.

[itsjusthockey]

Flyers - Jamie Drysdale

I love him so much and I wish him all the success in the world

I’m also trying not to hate cutter gauthier

I hope you enjoy, I like this one

Request and talk to me, pls and thx

It’s late in the evening when the shrill ring of your phone cuts through the silence of your bedroom. You glance at the screen and see your boyfriend calling. It’s not a FaceTime, and it’s always a FaceTime, so you’re confused, and your heart skips a beat as you answer him.

“Hello?”

It’s silent on the other end, but you can hear him lightly breathing and shuffling around.

“Jame?”

Before he even utters a word, you feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere. There is a reason he didn’t FaceTime, and there is a reason his usual warmth and cheer is replaced by a heavy silence. As the seconds tick by, you can sense his hesitation, and an unsettling sense unfolds in your stomach.

You hear him take a shaky inhale, hold it for a second, and then he breathes out.

“They traded me.”

His voice is raw, and it trembles with unusual vulnerability. In a single second, your heart shatters into a million pieces. Before you can even fully comprehend what he said, tears are pooling in your eyes, and your hand is clasping at your mouth.

“They what?” You ask.

“They just told me. I’m going to the flyers. They want me there tomorrow.”

Finally, the news settles in. Your boyfriend was traded. Jamie was fucking traded.

A million thoughts rush through your head. Jamie has to move. He has to leave Trevor. He has to pack up his entire life in a single night and fly across the country.

Silent tears are streaming down your face, and you realize you’ve stayed quiet for way too long. You also know you need to get a fucking grip. This isn’t about you, and you need to get your shit together because he needs you right now.

So, you take a deep breath and calm the fuck down.

“Are you okay?”

You hear him shuffling around again, probably packing up all his things. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and you patiently wait until he’s ready.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t really set in yet. Doesn’t feel real.”

A sharp pain thumps through your chest at his words. He continues.

“I’m trying not to feel anything, honestly. I’m trying not to think about everything I have here.” His voice breaks. “But it’s been my home, and I don’t want to leave.”

You finally hear him break, and you would pay any sum of money to be able to teleport to him now. It wrecks you that you can’t be there to hold him during this time. You can’t begin to imagine what he’s feeling. You know he’s thinking about everything that Anaheim has given him. You know he’s

recounting the countless memories made on and off the ice, the shared victories and losses, and the deep bonds formed with teammates.

“Jamie.” You start, then stop.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

“This absolutely sucks, and I’m so so sorry.” You pause. “The ducks are the biggest idiots in the world, and they don’t deserve you.“

Jamie's breath catches on the other end; it’s a mixture of a chuckle and a sob escaping him. You smile a bit because your words seem to reach through the distance, a small lifeline in the whirlwind of emotions he’s currently facing. He takes a moment before responding.

“Thanks, babe. It means a lot to hear that right now.” He sighs again. “I just never expected this, you know? Everything’s changing so fast. I love it here, and it kills me that I won't be part of it anymore.”

You nod, even though he can't see it. It’s as if the very fabric of his life is unraveling, and you wish you could weave it back together. But all you can do is sit here and listen to him and try your best to be his anchor in the storm of uncertainty.

“I wish I were there with you, help you pack, give you a hug,” you say miserably.

“Me too. he admits, another sad sigh escaping him.

You sit there again for a couple of minutes, listening to him pack and offering your presence. You finally hear him close to the phone again, and he breaks the silence.

“I'm scared (Y/N). It’s a whole new team. I don't want to let anyone down, especially you,” he confesses.

You want to punch him. He knows better. Not once, ever, has Jamie let you down, and you sure as hell know that he never will.

“That's enough of that, Jame, you could never let me down. Nerves are normal, but I also know the player you are. You’ve got this, and I’ve got your back. Always.”

He lets out a quiet okay and quickly hangs up the phone. You’re confused for a brief moment before his FaceTime pops up. You answer in a heartbeat, and a wide smile takes over your features as you finally get to look at your boyfriend.

He looks tired, and his eyes are a bit red, but he has a soft smile, and you know that everything is going to be okay.

For the next couple of minutes, you talk it out. You discuss the logistics, the challenges that lie ahead, and the uncertainty of the future. You do your best to hype him up, and as the logistics conversation draws to a close, a somber calm settles over the two of you. You can finally sense a shift in his tone, a quiet acceptance mingled with some determination.

“We are gonna figure this out, won't we?” Jamie asks a trace of hope in his voice.

“Yes. Besides, I like the flyers. Way better than those losers in Anaheim,” you assure him.

Jamie chuckles a bit, and then a hilarious thought crosses your mind.

“Oh my god.” Panic laces your voice, and Jamie furrows his eyebrows.

“What?”

You start laughing, suddenly very happy.

“You’re gonna be with Gritty!”

You can’t help but roll over with laughter, knowing your shy-as-hell boyfriend is going to be on the team with the most infamous and chaotic mascot ever. You can’t even begin to explain how giddy this makes you, and Jamie lets out a small groan but begins laughing with you anyway.

After you settle down, wiping the new happy tears away, you smile a wide smile at him again.

“You know, I’m still on break. Maybe I should come down and be there for your first game?”

Just like that, your boyfriend is back, and the smile you’re so in love with takes over his features.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I can think of no better way to end my break than being with you.“ You beam at him. “Besides, I have to scope out the team. Let em know that they have a new hotshot player who has the hottest girlfriend ever.

He barks out another laugh at you, but you know he agrees one hundred percent with your statement.

“God, I love you,” he says, the words carrying the weight of the world.

“I love you too,” you respond, “This is honestly exciting, Jame. You have great things coming. I can feel it.”

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Of All Things, I Became an Oceanid

You always imagined that if you woke up in the world of Genshin, the possibilities of being a Visionless wielder of elements and a slew of romantic shenanigans would lie in your wake. But when you instead find yourself in the body of an Oceanid with romance likely out of the question, your only conclusion is that the gods of reincarnation isekai hate your guts.

cw. you're an oceanid

pairing. navia x reader, kaeya x reader, childe x reader (separate)

notes. don't feel like being an oceanid today? well go ahead and go to the series masterlist and see what your life could be if you were something else in genshin.

So you're an Oceanid now.

You suppose there are worse things you could have turned into. God, imagine if you turned into a hilichurl or something like that. Yeah, you'll take being a graceful water being over a hilichurl any day.

You can talk, you can wield Hydro and you can go literally anywhere you want as long as water is present. It's honestly not that bad of a deal, you can be Mx. Worldwide if you so desire it.

As for finding company with your fellow lochfolk? That's not really much an option, all things considered. As it stands now, Oceanids follow one simple rule.

You stay in your lake, they stay in theirs and you call it a day.

Kaeya

Considering Springvale's small pond is already taken, you decide to call dibs on Starfell Lake since after Rhodeia made even the waters of the Dawn Winery bitter, you figured it would be better to try a source lake not connected to her spot in Liyue

To be honest when it came to being an Oceanid, you figured you didn't really need to become the companion of any of the characters

You're more than content to stay in your lake and mind your business. But truthfully, it does get boring, so when you saw Kaeya's reflection peering into your waters, you popped your head up to say hi almost instinctively

Apart from a brief look of surprise, that's the extent of your attempt to seem regal and mysterious in front of the Calvary Captain

"A water faerie so far from Fontaine? I can't believe my eye; this is the certainly the last thing I was expecting to see while out on a stroll."

It's not everyday you meet something so exciting and considering what happened after encountering the Traveler and Paimon, Kaeya decides to listen to his instincts that there'll be a lot to come from interacting with you

Because of this, Kaeya is a frequent visitor to your lake besides the people who occasionally stop by to clean the statue of the Seven

You ask him about the daily gossip of Mondstadt and he asks you about the life of being a water faerie, a fair trade even if most of your information is based on your memory of the Genshin wiki page and the limited personal experience you have

Kaeya's made a joke about how your meeting is something one might read in a romance novel, much to your embarrassment

Is he serious or no?

It's not like there haven't been any Human/Oceanid relationships in this game so it isn't completely out of the ordinary when you think about it...

At the same time though, you don't want to look super eager

One particular night, a long silence fell over you both when you asked him about his family. He tells you a bit about his past, about being adopted into the Ragnvindr family and his present less than savory relationship with Diluc

You ask if he's lonely to which he asks in return "do I seem lonely?" yet there is no bite in his tone nor is there any sarcasm either. his gaze is thoughtful but miles away from your lake

"Yes" are the words on your non-existent tongue yet you can't bring yourself to say it, all while a warm hand brushes against your watery cheek much too quickly

Navia

Being an Oceanid in Fontaine pre-Neuvillette's judgement was pretty much impossible, thankfully you airdropped into Teyvat after that deciding to call an area near Poisson your home

As to how you met Navia, you heard her crying by the sea as she does sometimes after getting new flowers for the grave of her father and much like the Spring Faerie of Springvale, you answered the call and swam to the surface

She thought maybe you were Melus or Silver, or maybe some other lost soul of Poisson. You quickly let her know that wasn't actually the case, much to Navia's initial disappointment

But Navia is an optimist, first and foremost. So she won't let the reality of the situation get her down and would ask you a bunch of questions. Afterall, Oceanids are thought to be practically extinct in Fontaine after Egeria's death so she doesn't want to waste the opportunity to learn more about you

And boy do her questions range from genuinely thought provoking to so silly it leaves you both in a fit of laughter

It's a first meeting that does Navia good, there she was so sad and then you came and turned the entire situation inside out. She promises to make you macarons as thanks, if lochfolk can even eat

Truthfully, you don't know if you can either. It's not like it's necessary to eat as you are now but fuck it you want to find out for yourself

Navia is also quick to invite you live in the waters of Poisson in general, or at least settle in if you ever want to visit and see the town for yourself

You take her up on the offer to have, if anything, a change of scenery and to see more people out and about than you normally would

You truthfully enjoy a nice yap session with Navia, it's never boring when she's around even if the most you're doing is watching her dish out orders from your comfortable pond in Poisson

But the best hangout sessions you have are when you are a good distance from the place and she can chat with you freely. She'll bring a basket of snacks, a blanket to sit on and you'll chat the day away

Sometimes she'll even bring a sketchbook and attempt to draw your portrait. Navia isn't the best artist but you enjoy looking at her artwork nonetheless

A small secret of her heart though is that Navia is quite sure that as a young girl she dreamed of something like this. Meeting an Oceanid by lakeside and falling in love before willingly being taken into the depths of Fontaine to eternally perform a watery dance of love

Maybe she can't do some of those things as the boss of Spina di Rosula, but maybe the former... maybe she's just been reading too many romance novels

Childe

When it comes to Childe, you truly lucked out in becoming an Oceanid when you lost the isekai 50/50. Because if you were something couldn't talk like a Thunder Manifestation or a Geovishap... you'd be assed out

For he, Tartaglia, is constantly finding ways to become stronger and that includes fighting mythical beings he comes across

But hey, Childe is no barbarian. Anything that can talk and beg for its life, for the most part, isn't a viable option for honing his skills

So congratulations, you narrowly avoided becoming a hashtag in someone's twitter bio twice in a row

Childe quickly laughs off your near brush with death and he dodges the spout of water you send his way. Sadly, he's somewhat charming when he says "come on, in my defense I didn't think you had any real intelligence! Now that I know we can easily become buddies, I'm sure!"

Maybe it's guilt (you doubt it), maybe it's a bit of youthful wonder permeating his soul (you're sure it's this), but he makes it a point to visit you while he is in Fontaine

Yeah, you lost another 50/50 by being airdropped into Fontaine during its Archon Quest but miraculously the water isn't painful. Maybe it's because you're technically not from this world and it grants you some sort of immunity? You're not sure

You are sure of, however, the fact that Childe comes to visit you like he gets paid for it

Apparently he wants to chat it up with you so he has plenty of interesting stories for his younger siblings when he visits them next time he is in his homeland

You sadly have a soft spot for it seems for war criminals that also happen to be family-oriented so you indulge him begrudgingly despite the rocky start to your friendship

When he gets arrested, you don't see him for a while and you admittedly grow worried when he doesn't show up even beyond the crisis of the prophecy coming to fruition but isn't like you can just discreetly find a fatuus in a city, let alone a Harbinger

Childe comes to see you soon enough though when he's recovered a substantial amount (barely any at all)

He laughs at you worriedly berate him for being so careless. "I just had to make sure my favorite Oceanid didn't miss me too much, that's all"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

childhood friend turned celebrity headcanons

DON'T ASK WHY OR HOW COME, JUST CONSUME THESE QUIETLY AND MOVE ON 🤡

Curiouser and Curiouser...

You never thought you'd see the day where your bestie makes it big in the world of entertainment. Ace had always been bright-eyed whenever he talked about those ambitions—to dance among the stars, to shine like them, to be gazed at by tons of adoring fans. He’s been training really hard to make it here, and you’ve been cheering him at every milestone.

He'd show you his latest routine (he's been practicing hard to be noticed at the upcoming auditions!), finishing with a flourish--breathless--as he looks at your expectantly for your feedback. "Well?" Ace would demand with a smirk. "Did that make your heart skip a beat?" It's been so long since then, and he still makes every movement look so effortless, like he’s not even trying.

He's currently known in the entertainment industry as a jack of all trades, a man of many talents. Besides the singing and dancing, Ace does some VA work on the side (you're not surprised; he's always been good at doing vocal impressions). On variety shows, he even pulls out a deck of cards to do magic tricks—tricks he has practiced with you time and time again. The nostalgic memories well up inside of you every time you're flicking through the channels and catch Ace doing a trick or pulling a voice he has tested on you no less than twenty times.

You heard his latest song playing in a store the other day. His voice had floated over to you as you perused the items on display, some cheeky pop song (Fitting for him, you think), the lyrics telling of distant love. Listening to it makes your heart ache with longing. If you close your eyes, it feels as though Ace is right there beside you, serenading, as he did all those years ago.

He still has your number, still texts you whenever he has a few minutes of break on set or backstage. Ace is hot shit and he knows it. He tends to brag about his latest projects ("I'm in high demand, you know!") or asks you've seen that one film or music video he starred in. If you have, he'll fish for compliments ("Sooo, what'd you think? Was I cool or what?"). If you haven't, he'll goad you to give it a shot. ("Who knows~ You might come out of it appreciating a whole new side of me!”)

He enjoys using his connections in the fashion world to dress well daily; Ace will send you selfies of new stuff he’s wearing for a music video shoot or whatever he got gifted from a fashion brand he worked with. He demands to know your opinion—he wants to hear you tell him how cool and handsome he is!

Ace will frequently tell you about his fans and how dedicated they are to him. It's not that he cares about them any more deeply than their relationship as an idol and a fan, he just does it to observe your reactions and to see if you get jealous when he mentions them.

Sometimes he'll play coy when you initiate the texts; he'll leave you on read and then respond veeery late into the day with a joking "Didja miss me? Desperate for my attention? Don’t worry, I know you’ll always be my biggest fan.”

He shamelessly saves you VIP tickets to his live shows (though he’ll claim he just “happens to have it” on hand). While he’s performing, Ace makes extra effort to throw fanservice your way—and while the fans around you squeal and insist he’s looking at them, you know deep in your heart that his heated gaze is reserved for you and you alone.

After those shows, he’ll of course insist that you come see him backstage. You’ll sit on the couch and wait for him to change into his plainclothes—complete with a baseball cap, sunglasses, and mask to hide his identity—then he’ll walk you home, an arm wrapped around your shoulder. “We could take my private car,” he mutters, “but I think I like having you all to myself, without the chauffeur butting in.”

You worry that someone might spot you, that there will be a massive scandal—but Ace takes it all in stride. “Yeah? Well, if it happens, it happens. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have you as my partner in crime~”

This wasn’t the career path Deuce thought he’d end up in, but life works in strange and mysterious ways. You were out chilling with him one day when a recruiter came up to Deuce and offered his card. He wasn’t going to entertain it until you encouraged him, and well… from there, it snowballed into unexpected stardom.

A lot of his work comes in modeling, just because it’s simpler for him to not overthink about answers to give or how to act on set. Often you’ll be browsing a fashion magazine and stumble across a full page or even a spread of Deuce in a bomber jacket posed against a vehicle—a magical wheel, a car. Sometimes he’s staring wistfully at the scenario, his profile cutting a sharp figure, and other times his gaze is right on you, intense as the sun on the ocean blue. When did he become so manly? you wonder. It must be the professional lighting and styling.

Deuce has had to work twice as hard as his peers to get to where he is. He isn’t super coordinated, and he’s pretty slow at learning new things—but it’s his passion and his willingness to get back up again and again that’s admirable. You stay up late with him, clapping to the beat of the music and calling out numbers to help out, but really Deuce thinks it’s your company that’s motivating him to keep going.

His public image is that of a cool and tough beauty with a vulnerable side. In interviews, he tends to bring up being raised by a single mom and how tight he is with her, as well as his love of eggs and baby chicks—all things you already knew about him well before his era of popularity, That always gets the audience tearing up or cooing about how cute he is. When he trips over his words or stumbles, that only adds to his appeal. That clumsiness contrasts well with his coolness, and you’re just glad that the rest of the world can appreciate that about him.

His mom, Dylla, still chats with you! You remember her hosting you as a kid, offering cute little hard boiled eggs cut up into little white rabbits and gushing about how cute her son looks in the fuzzy bunny onesie she got for him with her savings. These days, Dylla doesn’t want for much but still keeps in touch. You’ve noticed that she’s been asking a lot about her son and what you think about him. You reassure her that you’re close, which makes her laugh in a boisterous way.

In one of the talk shows he’s on, Deuce is asked what his “type” is. He takes a long time to mull it over, taking the question very seriously, then settles on… “Truth be told, there’s someone I’ve had a crush on for the longest time. They’ve been with me since the start of my career, and I don’t think I’d even be where I am now without them. They’re always so kind and supportive, but… I worry about things changing between us. Every time I think about telling them how I feel, I chicken out.” The crowd awwwws and the host asks the viewers to hype Deuce up, turning the atmosphere in the studio electric.

He’s not totally sure how to deal with fans quite yet. He has confided in you that he doesn’t think he will ever truly get the hang of it. At meet-and-greets, Deuce will shake their hands, smile, bow at a 90 degree angle to thank everyone for their support. But then his face lights up when you make it to the front of the line, and his posture completely relaxes. “You came to see me,” he whispers in disbelief. “I wanted to surprise you,” you say, taking his hand. And suddenly, he feels warm and safe, right at home with you.

He gets so embarrassed when he sees that you own his merch and even save magazines with his image on them. “I gotta archive your journey to higher and higher heights,” you joke. “Hey, remember how I’d always tell you to remember me when you’re rich and famous? You stuck to your word.” But Deuce says he’s nothing special, that he only got lucky because you’re by his side. Of course he wouldn’t forget you. “To me, you are…” but his words hang there, not knowing how to finish.

Deuce is still careless at times when he hangs out with you. He will usually forget to wear a disguise, so you have to tut and help him sort out something on the fly. You lend him your jacket (wrong size), your hat (oof, it’s going to smell like your shampoo), even comb your fingers through his hair to try and get it to look different. Deuce accepts the items and swears he’ll wash them and return them to you when next you meet.

Despite it all, Deuce stays humble. The same old Deuce you’ve known since you were kids, the guy promises to beat up the schoolyard bully that made you cry and carries your stuff when your arms are full. He promptly replies to your texts and calls—and once, he left on his magical wheel in the middle of a gig when you said you needed him. (His manager wasn’t too happy about that, but Deuce gladly took the scolding.)

You tease him about how he presents in public versus in private. He comes off as so stoic in those glossy high fashion mags, but he’s always so earnest and open with you. He flushes and turns away, muttering, “I-I guess I feel comfortable around you. I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.”