#it felt like i had stepped into a different world

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

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The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[the-far-bright-center]

Completely agree that if Qui-Gon had lived, he would have been able to assist Anakin with his intense emotions, and likely would have been able to help him navigate his various prophetic visions and dreams (by helping him figure out whether to act on them, and how to act on them, if so). Admittedly, I don't focus on that particular scenario (of Qui-Gon helping Anakin process Shmi's death) much because my own personal view is that if Qui-Gon had lived, Shmi would have survived as well. Why? Because Qui-Gon would have gone back as soon as he could to free her. Fandom makes such a huge deal over Qui-Gon's comment that he wasn't there to 'free the slaves', as if this is some kind of cruel or callous remark on his part instead of him just...being honest with Shmi and Anakin. He's trying to temper their expectations of him and the true purpose of his presence on their planet. When I watched TPM all upon its release those years ago, it was clear to me that Qui-Gon was saying this regretfully. After all, the Republic/Jedi Order did NOT send him to Tatooine, let alone to free all the slaves there, and yet now he, who cares deeply about all beings who cross his path, is faced with two enslaved people who idealise the Jedi and who are looking at him with such expectation. Who want to help him. He's basically having to break it to them that the institutions of the Republic and the Jedi Order are largely apathetic to their plight, but that he'll do his best by them now that he's discovered them. He's also being apologetic for the fact he's on a specific mission and not entirely free to act in the way they might expect after finding out he's a Jedi. The mission is very time-sensitive — while it's easy for viewers to forget this while the characters are hanging out on Tatooine in the lead up to the Boonta Eve podrace, they are in fact in a rush to get to Coruscant. (The need to get out of there asap is intensified even more once Maul attacks them).

Yes, the fact remains that Qui-Gon took Anakin with him and left Shmi behind — but not, I feel, without at least some reluctance and only after he felt sure she'd be physically safe/okay. He asked her very pointedly if she would be alright. Qui-Gon and Shmi were shown to have, dare I say, an almost intimate connection that was laden with chemistry. They had some kind of burgeoning feelings for one another, bonding over their mutual care for little Ani. Shmi genuinely trusted Qui-Gon to take care of her son. If events had turned out differently, I don't believe for a moment that Qui-Gon would have just abandoned Shmi indefinitely. No way after surviving the Duel of the Fates would he have just resumed normal life and totally forgotten about Shmi — at the very least he would have sent for her or gone back for her himself. Especially if the Council had continued to refuse to train Anakin — it's entirely possible Qui-Gon would have said 'ok, then I'll go train Anakin myself' and taken Anakin elsewhere and trained him outside of the Order. This would have meant that he and Anakin would also be free to go back for Shmi, and then none of the events of AotC would have panned out the same way, if at all. In this scenario, Anakin's fall would have been averted since he would have been raised away from Sidious' immediate grasp and influence. Anakin and Qui-Gon would not have gone to war as generals alongside the Jedi Order during the Clone Wars and thus another step towards Anakin's fall would ahve been avoided. Anakin would have been free to not only live amongst his family (Qui-Gon and Shmi), but also to seek out and start a relationship with Padme as well. In this version of events, I envision Anakin and Qui-Gon going on missions to free slaves around the galaxy. If the Clone Wars happened, they would perhaps at times assist people and worlds in a neutral capacity. Or perhaps they would find a way (with Padme) to stop the war or prevent it entirely. Anakin would have fulfilled his Chosen One destiny in a different manner — perhaps still by sacrificing himself to defeat Sidious, but just without falling to the Dark Side first.

So, all of this is to say that, yes, I agree, but I also think Qui-Gon surviving the Duel of the Fates would have caused the course of events to change so drastically that Anakin would not have witnessed his mother dying a brutal death at the hands of the Tuskens. The story is clear that it's Qui-Gon's death that seals the fate of Anakin and the rest of the galaxy. And at the time the characters depart from Tatooine in TPM, Qui-Gon's death is still not 'certain'.... the Jedi Order could have possibly prevented it if they had sent more Jedi to assist him and Obi-Wan. Just like little Ani's fate is merely 'clouded' and not yet set in stone. Because while Qui-Gon lived, Anakin always had the most ideal father figure, mentor, and protector he could possibly have (in terms of teaching him the ways of the Force and withstanding the Dark Side). Just imo! :')

On the importance of Qui-Gon as a character, and the purpose of his role in the story:

It’s been a while now since I’ve written about this character, but recently my husband and I were discussing the Prequels (and especially The Phantom Menace), and we both heartily agreed that Qui-Gon Jinn is a truly brilliant addition to the saga, both from a storytelling and ‘in-story’ perspective. Not only is he a compelling figure to watch on-screen (thanks to the mesmerizing Liam Neeson), but he is also an ingenious way of introducing us to the Twilight of the Republic-era Jedi—via someone who is, by that point, considered a ‘maverick’ in comparison to the rest of the Jedi Order.

This is a very clever approach, because it means that we actually experience the entire first half of The Phantom Menace from Qui-Gon’s perspective. Throughout our journey with him—during which time he comes to the aid of many beings, from the hapless Jar-Jar, to Queen Amidala, to a slave-boy and his mother on Tatooine, all while simultaneously on a spiritual quest of his own (aka, to find the Chosen One)—we come to admire a Jedi who is everything that we, as viewers who had only ever seen the Original Trilogy, would expect a Jedi to be.  It is only after Qui-Gon’s arrival on Coruscant (when we are met by the comparatively cold, closed, and standoffish Jedi Council), that we realize that…oh… this wonderful, warm, openly-caring, and compassionate Jedi who we ASSUMED must certainly be the ’norm’, is actually anything but.

And so, the fact that the very first part of the saga is shown to us almost entirely from Qui-Gon’s perspective is extremely significant, not in the least because it evokes sympathy for his character and his so-called ‘maverick’ views, and, in turn, has the effect of helping us be all the more sympathetic and understanding towards little Ani.

The importance of this cannot be overstated, because of course, when The Phantom Menace was released, everyone already knew that Anakin Skywalker would eventually become ‘Darth Vader’. So it was absolutely crucial to introduce him to us from the perspective of a ‘wise Jedi’ character who had a firm belief in (the positive nature of) his future potential, and who held a deeply compassionate view toward him, or else the tension and dramatic irony would be greatly reduced, and the impact of the overall story would be lessened. Seeing Anakin through Qui-Gon’s eyes makes us all ask the burning question—how could an innocent and loving little boy like this ever become Darth Vader? Qui-Gon’s presence in the story introduces this question—and this tension—at this early stage, and makes it almost impossible for us not to seek for answers as we go. 

In this vein, the mere existence of Qui-Gon as a character helps to inform our view of the state of the Jedi Order at this point in the story. I feel the need reiterate this very obvious point because some people seem to be mis-reading ‘the text’ here and coming to the erroneous conclusion that Qui-Gon (and his views and actions) is somehow representative of the Jedi Order as a whole, and that could not be farther from the truth. Such an interpretation is completely missing the entire point of his character and his role in the story. Qui-Gon is meant to embody the True SPIRIT (his name ‘Jinn’ even means Spirit) of the Jedi religion that has, at this stage, been ‘lost’ or at least largely forgotten in favour of a more ‘letter of the law’ approach. Nowhere is this more clearly embodied than by the Order’s strict adherence to their (often flawed) interpretations of the Jedi Code, as well by as their role of servants of the Republic—something that has led them to this place where they must often put said Republic’s political and military needs above service to ‘the Will of the Force’. (Note how Qui-Gon explains the *ideal* role of a Jedi to Padme when he tells her “I can only protect you. I cannot fight a war for you.” – a role that, only ten years after his death, will be completely overturned by the Jedi Order’s direct participation in the Clone Wars on behalf of the Republic.)

And thus, upon Qui-Gon’s arrival on Coruscant, we experience the realization that many of the things he has said throughout (such as “*FEEL*, don’t think, use your instincts”), and the approaches he has taken (his openly warm manner toward little Ani and his mother) are very likely things that only he, and maybe a few choice others, would say or do or think or feel, rather than the typical mindset or approach of the entire Order. Qui-Gon’s singularity in this respect is necessary for the story to establish, because it likewise establishes him as the ONLY person who could have provided the very particular guidance that Anakin so sorely needed, the only person who could have potentially helped him navigate the more difficult to follow aspects of the Code, the only person who (if he had lived) might have stood at least some chance of equipping Anakin to withstand the machinations of Sidious….I could go on. It supports this notion of Qui-Gon as the ideal teacher of (and father-figure to) Anakin, and even adds weight to the idea they were indeed brought together by the Force, as Qui-Gon himself states (“Finding him was the will of the Force”).

And then, it is this that likewise that renders his sudden death such a ‘fateful’ (hence the name ‘Duel of the Fates’) blow. A loss that is shattering to Obi-Wan *and* Anakin both—one that they of course both feel keenly in the immediate aftermath, but one that also proves even more tragic later on in the course of events. (In the RotS novelization, it even states that the seemingly-endless war that had come to define their lives had, for Obi-Wan and Anakin, begun not with the inception of the Clone Wars, but rather “on Naboo, when Qui-Gon Jinn died at the hand of a Sith Lord.”) In other words, the loss of Qui-Gon removes this irreplaceable Jedi who was very much a ‘True Jedi’, but who nonetheless regularly felt the need to stand up to the Jedi Council’s decisions; this Jedi who was still a much-needed source of council to Obi-Wan, and who was so uniquely poised to guide little Ani—either within, or outside of, the Jedi Order.

Qui-Gon Jinn is a highly underrated character, and the importance of his role, both from a storytelling perspective and an in-story perspective, cannot be emphasized enough. I would go so far as to say that his inclusion into this early part of the saga is intended to form our understanding of it—because, through him, we are shown an example of a True Jedi, one who is warm, tender, caring, and demonstrative of emotions, as well as just as heroic and ‘mystical’ as we’d expect a Jedi Master of that era to be. Through him, we come to sympathize not only with his views, but also with little Ani’s plight. Through him, we are thus primed to view young Anakin positively (or at the very least with an open mind), and to bristle at the Jedi Council’s swift dismissal of this fearful yet still-innocent child, so far from home.

Likewise, through Qui-Gon’s staunch belief in the existence of the Chosen One—a belief that he dies professing—we are shown an example of a Jedi who has unwavering faith in, and dedication to, ‘the Will of the Force’. And yet, through him we are *also* shown that such a Jedi stands on the ‘fringe’ of the Jedi Order, a fact that in and of itself illustrates just how far removed that institution has already become from its original stated purpose (which is, purportedly, ‘to serve the Will of the Force’). Qui-Gon’s death—and with it, the removal of such a defiant-yet-wise figure both from the Jedi Order and from Obi-Wan and Anakin’s lives—is the first ‘herald’ of the tragedy that is the story of the Prequels. 

This, in my understanding, is the purpose of Qui-Gon Jinn as a character, and the main reason for his inclusion into this early part of the story. He is a character who is meant to be viewed positively and sympathetically. An admirable figure of great kindness and foresight, a source of warmth, wisdom, and, above all, compassion, whose sudden loss is a heavy blow to all. And as such, he is NOT meant to be representative of the Jedi Order as it exists in its flawed state at the point of the Twilight of the Republic—rather he represents the TRUE *spirit* of the Jedi religion.

[whisperofwonder]

Kageyama Tobio x reader - 700 words

I will never be over Kageyama's goofy smiles

The photographer is starting to get frustrated - you can tell. And Tobio? He's getting antsy, to say the least. This photo session is taking longer than you'd anticipated, and you know your new husband wants nothing more than to be rid of his tie, and to dive into the food at the reception. First, though, the photographer needs to get her shots in.

"Kageyama-san? I'm sorry," She pulls the camera away from her face again. "Maybe just, ah, relax," She suggests. If anything, you feel his shoulders tense more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of the stiff, unnatural smile on his face, and you grimace. You know he's capable of a real, genuine smile. You've seen it countless times. It's just that, the moment a camera appears, his lips seem to forget how to work. At this rate, your wedding photos will be little short of a disaster. So much for the photo collage you'd envisioned in your living room.

You're just about to put the poor photographer out of her misery and call it quits when your new sister-in-law steps in. "Can I make a suggestion?" Miwa asks, moving forward from her spot behind the photographer. "Tobio," She takes her brother's arm, "Turn this way. There you go." She reaches for you next, gently turning you so that, rather than facing the photographer, you and Tobio are angled more toward each other. "There," She nods approvingly. "That should be much better."

"Just a few more," You say for Tobio's benefit, reaching to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Sorry," He murmurs, returning the squeeze as his lips turn up at the corners, the beginnings of an unforced smile. You smile back in encouragement, hoping to coax it out of him. It seems to work, because as he rests a hand at your waist to pull you closer, the smile has finally taken over his face. You vaguely register that the photographer is snapping one photo after another, and you're just glad to be making some progress. Soon enough, she's decided she has enough shots, and you can finally move on to the reception.

Weeks later, you're lying in bed waiting for Tobio to get out of the shower when you get the message from the photographer that your photos are ready. You eagerly open the album, excited to finally see the photos captured on your big day.

The photos of just the two of you come first. The photographer had definitely managed to get a few passable shots with the two of you facing the camera. Tobio's smile is a bit forced, but believable enough. As you keep scrolling, though, the difference is shocking.

In the photos taken after Miwa had turned you toward each other, something completely different had taken over his face. In one photo after another, your husband is looking at you with full, genuine adoration. His smile is wide and warm, his eyes soft. It hadn't occurred to you at the time, but the two of you really do look like you're in your own little world. You feel warmth curling through your middle all over again. These photos perfectly capture every emotion you'd felt on your wedding day.

"What are you smiling at?" You'd been so wrapped up in the photos that you hadn't heard Tobio emerge from the bathroom.

"Our wedding photos are done!" You announce, still tickled by how well they'd come out.

"Oh," He quickly crawls under the covers, "Let me see." He hangs his chin over your shoulder, and you gladly scroll back to the beginning to share them with him. He doesn't say much, but neither do you. You're just happy admiring the photos.

"They're perfect, aren't they?" You ask when you've finally reached the end.

"Yeah," He says softly, and when you turn he's already looking at you. That same smile is back on his face, soft and warm. You can't help but return it. "I love you," He adds, leaning in for a kiss.

"I love you too," You murmur as you pull away, savoring the expression on his face. You love all of his smiles, even the goofy pasted-on ones, but the smiles just for you will always be your favorite.

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking abt fairy tale twists

cw: conspiracy to commit murder, a lil bit of graphic imagery

König as the huntsman of your tale. Known throughout the kingdom for his brutal efficiency, he is feared by all and a pit of loneliness eats at the bottoms of his lungs as it grows in his stomach. He will not deny– the queen, your mother, wordlessly offered him more than a sum of gold. Her nails grazed his arm, just close enough for the tips of her fingers to blaze along his skin. He felt the skin burn and tingle as if raised by scars. She was keen to his true desires, and at the time he was more than happy to be preyed upon.

Ironic for that to be a huntsman’s wish.

You’d been hidden from the world for a very long time. Not seen or heard by anyone but the queen and some select castle staff for over a decade. Even in the walls of your own home, you are veiled– covered like grass after a frost.

And you are no fool. You know why you’ve been let out of the grounds, told to gather spring flowers just past the edge of the forest. But the queen’s word is law, and you can only hope the end will be swift. The loneliness in you is like gnashing gears, chewing through nerves until all of your sensations have frayed and distorted. Even without knowing your face, his emptiness feels magnetized to yours. The hand that grips the serrated blade begins to shake imperceptibly.

You lift the veil so you can see the sky unburdened for the last time. It is in that moment that he thinks to himself– it’s difficult to tell the difference between the heart of a pig and that of a girl.

“Kleines mädchen,” König calls, almost flinching as you gasp, turning to find the source of the words. “You are in danger. The Queen, she… she wishes you dead. But I cannot bring myself—“ he lets out a deep breath, trying to regain some modicum of composure in your presence. There was a reason your stepmother envied you as she did. You had a beauty that men would conquer kingdoms for.

“Come with me,” the huntsman entreats, “I can keep you safe. I won’t let her find you. Please…” he steps forward, nearly stunned when you do not step back. For so long all he has known was distance maintained.

The world had turned from him and you had been turned from the world. He can so clearly picture your bodies fitting together in a way that seems only possible in paintings. Two broken things forming a single whole.

“You… you promise not to harm me?” There’s a crack in your voice, quieted from disuse. “I have nothing to offer you,” you remind him. Almost as if she wants for him to go through with his work.

“You do not turn away from me. That’s more than anyone has given me in quite some time.” Another step forward, with you standing rooted in place, eyes not wandering from his form.

“You’ll be in danger if she even suspects that I still live.” The words warm him from the inside.

“You’re very sweet, mädchen. To be worried for ein alter jäger… I could not see you harmed. Not even at the cost of my own life.” This time it’s you that steps forward, directly in front of him now. You reach for the hem of his hood.

“A face for a face. That’s my one condition.” Your voice gathers in his ears as he strains to memorize each note, like an animal trying to remember the sweet taste of morning dew on grass.

“You may not like what you see.”

“Any face can be beautiful if it holds affection, huntsman.”

Yes. A pig’s heart will do.

[munsonsreputation]

am i allowed to cry?

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.8k]

warnings: cursing, allusion to depression and anxiety, reader nearly has a mental breakdown over the stress of work/school/and life, steve comes to the rescue don't worry (honestly just wrote this because seasonal depression combined with school and work and life is real as fuck and we all need some comfort), also semi proof-read, sorry!

summary: it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, something too heavy for you to bear all alone, but you do, anyway. and when you finally collapse under pressure, the last person you want to worry is your boyfriend steve, but he’s your safe space, and all he ever wants you to know is that he’s going to be there for you through smiles and tears.

The fatigue settled under your eyes and in the depths of your bones like a heavy weight pulling you down. There was an exhaustion seeping from the inside out, eating you alive until you were merely a shell of yourself. Your stomach twisted in knots unsolvable even with the help of sleep or tea—you felt beyond defeated with no way out.

It didn’t matter where you were and how ‘fine’ you thought you were. The feeling of dread became embedded into your entire existence and it was getting harder to keep up the act and blame it all on school or work. Perhaps it started there, but slowly and surely did the feeling morph into every avenue you steered towards in order to escape.

Your hangouts with friends suddenly turned into an inner panic attack of sorts, feeling the need to keep up with everyone who was doing so well whilst you were barely making it out alive.

Family dinners then turned into interrogations, where they poked and prodded probably with the best intent to figure out why you were so absent, but it all just felt like an attack coming from left and right.

No matter how hard you tried to keep up the facade of being fine and telling everyone they were making a big deal out of nothing, you knew you were moments away from falling apart. At this rate, you were a machine breaking down piece by piece, rusting and stalling until you couldn’t move anymore.

And the absolute last person you wanted to shrink away from was your boyfriend, Steve.

He was the most supportive and present person in your life you could have ever asked for. He never doubted you in anything, and most times he was the one egging you on to go after your dreams. Telling you to take risks and go for it, because you always succeeded in everything you did, and even when it wasn’t on the first try, he knew you were bound to get a hang of it.

A special trait about him that you adored so much was his trust in you. He knew what it was like for people to always question his worth, to try to make it seem like he wasn’t capable or smart enough to make his own decisions so much so that other people had to step in and save him. But to be fair, Steve Harrington never needed to be saved—he just needed the right people around to show him it was okay to make mistakes and learn from it.

And you did just that.

When Steve didn’t know what he wanted to do after graduation, you never pestered him on to go off to college, committing himself to something he wasn’t one hundred percent certain about. Instead, you encouraged him to find his calling, to scour town in order to find different hobbies that had potential job opportunities. To volunteer and possibly shadow in order to widen his options.

You were always supportive and did your best to guide instead of control—and because of that; he was able to find a job that made him happy, surprisingly enough.

And likewise, while Steve never was the biggest fan of structured school, he guided you through your college path. Providing all the moral and emotional support he could offer you, and at times even going as far as to reading a textbook chapter alongside you to help you understand concepts that were all too confusing.

He never pushed too hard, and never made it seem like he didn’t care. There was a perfect balance between your understanding and his—a sort of tune that always was in perfect harmony…until it wasn’t.

You had been assuring Steve that while school and work were surely kicking your butt, you had it all under control, but that was far from the truth. Date nights were seemingly pushed back…not that he minded since he understood you needed to study and rest—but things were beginning to feel more off.

You avoided having him stay the night at your place or even just stopping by to drop you off some food. When you did spend time together, you were physically there, but not mentally. You listened intently to what he had to say, but when it was your turn, you shared little about what was going on with you, and diverted the questions back to him.

A lot of the time, you just seemed out of it. Too far away in your mind for him to reach you, and while he knew everyone had their off days and even off weeks, yours was becoming imminently permanent, and you were beginning to realize it, too.

You sat hunched over at your desk, eyes welling with tears as you stared down at your notes, then back to your textbook, then back to your notes once again. Nothing was making sense, and your patience was slim to none, batting your eyes as the tears fell onto the pages where you were too fed up to care.

Your mind was scattered all over the place, thinking about how you needed to make sense of the content in front of you, but also about the many deadlines of other assignments you had under your belt. On top of that, you had other responsibilities that needed your full attention, yet you sat there wondering how you were even going to complete one of them.

There was something that snapped inside of you. A guttle cry that you let out as you pushed yourself out of your desk chair and stood with your hands threaded roughly in the roots of your hair. Hot, vicious tears floated down your cheeks while you paced in circles attempting to calm yourself down, but nothing worked.

You needed Steve, even when you didn’t want him to see you like this.

He was at your doorstep not even a whole ten minutes after you had phoned him, asking if he would drop by. It was almost midnight, and usually at this hour your nose was buried deep behind textbooks and assignments, but he could just tell something was the matter.

He had asked rushed and worriedly, if everything was okay, but you refused to give him a definite answer, just sniffling back your cries and humming, telling him to come over as soon as he could. The drive was short, and yet for him it felt like eternity until he was face to face with you on your front porch.

“Baby,” His voice was rigid yet gentle, striding closer to you as his warm hands came down to hold your arms, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He breathed, half catching his breath from his haste, and half worried out of his mind.

He bent a little at the knees, trying to get a better look at your face in the dimly lit doorway. All the color was drained from your skin, except the red path your tears took down your cheeks and your bitten lips.

You sniffled hard, an unevenness apparent in your breathing, “N—nothing,” you lied pathetically, closing your eyes as you shook your head, “I’m just a little stressed. You don’t have to worry about m-me.”

There was lots to worry about, especially seeing you in the state that you were in. Steve had seen you stressed out many times before. Worried about running late, leaving something behind, nervous about a final exam, but nothing ever to this extent. This was more than stress, and he knew it.

“Let’s go inside and talk, yeah?” He murmured, ignoring your comment and leading you back into your home, hoping to get you to talk some more.

Guiding you to the kitchen, he switched on the lights, pulling out a chair for you to sit at the dining table while he got you a glass of cold water and some paper towels.

“Have some water, baby,” He knelt on the ground, holding the cup of water to your lips.

You sniffled, closing your eyes tightly as you tried to catch your breath before taking a sip, letting him help you, and pulling the cusp away from your lips before you could cough up. You could feel his eyes boring through you, filled with fret wanting to get down to the bottom of the situation yet letting you go at your own pace.

He took the paper towel, crumbling it up into a small ball to dab over your cheeks and under your eyes, doing his best to soak up all the tears that kept pouring. His heart shook and broke in his chest, wondering what had happened to get you to this state of no return.

“Talk to me sweetheart,” He started, letting one of his hands come to hold your trembling one, giving you a firm squeeze. “What can I do to make it better?” He implored, just wanting to make whatever that was hurting you stop.

The desperation in his voice made another sob rip out from chest, face pinching into something painful as you hung your head low and wept as quietly as you could. You felt so weak and helpless, hating that you pushed yourself to the point where you made the one person who vowed to always be there for you feel as though he wasn’t.

“Babe, shhh, hey c’mon,” He murmured, immediately wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you close to him and burying your face in his chest, “It’s okay. I’m right here, baby. S’okay.”

You hadn’t said anything just amounting yourself to a mess of tears and unspoken feelings, not knowing how you could possibly articulate what you had been going through all this time.

“I—I’m sorry,” You muffled against his chest, causing him to pull away slightly, just to look at you and shake his head wondering why you were apologizing.

“You don’t have to be sorry baby—”

“I’m fucked up, I know I am.” You blurted out, a cruelty in your voice Steve could tell was directed towards yourself, not him.

“I-I’ve been so caught up with school and work that I know I haven’t been the best girlfriend, but I swear—”

“Hey stop it.” He didn’t let you finish, furrowing his brows, determined to make you understand the words you were saying about yourself weren’t true.

“This isn’t about you not being a good girlfriend. You’re so good to me, baby and I promise you whatever it is that’s going on, isn’t because of that. Talk to me. Don’t be scared.”

He assured you with warm circles rubbed over your back, just wanting you to focus on your feelings and not on what you thought you were making him feel. The only thing that mattered to him was understanding you, and how he could fit himself into the puzzle to make it all better.

“I’m just so tired,” You broke down once again, “I don’t feel like myself anymore, and even when I look at myself…I don’t see me.” You croaked, voice breaking in between words.

“All I want to do is relax, but my brain is just on a live wire where I can’t stop thinking and then I start spiraling. If it isn’t school, then it’s work, and if it isn’t work, then I’m thinking about all of the others things I don’t have time for in between school and work.” You heaved, just feeling the panic and frustration arise at the mere conversation.

He hated how he could see the contempt you had for yourself. Fingernails biting into the palm of your hands and a deep-seated frown over your lip, as if you wanted to crawl out of your skin to be someone completely different. But there was no one like you, in his eyes. Whatever it was that you were going through he was going to stand beside you and help you get back to feeling like yourself, the girl he couldn’t imagine living without.

“I’m here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner,” He murmured, pushing the tear soaked strands of hair out of your face. “You work so hard all the time, you deserve a break.”

“I can’t,” you cried, shaking your head, rubbing exhaustingly at your eyes, “I physically can’t. I can’t fall behind when I already am.”

You wanted to listen to his advice, the knowing that deep down he was so very right, but you couldn’t look past the idea of letting people down and falling behind when you knew it was impossible to play catch up.

Steve knew how you operated on a one track mind to get things done and out of the way, which was obviously ideal. However, the amount of physical, emotional, and mental strain the work ethic had put you in was enough confirmation that he needed to step in before it got worse.

“Listen to me, hon,” He said tenderly, grasping your face in his hands, “You need a break. I’m not saying you have to abandon everything, but you need to take it easy on yourself. Learn how to step away and breathe. You’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up…and you know I can’t live without you.”

His sentiment was true and sweet, something he was able to be at all times, even at times like this.

“I’m not going to let you fall behind, baby.” He promised you, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks, pressing a chaste kiss over your lips before he continued, “I’ll help you and we can take it on together, but you can’t keep stuff like this from me okay? The last thing I ever want you to feel is like you have to do it all alone.”

You sniffled, nodding as you swallowed back the lump in your throat, hiccuping slightly, “I-I know, I’m just usually so good at taking on everything, but I don’t know what happened.” You admitted with a shrug.

He nodded understandingly. “You might not feel it, but you’re overworked and that’s okay. I’m going to be here to help any way I can. With school, with work…with breaks.” He smiled softly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You stared up at him apologetically, wishing you hadn’t waited so long to tell him, knowing that he was always your number one confidant and supporter through everything.

Still, he shook his head, caressing your cheeks, “Don’t apologize, I’m here now and I promise it’s going to get better.”

He held you in his arms a little longer, letting you cry the rest of your tears into his chest, before suggesting to head up to your room. Agreeing, he grabbed a fresh cup of water to keep at your bedside before following you up the stairs and into your room.

Books and papers were sprawled out across your desk, hinting to him what had gone down before you called. He knew that school was beginning to take a toll on you with bigger projects and finals approaching, but had no idea it was getting worse and worse as the days passed by—but no longer, not with him around.

“Let me just…” You spoke under your breath, heading towards your desk to get everything cleaned up, now that Steve was spending the night and not wanting him to deal with the mess.

But he was quick to stop you, grabbing you gently by the wrist before you could even close the textbook, causing you to follow his lead to your bed.

“Hey…” He murmured, setting the cup down on the small table beside your lamp, “we’ll figure it out in the morning okay?”

“Hmm,” You hummed with a nod, letting him situate you into bed before toeing off his shoes and getting in beside you.

You turned to face him after he switched off the lamp, encasing you both in complete darkness. Eyes adjusting to the light, enough for you to make out his face, eyes closed peacefully, as his arms went instinctively around your frame, pulling you closer into him—the feeling you had been missing so desperately, wondering why you ever even thought to push it away.

“You know I’ll be here whenever you need me, all the time okay?” His voice broke the silence, nuzzling his face closer to yours, hoping you knew how true every word was.

“I know,” you promised, jutting your chin up to press a kiss to his lips that he smiled into, kissing you back a little harder wanting you to remember the feeling and that alone.

All the stress still lingered in the back of your mind, but the feeling that consumed wasn’t the fear or the exhaustion that had been weighing you down. It was the knowing that you were allowed to feel your feelings around Steve, and the security to know he was your person, rain or shine—and that in itself was enough for you to know it was going to be okay.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: very short one shot in honor of seasonal depression doing its big one on me...but don't worry im surviving through my safe space fiction characters!!! i hope you are all doing well and thank you again for sticking around!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[superbreadsoul]

THE DYING EMBERS OF A FLICKERING FLAME.

Drew Starkey x Reader.

DISCLAIMER: This oneshot is in no way a reflection of these people in real-life. This is only for fun and dramaticized for entertainment. No one in this story is disliked by me, I like them all a normal amount.

Warning: cheating, bipolar emotions, inaccurate depiction of Drew's personality, cuss words, implied sexual acts.

WORD COUNT: 21468 words.

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The hum of the gathering buzzed softly in the background, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and distant conversations. Odessa leaned against the doorframe, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room. Her lips pressed into a thin line when her gaze landed on the girl waving at Madelyn from the bar.

Or rather, the woman.

“Is that…?” Odessa’s voice trailed off, her bushy eyebrows drawing together as her chest tightened. It couldn’t be. Her gaze swept over the figure in disbelief, studying the sleek haircut, the sharp-edged confidence in her posture. That couldn’t be Y/N.

Y/N, with her wide, pleading eyes, her constant hovering around Drew, the girl Odessa had always written off as a pitiful rival. Y/N, who once had the nerve to think she could compete for Drew. Odessa’s stomach churned as the wound of insecurity reopened, her possessive side flaring like a long-dormant flame suddenly fed fresh air.

The girl was gone. In her place was a woman.

Cool where Odessa was warm. Composed where Odessa was vibrant. Polished where Odessa was raw.

Odessa tore her gaze away, muttering something under her breath, but the unease stuck with her, threading itself into every movement she made.

In the kitchen, Drew stood at the charcuterie board, selecting a slice of brie with absent focus. He glanced up at the soft sound of someone approaching. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with surprise.

Her gaze flicked to him, calm and unreadable. She nodded, offering a polite smile. “Drew.”

Drew faltered. The change in her was sharp, cutting. This wasn’t the girl he remembered—always trailing after him, laughing too hard at his jokes, hoping for scraps of his attention. This woman was different, a cool presence that unsettled him in its unfamiliarity.

“You’re… different,” he said, tilting his head as he studied her. “Huh?”

Y/N frowned slightly, straightening her posture as her hands clasped the whiskey in her hand. “Sorry?”

“You just seem different,” Drew clarified, raising an eyebrow. His gaze swept over her again, almost searching. “A good different. You’ve grown up. Yeah, that’s it. You–Wow.”

Her smile tightened. “Thank you?”

The sharpness of her tone caught him off guard, and he furrowed his brow. Where were the puppy dog eyes? The shy, desperate eagerness? Instead, she looked at him like a stranger would—polite, distant.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, stepping closer. He gestured to the spread in front of them. “So, what have you been up to lately?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ve had some shoots done recently. Worked with Tom Holland for his campaign, ‘Bero.’ He’s a great guy. And I’ve been flying around a lot. ‘One Piece’ is shooting again, and I wanted to support Taz—you remember Taz Skylar, right?”

Drew blinked. “Wait, you were in the One Piece adaptation?” His surprise was genuine, but it quickly twisted into something else.

“No, no,” Y/N corrected with a laugh, her tone warm. “I just went to support Taz. He’s amazing—such a sweetheart.”

Her fond smile lingered, and Drew felt something stir in him. Irritation, maybe. He couldn’t place it exactly, but the way the conversation shifted entirely to her world, her accomplishments, her effortless confidence—it grated on him. He suddenly felt like an extra in a story where he used to be the lead.

“So, you’ve been busy,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “Working and all. Been seeing anyone?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but before a word could escape, Brooke Starkey’s arms wrapped around her in an exuberant hug.

“Y/N!” Brooke’s bright voice cut through the room, drawing eyes as she squeezed Y/N tight.

Y/N laughed, her expression softening as she returned the hug. “Brooke! It’s been ages. How are you?”

“I’m great!” Brooke beamed, pulling back to flash her braces. “Our sister’s kids are growing up so fast. Seriously, they’ll be taller than me soon!”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “They grow like weeds, don’t they?”

Brooke’s grin turned sly. “What about you? What’s new? Any guys?”

Y/N's laugh was light, breezy. “Funny, your brother was just asking me the same thing.”

She glanced at both of them with a subtle arch of her brow, her smile polite but distant. Drew swallowed hard, sensing the shift in her—one he wasn’t sure he could keep up with.

The energy in the room shifted, tension crackling subtly beneath the surface as Brooke’s teasing voice broke through the hum of chatter.

“He was?” she asked with a smirk, glancing between her brother and Y/N. “You’re always so nosy.”

Drew rolled his eyes, glaring half-heartedly at his sister. “Just curious, is all,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “Always need to know what’s going on.”

Y/N's tilted her head, her tone sharp yet calm. “Not always.”

Brooke looks between them awkwardly, before excusing herself. “I’m just gonna—yeah.”

Drew chuckled, the sound low as he met her steady gaze. “Okay, not always,” he admitted. Then, leaning slightly closer, he added, “Just when it’s important to me.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but her narrowed eyes betrayed her disbelief. “Why would it be important to you?”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Drew hesitated. Why was it important? The truth lingered on the edge of his mind, taunting him, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Because we’re friends?” he said, his tone light but his jaw tight. The answer felt hollow, and he knew it. Friends. That’s what he was supposed to believe. So why did it bother him to imagine someone else making her smile the way she used to smile at him?

Y/N let out a laugh, sharp and incredulous. “Friends?” she echoed, shaking her head. “We’re not friends.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and Drew’s smile faltered. His brow furrowed as he stared at her, his voice growing colder. “Then what are we?”

Y/N hesitated, her expression flickering as she thought back to the sting of rejection, to the way he’d brushed her off a year ago like she hadn’t mattered. But she wouldn’t let that show now. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Nothing,” she said simply, her voice steady.

“Nothing,” Drew repeated, the word dripping with bitterness. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, the muscles in his arms flexing as he crossed them over his chest. “So I’m nothing to you?”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “You’re twisting my words.”

Drew’s frustration bubbled over, his tone pointed as he pressed on. “How exactly would you want me to interpret that? It either means we’re friends, or we’re nothing. Those are my only options, and you just said we’re nothing.”

Y/N's eyes flashed, but her composure didn’t waver. “I said we are nothing,” she clarified, her voice cutting but cool. “We have nothing. So stop getting so worked up over it and go back to your girlfriend.”

She gestured casually toward Odessa, her tone dismissive as she picked up her glass and drained it in one fluid motion. Then, without another glance at Drew, she turned away, her indifference slicing through the air like a blade.

Drew stood there, rooted in place, watching her as his emotions churned—confusion, irritation, something he refused to name. Whatever it was, it left a bitter taste in his mouth as he realised Y/N had turned away from him without so much as a second thought.

The tension between them coiled tighter, the invisible thread of unresolved emotions threatening to snap as Drew’s dry laugh filled the space between them.

“I’m getting worked up? That’s funny,” he said, the bitterness in his tone unmistakable. His eyes scanned her face, her cool, collected expression only stoking the flames of his frustration. This wasn’t the Y/N he was used to—the shy, eager-to-please girl who once hung on his every word. Her transformation was unsettling, throwing him completely off balance. “Since when did you grow a backbone?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she regarded him in silence.

That smile—calm, knowing, infuriating—ignited something in Drew. His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his composure, but the flicker of annoyance was impossible to hide.

“What’s that look for?” he demanded, his voice edged with irritation as his narrowed eyes bore into hers.

Her amusement only deepened. She leaned back slightly, her gaze locked on his, unbothered. “I really get under your skin, don’t I?” she said, her tone light and teasing, though there was a sharpness beneath it.

She raised her glass and took a slow sip of her whiskey, her movements deliberate, her gaze never wavering.

“You have no idea how much,” Drew replied, his laugh low and humourless. The words felt like a confession he hadn’t meant to make. He stepped closer, his height casting a shadow over her, the air between them electric with tension. His voice dropped, almost a growl. “When the hell did you grow a backbone and lose all that clingy neediness?”

The question hung in the air, laced with equal parts irritation and disbelief.

Y/N's smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She leaned forward slightly, her tone laced with mock encouragement. “There you go. Keep it up, buddy.” She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow as she gestured subtly with her hand. “Go on.”

Her sarcasm hit like a match to gasoline, fueling the fire in his chest. Drew’s hands balled into fists at his sides as he stared down at her, unsure if he wanted to yell at her or—something else entirely.

She just kept smiling, completely unfazed, and Drew couldn’t help but think that this new Y/N—the one who could meet him head-on without flinching—was both maddening and utterly captivating.

The tension between them was unbearable, crackling like a live wire ready to snap. Drew’s nostrils flared as his jaw clenched tightly. His glare burned into her, a storm of frustration and confusion swirling in his blue eyes. She was playing him, and he knew it. Worse, it was working.

“You wanna know what I think?” he asked, his voice dangerously low, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement as a wide smile spread across her face. “What?”

“I think this new ‘maturity’ of yours is a load of bullshit,” Drew spat, his tone laced with venom. “All of it—the new look, the new attitude, the new you—it’s just a game. You’re still the same girl who was obsessed with me not even a year ago.”

Y/N bit her lip to hold back a laugh, nodding sarcastically as she hummed, “Hmm, hmm, yeah.”

Her mocking agreement only fueled Drew’s fire. His temper flared as he stepped closer, his broad frame towering over hers. The noise of the party around them faded into a distant hum as his voice dropped to a sharp whisper meant only for her.

“So why don’t you drop the act, huh?” he hissed, his tone biting. “Stop pretending to be some tough, cool chick who’s too good for everyone. Because I know the real you.”

Y/N's eyebrow arched, her lips curving into a sly smile as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. Her voice was light and teasing. “Is that so?”

Drew’s jaw tightened further, his blue eyes narrowing with anger. “Yeah, it is so,” he bit out. “Because you’re still the same girl who was whining and begging for my attention every chance you got. You were obsessed with me.”

Y/N's smirk didn’t waver. Instead, she glanced up at the ceiling thoughtfully, her tone now playful, almost whimsical. “Obsessed. You know, that’s a great idea for a new song,” she mused, already toying with imaginary lyrics in her mind.

The blatant dismissal, the way she made light of his words, drove Drew over the edge. His hands clenched into fists again as he stepped even closer, closing the already slim distance between them.

Grabbing her chin firmly, he forced her to face him, his large hand tilting her head down so their eyes locked. His voice was a growl, low and heated. “Are you even listening to me?”

Y/N's expression didn’t falter. If anything, her smirk deepened, her tone dripping with condescension as she pouted mockingly. “Oh boy! Big feelings!” she taunted, her voice soft and sugary.

That was the final straw. Drew snapped. With a sudden, sharp motion, his hand shot to her hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging it harshly, his fingers curling tightly in the strands.

“You think this is a joke?” he hissed, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “This is bullshit.”

Y/N grunted, her playful demeanour cracking under the sharp pull of his grip. Anger flared in her own eyes now, replacing the cool confidence she’d maintained.

“Get off of me,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous as she shoved at his chest.

But Drew didn’t let go immediately. His grip lingered for a moment longer, his anger simmering before he finally released her, the tension between them pulsing like a heartbeat.

The silence that followed was deafening, their heavy breaths the only sound as they stared at each other, both furious, both unwilling to look away. Whatever this was—this thing between them—it wasn’t over. But neither of them knew how it would end.

The tension between them reached a fever pitch as Drew’s grip on Y/N's hair tightened, forcing her to meet his blazing gaze. His nostrils flared, his jaw locked with fury, and yet, beneath it all, there was something else—something darker, more conflicted.

“Or what?” he hissed, his tone low and sharp like a blade, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Y/N didn’t flinch. Instead, her voice was steady, almost mocking, as she leaned closer, her breath fanning his face. “Or you’re gonna lose your girlfriend,” she said softly, her tone laced with quiet defiance.

That landed. Drew’s glare faltered for a split second as he glanced sideways, his eyes darting to Odessa. She stood a few feet away, watching the two of them with a steely gaze, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. The weight of her stare should’ve been enough to snap him out of it, to remind him where his loyalties lay.

But when he turned back to Y/N, the lack of fear in her eyes—the way she looked at him like she had all the power in the world—sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. His grip on her hair tightened.

“Don’t push me,” he ground out through clenched teeth, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with restrained fury.

Y/N's lips curled into a small, daring smile, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Then let go,” she whispered back, her tone taunting, daring him to make his next move.

The words ignited something primal in Drew, a mix of rage and something else entirely—something he didn’t want to name. His blood boiled, and for a moment, the idea of pulling her closer, of silencing her with a kiss that would burn as much as their anger, flitted through his mind.

The thought caught him off guard. What the hell? He thought, blinking as the realisation unsettled him. “I said, don’t push me,” he repeated, his voice hoarse, trembling with more than just fury now.

Y/N's chest rose and fell with her quickened breath, her defiant facade cracking ever so slightly as she glared at him. But even now, with the sting of his grip making her scalp ache, she refused to back down.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but the moment hung heavy between them, a storm of unresolved emotions crackling in the air. Around them, the curious glances of partygoers grew bolder, whispers starting to ripple through the room.

Odessa shifted in her spot, her arms crossing over her chest as her narrowed gaze darkened. The storm wasn’t just between Drew and Y/N anymore—it was closing in on all of them.

 Y/N's taunts sliced through Drew like a blade, each word sharper than the last, cutting straight to his pride. She leaned in closer, her voice low and mocking, dripping with venomous amusement.

“You like it. Look at you,” she whispered, her smirk growing as her eyes flicked over his face, savouring the anger simmering in his expression. “I make you feel like a man.”

Her tone turned almost sing-song as she pressed on. “Brute strength and all. Guess Odessa doesn’t let you take the reins, huh? Is she the one always on top? Or—or are you the one who’s on your stomach?”

A soft, mocking laugh escaped her lips, private and husky, meant only for him. The fire in Drew’s eyes burned hotter, his jaw tightening as his grip on her hair became almost punishing.

He’d never hated someone so much, so deeply, in his entire life. Not just for her words, but for how easily she wormed her way under his skin, how her taunts had him seeing red.

“Shut up,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and feral. His free hand turned her around towards the door of the ballroom with a touch that felt both instinctive and entirely wrong. He yanked her closer out into the hallway of the hotel lobby, a few feet away from the party, the music from inside echoing through the halls. He roughly pinned her to the wall, towering over her in an attempt to make her feel small, his strength rough and unrelenting.

But Y/N was relentless. Her smirk didn’t waver, her voice dipping lower, the mocking edge cutting deeper. “Oh shit! So I’m right?” she drawled, her tone all cruel amusement. “You always were a little bitch—of course you’re taking it from behind—”

Drew’s nostrils flared as the words hit him, an image flashing in his mind that he wanted nothing to do with. His anger surged to the surface, his breath coming fast and uneven as the space between them seemed to collapse under the weight of their shared fury.

“Say one more thing,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his grip tightening until the tension between them felt ready to explode. “I dare you.”

But Y/N only smiled, her silence speaking volumes, her eyes daring him to make his next move.

Drew’s chest rose and fell with the force of his breathing, every word she spat at him fueling the fire in his veins. He knew exactly what Y/N's was doing—the low, husky tone, the way she held his gaze with those fiery, unyielding eyes. It was a game she had mastered long ago, one she used to play when she wanted to crawl under his skin, break him down, and leave him craving her.

And damn it, it was working.

His hand shot out, gripping her jaw firmly, forcing her to look up at him. His fingers dug into her skin as his glare bore down on her like daggers. “God, I still hate you,” he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, though the heat behind it was unmistakable.

“Good,” Y/N snapped back, her whiskey-rough voice dripping with venom. “Cause I fucking hate you too.”

Her words hit like a slap, but they didn’t cool his anger—instead, they stoked it. He had almost forgotten how intense she could get when they fought, how raw and unfiltered their arguments became. It reminded him of the past, of how their fiery clashes used to end in bruising kisses and desperate hands. The passion between them was always a double-edged sword, cutting deep but sparking something he couldn’t ignore.

And now, here she was, standing toe-to-toe with him, her eyes blazing, her voice rasping with that whiskey-coated edge, and it was like a damn switch flipped in his head.

“Yeah? You hate me?” Drew growled, his voice rough and low, his grip on her jaw tightening as he leaned closer. His breath fanned her face, the space between them crackling with tension.

“Fucking hate you,” Y/N bit out, her tone raw and scathing, but there was something else there too. Her breath hitched as he leaned even closer, his body crowding hers.

The words were venom, but the heat between them was intoxicating, suffocating. They were locked in a battle neither could walk away from, their anger feeding into something dangerous, something electric. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had fallen away, leaving only them in their storm.

Drew's grip on her hair and hip was rough, possessive, but for a moment, he stopped pulling–his hand just held her there, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. They were too close, much too close, his face hovering inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin.

"Say it one more time," he demanded, his voice hoarse and tight with restraint.

 Y/N's eyes narrowed, and she gritted the words out, her voice cold and biting. "I. Hate. You." Each syllable cut through the air between them, a challenge, a dare.

Drew's body burned with tension, his mind clouded with thoughts he couldn't push away. The wild look in his eyes intensified, and for a split second, he imagined doing what he should never do–taking her then and there. His hand tightened on her hip, pulling her closer, making her feel the raw heat of his desire. He didn't speak for a moment, just stood there, close enough to taste her, as his pulse thudded through his ears. 

"I hate you, too," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, brushing against her lips with every word. The heat between them was palpable, suffocating.

Suddenly, Y/N recoiled, her head hitting the wall of the empty hallway with a soft thud. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she gave him a scathing look. "What-what the fuck is wrong with you? Is this turning you on?!" she demanded, incredulous, her breath shaky.

Drew's eyes flicked to the empty hallway, his senses sharpening. She was right-they were alone, out of sight from the party, hidden in the shadows of the house. His pulse quickened as he looked down at her, pinned between the wall and his body. His grip on her hip tightened again, dragging her even closer. She could feel the evidence of his desire, pressing against her as he trapped her, no escape.

"No... no, you're just an infuriating little tease," he bit out through clenched teeth, trying to stay in control, but every word she spoke, every inch of her body pressed against his, made it harder.

Y/N's lips curled into a mocking smile, and she crossed her arms, staring up at him with a fire in her eyes.

"Tell that to the boner in your pants, Drew."

Her words were a slap to his pride, and he couldn't even deny it. He was harder than he had been in ages, his body betraying him with every second that passed, every breath he took in her presence. He was so close to losing control, to slamming her into the wall and kissing her until they both couldn't breathe.

"I didn't realise I was so transparent..." Drew muttered, a dry laugh escaping his lips. His tone was rough, strained, and distracted, and it took everything in him not to just close the gap between them and end the maddening tension.

In the dimly lit hallway, shadows danced against the walls, cast by the flickering fluorescent lights. The air was thick with tension, twisted by the words exchanged like daggers in the night. Y/N stood with an air of triumph, her lips curling into a mocking smile, eyes glinting with a challenge. 

“You’re so pathetic." she said, her voice dripping with disdain. The room seemed to pulse with her energy, vibrant and alive. Each word was a sharp blade, cutting deeper into him. “Do you like that I hate you? Does it turn you on? Maybe that’s what I should’ve done a year ago, huh? Treated you like the pathetic little bitch boy you really are.” 

The mockery twisted in the air, echoing like the haunting notes of a forgotten song. Y/N tilted her head, pouting as if addressing a child caught in a moment of irreparable shame. “That what you want, bitch boy? Odessa not treating you shitty enough?” 

Every syllable dripped with contempt. She was the predator, and he—Drew, in this moment—found himself the prey, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. He had always reveled in his dominance, in being the one to command the room, but now she toyed with him like a cat playing with a wounded mouse. 

She watched him, delighting in the flush creeping up his neck, the way he struggled to maintain his composure, a veneer of arrogance clinging to him like a well-worn mask. Even as he feigned indifference, the truth was clear—his body betrayed him with a raging hardness, an embarrassing truth he couldn’t reconcile. 

Drew, usually so untouchable, felt like a spectre trapped in his own thoughts. This interaction was all wrong; he was the one who held all the cards. She was supposed to be begging for his attention, not striding away with such confidence, and every fibre of his being recoiled at the sudden shift in their dynamic. 

“Yeah—yeah that’s what I thought,” Y/N said, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at her lips as she assessed his silence, the power dynamics visibly shifting. She turned her back to him, her confidence almost palpable as she began to saunter elegantly away, each step an affront to his pride.

“That’s it? Just walk away?” he called after her, voice rough, almost desperate. He watched her, torn between admiration and resentment at her breathtaking poise. The very foundation of their relationship felt like it was crumbling. “You can’t talk smack like that and then just walk away… come on, Y/N, that’s not fair—” 

For a moment, she paused, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. The challenge hung heavy in the air, and the lingering silence wrapped around them like a shroud. 

“—Watch me.”

Without a backward glance, she raised her middle finger high, her posture exuding defiance, before disappearing down the hallway, leaving him with nothing but confusion and bitterness. The echo of her heels faded, but the imprint of her words remained, seeping into the very marrow of his pride as he stood there, feeling as though the world had turned upside down.

                 —After her performance of “it’s ok, I’m ok”—

The dimly lit bar thrummed with the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses, but for Drew, the world outside faded into an obscure blur. His gaze remained fixed on the small stage at the front, where she poured out her heart and soul, lyrics dripping with emotion that felt all too personal. Each note struck like a hammer against his chest, resonating with the enormity of the unspoken between them. He could feel the weight of her anger like a heavy cloak draped over their shared history, one laced with moments both exquisite and excruciating.

She stood there, radiant and furious, her voice slicing through the air. How could she hold such fury and beauty simultaneously? Drew’s heart raced, a mix of admiration and regret pounding in syncopation with the beat of the music—a primal reminder of what had been lost, yet fluttering with the thrill of what might still be.

When the final note faded into applause, Drew found himself drowning in the swirl of bodies, each one like a wave that could sweep him away and drown him in the chaos. He was desperate for her, craving clarity amid the confusion swirling in his mind. After what felt like an eternity, he succumbed to the weight of mixed emotions and found himself at the bar, seeking solace at the bottom of a glass that appeared deceptively comforting.

He sank deeper into his thoughts, how the night had spiralled from exhilaration to frustration, anger to longing. The alcohol numbed the edges, turning his world fuzzy and warm, yet his heart whispered that this moment was anything but resolved. As he hunched over his half-empty glass, he barely recognized how much he had needed this—this space, the drink, and yet, most of all, her presence.

“How’d you like my song?” Her voice chimed behind him, familiar and sharp, an electric current that coursed through his veins. 

Drew’s eyes closed for a fleeting moment before reality crashed into him. He turned slowly, the room spinning with the liquor, and found her standing there—an enchanting silhouette framed by the faint glow of bar lights. The formal black dress clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve he had tried so hard to forget. He swallowed hard, a mix of admiration and guilt knotting in his throat.

“Which one?” he replied dryly, raising his glass as if it were a shield against the vulnerability mixing in his chest.

“Both,” she answered, her smile cutting through the layers of tension like a knife through fog.

Drew felt a rush of heat surge through him, not just from the alcohol but from the intensity of her look, the challenge lingering in the air between them. They were two people caught in the eye of a storm, everything else around them fading, leaving only the truth of what lay unspoken. Drew could feel the weight of her gaze, the layers of accusation and yearning in her eyes. This night was far from over, and the melody of their tumultuous connection was playing on loop—a reminder that sometimes, the most painful songs were the ones that resonated the deepest.

The dim light of the bar flickered like a hesitant heartbeat, casting shadows that danced around them as if unwilling spectators to the emotional tempest brewing at their table. Drew leaned back against the cool surface, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, which felt more substantial than the reality unfolding before him. He scoffed, taking an appraising measure of her—his eyes flitted down her form, pausing on the curves that the fitted dress clung to like a second skin. 

She was enchanting, even when she didn't mean to be, and in that moment, he was painfully aware that he should not be feeling this drawn to her. But the alcohol coursing through his veins blurred the edges of reason and made the alluring figure before him even harder to dismiss. 

“The first one was catchy,” he replied, the words spilling out dryly, laced with an irritation he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Yeah, it is. It’s also very true. I’m not into you anymore, Drew. Let’s just get that straight,” she retorted, nonchalance drenching her tone like thick syrup. A casual shrug accompanied her dismissal, further igniting the confusion simmering within him. 

There was a peculiar sense of calm in her voice that unsettled him, like the eerie silence before a storm. The sharp pang of rejection mingled with anger, swirling through him like an unpredictable tide. How could she sound so composed about losing something she had once clung to with fervour? 

“How could you just suddenly not be into me?” he shot back, intensity sharpening his features as he turned fully to face her. His eyes narrowed in desperate search of the truth hidden behind her façade.

“Suddenly? It’s been a year,” she countered, her incredulity palpable, as if he had just voiced the most absurd notion.

“Yeah, but… you wanted me so badly, for so long,” he murmured, the frustration weaving through his voice like a thread pulled taut. He held her gaze, their eyes locking, battling emotions bubbling to the surface. Anger simmered within him at her apparent indifference—how could she let him go so easily? Frustration gnawed at his insides, a bitter aftertaste lingering from far too many nights spent tangled in longing.

“What does it matter? You never liked me back in the first place,” she laughed, the sound edged with disbelief and tinged with hurt, and it cut through him like a blade, sharp and unwelcome.

In that instant, the chaotic undercurrents of their shared history surged forth, thrumming with unspoken words and buried feelings. He felt the walls he had carefully constructed around his heart begin to tremble, as the vulnerabilities and insecurities he had refused to acknowledge clawed their way to the surface. How was it that they could share so many moments yet stand so utterly apart? The tension between them had shifted, now a weapon forged of resentment and longing, and he couldn’t tell if it was meant to hurt or to heal.

The air in the dimly lit room crackled with tension, a palpable undercurrent as she leaned back against the bar, a playful smile dancing on her lips. He stood rigid, a storm brewing inside him, every laugh that escaped her only serving to stoke the flames of his frustration. Her laugh—light and airy—felt like a slap to his face, igniting a fury he didn’t fully understand. His fingers curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms as he gritted his teeth.

"You were obsessed with me," he said, the words escaping his lips like venom. "You chased after me for the longest time, even when all I did was insult you and tell you no."

Her response was laced with sarcasm, infuriatingly calm. "Yeah. I’m aware." She rolled her eyes, the amusement in her tone cutting deeper than any insult could. The way she carried herself, so detached and yet vibrant, made the air thicken with an unspoken challenge. "And? Did you expect me to stay ‘obsessed’ with you forever?"

He felt his blood boil, each casual laugh of hers striking a nerve. It was as if she were mocking him, dismissing everything they had once shared, reduced to mere jokes. "I expected you to care," his voice dropped to a low murmur, laden with the weight of unfulfilled emotions as he locked his gaze onto hers, searching for any hint of regret, any sign of the girl he once knew so well.

The moment hung between them, electric and charged, until her smile softened, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability breaking through her facade. She tilted her head, regarding him with a mixture of pity and something else he couldn’t decipher. "I did care. And I paid the price."

In that instant, his heart stuttered. The walls he had built around his emotions began to crumble under the raw honesty in her gaze. She had cared, and yet somewhere along the way, the passion he had craved had turned cold, and now it was as if they were two strangers in a missed connection, trapped in the ruins of a past neither could escape.

Drew leaned against the polished wood of the bar, his heart racing as he watched her. The light that had once danced in her eyes—so bright and full of affection—had flickered out, leaving only an unreadable expression. She had once been head over heels for him, but now she seemed to regard him like a stranger. 

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his emotions settle in his throat. “If you cared,” he said, his voice quiet yet laced with desperation, “then how could you just stop caring? Just like that?” 

She turned slightly, her eyes drifting back to him with an unsettling calmness. “I realised my worth,” she replied, an edge in her voice. “Met someone who could handle the way I loved.”

Her casual tone felt like a slap to his face, and he could feel his blood begin to boil beneath his skin. With every word she spoke, the anger rolled through him like an incoming tide, threatening to drown his better judgement. “So I wasn’t… good enough?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, ice forming around his words. “I couldn’t handle you?”

“Yes. You treated me like shit, and we were only just friends,” she shot back, the bruise of her words hitting him hard. “You used to laugh with Odessa about the fact that I genuinely loved you. So no, Drew. You definitely don’t have the maturity to love the way I do.”

He could hardly breathe as the truth of her words hung in the air between them, heavy and unforgiving. The burden of their history crashed down on him—a million moments, a myriad of shared laughter, shattered in an instant. She downed her glass, the sound resonating like a closing chapter, and turned to walk away. 

The sight of her retreating silhouette ripped through him. Drew froze for a moment, the realisation settling cold in his chest. She was walking away as if their connection had meant nothing, and that thought cut deeper than he wished to acknowledge. Her casual dismissal ignited a fury inside him; the anger morphed into desperation, and he felt something inside him snap. 

As she moved effortlessly towards the hallway, her head held high, it felt like the final straw. The need for confrontation surged forth, drowning out his reservations. With a swift movement, he slammed his glass onto the bar, the noise cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a scream.

“Wait!” he called out, pushing himself to his feet and following her, determination pooling in his gut. 

Each stride felt like a battle against the storm of emotions swirling in his chest. He navigated through the dim corridor behind her, heart pounding as his thoughts raced. The shadows around them seemed to warp and bend, echoing the spiralling connection they once had. 

The hallway stretched before them like a chasm, a barrier between desire and heartbreak. She sauntered forward, each step purposeful, her mind focused on escape—the lift at the end of the corridor promising a momentary sanctuary from the eruption of emotions that swirled inside her. But behind her footsteps, the sound of his hurried movement pierced through the tension, igniting a flame of defiance within her.

Drew was relentless, his heart pounding in sync with the fury that ignited his every nerve ending. He chased after her with an urgency that seemed almost desperate. Reaching out, he grasped her arm roughly, pulling her back so that she faced him, their eyes locking in a collision of unrefined emotion. 

“You didn’t even deny that you loved me,” he accused, his harsh tone slicing through the air between them. The fiery intensity of his gaze burned into her, but beneath it lay a tumult of guilt and regret that he couldn’t hide.

She stared back, unflinching. “I don’t have to deny it. I did love you, Drew. I’m not ashamed of that,” she snapped, her voice rising in defiance. “The only thing I’m ashamed of is all those damn years I spent being your friend, putting up with your ungrateful ass while you treated me like I was gum beneath your shoe when Odessa was around.”

With a fierce yank, she pulled her arm from his grasp, stepping back, the distance between them not just physical but emotional, an abyss that felt insurmountable. 

In that moment, realisations flooded over him like a wave. He couldn’t deny what she was saying. The truth struck him hard—he had treated her poorly, clinging to denial and ignorance while pushing away the very love and adoration she had offered without condition. The weight of his actions bore down on him, a heavy cloak of regret that he felt unworthy to wear.

But his anger was a tangled mess, fueled by more than just her accusation. He was furious, not only at her for seemingly moving on but at himself for being the one who had driven her away. Matted feelings of jealousy and inadequacy mingled within him, and he seethed in frustration. How could she have let go so easily? How could she walk away when he suddenly longed for her presence?

As silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the soft ticking of time, she shook her head in disbelief, capturing his attention. He stood there, dumbstruck, the expression on his face a painful mix of confusion and vulnerability that sent waves of exasperation coursing through her.

Ugh, she thought, incredulity taking over. The sight of him standing there, lost and torn, made her roll her eyes in irritation. She turned away, dismissing the pull of his despair. 

With a storm of unresolved tension swirling around them, Drew’s grip tightened as he spun her back to face him, the weight of his anger palpable in the air. The wall was cool against her back, a stark contrast to the fire igniting in her chest.

“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the narrow hallway. 

In response, she felt the fury that had simmered for too long rise to the surface, bursting forth in a desperate rage. 

“I should have turned my back on you ages ago!” 

The words shot out of her mouth, a battle cry against the years of pain and frustration buried deep in her heart. In a moment fueled by raw emotion, she shoved him away with all the strength she could muster.

The force of her push stunned him, a harsh scoff escaping his lips as he stumbled back, disbelief momentarily erasing the anger etched on his face. But the shock quickly transformed into something far more potent—a surge of rage that pulsed through his veins like wildfire. 

“You don’t get to just shove me like that!” he shouted, his jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides. Drew stepped toward her again, closing the gap, invading her space. “You should’ve run from me a long time ago.”

“Well I did it now, haven’t I?!” The incredulity in her voice matched the intensity in her eyes. “And I’m SO glad you’re not in my life anymore—“

Her laughter, sharp and scornful, cut through the tension like a knife. She placed a hand on her heart, mocking the very relief she felt.

“I mean seriously—I’m so glad I am not faced with having to deal with your bitch boy attitude anymore—“ She snapped at him, the words infused with the bitterness of their shared history.

His breaths quickened, tension coiling tightly in his chest. This was not how their exchanges used to go; usually, she wouldn’t strike so hard or hit so true. She was saying the kind of things that would’ve rolled off his back once, but now they burrowed beneath his skin, igniting the innate frustration refocusing his fury.

“Yeah, you’re so relieved,” he shot back, his voice low and edged with venom, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that could ignite a fire. “Because you’ve found someone else now, right? Someone who can handle all your BULLSHIT!”

“Yeah, ya know what? I did!” she retorted, each word an arrow aimed straight at his heart. “And he is so much better than you as a person! Because you suck! You suck, Drew! You’re only nice to people you CHOOSE to be nice to!”

They stood there, their voices overlapping in a symphony of anguish and wrath. Each accusation only fueled the other’s fire, a volcanic eruption of raw feelings that had been trapped beneath the surface for too long. 

“Look at you,” he spat, his hands shaking slightly as the fury coursed through him, battling against the flicker of vulnerability that threatened to break free. “You think you’ve found better, but I know this is all you’ve got. You think you can just toss me aside like yesterday’s trash?”

She shook her head, disbelief mingling with irritation. “You were the one who treated me like that! You made me feel like I was nothing, like I didn’t even matter. And now you’re angry because I finally left?” 

There was a silence, charged with the weight of everything unspoken, their breaths mingling in the tense air as they stared each other down. 

Drew’s heart raced, his insides a whirlwind of regret and unresolved longing. “You just don’t get it, do you?” he murmured, the bitterness in his tone fading ever so slightly. “I pushed you because I didn’t know how—how to deal with how I felt. I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn't mean to what? Hurt me?” She interjected fiercely, crossing her arms defiantly. “You didn’t think I deserved more?”

The truth in her accusation hung heavy between them, and Drew clenched his jaw, the realisation hitting him like a punch to the gut. 

“Maybe I didn’t,” he admitted, voice dropping to a whisper, tinged with the bitterness of truth, “but I’m not okay with how this ended. With you hating me.” 

The subtle change in his demeanour caught her off guard, causing her to falter for a brief moment before the armour of anger enveloped her once again. "Hate you? No, Drew, I can’t hate someone who never gave me the chance to matter.” 

And with that, the fight seemed to deflate, leaving a hollow echo of what had been. Their breaths mingled in the air, emotions boiling just beneath the surface, each of them facing the remnants of their once unbreakable bond. 

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a cold glow over the small, confined space where tension had accumulated like a storm cloud. With each breath taken, the air thickened, pregnant with unspoken words and grudges long held.

“You think he’s so kind?” Drew spat, his voice dripped with scorn as he advanced, changing the subject and closing the distance between them until their bodies nearly touched. “So sweet and gentle? He probably lets you walk all over him!”

“Walk all over him?” she shot back, incredulity fueling her retort. “Is that your critique? Because if anyone knows about being pushed around, it’s you!" The memories swirled—a past of her always acquiescing and succumbing to his whims, even when they were merely friends. “You let Odessa walk all over you, and now, you think you’ve earned the right to judge me?”

A flicker of hurt crossed his features at the mere mention of Odessa. His jaw clenched tightly as her words stung like barbs. The fact they were even being compared grated on him, invoking a deep, seething anger that coursed through his veins.

“Don’t pretend to understand my relationship with her,” he shot back, his fists clenching at his sides, his presence a looming shadow. 

“You don’t know anything about me!” she replied, each word like a bullet aimed at his heart. “Stay in your lane, Starkey.”

He leaned closer, the heat of their animosity palpable. “You brought up my relationship first,” he hissed. “Is it jealousy that has you acting like this?”

“Jealous? Of what?” she spat incredulously, the disbelief evident in her tone. “Your irresponsibility? Your immaturity? Your utter disregard for anyone but yourself?”

“Jealous,” he reiterated, the word hanging heavily in the air between them. “Jealous because I never cared about you like you cared about me. You wasted years of your life chasing after a guy who never saw you for who you are.”

His words pierced through her defences, causing some invisible emotional shield to crumble. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, a smile of painful acknowledgment flickering on her lips as she stepped back, her heart heavy with muted anguish.

He met her gaze and instantly recognized the devastation he’d unleashed. A realisation crashed down upon him: hurting her felt worse than he could bear. It was as if he had lost something he hadn’t even realised he valued until it began to slip from his grasp.

‘I knew this was a mistake.’ She whispered to herself.

“What are you talking about?” he murmured, the edge of his voice softening as a hint of vulnerability broke through his bravado. He searched her eyes for some reassurance, for signs that the damage wasn’t as profound as he feared.

“You are my biggest mistake,” she whispered with quiet finality, stepping away from him, leaving a chasm filled with their unspoken words.

The truth of her statement sent chills racing through him, and the realisation unsettled him. He had chased after her anger, thrived on her attention, yet now was confronted with the stark reality that the chase had come at a devastating cost. “What?” The word escaped his lips in a breath, almost a plea.

“I wish I’d never met you.” The weight of her words pressed upon him like a leaden shroud. “You’re a bad person, Drew. I can’t believe I fell in love with you.”

His chest constricted painfully, as if she had reached deep within and squeezed the very essence of him. Here was a woman who had loved him, who had given and sacrificed, and he couldn’t recall ever treating her with the reverence she deserved. 

“Yeah. You and me both,” he replied, the bitterness in his tone betraying a deeper fracture seeping through.

An oppressive silence stretched between them, heavy with unfulfilled longing and regret. The air crackled with tension as he finally summoned the courage to ask what he’d long avoided. “Why do you think I’m a bad person?”

“Because you enjoy hurting me,” she said, her voice steady yet piercing.

Her honesty hit him like a wave, oppressive and unrelenting. For so long, he had struggled to understand their tumultuous connection, always toeing the line between love and contempt. She had always returned to his side, accepting his jabs as part of their cruel dance, yet in that acceptance now loomed the haunting realisation that he had reveled in her pain.

His throat constricted, the truth too heavy for denial, as he swallowed hard against the bitter tide of her words. And then she added, as if the weight couldn’t get heavier, “And you liked it when I kept coming back.”

His jaw clenched, her revelations spiralling through him like shards of glass. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, reluctantly admitting defeat as self-loathing crept into his heart. “You always did.”

“Because I loved you,” she replied, a wistful tone mingling with the bitterness of those memories.

The admission landed like a heavy stone, ricocheting wildly within him. She had poured forth her heart, unearthing a part of her he felt dangerously unworthy of. “How could you have ever loved me?” he whispered, barely audible against their shared past.

“I don’t know.” The shrug she offered was faint, the defeat palpable.

“Maybe you’re just stupid,” he snapped, the bitterness rolling off his tongue like poison, but it was directed at himself as much as her.

“Don’t take it out on me because you’re angry with yourself, Drew.” 

She turned, moving to leave, yet he caught her wrist, pulling her back, both pained and desperate. “You don’t get to judge me!” he growled, the edge returning to his voice, his grip a frantic plea for her to stay.

“Judge you? You think this is me judging you?” She scoffed, the lightning tension between them palpable. “I’m just pointing out the facts, asshole!”

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, his voice low, not wanting to lose her, even as he felt the weight of his own words pressing against his conscience. 

“Well? What’s that to you? That’s in the past, Drew! I don’t love you anymore!” she shouted, the truth of it cutting through the spiralling chaos.

“Good!” he snapped back, a childish retort, fueled by anger rather than sense. “I never loved you!”

“Great!” she responded, the sharpness in her voice echoing his emotions, yet hers felt like a sword piercing through. 

“Fine!” he exploded, even gathering up the remnants of his anger. “You were just a nuisance to me, I tolerated you! You were a good little lapdog, always ready, but I never loved you. I never will!”

As his words ricocheted back at her, she blinked rapidly, her heart a battlefield of anger and disappointment. 

He held her gaze, the tumult of self-loathing spilling over. She’d always been there, nurturing and steadfast, but he had carelessly dismissed her. “You were convenient,” he spat. “I only kept you around when I needed you.”

Without thinking, she yanked her arm free from him, feeling the rush of freedom. “Thank you. This is exactly what I needed from you,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words, a protective armour pulled tight around her heart.

He winced, anger and frustration flooding his veins again. She was turning away, and a wild impulse kicked within him, wanting her back, yet all he could muster was a jaded response. “You’re welcome,” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Great!” She pressed the lift button with a force that echoed the tumult within their hearts. 

The atmosphere in the elevator was charged with tension, heavy enough to suffocate. He stood still, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, eyes fixed on her as she furiously jabbed at the buttons. Each clang echoed in the confined space, a symphony of frustration. It was self-destructive, he knew that—he was playing the villain and hurting her on purpose. But deep down, beneath layers of pent-up anger and regret, a soft voice whispered a desperate hope: let this moment stretch. 

“Fucking—fuck—” She cursed under her breath, her voice laced with irritation, each word like a knife slicing through the heated silence.

He couldn't help but observe her with a mixture of anger and concern, the way her fist clenched around the metal button, the sharp exhalations that escaped her lips. His heart raced as he internally warred with himself, torn between the urge to reach out and the need to remain aloof.

BANG. BANG. BANG. She slammed her palm against the buttons again, masking her tumultuous emotions under a façade of fury, but he could see right through it.

With a gesture of resolve, he loosened his arms, letting his hand drift delicately toward her wrist. The moment felt electric, the air vibrating with unspoken truths. “Stop,” he commanded, his voice gravelly, a plea disguised as an order. “Stop hitting the goddamn button. The elevator’s not going to come any faster.”

“Fuck you,” she shot back, rolling her eyes with enough disdain to match the fury swirling around them. 

He knew he had it coming—the searing rebuke was hers to give. But the words clawed at him, stirring something dark and volatile within. “I know I deserve that,” he admitted through gritted teeth, trying to suppress the anger simmering beneath his surface. “But you need to stop acting like a toddler.”

“You don’t know what you deserve,” she retorted, her eyes flashing with indignation. “You deserve to have someone take a shit in your mouth for how filthy you speak to me.”

A wide grin crept across her face as she delivered her insult, but he felt a flicker of admiration amidst the anger. “Yeah? Well maybe you deserve to have somebody take a piss down your throat,” he snapped back, unable to stop the venom slipping from his lips.

“Please, I’m not the one who can’t make a decision on his own because he's too busy with his thumb up his ass like a good little boy,” she shot right back, the mocking tone hanging in the air like thick smoke.

Her words dug deep into him, striking a nerve he thought he had buried. The truth stung, a bitter taste in his mouth. “I never had any trouble making a decision when it came to you,” he countered fiercely. “I chose Odessa over you every single time!”

“Oh brother, say something new. Ya boring,” she scoffed, impervious to the storm clouds brewing in his chest.

Heat ignited within him, a furnace of rage fueled by her calm demeanour. She was infuriatingly nonchalant, dismissing everything he said as if it were little more than a passing breeze. He stepped forward, closing the distance until they were inches apart. “You're a pathetic, annoying pest,” he snarled. “You were always buzzing around me, pestering me. YOU always did what i asked, i never asked for your help”

“Exactly, because you’ve never had to work for anything, I always did it for you. Seriously, you couldn’t even send back food without me.” she laughed mockingly, but the laughter echoed with an undercurrent of pain.

What she said ricocheted around his mind. It was true, but hearing her articulate it so plainly made him feel exposed, like an open wound. “Yeah, maybe I’ve never had to work,” he admitted grudgingly, “but I’ve never lowered myself to being a doormat. I’ve never let myself love someone so blindly to let them treat me like dirt.”

“So, you do acknowledge that you are a bad person?” she taunted, a smirk playing across her lips.

His heart lurched at the truth of it, and he flinched. The walls he'd built to protect himself began to crumble. “Yeah, I’m a pretty shitty person,” he snapped. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You are such a pushover, and you do exactly what people say because you can’t think for yourself. Exhibit A!” She gestured between them theatrically, but the underlying pain was evident.

Her words struck like daggers, twisting deep inside him. “A pushover?! You’re one to talk!” He stepped closer, fists clenching tighter as he confronted her. “You spent years following me around. You never once had the guts to say no, to stand up for yourself!”

“Well, I’m standing tall for myself now, and you can’t stand it!” she yelled, eyes blazing with defiance. “Because you cannot live in a world where I am not obsessed with you! Admit it! You want me to still be in love with you!”

A moment of silence engulfed them after her words. It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the hallway as reality hung heavy between them. His chest tightened, and he was left grappling with the realisation that maybe she was right.

He took a step back as laughter filled the silence, but it wasn't joyous; it was strained and bitter. She was right; she was strong now, but somewhere within him, that nagging ache for her was still alive. He clenched his jaw, frustration and yearning warring within him, and as the weight of the moment settled over both of them, he realised there was no escaping the mess they had created together. 

Drew stood there, his breath catching in his throat, as she faced him defiantly. The tension hung between them like a thick fog, almost suffocating. Her stance was strong, unwavering, and it filled him with a strange mix of emotions. A wave of relief washed over him at the realisation that she wouldn’t back down, that she still had the fire he’d once admired. But then she pierced him with her words—you want me to still be in love with you—and it hit him like ice water on his skin, jolting him with its truth. 

“Why the hell would I want you to still be in love with me? What would I gain from that, huh?” he snapped, bitterness spilling from his lips as he tried to mask the tightening in his chest.

“I dunno, Joseph. You’re the one who feels that way,” she shrugged, the movement light and dismissive, her back now turned to him as she turned toward the elevator doors. A part of him wanted to scream, to chase after her, but he stood rooted to the spot, anger and frustration coursing through him.

“I do not!” The words left his mouth harsher than intended, and before he knew what was happening, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a mix of desperation and rage. 

“I don’t—” he started, but just as quickly as the words began to flow, they rushed to a stop. The air felt thick, and he swallowed hard, grappling with himself in a torrent of conflicting thoughts.

“Don’t. What?” she growled, her eyes narrowing, a challenge simmering just beneath the surface, daring him to continue. 

Every heartbeat thundered in his ears as he fought against the tremor in his voice. “I don’t… I—” He was caught in a web of his own making, words choking him, the truth stinging at the back of his mind.

“What? Say it. Open that pretty mouth and say it.” She raised her eyebrows, mocking him, her tone dripping with the satisfaction of having backed him into a corner.

He hesitated, that penetrating stare causing him to falter. She was right there, baiting him, and yet the truth felt like a heavy stone lodged in his throat. All he could do was swallow again, helpless, his heart racing so violently he thought it might just burst from the strain. He felt trapped, cornered by her words and his own emotions.

“Fuck you,” he retorted, his gaze fierce as it locked onto hers. But even as he said it, the strength behind the words felt flimsy, like a wounded puppy trying to growl. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” she tilted her head, her expression one of triumphant satisfaction, as if she held all the strings in this dangerous game they were playing.

Drew felt the weight of her gaze, each heartbeat echoing the truth he was too afraid to voice. She was right. Somewhere deep down, he craved her affection, wanted her to still care. Her indifference cut deeper than any insult, striking at the core of who he was. 

Drew clenched his jaw, palpable frustration radiating from his rigid frame. His hands curled tightly into fists at his sides, each knuckle white with agitation. How dare she stand there so calmly, so smugly, while he wrestled with the turmoil inside? 

But there she was, unyielding and unapologetic, challenging his authority without uttering a single word. It set off a fire within him, a mix of anger and an inexplicable allure that drew him toward her. The thought of her defiance sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through him. He needed to regain control. 

With a sudden movement, he stepped forward, closing the space between them. Before she could react, he wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her against his chest, trapping her in his hold. 

"What the—" she gritted out, shocked and bewildered.

The moment she pressed against him, warmth radiating from her body, it was like a flicker igniting a flame within him. Here she was, against him, familiar yet inexplicably foreign. Beneath all the fighting and the harsh words, this was an undeniable truth: he had missed this physical connection.

He swallowed hard, battling a tumult of emotions, his heart racing in sync with the electric tension. Looking down into her wide eyes, he realised he was losing his composure. In a raw, hoarse whisper, he muttered, “Just shut up.”

“Make me!” she snapped back, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

Drew’s breath hitched at her audacity, the defiance only stoking the fire of his frustration and something deeper, something he had no intention of admitting to himself. 

The elevator dinged, an unsettling sound that reverberated through the hallway, but the tension between them was far thicker than any surrounding noise. He stood there, fury and desire coiling within him like a tightly wound spring, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he acted on impulse, grabbing her and pulling her harshly against him. 

“What the—” The words barely escaped her lips before he cut her off, crashing his mouth against hers with a fervour that could set the world ablaze. The kiss was anything but tender; it was a maelstrom of frustration, resentment, and longing. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting her as though he were drowning in the very essence of her.

She pushed weakly against his chest, her breath hitching as his lips moved fervently, a mix of anger and passion improvising a wild rhythm between them. Did she hate him? Did she even know? It was all an emotional hurricane—his heart raced to scary, new peaks while his mind spun backward into memories of every argument, every tense word exchanged that had led to this very moment.

He couldn’t restrain the frustrated noise that slipped from his throat as she struggled. With a sudden, voracious need, he shifted his grip, letting go of her chin only to tangle his fingers in her dark hair. He tilted her head back, forcing her to surrender, deepening the kiss fervently while their breaths intertwined, filled with desperation.

Then, as if hours had passed, he pulled away, just long enough to gasp for breath, a fine line of saliva tethering them like a fragile connection that felt both thrilling and terrifying. His gaze locked onto hers, and in that instant, he caught a glimpse of disbelief painted across her features, her lipstick smudged and her wild hair dishevelled, an intoxicating sight that made his heart thunder violently.

She blinked slowly, eyes wide in shock, tracing the remnants of their kiss that lingered on his bottom lip. A full rush of heat surged through him—not of embarrassment but a quickened realisation. He hadn’t captured her to silence her; he had kissed her because, for that single moment, he couldn't contain the need anymore. He wanted her, wanted to bridge the chasm of emotion that surrounded them.

“I…,” she stammered, then broke away, forcibly shoving him from her as she stared at her hand, as if it could shield her from the reality of what had just happened. "What the hell was that?"

He watched her scramble, the panic on her face igniting an uncontrollable anger within him. How dare she act as if she could erase this moment? The space between them wobbled with unsaid words and unresolved feelings. His heart wasn't sorry, nor was his body, but his frustration boiled hotter, mingling with the unwanted sensation of regret. He took a step towards her.

“Don’t—” She snapped, pointing at him in a desperate demand to stay back, but it only sent a flash of indignation through his veins. He wasn’t about to yield.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled, a rough edge sharpening his tone. Each step he took toward her amplified the tension, the space constricting tighter around them like a noose.

“Fuck you!” she shot back, anger and disbelief casting sharp daggers in her eyes as she thrust her hands into the air.

He couldn’t contain a twisted smile that bled more contempt than amusement. It rippled through him, igniting everything. “No, you fuck you. You’re the one acting like you didn’t enjoy it too. Don’t pretend you have any moral high ground here!” 

“God! You’re so fucking delusional!” Her words hung between them, heavy with anger and frustration, every syllable echoing an undeniable truth that tied together all that they had become.

They were caught in an unyielding storm, each determined to stand their ground, knowing that the truth lay just beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.

The air between them crackled with electricity, thick and oppressive, as he stood there, eyes blazing with an intensity that hung heavy in the small space surrounding them. The lingering taste of their kiss was the last remnant of what had just transpired, yet here they were, locked in a battle of words that mirrored their entwined feelings. 

“You’re delusional if you’re trying to tell me that you didn’t just forget every single thing for a moment when I kissed you,” he snapped, his heart pounding in a rhythm that echoed the truth he was reluctant to face. He was painfully aware of her reaction—not just in her eyes, wide with disbelief, but how her body had yielded to his just moments before. She had enjoyed it, just as much as he had.

“You—” Her voice trembled with a furious indignation that only seemed to stoke the flames fanning within him. “You—GOD!” The words rushed from her lips in an exasperated gasp.

He revelled in the way confusion painted her features, watching as she grappled for words through the haze of frustration. It was a twisted satisfaction he couldn’t deny; she had become a puzzle he had long wished to solve, and he felt utterly triumphant at having thrown her off balance.

“God—you know why I would never date you!?” Her finger jabbed in the air, punctuating her rhetorical question like a knife.

“Why?” He shot back, a scoff escaping him, his fists coiling into tight balls at his sides. He could already predict her answer, but he craved to hear her voice it. This was the moment he had yearned for—her cornered, finally stripped of her defences, with nowhere to run.

“Because YOU. DRIVE ME. NUTS. STARKEY!” she screamed, her fury palpable, as her nose nearly brushed against his. 

“And you—” he retorted with ferocity, “drive me nuts! You make me crazier than anyone else in this entire world! You, with your big eyes and stupid dark hair and your dumb laugh and goddamn stupid smile! You drive me insane, Y/N, and you have for years!” 

The words were tumbling out of him, each one ratcheting up the tension between them, an unfiltered outburst of pent-up emotion. 

“Yeah?! Well it sure sounds like you’re obsessed with me!” she yelled back, fire blazing behind her eyes, daring him to deny it.

“I am obsessed with you!” he shot back, his voice going an octave higher, the veil of carefully guarded emotions finally torn away. “I’m obsessed with the fact that you followed me around for years and I never realised that you were in love with me! And now that I do know, I can’t do anything about it because you’ve finally moved on!”

The words hung in the air like an ominous cloud, and as they slipped from his mouth, he felt a moment of disorientation, stumbling as her expression shifted from anger to pure disbelief. 

“What?!” she managed to utter, her eyes wide, searching his face for any sign that this was a cruel joke. 

He abruptly stopped shouting, taking a step back, a bewildered silence enveloping them. He hadn’t intended to let that slip, hadn’t meant to lay bare the vulnerability buried deep inside of him. But there it was, floating between them and demanding acknowledgement.

“You heard me,” he said, voice low and rough, the weight of his confession settling over them like a heavy cloak. 

Y/N’s incredulous look bore into him, a tumult of emotions swirling in her gaze—shock, anger, realisation, and perhaps something more unabashedly raw. It was all there, and for the first time, he could see the layers of misunderstanding beginning to peel away. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came, leaving them suspended in that moment, the world outside forgotten, as the truth hung like a thread dangling waiting to be pulled taut.

“No. No, I don’t think so.” 

Her voice was steady, defiant, as she crossed her arms, every muscle in her body radiating cold rejection. He could feel her glare cut through the air between them like a knife, sharp and unyielding.

He clenched his jaw, grappling with the pounding in his chest as he took a step closer, invading her space. “Yes, you did,” he shot back, his voice sharp and strained. “You heard me; you just don’t want to admit it.”

“I did hear you. I also know that you’re a big fat liar, and I fucking hate you,” she snapped, the words biting and raw, echoing with her fury.

“I’m a liar?” His voice lifted incredulously, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You think I’m lying when I say that I’m obsessed with you? That you drive me nuts? I’m being honest—for the first goddamn time in my life!”

“Well, I don’t believe you! Because you’re a liar.” Her voice quaked, and she shrugged as if her disdain could physically push him away. “And you are the worst kind of liar. Because your lies sound so much like the truth that it’s impossible for me to tell the difference.”

Her words struck deep, and for a moment, silence loomed between them. He felt his chest heave under the weight of her accusation—she had hit too close to home. She was right: he was good at weaving deception into convictions so convincing they could easily ensnare even the sharpest minds. But with her, that manipulation folded under the pressure of something more profound and real, something he couldn’t fabricate.

“I’m not lying,” he managed to breathe, his voice a rough whisper, each syllable laced with urgency.

“I. Don’t. Fucking. Believe. You.” She seethed, her nose nearly brushing against his, every word a challenge, a proclamation laced with the tumult between them.

He could feel the intensity of her gaze, the fire and disbelief swirling in her eyes, leaving no room for doubt. She was so close that every detail of her—every curve, every quirk—was amplified in his vision, and with the intoxicating scent of her skin flooding his senses, he fought a desperate urge gnawing at him.

And yet, beneath the fury and resentment, something deeper shimmered in her gaze—a flicker of vulnerability that tugged at his heart. Goddamnit, he wanted her more than he'd ever allowed himself to admit.

“God, look at you,” he muttered, his eyes sweeping across her face, drinking in every nuance of her expression, grappling with how close they were. She was a force of nature, fierce and untamed, and at that moment, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The world around them faded into oblivion; all that remained was the air swelling between them, thick with unresolved tension. He took another step forward, closing the space between them completely, surrendering to the magnetic pull that drew him to her.

As she inhaled deeply, he felt it. The moment hung suspended in time as she leaned in, eyes fluttering shut, and that was it—he broke. All restraint slipped through his fingers like loose sand. He was done with the self-imposed barriers, the hesitant games.

He cupped her face in his hands, capturing her mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss that demanded response. It was desperate and needy, an unguarded collision of emotions that echoed the storm brewing in his soul.

Her reaction was instant—a gasp escaping into his lips as her hands clenched tightly against his dress shirt, caught in the whirlwind of conflicting feelings. Part of her wanted to push him away, to reject everything she felt—and yet, another part was drawn to him, willing to pull him closer, to drown in this moment that teetered between love and hatred.

They were no longer debating the lies; instead, they were entwined in something he had tried to keep buried for far too long. With every push and pull, every heated breath, the truth that had been hiding in the shadows came rushing forth, demanding to be acknowledged. And now, there was no turning back.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound muffled against her lips as she gasped. But he didn’t pull away. No, instead, he pushed himself against her, feeling the heat radiating off her body. His hand slid into her hair, tugging gently but insistently, as if to remind her how long he had been waiting for this moment, how hungry he was—for her.

Months of pent-up desire unleashed in a feverish kiss, rough and unapologetic. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, deep and urgent, while his other hand slipped beneath the neck of her dress, skimming over the bare skin of her shoulder.

She reluctantly sighed into his lips, pouring out all the anger and hurt that had accumulated over the months. She grasped his jaw, tilting his head as she took control, kissing him back with a fervour that surprised even herself.

He groaned again, the sound rising from deep within him, and closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to savour this moment. Finally having her in his arms ignited a fire he thought he had long extinguished. But even in this bliss, he wouldn’t concede dominance so easily; he had been waiting too long for this. 

His hand slid from her cheek down to her throat, holding her in place, arching her neck back slightly, a silent command for her to surrender to him. 

Her lips parted in pleasure beneath the sweet pressure of his grip on her neck.

He seized the opportunity, pushing deeper with his tongue, pulling her flush against him, their bodies merging. The heat between them blazed, and he let out an involuntary growl at how wild this felt, how desperately he craved her. 

“Drew—” She panted against his mouth, feeling dizzy with hunger and want, squeezing his hand around her throat lightly, as if daring him to tighten his hold even more. She had forgotten the world outside, the blaring music from the after-party just a few feet away. All that existed was him and this intoxicating moment.

Her moan was a siren’s call, so deliciously erotic it stole his breath. He felt his fingers grip her throat tighter, and when he opened his eyes slightly, he registered the reality where they still stood in the hallway. The thought of someone witnessing their gasps and murmurs sent a thrill mixed with a touch of anxiety coursing through him.

He wanted her with an urgency that was bordering on madness, but this wasn’t the place. Reluctantly, he pulled back, panting heavily as he spoke, his voice growling with need. “Come to my room.”

Dazed, she blinked lazily up at him, confusion flitting through her. “What?” 

The whisper fell from her lips as her hand tangled further in his tousled hair, an instinctual plea for him to come closer again, to kiss her.

He saw the need in her gaze, the way her hand curled through his hair, and it almost broke him. Almost. But he fought the urge, forcing himself to maintain some semblance of composure. His hand slipped from her throat, a wary truce—or perhaps a promise of what was to come.

“My room,” he repeated, his voice deep and almost primal, as he nodded towards the elevator down the hall. “Come with me.”

She closed my eyes, surrendering to the pull of his voice and the electricity crackling between them, letting him guide her.

In that instant, he released her, intertwining his fingers with hers, a tangible connection that anchored them both. Desire thrummed in his veins as he tugged her toward the elevator, every instinct screaming for him to kiss her again, to press her against the wall and lose himself in her. But he forced himself to stay calm, though his heart raced in anticipation, each beat echoing with the promise of what awaited in his room.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and together they stepped inside, the cramped space encasing them like a cocoon of unfiltered tension. The world outside was a distant murmur—one filled with laughter, music, and vibrant life—but here, it was just them and the palpable hunger that hung in the air, waiting to be unleashed.

The moment the elevator doors slid closed, a wave of urgency surged between them. He backed her up against the back wall, his firm body pinning her in place, his hand resting powerfully beside her head. With every breath, he could feel the space between them charged, electric.

His chest heaved with anticipation as his eyes traced her features, roaming from her flushed lips to the vulnerable skin of her neck, and lower, where the tantalising edge of her backless dress teased his senses. 

He couldn’t wait anymore.

Y/N sighed into his lips, feeling the heat of his body pressing into her as her hands explored the tantalising contours of his shoulders, feeling the rigid muscles beneath his suit as she hopelessly leaned into him. Y/N’s backless dress shifted as he pulled her closer, their bodies colliding in a passionate urgency.

A low growl rumbled in his throat with every stroke of her hands over his back, and he kissed her harder, capturing her mouth in a possessive and desperately needy embrace. When she sighed against him, letting her fingers trail up over his stomach, something inside him snapped, igniting a wild hunger. His hands began to roam her back, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her dress, caressing the skin of her bare back with a fervour that bordered on madness.

Y/N arched into him, surrendering completely as she kissed him as sloppily and fervently as she’d always wanted to. The taste of him—heady, intoxicating—consumed her completely.

His hand that had rested against the wall slipped down to grip her waist, pulling her flush against him once more. He could feel the heat of her body through their clothes, a tantalising friction that sent a rush of desire coursing through him. He ground against her as his tongue thrust roughly into her mouth, seeking something deeper, something primal. His other hand slid lower, finding her thigh, where he squeezed her delectable, soft skin.

Y/N whimpered into his lips, overwhelmed by the craving that surged through her, and when the elevator door opened, she found herself instinctively walking him backward out of the lift.

Emerging from the elevator, he allowed her to walk him backward, their bodies still locked together. He could feel her every inch pressed against him, the warmth of her skin igniting a fire within. His lips detoured from her mouth, moving downwards, kissing her jaw, then to the tantalising curve of her neck, where he found the rushing rhythm of her pulse and suckled on it hungrily.

“Room—key—Drew—key—” Y/N panted desperately, tilting her head back to give him more access to her skin, her body aching for his touch.

Frustration mingled with a raw need, and he fumbled to retrieve his key from his pocket while kissing his way down her throat, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin where her heartbeat raced. “Fuck, I want you so bad,” he growled hoarsely, his voice low and rough with desire. He finally managed to extract the key card but was so lost in the moment that he nearly missed the slot.

She growled in frustration at his clumsiness, seizing the key card from him and swiping it swiftly, determined to get inside.

When the door swung open and they tumbled through, he fell on top of her, his entire body covering her, pressing her into the cool floor. With the weight of his desire and the overwhelming passion igniting every cell in his body, he couldn’t take it any longer.

He pressed his lips against hers, and the world around them faded into oblivion. Just the two of them remained in that intoxicating moment, tangled together in the depths of their longing—an insatiable need that demanded to be fulfilled.

Under the dim glow of the evening light, the air between them crackled with palpable tension, the world outside forgotten. It was a moment suspended in time, one where anything seemed possible and every heartbeat echoed the impending explosion of desire. 

Drew's hands found the hem of Y/N's dress, a seemingly innocent movement that ignited a wildfire of longing within him. He tugged the fabric upwards, inch by tantalising inch, until it glided up her thighs, exposing the delicate lace of her underwear pressed against him. The warmth radiating from their bodies created a magnetic pull, drawing him closer as he pressed against her, his body a whisper away from hers.

“God, you feel so good, Y/N,” he breathed, the words heavy with an intoxicating mix of desperation and longing. His lips found the delicate skin of her neck, where her pulse raced beneath his touch, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

The heat of the moment surged through her, a moan escaping her lips. “Drew…” It was both a plea and an exclamation, a desperate urge to bridge the chasm of anticipation left between them. Her hips rolled upward, seeking the friction only he could provide, her surrender evident as her head fell back against the plush carpet.

Drew focused on the intoxicating connection, each thrust of his hips eliciting primal instincts, sending waves of pleasure rippling through them both. His breath quickened, eyes darkening as he nibbled at her neck, wanting to lose himself in her, wanting her completely. “You’re driving me crazy,” he growled, his voice a low rumble as he lavished her with the affection of his lips.

Yet, amidst the fervour, a nagging voice echoed in her mind: Stop wasting time. With a spark of determination, she pushed his blazer off his shoulders, the fabric fluttering to the floor, her fingers fumbled in haste raging against the barrier separating them. “I want to feel you,” she panted, urgency edging her voice.

Drew’s response was a throaty groan, a sound that vibrated through the air between them. His fingers tightened around her thighs, igniting the fire that blazed within him. But he knew they were running out of time. He couldn’t contain himself any longer. With a swift movement, he rose to his knees, fingers finding the buttons on his dress shirt. Each button opened like a promise, revealing skin beneath, of a body yearning to be touched.

Her eyes glimmered with hunger, like a predator poised to pounce. She propped herself on her elbows, watching him almost intently, her lips parted as she savoured the sight of him shedding the fabric that separated them. 

He swallowed hard, a wave of desire crashing over him at the sight of her back, bare and inviting. The way she teased him—the straps of the dress slipping down her shoulders—almost sent him spiralling into madness. “Take your dress off,” his voice was rough, almost primal, drunk on the gift she presented. 

With a lazy smile, she complied, the movement slow and deliberate; it was a seduction in itself. She revealed her back, gloriously exposed, her every move pulling him deeper into a void of yearning. His eyes traced every contour of her body, captivated by the graceful arch of her back, the gentle way her shoulders shifted, the enticing curve of her waist.

The sight of her rising onto her knees was enough to send his mind racing, raw desire coiling in his stomach. Drew’s breath hitched as he moved instinctively to the button of his slacks, his heart pounding like a war drum. 

Y/N lowered her face to the carpet, her back arched enticingly, a vision of perfect temptation. The growl that formed in his chest was primal, a manifestation of his desire. He could no longer resist; the intensity of the moment had taken on a life of its own.

As he lowered himself beside her, Drew’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer, the weight of their need threatening to consume them both. Time ceased to exist as they fell into each other’s orbit, two bodies uniting in a symphony of passion that awaited a crescendo.

                                               —TIME SKIP—

In the dim light of the hotel room, a cocoon of warmth enveloped Drew and Y/N on the floor, sheets tangled around their limbs, staving off the chill of reality just outside their embrace. The air was thick with remnants of their shared moments, tangled breaths and whispered confessions hanging like incense in the air, suffusing the space with a heady sense of intimacy.

Drew surrendered to the blissful stillness, his arms cradling her against his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart sync with the soft cadence of her breathing. With his cheek resting atop her head, he inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent of her hair, a mixture of shampoo and something uniquely hers.

Y/N peppered kisses across his bare chest, her hair spilling like silk over him, enchanting him with every gentle touch. She was ethereal, a living embodiment of the very dreams he hadn’t dared to voice. He sighed softly, letting her warmth seep into his skin, a balm for the unresolved aches of his past. His fingers moved instinctively, tracing the delicate curvature of her waist, basking in the softness of her body pressed against his.

“Mm, hey,” he muttered, the tender sound barely escaping his lips as he caressed her skin.

“Hey yourself,” she whispered back, teasingly nibbling at his jaw, her playful gesture igniting a low groan from deep within him. He tilted his head, granting her more space, surrendering to the wave of indulgent languor that washed over him.

“Mm, I want a cigarette,” he murmured quietly, a simple desire that hung in the air like the sweet scent of their bliss.

Y/N smiled, her lips brushing his once more, igniting a fire within him that begged for more. “We can do that,” she promised sweetly, before asking, “Where’s your pack?”

With an easy confidence, he leaned forward, punctuating the moment with a nuzzle against her neck, his breath fanning against her skin as he replied, “Bathroom, on the counter. Could you get it for me?”

“Okay,” she mumbled against his lips, a teasing sparkle in her eyes as she rose, the sheet slipping down her form like a whisper. He watched her walk away, captivated by the graceful sway of her hips, the way the soft glow outlined her silhouette. 

As she padded barefoot to the bathroom, Drew lingered for a moment, soaking in the serenity that followed their passion. He replayed their wild entanglement in his mind, each moment infused with unspoken words and forbidden desires. A calm settled over him that he hadn't felt in months, a rare treasure amidst the tumult of his life.

When Y/N returned, the creaking floorboards announcing her presence, Drew opened his eyes, leaning back on his palms, a smile spreading across his lips when he saw her. She was radiant, like sunlight filtering through clouds, the pack of cigarettes in one hand and a lighter in the other.

She lit one for him, and as he took the first deep drag, inhaling the smoky tendrils into his lungs, he let his gaze roam freely over her. The glow of the room found its way to her skin, illuminating the beauty before him. —I’m obsessed with you— he recalled almost wistfully, the admission coursing through his thoughts.

Y/N took his cigarette from between his lips, her soft laughter cascading through the space as she took a drag herself, her hair framing her face like a halo. The act alone sent a surge of raw need through him—she exuded an almost magnetic charm that was impossible to resist.

“What?” Y/N asked with a small smile.

“Just looking at you,” he muttered, awash in a blend of admiration and possessiveness.

“Just looking?” she teased, creeping up towards him, her delicate hand resting on his thigh as her lips approached his, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing second.

That playful banter shifted the atmosphere, the air thick with tension as Drew let out a breathless laugh, his heart racing. “There’s a lot more I can do than just look,” he responded, seriousness edging into his voice.

“Hmm,” she hummed, capturing his lips for a fleeting moment before playfully withdrawing. He yearned for her closeness, his hands instinctively seeking her, pulling her back into his embrace as their kisses deepened. 

Amid the heat, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over him. “Stay tonight. Please,” he whispered into the air, each word laced with desperation.

“I can’t,” she confessed, a flicker of pain betraying her steady voice as she met his gaze. “This was fun. But it can’t happen again.”

He felt the rush of hurt flood through him, the weight of her words like a physical blow. “Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because we hate each other. It wouldn’t work between us. And besides—what about Odessa?” she explained, her voice heavy with reluctance.

The tension in the room was nearly palpable, a heavy weight that hung between them like a dark cloud. Drew's breath caught in his throat as he felt Y/N shift slightly, searching for that emotional distance that had once divided them, yet now felt as fragile as gossamer. 

“I don’t hate you,” he said softly, the words sounding almost foreign in his mouth as his hand reached out, fingers brushing against her waist. It was an instinctual move, one that tethered her back to him, if only for a moment. 

But as Y/N uttered Odessa’s name, he felt himself recoil slightly even without moving away. The mention of the woman he was supposed to love felt like a physical blow, and he turned his gaze from her to the ceiling, trying to avoid the piercing look in her eyes that held both hurt and clarity. 

“Things have been rocky between me and Odessa for a while now… I don’t know if we’ll last,” he confessed, the confession landing heavily in the silence that stretched between them. 

“Yeah—I don’t hate you either. But I don’t like you either, Drew. You really hurt me. I can’t forget that. The things you said—just tonight was a weakness,” she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice snaking straight to his heart. 

Her words cut deep, and he could feel the damning truth within them. He had wound himself up so tightly that all it seemed to take was one moment of weakness—a mere slip in the gears of his carefully constructed façade—and he had let her in. He had wanted to be strong, to deny the magnetic pull between them, but here they were, two people caught in the wreckage of their past. 

“I know,” he muttered, his fingers instinctively tightening around her waist. He didn't want to let her go; he couldn't face the idea of her slipping away again, not after everything they had just shared. He still couldn’t comprehend how he had lost control so completely, how the moment had come to this—she had agreed to be with him, had agreed to bare herself to him, and all the while, tangled up in the complications of their history.

“Just stay tonight,” he pleaded, a hint of desperation lacing his voice, breaking the silence between them. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating, pulling at his very chest as he attempted to keep her close. He was all too aware of how pathetic he sounded, how desperately he needed her to choose him even for an evening, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“I can’t. If I stay, we’ll have sex again. What if Odessa comes up here after the party is over?” she explained softly, her voice steady even as it shattered his already-fragile composure. Her logic was undeniable, and it sent a ripple of impatience through him. 

Drew’s eyes closed, and he let out a frustrated groan, teeth grinding against the discomfort clawing at him. He knew she was right—she was being rational, logical, and he was being reckless. But the thought of losing her company, of letting this moment slip through his fingers, made him feel utterly desperate. 

“Just a little while longer then. Come here,” he muttered, yanking her back down towards him. He crushed his lips against hers, the kiss born from longing and need rather than passion in that moment. It was all he could think about, a primal need to feel her against him again, to dissipate the agony of reality that was threatening to pull them apart once more. 

As their mouths met, he felt the world fade away, the blinding light of clarity drowned in a haze of longing. The taste of her lips rekindled the fire they had fanned for too long in the shadows—a fire he feared would only leave devastation in its wake. But for now, he didn’t care. The moment enveloped them, and all that mattered was the intoxicating warmth of Y/N, wrapped in the sheets like the complex threads of their tangled past.

Yet even as they lost themselves in each other, a creeping sense of dread clawed at the edges of Drew's mind—the knowledge that when the dawn broke, the ghosts of their mistakes would begin to hover in the light once again.

The tension in the air was thick and electric as she kissed him back, her lips moving languidly against his, each connection igniting a deeper hunger within him. The way her hands tugged at his roots sent shivers down his spine, awakening every nerve in his body. Drew groaned into her mouth, lost in the moment, returning each of her tender kisses with a mix of desperation and fervour, savouring every stolen second.

But as the kiss deepened, reality began to intrude upon their blissful refuge. Reluctantly, he pulled away, his breath coming in ragged gasps, eyes searching hers for an answer he feared he already knew. “Why? Why does it have to be a one-time thing? Why can’t we keep doing this?” He felt a pang of urgency clawing at his chest, a mix of longing and confusion.

“Because that’s called an affair,” she murmured softly, her voice a mix of teasing and pain, as her lips brushed against his ear, trailing down to suck gently on his earlobe, igniting a fire within him.

Drew’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sensations, the sound of her words echoing painfully in his mind. “I don’t care,” he mumbled, desperation lacing his tone. It was true. At that moment, he didn’t care about the consequences, the messy entanglements of their lives. All he could think about was her, the warmth of her body against his, the taste of her lingering on his lips.

But there was a faint voice in the background, warning him to be cautious, to think clearly. “You’re not thinking straight,” she reminded him, her hands trailing down his shoulders, instilling both comfort and chaos within him.

His heart raced as he replied again, more insistent this time, “I don’t care.” Her gentle bite on his bottom lip sent a wave of need crashing over him, blurring the lines of right and wrong even further. It was intoxicating. The desire for her felt like a drug coursing through his veins, urging him to abandon reason.

He looked into her eyes, his breath suddenly catching in his throat, his voice dropping to a near whisper filled with longing. “Please, Y/N. Just stay. No sex. I just want you.” The plea hung in the air, heavy and desperation-laden. He knew it sounded foolish, like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff, but he didn’t care. 

“That’s a lie,” she replied, shaking her head, the softness in her gaze contrasting sharply with the reality of the situation. Her fingers danced along his skin, leaving trails of warmth and desire but also doubt, reminding him of the fragile state of their connection.

Drew’s heart sank at her words. He wanted to argue, to proclaim the depth of what he felt, to dismiss the methods of logic and reason that had brought them to this moment, but all he could do was stare into her eyes and wonder if the yearning could bridge the chasm between them. 

Drew gazed deeply into her eyes, his heart racing as he spoke, “It’s not,” he insisted, desperation lacing his voice as her hands found their way to his shoulders—soft but steady, grounding him. “I just— I just want to hold you. I want to keep kissing you, I—” His breath hitched, words tumbling from his lips, “Please don’t go. I don’t want to go back to being at each other’s throats.” 

Y/N faltered, surrendering to the weight of his plea, a sigh escaping her lips as she sunk back onto his thighs. The air between them thickened, a mixture of passion and pain, electric and heartbreaking. 

“Then what do you want, Drew?” she asked softly, her voice a melange of hope and hesitation.

His heart thundered as he observed her, every detail of her etched in his mind—the way her hair fell slightly to one side, the way her lips curved when she spoke, the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “I want to keep doing this. I want to keep kissing you and holding you and touching you,” he confessed, the emotions spilling from him in raw waves. “I want to be able to talk to you again without wanting to strangle you.” 

She broke their gaze, her thoughts swirling, and Drew could sense her resolve faltering. “That’s just who we are, Drew. We drive each other insane,” she reminded him, her voice soft yet firm, like a whisper meant to break through the tension, but it only deepened his urgency.

He shook his head, a frantic determination igniting within him. “We don’t have to be,” he argued, as if his words could alter reality, his eyes searching hers. “We can—we can learn to get along. Don’t you remember how good we used to be? You were my best friend.” 

A wistful smile flitted across her lips at the memory, a fleeting moment that warmed him, a brief balm against their turbulent history. “Yeah. We were,” she admitted, her gaze softening, but doubt still lingered in the air, lingering like an unresolved note in a symphony.

Encouraged by that spark of nostalgia, Drew leaned into it, allowing a small, sad smile to graze his features. “We can be again,” he murmured, conviction lacing his words as he slowly moved his hand to her thigh, a gentle gesture imbued with longing.

But even as he made that bold move, the shadows of their past loomed large, whispering doubts and insecurities. Would they really be able to navigate their twisted history filled with resentment, lost moments, and tangled feelings? His hand rested there— a silent plea for not only closeness but for a chance at something more, something that felt so close within reach yet impossibly far away. 

And in that dimly lit room, the fabric of their connection was fragile, stretched between the weight of what had been and the hope of what could be. Drew held his breath, feeling the fine edge of desperation, longing for her to take a leap with him into the uncertain darkness, to trust him once more, and to break free from the cycle of anger that had defined them for far too long. 

He could feel her hesitation, the weighing of his words against the chasm of their shared history, and he silently begged her to understand. To take that leap with him. Because he couldn’t imagine a world where she walked away, where the possibility of them—however messy, however complicated—was abandoned in the silence of the night.

The mood in the room was heavy, each heartbeat echoing like a distant drum, underscoring the distance left unspoken between them. He could feel the warmth of her body so close to his, yet the chasm between their hearts was the most frigid void he had ever faced. Drew could sense it in her eyes—the hurt, the betrayal—but it was the fire of that pain that seared through him. He needed to say something, anything, to bridge the gap that had formed since the moment he had pushed her away.

The room was thick with tension, the kind that coiled like a spring, ready to snap. Drew’s heart raced as he gazed into her eyes, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions cascading between them. 

“It won’t be the same though,” she began, her voice a pained whisper, trembling with the weight of the memories. “You really hurt me when you rejected me so harshly, Drew. And you did it for Odessa.” With each word, the stinging in her eyes threatened to spill over, but she held back her tears, resolute.

“I know. God, I know,” he responded, his voice cracking like the fragile state of their connection. It was agony, watching pain flicker across her face, knowing he was the architect of her hurt. The chasm he'd created yawned before him, and he didn't know how to bridge it. Slowly, his hand began to inch up her thigh, desperate to soothe her anguish, and to heal the rift that had torn them apart.

“You never apologised,” she reminded him softly, her gaze unwavering.

“I’m apologising now,” he murmured back, his voice deepening with sincerity as he stared at her, his hand pausing at the crescent of her thigh. He swallowed hard, continuing, “You have no idea how long I’ve regretted that day. How many times I’ve replayed it in my mind and wished I’d handled it differently.”

“Mmm,” she nodded, urging him silently to continue, and their chemistry ignited once more. She ground against his hand, igniting a fire within him that was both thrilling and painful. 

“I was an idiot,” he confessed, shaking his head shamefully as he looked deep into her eyes. “I regretted the moment I said no. God, I just wanted so badly to take it all back.” 

“Tell me more,” she murmured, sinking down on him, her body pressing against him as she gripped his shoulders tightly.

He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him; it came both from his yearning for her and the heartache of their past. “I should have said yes,” he admitted, a pained resignation lacing his words. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you’re all I wanted to pull closer.”

“More,” she encouraged him, moving her hips with an intoxicating rhythm that nearly stole his breath.

“And I shouldn’t have been a dick,” he replied, gasping for air as she ground against him. “I shouldn’t have said—oh, God, Y/N—” His voice faltered, catching in his throat as the sheer force of his desire nearly overwhelmed him.

“And?” she teased, excitement dancing in her gaze as it egged him on.

“And I should have been gentler,” he continued, each word a confession steeped in longing. “I should have made it clear that it wasn’t because I didn’t want you. I wanted you so bad. God, Y/N, I wanted you so bad.” 

“More, Drew. Tell me,” she whispered, her breath hot against him as she pushed him to the brink.

“And—” he strained, thoughts dissipating with every movement. “I-I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t want you. I did. God, I did.” 

His hand crept further up her thigh, coaxing her to keep the intoxicating rhythm alive.

“Go on,” she urged, her lips grazing his as her pace quickened.

“And—and God, I hate myself for making you feel bad, for making you doubt yourself, for—” He let out a deep groan, his mind consumed with the heat of the moment. “Oh God, Y/N—”

“There you go, baby—go on—” she coaxed, tugging on his hair to pull him closer.

“And I—oh God, I-I never wanted you to think I didn’t—oh God,” he stuttered, the vulnerability in his voice nearly bringing him to his knees. The mixture of pleasure and regret sent him spiralling, his heart laid bare before her. “I love you.” 

The relief of those words hung in the air, a balm soothing the wounds of their shared history. It was exactly what she wanted to hear, and as he spoke, she doubled down on her movements, a sly grin spreading across her face.

His moans grew louder, the stakes rising as she encouraged him further. “I love you so much,” he gasped, his body trembling from their fervent exchange, “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

With a triumphant grin still dancing on her lips, she pushed him to his limits, the palpable connection sparking a resolve deeper than either had anticipated. Their hearts, once fractured, now beat in sync, reverberating through the electric air, the crescendo of emotions reaching a fever pitch. The path ahead was uncertain, but in this fiery moment, they were undeniably, irrevocably bound.

The air between them was electric, charged with a tension that had festered for months, and finally, words long buried broke the surface. As she rewarded his truth with renewed vigour, Drew felt a wave of relief wash over him, mingling beautifully with the heady pleasure she was provoking. “There you go—good boy—” she murmured, and he could do nothing but surrender to the moment.

Their bodies moved together like a well-practised dance, each thrust speaking the words unsaid for too long. Drew's voice was choked with desperation when he declared, “I love you so much.” Each word was an acknowledgment of the yearning he'd harboured deep within, a confession that he had feared would never escape his lips.

Underneath the rush of emotions, she rewarded him, her own movements quickening, each thrust drawing him closer to the precipice. He was a man unravelling at the seams. “I’ve never stopped loving you,” he gasped, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, a mix of relief and raw vulnerability dancing within him.

“Shhh,” she commanded gently, sensing how close he was. Drew’s shuddering breaths betrayed him; the waves of bliss coursing through his body were almost too much to bear. Yet he didn't want it to stop. Not now. Not ever. The anchors of their past had finally loosened, and a euphoric freedom enveloped him as he clutched her tighter.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice a gentle whisper that pierced through the haze clouding his mind. 

“Yeah, I love you,” he breathed, the admission anchoring him in this moment, grounding him with a stability he had craved for so long.

But then came her words, softly spoken yet cutting deeper than the sharpest blade. “I don’t love you—”

Those words sliced through him, a cruel reminder of what had been lost, and instinct pulled him closer, burying his face into her neck, seeking solace in her warmth. “I know,” he murmured, the acceptance hitting his chest like a lead weight.

Yet amid the storm of disappointment, a glimmer of hope flickered through their haze. “But I can try to remember how,” she said, a tentative smile breaking through her vulnerability, a hesitant light in the midst of their dark past.

His grip on her tightened, fingers instinctively curling around her waist, a lifeline in turbulent waters. Hopelessness waged a war with yearning as he struggled to articulate his emotions, each breath a battle against despair. “You want to try?” His voice trembled, heavy with an almost childlike hope.

The silence hung in the air, a fragile bubble filled with every unvoiced confession and lost promise. In that moment, both of them understood: love was a journey, not a destination, and they stood on the precipice of a new beginning, teetering between fear and the desperate desire to dive in together.

“Yeah, baby. But only after you break up with Odessa,” she whispered, her voice teasing yet serious. Her movements were deliberate, pulling him closer even as the gulf between them threatened to drown them both.

His breath hitched, and he nodded, his frustration mingling with a desperate need. “I’ll—I’ll break up with her,” he stammered, urgency lacing his words. Each grind of her hips sent a shockwave through him, igniting desires he thought were buried, stifling the guilt wrapped around his heart. “I’ll break up with her tonight if you want. Just—” He groaned, surrendering to the passion between them, his arms tightening around her, their connection swirling into something electric.

“Just what, baby?” she cooed, her nails scraping lightly down his cheek, each touch sending shivers down his spine.

The question lingered in the air, but he was powerless to articulate an answer; the fire within him flared too bright, too hot to extinguish. The ache for her drowned out all rational thought. “Just—keep moving like that,” he breathed, surrendering to the glorious indulgence of their moment.

Her laughter was a melody that wrapped around him, intertwining with his desires as she shifted into a slow, deliberate grind. “Like that?” she asked seductively, every syllable brushing against his senses.

He moaned, louder this time, each sound a testament to his surrender. “Just like that,” he mumbled against her neck, his world narrowing down to the sensations coursing through him. The pleasure built like a tidal wave, crashing against any remnants of restraint.

As he lay there, body quaking from the previous release, he blinked through the haze of bliss, staring up at the ceiling as though it held the answers he sought. Reality faded into oblivion; nothing mattered but her and the warmth that enveloped them. With deft fingers, he traced her thighs, slowing, savouring the contact, each caress igniting embers that flickered to life all over again.

When she leaned down to kiss him, it was a soft, sweet connection, yet filled with promise. His hand found her cheek, a magnetic pull that kept her close, and he ignited her senses as he explored her mouth, lingering in the moment and letting the world outside slip away.

“Go break up with her. I’ll be waiting,” she said, slipping from him and into the shower, her voice echoing in his mind. The door clicked shut, and just like that, a sense of urgency surged within him.

His heart raced as he gulped down a breath, excitement colliding with a stark terror that gripped him. He scrambled off the bed, gathering the clothes strewn across the floor like remnants of a life he was ready to leave behind. Each piece felt like a chain shackling him to a life he no longer wanted.

He dressed quickly, fingers trembling as his mind ran a mile a minute. In the mirror, he paused, staring at his reflection. A part of him whispered to retreat, to forget this moment and its consequences. But he couldn’t. Not now. He felt the weight of possibility, felt the shift in his heart, a call to step into the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. This was it. He would break free tonight; he would reclaim what was his. He opened the door, crossing the threshold into the unknown, determination igniting within him as he made his way toward the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

The door creaked open, revealing Odessa, draped in a robe that did little to shield the tension hanging between them. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion glinting in their depths.

“Drew, where the hell have you—”

He didn’t give her room to finish, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

There was a moment of hesitation as she searched his face, an eternity that seemed to stretch out as their shared history flickered in her gaze. Finally, she relented, the door swinging wider to let him in. He crossed the threshold, heart racing, palms clammy with dread.

The instant the door clicked shut behind him, he felt the weight of inevitability crashing down. “We should break up.” 

The words escaped him before he could process their gravity. Odessa stood frozen, her expression morphing from shock to a raw, jagged hurt that pierced him straight through. He swallowed hard. “We’re done. It’s over.”

Silence fell, heavy and thick. She remained motionless, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, the depth of her pain reflected in every flicker of emotion that danced across her face. It hurt him to see her like this, and yet he steeled himself, convinced that breaking her heart was far better than the agony of continuing a lie.

He took a step toward her, battling the instinct to reach out for her, to pull her close. “There’s—there’s someone else.” The admission felt like gravel in his throat, grating and uncomfortable.

Odessa’s breath stuttered, eyes wide and searching. “I—”

His hesitation echoed in the space between them, a chasm of uncertainty. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he confessed, anguish lacing his words. “I’m sorry—I don’t want to hurt you. But I can’t keep pretending that things are okay when they’re not. I’ve been lying to myself for months, pretending that I still loved you in the same way, pretending that I didn’t miss someone else, pretending that I wasn’t completely miserable.”

The confession hung in the air, a heavy cloud suffocating and inevitable. “You’ve been so good to me, Odessa,” he continued, pushing through the tightness in his throat. “I really do love you. But not in the way I used to love you. Not in the way you deserve.”

His voice faltered, the guilt washing over him like a cold wave. “I-I just can’t keep going like this when we’re both wasting our time on something that’s not working out. I’m sorry.”

The silence stretched, agonising. He searched her face, desperate for any sign, any spark of the girl he once knew. “Say something, please,” he finally muttered, voice raw and pleading.

He stood there, paralyzed, eyes locked onto her, seeking an answer in her expression. Yet, all he found was a reflection of the pain he had inflicted—a mirror showing the fragments of trust shattering beneath the weight of his words.

Odessa blinked, the brave facade brimming with unsaid words crumbling under the tidal wave of devastation. He wished there were more to say, some soothing melody to mend the discord between them, but all he could do was wait, heart in his throat, engulfed by the fallout of his choices.

Drew stood at the threshold of a moment he could never take back, his heart thundering against his chest like a desperate prisoner seeking escape. As he took a deep breath, he felt the weight of the world pressing down on him. “I—” His mind raced, scrambling to formulate the words that would change everything. “I still want to be friends. I think you’re an amazing person, and I still want you in my life.”

Odessa's brow furrowed, her eyes searching for some trace of the affection that had once sparked between them. The warmth that had once enveloped their bond now felt cold and distant. “And I’m gonna be there for you in whatever way you need. I just—” He swallowed hard, anxiety clawing at his throat. “I need you to understand that I’m done lying to myself. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want someone else.”

The words spilled from him, raw and desperate. Guilt slithered through him like a snake, coiling tighter with every syllable. “I don’t have any right to ask you this, but I hope that, in time, you’ll forgive me for this. I just—I hope you’ll be okay. I still care about you; god, you have no idea how much this hurts me too.” He hesitated, agonising over his next words. “But I need to be honest with you. I can’t keep lying to both of us. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t still love—”

“—Y/N.” Odessa finished for him, her voice gentle but firm, like a quiet storm brewing on the horizon.

His eyes widened, caught off guard by the strength of her understanding. “You knew?” he whispered, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Her gaze held his, steady but pained. “Yeah. Not in the beginning. But these last few months, it’s been obvious. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

Closing his eyes, Drew felt the crushing weight of her admission settle on his shoulders. Each word felt like another nail in the coffin of their relationship, sealing something precious inside. He balled his hands into fists, anger and frustration boiling within him for the agony he had inflicted on someone who had once been the light of his life. “I wasn’t trying to lead you on, I swear. I didn’t realize what was happening until recently.”

                               —TIMESKIP—

As he stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the echoes of their shared laughter reverberated in his mind, mocking the heartache of the moment. He could feel his heart shattering into a million pieces, each fragment a reminder of the love that had turned into a burden. Guilt gnawed at him insatiably, promising that this ache would linger long after he had left.

But even as he retreated into the shadows of his own making, Drew knew he would return to her. Each step felt heavier, like walking through molasses as he contemplated the full weight of his choice. He had shattered something beautiful, and now he must face the shards of their fractured reality, unsure if he could put together even a part of what they once had.

The remorse settled deep in his bones, a dark weight echoing with every beat of his heart. He steeled himself, knowing that this was merely the beginning of a new chapter forged from pain—one that would test their connection in ways he never anticipated. And yet, somehow he held onto a flicker of hope that, amid the shards of their past, they might reassemble into something new. 

Outside the room, Drew paused, anxiety coursing through his veins like wildfire. His hands trembled slightly as he took a moment to steady his racing heart, inhaling deeply before finally summoning the courage to push the door open.

The sight that welcomed him took his breath away.

Roses scattered across the bed, their rich red petals inviting him into a world that felt surreal. Candles flickered softly along the edges of the room, casting warm shadows that danced collectively within the intimate space. And there, standing amidst it all, was Y/N, a box of chocolates cradled in her hands, her eyes glinting with earnest emotion.

Drew’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He felt frozen, awash in a tumult of emotions—a piercing beauty in front of him, juxtaposed against the uncertainty that swirled in his mind. She looked stunning, radiating warmth and hope, yet the weight of guilt settled heavily on his shoulders.

“Y/N, what is—” he began, his voice trembling softly, laced with confusion and vulnerability.

“I know it must have been hard for you,” she interrupted gently, meeting his gaze. “And I’m sorry I pushed you to do it tonight. But I want to do this right with you. That means no more lies and secrets.”

Her sincerity punctured through the heaviness in the air, and he nodded slowly, taking another deep breath. As he took a shaky step forward, his eyes roamed over her—every detail, every curve—unravelling the beauty that had stolen his breath away. 

“Yeah, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper, resonating a mix of reverence and remorse. “No more lies or secrets.”

With a tender smile, she beckoned him closer. “Come here.” 

He stepped forward, taking her outstretched hand, feeling the warmth envelop him as she pulled him into her embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck, grounding him, and he returned the gesture, his hands finding their place on her hips. The world beyond faded; all that mattered was the gentle connection between them.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed out, searching her eyes for understanding, his heart relentless in its frantic rhythm.

“I know,” she whispered softly, her face radiating both pain and compassion.

He ached to express every remorse, each regret getting lodged like stones in his throat. The ambiance of love mingled with melancholy weighed heavily upon him, and it struck him anew with every passing moment. His gaze fell to her lips, and without thinking, he reached out, cupping her cheek with trembling fingers, brushing his thumb tenderly over her soft skin.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked, vulnerability colouring his tone as he looked into her eyes, earnestness saturating every syllable. 

“In time,” she reassured him, laying bare her honesty, her voice almost a caress amidst their turmoil.

He felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly—a glimmer of hope igniting a small smile on his face. In this small reprieve, he moved closer, cupping her other cheek as he gently tilted her face up towards his. 

With hearts set aflame by emotions unspoken, he pressed his lips against hers, enveloped in warmth and hope. 

Y/N responded to the kiss, slow and tender, their souls meeting in an unspoken promise. With each brush of their lips, the burdens of their past weighed less—they felt lighter, almost dreamlike. Drew’s heart leapt, pounding in time with hers, each kiss a balm against the ache of guilt and uncertainty, transforming it into something sweet and intoxicating.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The roses, the flickering candles, the shadows that danced around them—all of it faded into the background. All that remained was the indescribable feeling of being embraced by forgiveness and the fragile threads of a love that, despite its quarrels, was still so beautiful.

The moment his lips brushed against hers, the world faded into a hazy blur, leaving only the two of them in that intimate moment. He felt a rush of warmth and familiarity, her presence wrapping around him like a warm blanket on a cold night. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of longing and need that made his heart skip a beat. 

When he finally pulled back, the space between them crackled with unspoken words. His fingers lingered on her delicate cheek as he pressed another gentle kiss to her lips—soft, exploratory, like he was tasting a forbidden fruit. He could feel the sincerity in every touch, every breath. 

“I love you,” he muttered against her lips, the words spilling out before he could rein them in. The vulnerability in his voice hung in the air like a fragile ornament, bright and beautiful yet precarious. “I love you,” he repeated, desperate and yearning for her to mirror his devotion.

She pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, her gaze searching, probing. He could see the flicker of contemplation behind those eyes, like she was weighing his admission against a heavy scale. The silence stretched between them, an anxious chasm filled with possibilities and doubts that threatened to consume him whole.

His heart raced as he held her gaze, the intensity in the depths of her eyes swirling with uncertainty. He craved her reassurance, her love; the longing felt like a fire in his chest, refusing to be doused. 

“Say it back,” he urged, a raw urgency in his voice. It was a plea, a wish hanging in the space where four simple words could bridge the segment of their hearts torn apart by insecurities and unspoken truths.

“In time,” she replied, her tone soft but resolute, the air between them thickening with what was left unsaid. 

Her answer was both a balm and a dagger to his heart. He swallowed down the impulse to press her further, the ache inside swelling painfully. Instead, he nodded, trying to mask the vulnerability that threatened to crack him open. “Okay, baby. Take your time.”

Before he could dissect the weight of her response, she covered his mouth with hers once more, her lips warm and inviting. He surrendered instantly, kissing her back with a fevered gentleness that spoke of everything he felt—passion, desperation, hope. The kiss deepened, slow and torturous, making his entire being ignite with longing. 

Every beat of his heart whispered of her; every brush of their lips sent electric currents dancing beneath his skin. He drowned in her taste, the way her breath mingled with his, the unrelenting pull drawing him closer. His whole body felt alive, ablaze with the need for more of her, greedy for each precious moment she was willing to share.

But within the depths of her mind lingered an unyielding truth. Little did he know, she had never planned on saying it back. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. A tangled web of fear and uncertainty gripped her—a fear of what those words could mean, of the weight they carried. The unromantic reality was that love came with burdens, and at that moment, she wasn’t ready to shoulder hers. 

As they kissed, the room spun around them, filled with soft candlelight and the scent of roses, but beneath it all lurked the heart-wrenching truth. One heart was open and willing, while the other remained shrouded in shadows, trapped in a gentle, yet unyielding silence.

The End.

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine wife but Sunday pfp smh

Lol but I have 101 pulls saved so far for Sunday so in celebration I would like to request Sunday with reader who gets him a gift to welcome him to the express. I'd probably do something hand made cause I think those kinds of presents are meaningful.

Welcome to the family, Sunday!

Summary: you create a handmade bracelet as a meaningful gift to welcome Sunday aboard the Astral Express. The bracelet, crafted with celestial beads and lavender thread, symbolizes connection and kindness. Though Sunday harbors a twisted belief in the Sweetdream Paradise, the gift resonates with him, leading to a quiet, shared moment of understanding between you two.

Tags: AE!Sunday x Reader, Handmade Gift, Emotional Connection, Gentle Romance.

A/N: SHHH!! 🫣 I'LL CHANGE IT SOON!! Take this in the meantime 🤲

The Astral Express hummed with the soft glow of stars as it sliced through the cosmos, an endless journey across the universe. You stood at the side of the locomotive, your hands fidgeting nervously. Today was important. Today, you would welcome Sunday—one of the most revered members of the Oak Family—aboard the train.

Though you knew Sunday as a man of great dignity and wisdom, you also knew there was more to him than the poised leader he projected to the world. His belief in the Sweetdream Paradise was something you couldn’t quite reconcile with, but you respected his view—no matter how different it was from your own. After all, there was a certain kind of pain in seeing the world with so much uncertainty.

But this gift… you hoped it would speak to him in a way that words never could.

You'd spent weeks working on it, carefully handcrafting each detail with a kind of tenderness that only you could understand. It wasn’t much—just a small, intricately woven bracelet—but it was imbued with something personal, something that could perhaps touch the hearts of those who wore it. The bracelet was made from pale silver thread, woven together with strands of glowing celestial beads, each one meant to symbolize a star that would never fall from the sky. You had used thread dyed a soft blue, the color of skies, which seemed fitting, considering Sunday's ethereal nature.

You glanced at the door to the cabin, waiting for his arrival.

When it finally slid open, there stood Sunday in his usual immaculate attire, the long tailcoat flowing elegantly behind him. His eyes flickered over the room, his expression a mix of curiosity and recognition as they landed on you.

"I see you’ve been waiting." he said softly, his voice carrying a certain calm authority, yet with an underlying gentleness.

You felt a flutter of warmth at the sight of him. You’d only spoken in passing since he had boarded the Astral Express, but today, there was something different in the air. Something intimate.

You cleared your throat, stepping forward slowly. "Yes, I have. I, uh, wanted to give you something… a small gift," you said, holding out the bracelet, the delicate glow of the celestial beads catching the light.

Sunday raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A gift?" he mused, taking the bracelet gently in his hands. His gaze softened as he examined it closely, the soft blue strands catching his attention.

"You don't have to accept it," you said quickly, a little embarrassed. "I just thought it might be meaningful—since, well, you're new here and all."

His fingers brushed over the beads as he looked up, and for a moment, his eyes met yours, piercing yet somehow gentle. "You believe in meaning behind these things," he said, almost to himself. His voice was softer now, as if he was considering something deeper.

"Yes, I do," you replied, your heart racing a little under the weight of his gaze. "Sometimes, a gift doesn’t have to be grand to carry meaning. I thought this might remind you that even in the vastness of the universe, you’re not alone. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself."

A faint smile played at the corners of Sunday’s lips, but it was not the usual serene, distant expression he wore. It was something softer, warmer. "You would choose such a gift for me," he said, his tone shifting slightly. "A reminder that, even in a world built on ideals of survival, there is kindness."

He turned the bracelet over in his fingers, lost in thought for a moment. "I suppose... I can accept this," he said, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Not as a symbol of weakness, but as a testament to the strength of connection."

You felt a rush of relief, even as your chest tightened at his words. He didn’t see it as an escape or an illusion—he understood it, in his own way. This gift, this simple gesture, was something that transcended the dream of a perfect world.

You smiled softly, watching as Sunday carefully slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, the delicate strands of blue and celestial beads now draping across his skin.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "For the kindness you’ve shown me. Perhaps... there is meaning beyond what I’ve dreamed."

You nodded, heart swelling with a quiet happiness. "No matter how far the stars may stretch, we’re all connected, Sunday. Even in the Sweetdream Paradise, you're not alone."

A flicker of something warm passed through his eyes, the glimmer of gold and navy that always seemed to hold a thousand unspoken truths. "No," he agreed, his voice carrying the weight of the cosmos. "Perhaps... we’re not."

As the Astral Express continued its journey through the vast, starlit expanse, you both stood together—silent, yet connected by a bond that neither the dream of paradise nor the harshness of reality could sever.

[coqhee]

ETA TO YOUR HEART 𓂃 박성훈

✷ in a fast-paced city, your laid-back life as a receptionist takes a turn when you meet sunghoon, a busy photographer always on the go, making him question whether to keep chasing success or take a chance on love.

photographer sunghoon︲fem reader ︲fluff, angst (sorta), strangers to lovers, city romance, opposites attract, colleague! reader, okokok + lalala dynamic, slow burn, he falls first and harder︲pet names, cursing, grammar errors︲15k / more

2ND EMAIL IN TO: YOUR HEART COLLECTION

─── ♡

you would think PARK SUNGHOON, a world-renowned photographer for his works of the beauty of cityscapes at night, would have an artistic view of life. to slow down a view of life for its beauty—one that encourages slowing down to appreciate beauty. quite the opposite for him though.

one day to another, he’s analyzed what gets people’s emotions going and what photos may move them. as long as he can write the meaning behind his photos well, it’s bound to be successful.

what began as a heartfelt hobby has turned into a rigid 9-to-5 routine, stripping away the passion that once fueled his work.

finally, he’s back in his hometown… for work. what is supposed to only be a year-long contract for his new exhibit in partnership with your gallery, turns out to be an even longer contract to your heart.

when sunghoon sees you, theres no sparks, there's no ‘love at first sight’. it’s just two people meeting for the first time, who happen to be falling in love in their own –patient and impatient– ways.

as you interact, you begin to uncover layers within one another. neither of you is fully aware of the heartstrings being intertwined, but the potential for connection is there.

it’s a subtle dance of discovery. both patient and hesitant, you navigate your feelings, each step bringing you closer to an unexpected bond.

sunghoon’s cold exterior slowly starts to thaw. as you share laughter and stories, he begins to show glimpses of warmth.

you realize that maybe he isn’t as unreachable as you once thought. with every interaction, a bond forms, slowly but surely, leading to unexpected possibilities.

─── ♡

sunghoon was exhausted beyond belief. rightfully so–he’s spent the last 6 months in 9 different countries capturing the mesmerizing beauty of cities. the view in each city displaying diverse vibrancy of their cultures through their architecture.

from tokyo, to new york city, istanbul to new delhi…the views were undeniable of their beauty.

while the photos were stunning, the toll on him was undeniable

going city to city at a rate that felt like a blur, he barely even had time to realize that he was thrown into a year-long contract in his hometown. it had only dawned on him at the airport after he had boarded the plane.

whilst his plan originally was to sleep, it seemed it wasn’t an option with his agent texting him not long after.

soobin: to answer your question earlier, yes, you must stay for the full year as per the contract. i thought this exhibition would be fitting for you as it’s your hometown. your works haven’t felt the same and the company thought this would be good for inspiration. [attatchment: 1 image] read 7:41 am

sunghoon sighed, a wave of relief washing over him as he stared at the message. a full year in one place—his hometown, no less. the idea of staying still for a while felt strange, almost foreign, after the constant whirlwind of travel.

his body craved rest, but his mind was still wired, thinking about deadlines, compositions, and the weight of the upcoming exhibit.

landing back home felt strange. the city hadn’t changed much, but it felt different to him now. maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the weight of knowing he couldn’t just hop on the next flight out like he had for the past six months.

it wasn’t that he hated constantly being on the move—he actually thrived in the fast pace, always craving something new and exciting in his life. but this? he was worn out.

so that’s how he came to be standing in front of the new gallery back home having no time to stop home before.

it should’ve felt comfortable, and inviting, but it felt like a whole different world from the building that had stood there before when he was growing up.

“hi! how can i help you?” your voice welcome cutting through the loud air conditioning that had let him space out.

“hi, i think i’m supposed to be the new photographer working with the gallery. my agent, soobin, should have sent over the documents, including the contract,” he said, his tone clipped and distant. you noticed the lack of warmth in his voice—it wasn’t rude, but it was reserved, almost detached. still, you brushed it off with a welcoming smile.

“right, yes. your liaison reached out to me about that,” you replied, keeping your voice light. “me and the time were so excited to meet you! lets go meet them?” you motioned for him to follow holding a bright smile, noting his subtle nod in response, and guided him down the hallway to the meeting room where the team was waiting to welcome their new photographer for the year.

sunghoon followed you down the hallway, his eyes flicking around the gallery as they walked. the space was calm, filled with soft echoes of quiet conversation and the faint scent of coffee, and he could almost feel himself unwind in the stillness.

your presence caught his attention again as they led him, weaving through the gallery with a practiced ease. there was something about their calmness and patience that felt oddly magnetic, not even in a romantic way.

for someone who thrived on the thrill of chaos and constant change, seeing someone so comfortable in this kind of tranquility was almost… foreign.

you opened the door to a small room with a meeting table and some chairs surrounding it with people already occupying some.

“here we have jay, who’s going to be your liaison for this project,” you smiled, gesturing to the man who offered a friendly, albeit reserved, smile—warmer than sunghoon’s, at least.

“jake, who’s going to be your assistant, mostly,” you continued, nodding toward the cheerful face beside jay, “so anything you need, just let him know.”

“and lastly, we have minjeong, sunoo, and me, who are going to be your general support team,” you finished, flashing a warm smile. “us 3 directly work with the gallery as our job so we’ll know the most, and we’ll just help with logistics, planning, and anything else you might need,”

sunghoon nodded, taking in each face as he quickly assessed the group. they seemed friendly enough, and even though he was already feeling the weight of this project, the team’s easy-going energy made him feel just a little more at ease.

of course, he couldn’t let down his professional barrier despite the comfortable informal energy in the room.

sunghoon nodded slowly, taking in each face as he mentally sized up the team. it was a lot to remember, but he figured he’d get the hang of it soon enough. his eyes flicked back to you as you continued.

“we’re all really excited to see what you bring to the gallery,” you added, looking around at the others, who nodded in agreement.

jay, added in with a friendly grin. “yeah, we’re here to make your life easier, not harder. whatever you need, we’ve got you.”

jake chimed in, giving sunghoon a nod. “yep, seriously—no request is too small, so don’t be shy about letting us know, even if it’s outside of work bounds,” he winked.

minjeong laughed and nudged him. “okay, but let’s not get carried away—we’re not that generous!” she teased, earning a light slap on the shoulder from sunoo.

“fine, fine,” she relented with a grin, “you can tell us anything. within reason!”

“thank you. i appreciate it,” he finally spoke up still processing the overload of information.

“well, i think we can wrap this up here, i’m sure you’re tired so let’s talk more tomorrow and get some inspiration going, i’ll just get y/n to send me your number later,” jay smiled taking notice of everyone’s mood and how despite how chipper everyone sounded, they were tired.

everyone nodded in agreement, grabbing their bags and leaving the room one by one until it was just you and sunghoon. you both looked around feeling the awkward tension in the air.

“let us know if you need anything at all,” you said with a smile, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before turning to leave.

“um.. i don’t think i have your number,” sunghoon called out, his voice barely above a murmur as he looked down, almost like he was second-guessing whether to speak up.

“oh shoot i completely forgot, here,” you said with a laugh, reaching into your bag. pulling out your phone, you opened your contacts and handed it to him. “just go ahead and put your number in, and i’ll text you so you have mine, too.” he nodded in response and quickly gave back your phone and watched as you turned to leave the room again.

“uh, y/n… wait,” he spoke out once again.

you paused, glancing back over your shoulder and then stepping back into the room, catching his eye. “yeah?” you asked gently, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind.

sunghoon shifted, his fingers brushing the edge of his bag as he searched for the right words. “thank you… for being so welcoming,” he said, his tone quiet but sincere.

your face softened, and you nodded with a warm smile. “of course. it’s good to have you here, sunghoon,” you replied. “i’ll be around if you need anything, okay?”

he nodded, watching as you disappeared down the hall, the warmth of your kindness lingering with him as he stood there, feeling just a bit more at ease in this unfamiliar place.

he went home that night feeling a sense of completion despite it being a small task, the drive home taking in the cold air from the night.

─── ♡

back at your apartment, you tossed your bag onto the couch, replaying the day’s events in your mind. you couldn’t shake the thought of sunghoon’s demeanor—so distant, almost icy. you’d met your fair share of artists, some a little standoffish, but something about him felt different. did he hate every second of being there? or worse, was it something about you? had you come off too friendly? too casual?

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “no, it couldn’t be,” you muttered to yourself. it had just been introductions. still, the questions lingered in your mind, stubbornly refusing to quiet.

as much as you hated overthinking, it was a habit that came back all too easily. you’d tried to be warm, welcoming, like always. maybe he was just tired from his travels—jet-lagged, exhausted. yeah, that was probably it, you reassured yourself, though part of you didn’t fully believe it.

the next morning, you walked into the gallery, coffee in hand, ready to start the day. as you set up at the front desk, your eyes wandered toward the hallway leading to the studio space, where sunghoon would likely be working today. you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d look as tired as he did yesterday or if he might be a little more at ease now that he’d had a night to settle in.

“morning!” a cheerful voice snapped you out of your thoughts. you looked up to see jake, grinning as he dropped his bag by the desk. “guess who spent the morning looking for the memory card he left in his jacket pocket?”

you laughed, grateful for the distraction. “classic. was it at least the last jacket you checked?”

he groaned, shaking his head. “third jacket. honestly, it’s like i’m living in a game of hide-and-seek with my equipment.”

before you could respond, the sound of footsteps drew your attention down the hallway. there was sunghoon, camera bag slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable as he scanned the room. when his eyes met yours, he gave a brief nod—still as reserved as ever.

“good morning, sunghoon,” you called, offering a warm smile.

“morning,” he replied, his tone polite but distant, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit like you were back at square one. but before the familiar spiral of overthinking could start, jay’s voice broke through.

“alrighty i was thinking instead of starting with photos today, we should just do some team bonding,” said jay.

jay said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

you glanced over, amused. “team bonding? i don’t think that was in the contract,” you teased.

jay laughed. “hey, we’re a team for a whole year—might as well get to know each other, right? besides, it’s the best way to break the ice.” he looked pointedly at sunghoon. “especially with some of us who like to keep things, let’s say… professional.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure where this was going. “uh… what exactly did you have in mind?” he asked, cautious but curious.

“don’t worry,” jay said with a reassuring grin. “just a coffee run to start, and then we’ll hang out in the lounge. maybe play some card games or something. nothing intense. just a chance to relax and actually talk to each other as people, not just job titles.”

jake chimed in, looking thrilled. “i’m in! plus, we get to introduce sunghoon to the best coffee in town.”

“come on, sunghoon,” you said, feeling a bit braver now, “just think of it as a warm-up to the year.”

sunghoon hesitated, but he finally gave a small nod. “alright,” he said, a faint smile breaking through. “i’ll give it a shot.”

minjeong pumped her fist in victory, high-fiving sunoo in the process. “that’s what i’m talking about!”

as you all headed out together, you couldn’t help but feel hopeful. maybe, just maybe, this was a step closer to breaking through that cold exterior.

the six of you walked closer to the coffee shop, with lively chatter with sunghoon making little to no contributions to the conversation unless he was called out by name.

honestly, you weren’t sure if he was rude, nervous, tired, or what. it took you by surprise.

meanwhile, sunghoon was quietly taking in the easy camaraderie around him. he wasn’t used to work environments that felt… well, less like work.

it’s not that he hated it either, it was just, different. in a good way, at least for him.

“y/n, sunghoon, why don’t you go get us a table we’ll order for you guys,” sunoo chirped out pulling open the door to the cafe.

“sure thing! just get me the mocha cream latte, hoon, you want anything?” you asked, flashing him a friendly smile.

pause. hoon?

the nickname had slipped out before you even realized it—something you’d been calling him in your head but hadn’t planned to say aloud. you felt a wave of embarrassment, surprised at yourself, while he looked almost unfazed.

“uh, just an americano, thanks,” sunghoon replied, his tone curt but polite, as if the nickname hadn’t thrown him off in the slightest.

sunoo smiled giving a thumbs up, as he continued chatting with the rest of the team, while you and sunghoon went to find an open table.

“sorry if the nickname made you uncomfortable, i won’t call you it if you don’t want me to,” you apologized meekly.

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his expression softening just a bit. “it’s fine,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i don’t mind it,”

the unexpected response took you by surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a little more at ease. for a moment, his guarded demeanor seemed to fade, replaced by something almost approachable.

“good,” you said, relaxing as you leaned back. “because i didn’t even realize i’d been calling you that in my head until it slipped out.”

shit.

stop talking.

stop saying that you were thinking about him outside of work you freak.

stop word vomiting.

sunghoon chuckled lightly, and for the first time, it felt like a small barrier between you had started to lift, unfazed by you mentioning that you were thinking about him to even have a nickname.

“so, any ideas for the gallery and what you’re going to try to capture this time? i’ve looked at some of your works from your portfolio and it’s an extensive list of cities,”

sunghoon looked up, his gaze softening thoughtfully. “honestly, i’m still working it out,” he admitted, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the table. “i’ve spent so long capturing cityscapes, architecture, the whole atmosphere of a place. but now… i’m starting to wonder if it’s lost its meaning somehow. people say my work feels distant.”

his words surprised you; they were thoughtful, a bit vulnerable even. “so, a new chapter then huh,” you said with a small nod, understanding his new direction. “sounds like a big shift.”

“yeah,” he agreed, the faintest hint of a smile appearing. “new territory. and it feels… strange, honestly,”

there was a quiet pause as you took in his words. “well, if you ever need a guide to get the real feel of the city, or even a coffee break buddy, i’m just at the front desk,” you offered, smiling.

sunghoon met your gaze, and his expression softened for the first time. “thank you,”.

you watched as sunghoon pulled out a paper calendar and quickly scribbled something on the todo list side of it looking satisfied at yourself.

“drinks are here!” minjeong cheered, balancing three cups as she handed you and sunghoon your orders.

“thank you,” you smiled, reaching up to grab the cup from her hands and taking a sip. the hot liquid gold instantly warming your soul with the familiar taste.

“alright, so here’s the idea,” jake said, leaning forward. “jay and i thought we’d visit some of the classic spots around the city to get things going for the first few months, see if anything sparks that inspiration. what do you guys think?” you nodded as he looked around the table, looking for approval.

everyone else nodded, i mean it’s not like anyone else had other plans to get this project kick-started.

sunghoon looked taken aback, not even in an offensive way. “oh, i thought we were going to get to shooting test photos, and get the photos for this gallery done fast,”

“oh cmon, let’s get a good feel for the city, get some quality inspiration,” minjeong piped up. which sunghoon nodded reluctantly.

“great, we’ll start with the arcade today and then work from there,” jay concluded sipping his drink. sunoo looked the most delighted out of everyone there, the arcade being one of his favorite places.

sunghoon, who had been mostly quiet, raised an eyebrow. “an arcade?”

“yep,” sunoo chimed in, practically buzzing. “trust me, it’s the perfect mix of chaos and color. it might actually surprise you. plus, who doesn’t like a little fun between all the serious stuff?”

sunghoon thought for a moment, his expression softening with a glimmer of interest. “alright,” he said finally, “guess it wouldn’t hurt to see what all the fuss is about.”

as everyone finished up their drinks, the energy in the group seemed to pick up, each person eager to shake off the weight of routine and get a fresh start together.

jay cracked a joke, prompting laughs, while jake started a mini debate with sunoo over the best arcade games.

you glanced at sunghoon, who was watching the easy camaraderie with a relaxed expression. he didn’t say much, but you noticed the way he took everything in, like he was warming up to the idea of this more laid-back team dynamic.

with the drinks finished and everyone’s spirits high, you all filed out of the café, ready to kick off the day’s adventure.

as you walked alongside him, you caught sunghoon glancing at you with a faint smile, and for the first time, you felt the start of something different—something unspoken but promising.

─── ♡

“okay, which game first?” sunoo wondered, his eyes wide as he took in the room full of flashing lights and the hum of arcade sounds.

“wait—where did jake and jay go?” minjeong asked, whipping her head around, scanning the noise filled room.

“i think they went to go play some racing game,” you commented recalling watching the two run off like children despite. minjeong rolled her eyes in disappointment and groaned.

“typical,” minjeong muttered, crossing her arms. “leave it to them to ditch us at the first sight of a car game.”

“well, we don’t need them! let’s go play this fishing game,” sunoo exclaimed already making his way over to the machine. the three of you followed sunoo over as he excitedly swiped his card in both spots and patted the seat next to him.

you reluctantly sat down and enjoyed the game with him switching off with minjeong halfway through.

you were getting thirsty however and went to the food court to see whatever drinks they had and maybe some snacks along the way. sunoo seemed excited to continue playing though to which you encouraged, telling him you’d be back shortly.

as you were walking away, you noticed sunghoon following you awkwardly shifting step step.

“didn’t want to play any games?” you asked.

“uh, no not really,” he responded

you nodded, offering him a small smile. "well, maybe you just haven’t found the right game," you teased lightly, hoping to ease some of his quietness.

he chuckled faintly, looking down. "i think i’m more of an observer in places like this. it’s very…lively," he admitted, glancing around at the buzz of the arcade.

you reached the food court, scanning the menu of drinks. "anything catch your eye? i’m thinking maybe a soda… or a lemon slushie if i’m feeling adventurous," you mused, sneaking a glance at him.

sunghoon’s lips curved slightly. "maybe just water. but you should go for the slushie,” he said, eyes glinting a bit. “it seems… you."

surprised by his answer, you chuckled. "oh, you think so?"

he shrugged, an almost smile on his face. "yeah, it’s very bright, like you,"

“oh. thank you,” you weren’t quite sure if you should be flattered or what. you’ve never had someone compare you to…a slushie.

as you fumbled through your pockets, trying to remember where you’d stashed your card, you looked up to find sunghoon already tapping his.

“oh—you didn’t have to do that,” you chuckled softly, surprised but grateful.

he shrugged with a small smile. “it’s nothing. i don’t mind.”

you both found a spot to sit, settling into a quiet moment as you sipped your slushie. your mind wandered over the day’s events, piecing together small moments, a growing familiarity. finally, you broke the silence.

“so, what’s on your calendar?” you asked, hoping to draw him into a conversation.

“whatever you all have planned,” he replied with a faint grin. “i’m just here to take the photos.”

“no, i mean the one you were looking at earlier in the café,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “it looked pretty packed.”

he paused, caught off guard, glancing down. “oh. well… i keep track of things to make time for the important stuff,” he muttered, then looked up, adding a bit sheepishly, “like… i guess, paying you back.”

“paying me back? for what?” you scoffed not seeing any reason to.

his gaze softened, and he seemed to choose his words carefully. “for being… you,”

a beat of silence hung between you. did he realize how much that sounded like more than small talk?

“thank you, i think,” you managed, feeling a blush warm your cheeks. “we should get back, though. i’m almost done with this.”

“right, of course,” he agreed, standing up beside you, his tone quiet but holding a warmth that lingered as you walked back together.

naturally, just as you’d set your mind on one thing, it didn’t take long to get sidetracked. not that you minded; you enjoyed letting life pull you in whatever direction it chose, figuring it was all some twist of fate.

the flashing “$1 per play” sign on a crane machine caught your eye, drawing you in before you even realized, and before you knew it, you were standing at the controls, card swiped, joystick in hand.

among the jumbled colors and shapes, one prize stood out—a small, perfectly plump penguin plush with big, round eyes and tiny flippers folded at its sides, nestled among other plushies, half-buried but calling to you, almost daring you to try your luck.

the atmosphere was so immersive you blocked nearly everything else in the world. it was just you and that stupid little penguin plush. you took a deep breath, adjusting your stance. guiding the joystick forward, you carefully lined up the claw, your eyes focused on that one penguin. its beady eyes seemed to taunt you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thrill of it.

you saw the timer tick down slowly feeling pressured. you hit the red button, watching the claw descend with a soft whirr. it clamped down, and for a second, you thought you’d actually done it. the penguin was in the claw’s grasp, hanging by a thread of fabric, and your heart leapt as the claw lifted it into the air.

feeling excited you watched anticipatorily as it started to bring it over only to drop it, bouncing off the chute.

but hey! you were never one to give up, and so you swiped again. just one more time wouldn't hurt.

and then one more swipe turned into two more.

and then three more.

and then four more.

honestly, you were going to continue swiping until you got it if it weren’t for hoon’s voice breaking your focus.

“are you… sure you want to keep going?” he asked, a slight hesitation in his voice, like he didn’t want to disrupt your focus.

“i have to! i need to get it, it just looks too much like you for me to pass over it,”.

oh.

you weren’t supposed to say THAT much.

“here let me try,” he suggested, as you handed your card for him to swipe.

you watched as he expertly maneuvered the joystick, barely hesitating before pressing the button. the claw dropped, grasping the penguin plush cleanly on the first try, lifting it without a hitch.

he turned to you, holding out the plush with a small, almost smug smile. “here,” he said simply, “guess this one was meant for you.”

“if i’m being honest, i was trying to win it for you,” you admitted, a little defeated. “guess you beat me to it, though.”

sunghoon smiled, a bit unsure. “well, now you’ve got a little something to remember me by… or, you know, this whole project.”

you chuckled, holding up the plush, poking it playfully. “guess i’ll call him hoon jr. real original, huh?”

you gave the plush a gentle squeeze, feeling the soft fabric under your fingers as you took in its tiny stitched eyes and outstretched wings. it was surprisingly comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet warmth of the small gesture.

the flashing arcade lights cast a warm glow around the both of you, creating a rare pause in the day’s chaos.

sunghoon shifted beside you, hands in his pockets, his usual reserved expression softened slightly. the two of you stood there, surrounded by the buzz and hum of the arcade, sharing a moment that felt like it was only meant for you—no cameras, no rush, just the quiet reminder of something a little more than the upcoming work.

─── ♡

the world was changing around him as he knew it. not only the change of leaves falling down and the temperature moving to a frigid feeling, but time itself.

the next couple months were…slow. a lot slower than sunghoon had anticipated. he was used to being on a time crunch.

the calendar he had once been using every day to remind himself of the many little details of his day, week to week was for once blank. only an occasional scribble remained every once in a while.

each week brought a new adventure, like wandering the shorelines on a beach day, toes buried in sand, or hopping from one coffee shop to another, scoring each drink for its flavor and warmth.

you all loved a good thrift hunt too, diving into racks of vintage tees, worn-in jeans, and forgotten books, each item telling a story as unique as the one you were all building together.

sunghoon recalled to how you basically picked a large majority of his new closet from there, smiling cheerfully as you forced him to try on things. he couldn’t lie, he liked your attention.

then there were the farmer’s markets, where you’d stroll through stands bursting with color—bright red strawberries, golden honey, baskets of earthy greens. sunghoon couldn’t deny that the warm pastries, fresh-baked and dusted with sugar, were growing on him.

for sunghoon, it was all foreign territory.

relaxing didn’t come naturally to him—he was used to constant movement, ticking clocks, and deadlines. he’d never lingered over a latte just to talk or sifted through racks at a thrift store for the fun of it.

“i was thinking to wrap up this…research,” jay started. all of you knew you were just friends hanging out til that point, no actual work being done, but hey! team bonding is important. “we should head to the city hall and read up on stuff there,” jay prompted. no one else really had specific plans as you’d already run through the collective to-do list.

you all nodded in agreement, scattering to get to the destination. normally, you’d carpool with minjeong and sunoo, but their car was in the shop for repairs, leaving you in a bit of a bind.

so, after a bit of back-and-forth, you found yourself in sunghoon’s car instead. it wasn’t exactly planned—just the most practical option.

sunghoon was terrified—of everything, it seemed. terrified of facing emotions, of this project, and especially, of you.

he enjoyed your company more than he wanted to admit, yet something about your gaze unsettled him. the way a single look from you could leave his head spinning, his heart pounding. it was unnerving.

he hated how much he liked being near you, how he’d catch himself wanting to stay just a little longer. he hated the way you knew his coffee order, called him ‘hoon’ did all the things coworkers don’t do.

from the way you’d lean over his desk to point out something on his screen, or when you would always run off to make sure he was okay when he split off during your group hangouts then spend the rest of the time with him.

that couldn’t just be friendly colleague behavior, right?

he wasn’t oblivious to the signs of a crush; he just hadn’t expected it to hit him with such intensity.

he wished the situation was clear and he could just tell you he liked you without breaking the very famous rule of “don’t date your co workers”. he wasn’t used to being patient.

“did you know that this city was built on some old guy’s school and farm and they evicted him?” jake asked sorting through files at the city hall.

jake’s voice snapping him out of his little world inside of his head.

“yeah i think i learned that in grade school,” he replied

“oh shit you lived here?” jake asked with amusement upon hearing that.

“i grew up here,” he replied, a hint of nostalgia flashing across his face. “but I moved away when I turned 18. felt like it was time to explore somewhere new,” he added, his gaze drifting momentarily, as though recalling a distant memory.

“we should do some of whatever favorites you have in this city,” minjeong suggested, nudging sunoo to look up from his phone.

sunghoon felt weird. all the attention was on him. of course he’d felt this before when presenting his work, but just having people (friends?) want to pay attention to him and listen to the mundane things he said.

this was personal. they weren’t looking at his work; they were looking at him, hanging on to even the smallest things he said, like they actually wanted to know him.

“um, there’s a small park near the house where i grew up, and a convenience store. nothing interesting really,” he suggested recalling his childhood.

“let’s go then! after we finish cleaning up though…” sunoo trailed off looking to the stack of boxes jay had pulled out for ‘research’.

“it’d be interesting to learn more about your childhood and about you, but if you don’t feel comfortable we don’t have to go,” you replied with a warm smile despite the cold months.

“no it’s fine, i don’t mind,”

and so, there you were, back in sunghoon’s car. the silence felt thick, stretching out between you like an unspoken question, lingering just beyond the reach of words.

the hum of the car’s heating was the only sound, filling the space with a steady warmth, yet doing little to ease the quiet tension.

you shifted in your seat, glancing out the window at the streetlights casting shadows on the road. despite the silence, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something comfortably familiar in it, as if the quiet itself was a language only the two of you could understand.

you stared out the window, but your mind kept drifting back to him. there was something magnetic about his quiet presence, like he filled the car without saying a word.

a part of you wanted to break the silence, to fill it with anything: a random comment, a question, maybe a joke. but you held back, sensing that maybe he didn’t mind the quiet.

still, the silence made you hyperaware of every little thing. the way his fingers tapped on the steering wheel occasionally. the way he’d glance your way, just for a second, then back at the road.

your heart felt annoyingly light, fluttering in a way that made you both want to smile and laugh at yourself. this was so out of character—you weren’t usually nervous around people, especially not people you’d been working with for a while.

you could feel your pulse quicken, and you didn’t know why. it wasn’t like he was doing anything out of the ordinary. just driving. just there, next to you.

each moment felt like it stretched out longer than the last. the silence was oddly comforting, even as it made you restless.

you glanced at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened when he concentrated on the road. it was… distracting. and you scolded yourself for even thinking that.

your fingers tapped your leg lightly, the same rhythm he tapped on the steering wheel. maybe he hadn’t noticed, but part of you hoped he had.

sunghoon wanted to say something, anything, to ease the stillness. but every word he thought of felt silly, or worse, like it meant more than he wanted it to.

“i feel like I should say something… this silence feels too heavy,” he admitted, his voice a little shaky, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

you blinked, surprised, before a small smile crept onto your face. “no, really—it’s fine. i’m just enjoying the quiet,” you assured him, your tone easy, hoping it’d settle whatever tension he was feeling.

“i just… i don’t want the silence to feel uncomfortable,” he said, glancing over quickly before looking back at the road, as if he didn’t want to make too big a deal of it.

you felt a hint of warmth at his thoughtfulness. “i promise, it’s okay,” you replied, voice soft and steady. “sometimes, taking a moment to just… be, to appreciate what’s around us, that’s nice.”

he nodded, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel, and though he still seemed restless, your words seemed to settle something within him.

“don’t get me wrong—i’m not opposed to chatting,” you added with a light laugh. “just curious, though—how long until we get there?” you asked, steering the conversation somewhere new.

“about five minutes, give or take,” he replied with a nod. somewhere beneath the calm tone, he found himself wishing the drive was just a little longer to spend a few more seconds, minutes with you.

after the convenience store run and dropping you back at your apartment, sunghoon thought a lot about what you said.

your calmness toward silence lingered in his mind, a contrast to his urge to fill every pause, every quiet moment, with conversation.

he couldn’t understand how you seemed so at ease with the world, like every second didn’t need to be accounted for. he was used to filling gaps, rushing through silences, yet you just let them be, like every second didn’t need something to prove its worth.

unlocking the door to his own place, he mulled over how, in your company, even the silence hadn’t felt as heavy as he feared.

he wasn’t sure why, but the quiet with you had left him unsettled in a way he hadn’t expected.

─── ♡

sunghoon had felt significantly more comfortable over the next weeks growing more relaxed and talkative, it really seemed the team bonding did it’s job.

he felt more free, less judged to give his opinion.

two months had passed since you sat in sunghoon’s car for the first time. sunghoon’s calendar, still mostly blank, with minimal writing. the minimal writing being small things he’d remember about you, anything you told him really.

your favorite coffee, favorite flowers, hobbies, anything really.

tonight marked the first practice shoot of many, getting a good idea of the potential photos he might want. you sat in sunghoon’s car once again staring out at the city ahead of you from the view, taking in the sight.

from where you sat, the city stretched out below in a vast, glittering sprawl.

the buildings looked like scattered constellations against the night, lights twinkling from windows, and casting a warm glow into the misty evening air.

a gentle haze softened the skyline, blending the sharp edges of skyscrapers into the soft glow of distant streetlights and neon signs.

beside you, sunghoon had his camera in hand, his posture focused yet relaxed as he adjusted the settings, while jake, just to his left, fiddled with the light equipment, focused, no longer showing his joking fun demeanor.

the faint buzz of voices and distant city sounds drifted through the air, grounding the quiet scene around you.

you could hear a few clicks go off subtly, but the sound carried off with the many others in the night.

it was cold, and despite you being in multiple layers, you were still freezing.

wait. why were you out here again?

sunghoon and jake said they had it covered for this practice shoot, and jay, minjeong and sunoo weren’t here, so why were you here?

“nah don’t worry we’ll be okay, you go rest up,” you recalled jake saying when sunghoon and him were discussing where to first shoot at.

it was because you wanted to support them, yes.

or at least support sunghoon in his hard work and dedication.

right?

your mind drifted back to that moment, to the way sunghoon's expression shifted when you told jake it was alright—you wanted to stay, to watch them work.

his smile had softened, curving upward in a way you hadn’t seen before, and his eyes widened, just briefly, like he hadn’t expected you’d actually want to be there.

you never realized how much you liked seeing him smile, but it hit you that you enjoyed being in his warm graces. being the reason he could smile so happily like that.

then it hit you, surrounding all the times he’d show up at the gallery with two cups of coffee, one of his own, and a second of your favorite. it never phased you, but you enjoyed that brief moment in the morning. not just being able to get your favorite drink off the bat, but just seeing him.

maybe it was the way he listened or the silent way he noticed the details in people’s lives. maybe it was the steady calm he carried with him, which felt so opposite to the rush and noise of everyone else.

or maybe it was just the realization that you wanted more of those moments. of him.

you felt a new sort of comfort surrounding you in realizing where your thoughts carried you. it wasn’t scary and you didn’t feel pressured to feel what you did towards him.

it felt natural, and you didn’t mind the pace you were at.

“y/n you should come look at these photos sunghoon took, they’re amazing!” jake called out waving his hand to come look at the photos. you nodded and opened the car door making sure to carry the blanket that kept you warm.

you walked over with a sense of calm in you, feeling at peace for finally being able to sort your thoughts out. jake walked off leaving just you, sunghoon, and a camera.

you hovered over the camera inspecting the beauty captured by it, and comparing it to what you eyes could naturally take in infront of you marveling at the sight.

“these are just. wow. they’re stunning hoon, honestly good enough to be the final shoot,” you joked (not really) at the end. you didn’t have to lie to tell him the beauty they captured.

“thank you, y/n, i appreciate it,” his voice softened despite the frigid temperatures.

“i didn’t realize how much i liked nighttime cityscapes but just wow. you’re really a master at this,” you smiled still awing the photo. you looked up from the camera to find his eyes gazing back into yours studying your every micromovement.

maybe you should have instantly looked away when your eyes made contact, but you didn’t. you held his gaze looking in his eyes admiring the world you could see through them. admiring how you could see his world through them.

you felt yourself drawn in, noticing how his eyes softened in the dim light, catching every detail of your expression as if he were trying to memorize it, too. there was something so unguarded in his gaze that it left you wondering—how often did he let anyone see him this way?

it felt like looking into a world you hadn’t seen before, like a momentary glimpse past the careful walls he usually kept up. maybe that’s what held you, the idea that, through that look, you were somehow let in. you saw the way his guard slipped, even just a little, showing you the warmth and thoughtfulness usually hidden behind his quiet demeanor.

you admired the subtle spark in his eyes that seemed to light up when he was truly present, like he was with you in that moment, unhurried and genuine. there was a sense of closeness in the silence, an understanding that you both held, lingering quietly between you.

and as you held his gaze, it felt like everything around you faded out, like this moment had its own weight, its own depth, unfolding softly between you.

“okay, i loaded it on a different sd card, y/n do you wanna head back in the car to uh..” jake came back holding a laptop, preoccupied, then noticing the distance and the interaction between you and sunghoon.

one quick assessment of the situation and he figured out what was going on, no awkward looks or stutters needed to be said.

“uhh i’ll be over here, sunghoon let me know when you’re good to continue shooting,” he continued on, sitting down on the nearby camper chair with his laptop analyzing the photos.

“nono, i’ll head back to the car, good luck on the rest! show me in the car later!” you cheerfully yipped out, looking away from sunghoon, and briskly walking your way back to the car. his car that is.

as you slumped back into your seat, a strange energy filled you—a quiet buzz that ran beneath your skin. the evening was alive with possibilities, but you forced yourself to hold back, to let things unfold naturally. you reminded yourself not to jump ahead, not to overthink or analyze every look, every lingering silence. things would happen in their own time, you told yourself. let it be.

but even as you repeated the words, you couldn’t fully push away the anticipation thrumming inside you. you knew there was something there, something unspoken but felt. it made you feel like every small moment had meaning—like the way his gaze had softened when he’d caught you looking at him, or the way he waited just a second longer than necessary when he dropped you off, his eyes lingering on yours.

yet, you didn’t want to assume, didn’t want to misstep and make him uncomfortable by wanting more before he was ready. so you settled back, let yourself get lost in the quiet sounds of the night as you tried to quiet the thoughts in your mind.

sunghoon, however, was struggling with restraint of his own. he wanted to reach out, to define whatever this was now instead of letting it drift without a name. he wanted the clarity of a label, a tangible understanding between you both that this was more than just quiet glances and shared coffee.

he tapped his fingers against his side, feeling the impatience gnaw at him. he’d never felt quite this way before—this quiet, constant pull toward someone. he wanted the comfort of knowing where he stood, the simple ease of calling you something more than a friend.

and even though he hesitated, unsure of how to say it or when to bring it up, that impatience lingered, urging him to take a chance.

as you waited in the car, you noticed the signature blue calendar he would carry with him, peaking out from his bag. you knew it was bad to snoop, but it’s just a calendar so what’s the harm?

you recalled how he always kept his calendar so close, almost sacred. he’d never let anyone flip through it casually, and there was something endearing in the way he treated it like his personal vault. but here you were, skimming through its pages, carefully thumbing over each detail he’d meticulously planned, organized, and guarded.

as you moved further back in the year, you noticed how every single corner of the earlier months was packed with events, deadlines, and reminders, all stacked so close together there was barely any blank space. but as you neared the months when your project together began, it was as though the calendar itself had started to breathe. gaps of empty white space dotted each week—untouched, open, flexible.

flip to another week in the same month, where you saw all your favorite things being written down.

y/n favorite coffee, mocha cream y/n fav flower is peonies y/n likes citrus/clean scents

you couldn’t help but smile at these thoughtful details written in his familiar handwriting, an echo of how much attention he must have been paying all along. they weren’t bold or highlighted, no special stars or embellishments around them—just quiet, tucked away in the folds of his otherwise meticulously planned calendar.

you ran your finger over the words, letting yourself take in each small token he’d left behind feeling a warmth rise up in your chest as you took in the silent care embedded in those notes.

gently, you closed the calendar and placed it back in its spot, careful to leave it exactly as you’d found it.

─── ♡

on the drive back to the main city from the quiet outskirts where you’d been practice shooting, the car seemed to grow heavier with each passing mile. jake, sitting in the backseat, could practically feel the tension thickening in the air, a quiet current between you and sunghoon that neither of you seemed eager to break.

sunghoon had grown used to the silence that fell between you two. for someone who once found quiet spaces awkward and uncomfortable, he was starting to see the beauty in it—how, with you, silence didn’t feel empty.

it felt full, a kind of gentle hum that let him think without needing to say a word. he found himself watching the road ahead, but his mind drifted back to your presence beside him, wondering what you were thinking, feeling, if the silence was as comfortable for you as it was slowly becoming for him.

you stopped at the convenience store you stopped as a group months prior and you noticed subtle changes—a few new products, different ads on the walls, small shifts that somehow fit. it felt right though, the change for the store was good.

you wandered down the aisles, the familiar hum of the refrigeration units a soft background to your thoughts. a new brand of energy drink caught your eye, and you grabbed one, smiling as you remembered jake daring sunghoon to down two in a row last time you were all here.

sunghoon moved through the aisles with his usual quiet focus, but tonight, there was a slight hesitance in his steps. you walked a few paces behind, watching as he reached for snacks, glanced over products, but occasionally, you felt his gaze drift back to you. it was subtle, the way he’d glance over his shoulder, his eyes searching for a brief second before he turned away, as if to make sure you were still there.

once, your eyes met, and you felt a quiet pull—a wordless exchange that made you feel more aware of his presence, of the shared space between you. he held your gaze for a moment longer than expected, before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat as he continued on. the warmth lingered, a gentle heat settling in your chest, and you found yourself biting back a smile, wondering if he felt it, too.

it would have been easy to brush off, to tell yourself that it was just a simple look, a fleeting moment. but something about it felt significant, like there was more to it than either of you dared to say. as he continued down the aisle, his steps slowed, and he let the silence hang between you, filled with an awareness that was soft but unignorable.

you followed at his pace, feeling content to exist in this quiet moment together, letting the silence speak for itself. every now and then, he’d glance back, and each time, it felt like a quiet question he wasn’t quite ready to ask.

picking up a bag of chips, you lingered by the checkout, watching as he browsed the candy aisle with a rare, almost childlike curiosity. he finally settled on something, paying without a word and slipping it into his pocket with a subtle smile.

it was eerily silent for what many people would interpret as a group of friends, yet it felt right. the occasional joking comments from jake littered in through the silence, not that you minded.

you had texted sunoo and minjeong to come over despite it being the late hours in the night with the promise of paying for any snacks they wanted to which they happily obliged, and walked in not much longer.

they took sight of the many snacks sprawled across the table, eyes wide. "all this on you?" minjeong asked, surprised by the number of snacks.

"yep," you grinned, waving them over. “go wild.”

what once was silence was filled by cheerful banter between the five of you, while normally not as loud as you would be, you made up for the absence of jay probably being asleep.

you felt a pair of eyes comfortably resting on your figure and as you looked up, you found yourself eye to eye with sunghoon again, your gaze lingering longer than colleagues maybe should

after loading up on snacks, the five of you drifted out of the convenience store, stomachs full and happy, you found yourself back in sunghoon’s car.

as you buckled your seatbelt on you took another look at the peaceful look sunghoon had on his face and he looked back at yours. his gaze softened as he looked at you, and you could see a faint glint of amusement in his eyes.

“what? something on my face?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips, trying to break the momentary intensity of the eye contact.

“of course, i’d come out to support you anytime hoon. even after this project is done,” you replied, your voice soft but sincere.

he looked at you, his smile lingering, and for a moment, you could almost feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. “it means a lot, more than you know,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment, like he was sorting through something in his head.

you weren’t sure if it was the night, the quiet between you, or the lingering warmth of the convenience store visit, but something about the way he said it made you feel like there was more to that simple thank you. it was the kind of moment that felt small but significant, and for the first time in a while, you couldn’t help but wonder what would come next.

─── ♡

at the next practice shoot, the following month, everyone was there, and you could finally experience what working with each other was like for this project.

jay managing everyone, jake fixated on the lighting, minjeong, sunoo, and you on standby there for support. it seemed all that team bonding was starting to show as you found yourselves in a natural flow, relaxed yet anticipatory.

everyone seemed to be in their right mind, well, except for sunghoon that is.

unbeknownst to you, that convenience store night was all he could think about.

sunghoon adjusted his camera, hands steady but his mind drifting, unable to shake the unease gnawing at him. he tried to stay focused on the familiar rhythm of the shoot, hoping it would ground him, but his thoughts kept slipping back to the night at the convenience store.

he’d replayed every second in his mind—the way you’d looked at him, laughed at something he’d said, your easy smile that seemed to reach just a little deeper. it was as though he was seeing pieces of something beautiful that refused to fall into place.

his eyes drifted back to you, almost as if by habit. it felt like every look you shared lately had its own gravity, a silent language that left him both eager and hesitant. he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something unspoken lingering between you, yet he doubted himself, wondered if he was only imagining it.

he tried to brush it off, focusing instead on the task in front of him, calling out directions and adjusting his camera settings. still, his mind kept circling back, caught in a loop of doubt. every look you gave him seemed to spark a question he couldn’t answer.

were his feelings becoming too obvious? was he stuck waiting for a sign that would never come? each glance between you seemed to hold a promise, yet he was starting to wonder if it was all in his head, if he was simply reaching for something that wasn’t really there.

did you even want this? if you wanted it too why hasn’t anything happened? love should feel like it’s at first sight, that it’s simple and you’ll know right away.

he took a steadying breath and aimed his camera, telling himself that maybe this was just the timing, that things would unfold naturally. still, a part of him ached with impatience, with the desire for things to move forward, to finally break the tension and know where he stood.

in the end, he stayed quiet, capturing moments through his lens, hoping it would be enough to quiet his mind. but as the shoot wore on, he couldn’t help feeling like he was holding his breath, waiting for a moment that kept slipping just out of reach.

everything felt right, so why wasn’t anything happening?

if only you had known, maybe you could’ve said the words necessary to reassure him.

you glanced over at sunghoon, who was adjusting his lens with his usual precision, and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. lately, you’d noticed how he always seemed to glance back at you, his expression softening in a way that made you feel warm inside.

though, sunghoon was quieter than usual even after all the team bonding and getting used to being around each other. his gaze flickering between his camera and the ground, almost as if he were more focused on his thoughts than on the scene around him.

he seemed hesitant, movements a little more calculated, as if overthinking every small action.

you figured it must be due to the lack of sleep or just something.

it was as if he was unsure of his place—not in the project, but in whatever was building between the two of you. every now and then, you’d catch him watching you from afar, his gaze softer, but by the time you met his eyes, he’d look away quickly, his expression unreadable.

something about it just felt, off. normally, your gazes would linger with each other, intertwining as if they were telling a whole new story in each other’s glances, yet it couldn’t just be because he was tired.

he seemed cautious, like he was holding himself back again. you wondered if he was doubting the connection you thought had been growing, or if he was simply caught up in his own head. it was clear something was pulling him away, a hesitation that hung in the air between you, subtle but undeniable.

whilst you wanted to dwell on the issue further, you figured it could be an off day, you weren’t too concerned with fixing an unfixable issue. life would take it’s course, holding you by the hand wherever it wanted you to be.

you hoped that this principle would hold true even in this time now.

─── ♡

it had been months since the six of you had hung out not doing work related things, ironic as it sounds.

the six of you were gathered at the same cozy café you had frequented so many times before, the familiar chatter of friends filling the air as you each sipped on your drinks. the usual buzz of conversation was present, but today there was something different—a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

it felt like the walls that once existed in the beginning of the project were once built up again.

sunghoon sat across from you, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup absentmindedly, eyes occasionally flicking to you when he thought you weren’t looking. he had been quieter than usual, more distant. you couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but it had been on your mind all week.

you tried to shake it off. maybe he was just tired. maybe it was the pressure of the project, of the looming deadline. but you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something else was at play.

you took a sip of your coffee hoping to drown out the thoughts that ran through your head.

“so,” jake piped up, breaking the silence that had settled over the group. “anyone up for some impromptu karaoke later? i’ve been dying to belt out some classics.”

minjeong raised an eyebrow. “karaoke? really? you know i can’t sing to save my life.”

“don’t worry, we’ll let you off easy,” jake teased, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “i’m sure sunghoon here would love to join in, right?”

sunghoon’s gaze flickered to jake for a moment before his eyes slid back to his coffee cup. “i’m not really feeling it today,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

you glanced at him, catching his tired eyes before he quickly looked away. it was subtle, but there was an unmistakable shift in his demeanor, one that you couldn’t ignore. it wasn’t like sunghoon to turn down a new experience, even if it scared him. especially when the rest of the group was so lively.

“is everything okay?” you asked softly, your voice gentle, though you could feel the weight of your words hanging in the air. you didn’t want to push him, but you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

sunghoon tensed for a brief moment, as though your question had caught him off guard. he hesitated, clearly unsure of how to respond. “yeah, everything’s fine,” he said finally, offering a half-hearted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “just… tired, i guess.”

you nodded, but the unease in the pit of your stomach refused to settle. there was more to it than that. you could sense it, the way he kept his distance, the way his smiles no longer carried the same warmth. something was off, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was connected to you.

“come on, let’s not ruin the vibe,” minjeong interjected, her voice light and playful. “let’s focus on something fun. anyone want to plan our next outing?”

but sunghoon wasn’t really listening anymore. his focus was elsewhere, distant, as though his mind was a million miles away. you caught him glancing at his phone once, then again, but when you looked, he quickly put it down, his fingers tapping restlessly on the table.

it was obvious that his thoughts were elsewhere, and it made you feel like you were walking on eggshells around him. you hated this—this space between you both. it wasn’t like the easy banter you were used to, the comfortable silence you could share without it feeling heavy.

you shifted in your seat, your gaze dropping to your drink. you tried to focus on the conversation, on the lighthearted chatter between sunoo and jake, but your thoughts kept drifting back to sunghoon.

was he upset with you? was something wrong with the project? or maybe—just maybe—he was pulling away because of something more. something you couldn’t quite understand.

“i think i’m gonna head out soon,” sunghoon said suddenly, his voice breaking through your spiraling thoughts. “got some stuff to take care of, old projects”

the group looked up, surprised by his abrupt announcement. you didn’t want to let him leave like this, not with the tension hanging in the air. but you didn’t want to push him either.

“are you sure?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

sunghoon looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, he nodded. “yeah. i’ll see you guys later.”

with that, he stood up and made his way toward the door, leaving the table behind him. the remaining five of you exchanged glances, a sense of confusion settling over the group. you could hear the murmur of voices, but none of it really reached you. your mind was fixed on sunghoon’s retreating figure.

“he’s been like this for a while now,” jake said, his tone quieter than usual. “i don’t think it’s just the project.”

you swallowed, trying to push down the growing anxiety in your chest. “what do you mean?”

jake shrugged, glancing over at sunghoon’s empty seat. “he’s been distant, you know? like he’s in his head too much. he wasn’t always like this.”

you nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. your gaze wandered to the door where sunghoon had just exited. was he pulling away from everyone? or was it just you? the thought gnawed at you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt uncertain.

you wanted to help him, to break through whatever wall he had built around himself. but you didn’t know how.

“don’t worry about it,” minjeong said, her voice soft as she noticed the way you were biting your lip in thought. “he’ll figure it out.”

you hoped so. but deep down, you weren’t so sure. you wanted to continue whatever thing you had going on, but weren’t sure if it was possible to return to that small state of bliss between the two of you. possible to return to that same state where you’d gaze into each other's eyes finding a potential lifetime in them.

─── ♡

the first day of final shootings arose sooner than he would’ve hoped. it was a month since he last saw you and the coffee shop, spending most of his time with jake and jay away from the gallery.

sunghoon stood on the top of the hill, camera in hand, staring out at the city below. the night stretched endlessly, thick with clouds, the city lights shimmering in the distance, blurred by a soft drizzle that seemed to hang in the air, casting a haze over everything, nothing to what the first practice shoot felt like.

jay and jake stood off to the side, adjusting the lighting, keeping their voices low, perhaps sensing the tension rolling off him. sunghoon took in a sharp breath, the cold air burning slightly as he tried to focus on something other than the gnawing frustration in his chest.

his mind wandered back to you, to the way you’d once stood beside him on pratice shoot nights. your eyes bright with excitement, seeing something in each scene that he’d often missed. he thought of how you’d nudge him, urging him to experiment, to capture things in ways he hadn’t thought of. you’d brought a sense of ease, of natural rhythm, to his work.

now, without you, he felt like he was grasping at fragments of inspiration, his usual confidence slipping away.

“hey, sunghoon, maybe we should take a break?” jake suggested gently, sensing his growing frustration. “it’s still early. we’ve got time, we can grab a bite to eat then come back,”

“no, it’s fine, i’m just, thinking,” sunghoon replied back in a tone harsher than he intended.

sunghoon watched as jake blinked, slightly taken aback, and jay cast him a cautious look, but they both kept their distance, knowing better than to push him. he turned away, gripping his camera tightly, frustrated with himself for snapping at jake. it wasn’t their fault he couldn’t settle into the rhythm of this shoot; they were only trying to help.

“sorry,” sunghoon mumbled out. “i didn’t mean to come off that way i’ve just been stressed,”

the two nodded in acceptance and brushed it off, they knew better than to get hurt by words from a confused man.

he closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself settle into the familiar sounds of the city below, trying to reconnect with something beyond his frustration. he felt jake’s concerned gaze, sensed jay hovering nearby, but they didn’t say anything, and somehow, the quiet felt heavier than before.

to sunghoon’s disappointment, jay called it a night there sensing how sunghoon needed time to process whatever he was going through. they didn’t have much time, but any was better than none.

sunghoon was was in a slump. he came to the conclusion that him and you were just not meant to be. as much as he’d love to just drown out his emotions with another batch of meaningless unsentimental photos he had a job to do.

he thought about how slowly things had built between you two, how gentle it all was—like a quiet warmth that crept up over time. but it wasn’t love at first sight. it hadn’t been some dizzying, head-spinning whirlwind. and now, that absence haunted him.

maybe he was wrong to let himself care like this, he thought, feeling the weight of it all press down on him. maybe he’d misread the signals, mistaken something comfortable for something more. if it was real, shouldn’t it have been electric from the start?

he leaned his head back, sighing as he let the doubt settle in. he searched for reasons, for something to explain the ache he felt, for why he couldn’t shake this longing for you even now. he wanted to believe it was enough—the quiet way he’d come to care, the steady rhythm of falling for you. but as the night grew still, so did his doubts.

feeling impatient and irritated he pondered what was next after this project?

go back to the busy photography life of visiting a multitude of countries in a short span to take photos that held zero meaning to him?

it only fueled his reasoning that it wasn’t meant to be.

while he may not have enjoyed it, that was his life, taking photos, what else was he going to do?

as he set up his camera for a second attempt, with jake once helping with lights and jay helping to make sure everything ran well.

though, it didn’t quite feel the same as all his other photography shoots. instead of a clear sky with stars shining bright and a perfect bustling city, it was…imperfect.

instead of the crystal-clear sky he’d planned for, filled with stars, the sky was murky, blanketed by thick clouds that blotted out the moonlight. the city below was drenched, its usual dullness covered by the rain that pooled in the gutters and slicked the sidewalks, leaving everything looking worn and tired.

as sunghoon set up his camera, adjusting the settings and squinting through the viewfinder, he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was off. jake held up the lights beside him, fighting the rain that made it all ten times harder.

he frowned, feeling the tug of irritation, every part of him wanting to pack up his equipment and call it a night. he didn’t want this—the blurred lines, the washed-out colors, the way it all felt messier than he’d envisioned. it was nothing like the polished image he’d had in his head.

jay, sensing sunghoon’s frustration, clapped him on the shoulder, leaning in so his words wouldn’t get lost in the noise of the rain. “just give it a chance. wait it out the rain maybe, and then we can get the perfect shot,”

and that’s when it hit him.

his city was just perfectly imperfect.

it wasn’t what he’d expected. it wasn’t his ideal vision, but it was real. raw. flawed in a way that felt unexpectedly compelling.

he raised his camera again, eyes focusing through the lens as he let go of the need for perfection, ready to capture something true, something that told a story all its own.

as the camera shuttered, he felt a sense of excitement wash over him. the feeling of taking photos for his enjoyment rushing back as he snapped each photo.

“these photos are gonna be kinda…drabby, to say the least. a bunch of editing is gonna be needed, but we can work with this,” jake contested feeling unsure of sunghoon’s bold confidence as he smiled back to jake with a huge grin.

“this whole week is raining too sunghoon, so either next week or today if you don’t like the photos, but we’re on a time crunch,” jay called from the tent shielding him from the rain.

sunghoon shook his head with a wave of confidence, “no, i think i like these photos a lot. they feel very, personal i guess you could say,”

jake raised an eyebrow, glancing over at sunghoon with a hint of surprise. “really? didn’t think you’d go for something so… unfiltered,” he said, half-smiling.

sunghoon chuckled, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “yeah, neither did i,” he admitted, glancing down at the screen where the captured images glowed back at him. “but there’s something about the imperfections that feels more… real, like it’s not just another shot of a pretty city.”

as he stared down at the candid, rain-soaked cityscape on his camera screen, sunghoon felt something shift inside him. he thought back to his relationship with you with the new perspective.

he’d expected a flawless, cinematic romance—the kind where everything fell neatly into place from the start, where feelings were undeniable and immediate. but maybe love wasn’t that way. maybe it wasn’t about some grand, sweeping declaration or the way his heart skipped a beat at the first sight of you.

his fingers hovered over the camera, tracing the edges of the image displayed there. the shot was far from perfect—the rain blurred the streetlights, and the shadows of people passing were smudged into streaks across the pavement.

he thought of you again, the way you always let things unfold as they were, never rushing or trying to force anything. that patience, that acceptance of things as they came, was something he was beginning to understand.

he’d wanted so badly for everything to be clear-cut, to know exactly where he stood with you, exactly what every glance and word meant. but now, he was starting to see the beauty in letting things grow in their own time.

sometimes being impatient for the unknown was okay. not knowing what comes next is part of the journey and excitement.

he excitedly took photos throughout the city with a new found perspective, letting the wind take him.

─── ♡

the date for the gallery was finally set, and the buzz around it was impossible to ignore. posters were up around campus, social media posts were popping off with previews, and it felt like everything was falling into place just right.

you’d been in constant contact with minjeong and sunoo, coordinating each little detail, answering questions, adjusting plans to fit sunghoon’s vision as closely as possible. there was a quiet pride in watching it all come together, a satisfaction in knowing your work had paid off in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated.

the gallery had drawn more attention than expected—people genuinely seemed excited about it. every time you checked in with sunoo, he had new numbers to share about the online engagement, and minjeong kept you updated on event interest lists, which were growing every day. it was exhilarating and a little overwhelming, too. you wondered if sunghoon knew just how much excitement surrounded his work, if he’d noticed the attention or if he was too deep into perfecting the last shots for the exhibit to realize.

a small part of you wondered if he’d thought about you at all in the last month. it had been weeks since that night at the convenience store, that easy warmth you’d felt lingering between you two somehow.

since then, things had gone quiet, slipping into routine, and you’d buried yourself in coordinating every detail of this launch. but even as the work kept you busy, thoughts of him still crept in, unbidden and frequent. there was something there that was hard to define—an almost friendship, maybe more. whatever it was, you hoped it hadn’t faded while he’d been away.

you wanted to reach out to him, tell him you were just a chat away from talking about everything. any worries about anything.

on the day of the final walkthrough, you stepped into the gallery a little earlier, wanting a chance to look around before the crowd arrived. the walls were lined with his shots, each one telling its own story, each one imbued with a little more of him than you’d expected.

his work felt personal, almost like glimpses into a side of him you hadn’t seen before.

you lingered in front of one of the photos, a candid shot of the cityscape under an overcast sky, rain blurring the edges. it was imperfect but striking, raw and beautiful in its own way. you felt a sense of quiet pride for him and his work.

it was obvious he’d poured himself into this project, and now, standing here in the gallery, surrounded by pieces of his world, you understood a little more of what he’d been chasing after.

but as you were looking through all the pieces you noticed something different. it wasn’t just cityscapes this time.

as your eyes wandered along the gallery walls, familiar scenes began to emerge, each one tugging you back to a moment you’d almost forgotten.

first, there was the convenience store, washed in soft, nostalgic hues. the aisles looked the same as they had that night, but the way he’d captured it felt almost dreamlike. the colors seemed warmer, more inviting. you could almost hear the quiet hum of the refrigerators, the faint rustle of snack bags, and the soft, comforting silence that had filled the air between you.

your gaze drifted to the next photo—a snapshots of the arcade. it was chaotic yet somehow inviting, as though he’d captured a slice of that unfiltered joy you’d felt there. the image focused on the crane machine, its glass glowing under neon light. the sight vividly reminding you of the two of you laughing and cheering each other on as you attempted, over and over, to win a plush toy. the energy was so vibrant, it almost felt like you were back in that moment, playfully trying over and over again for sunghoon jr.

then your eyes fell upon a final image that caught you off guard. it was of a small receipt taped to a window, the ink faded, but clear enough to make out a single line item—your favorite coffee order. the shot was so simple, yet intimate, as if he’d captured a little piece of you in that slip of paper. in this photo, you could feel his attention to detail, his desire to remember even the small things.

a quiet realization settled over you as you looked at these photos, each one woven with memories of your time together. you’d thought you were simply there to support him, but here in this gallery, with his work all around you, it felt like you were somehow a part of it, a part of him.

as the time ticked closer to the opening, you spotted sunghoon entering quietly, his gaze sweeping across the room, an unreadable expression on his face. when his eyes landed on you, he gave a small nod, something tentative in his gaze. your heart gave a small leap, a reminder of everything unspoken, every quiet look and lingering moment.

you smiled at him, a silent acknowledgment of all the work that had led you both here. whatever the night would bring, you were glad to be here, a part of this world he’d built.

“do.. you like it?” sunghoon asked nervously, awaiting your opinion. after the inspiration had hit him that it was okay for things to take his time, he found himself being pulled to all the key moments that developed the relationship between you two.

"like it? no, i love it, hoon. it feels so… real," you said softly, a gentle smile spreading across your face as you looked back at him.

sunghoon’s eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, something unspoken hung in the air between you. he hesitated, his gaze searching your expression as though he were trying to see if you meant it—if you truly saw what he’d poured into each frame.

"i wanted it to be… more than just photos," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he was confessing something he hadn’t fully realized himself. "more than just places. places that reminded me of you,"

you nodded, understanding settling over you as you took in his work again, feeling the weight and warmth of every captured moment. life was finally taking its course again.

sunghoon felt at peace letting fate take the reigns of his life, it felt peaceful not having to worry and make life fit to your time.

─── ♡

“PARK SUNGHOON: HEART OF THE CITY” is what was plastered on the billboards everywhere in the city, social media, everywhere.

opening day of the new exhibit quickly arose with the gallery completely booked out with admission tickets to see the classic perfection of beauty from one of the world’s most renowned and skilled photographers.

sunghoon’s work hung along the walls, each photograph telling a story that felt intimate yet universal. it was almost surreal, seeing the spaces that had once been mere fragments of his ideas now filling the room, carrying the weight of so many moments he had captured over the last few months. you felt like each photo held something personal—a glimpse into his world.

your mind kept drifting to sunghoon. would he be pleased with the way everything had turned out? would he see what everyone else seemed to—the raw beauty and sincerity of his vision?

with doors officially opened, a steady flow of visitors began walking through, filling up the main room anticipating sunghoon’s opening speech.

jay started off with introducing sunghoon with a brief overview, going into detail about the city’s history and sunghoon’s connection, and as that fastly came to a close, you from behind as sunghoon took the microphone from jay’s hand and began.

he was more nervous from ever. doing the opening speech wasn’t the hard part, but with you watching, it scared him even more. he recalled back to letting life take him by the hand and talk freely letting the words fall out of his mouth.

“thank you so much for being here this morning, i appreciate each and everyone of you who came out, this project couldn’t have been done without my amazing team, jay, jake, minjeong, sunoo, and y/n,” he paused, his gaze shifting to each of you, lingering just a second longer when his eyes met yours.

you felt your cheeks turn a rosy pink at the mention of your name. you felt your cheeks turn a soft shade of pink at the mention of your name. standing there, surrounded by the work you’d all brought to life, the warmth that spread through you was undeniable.

“this work is definitely some of the most personal and dear to me, and i had the chance to have my inspiration for these pieces work alongside me,” he continued on. his eyes flickered back to you as he said it, a subtle but unmistakable acknowledgment. “these pieces will differ from my past works, as it includes photography of not just cities, but the life within them, and the love i’ve found in the city,”

a murmur spread through the crowd, people glancing at you with quiet smiles, but all you could focus on was him. the way his words seemed to reach you across the room, folding the world down to just the two of you.

as his speech concluded and the crowd broke into applause, you found yourself wondering if he knew just how much he had inspired you too. sunghoon gave a modest smile, but his eyes held a depth, a gratitude, and something else that you couldn’t quite put into words.

as the crowd split off to see the works plastered on the walls, some lingered in front of certain images, whispering to each other with appreciative nods, while others stood in awe, studying each detail. every so often, you caught snippets of their murmurs: “this one feels so real, doesn’t it?” or “you can almost feel the moment in this.”

the positive reactions settled some of your nerves, and a small smile formed as you saw sunghoon's work finally receiving the admiration it deserved.

amidst the crowd, you spotted him—sunghoon, standing quietly to the side, his gaze drifting from one photograph to another. his usual air of quiet confidence seemed tinged with something softer today, almost like he, too, was letting himself be vulnerable among his own work. you couldn’t resist walking over, weaving through the guests until you reached him.

“sunghoon,” you whispered, a warmth spreading in your chest. “they love it. look around. you did it.”

he turned to you, a flicker of something gentle in his expression as he took in your words. “i couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, the depth in his voice making your heart flutter.

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “no, this is all you. i’m just lucky i got to witness it up close.”

"you. you were the inspiration," he said softly, his gaze holding yours with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. his fingers found yours, interlocking them together gently. “i don’t want to rush it, but it feels right, you and me,” he continued, his voice a quiet confession that was both vulnerable and certain.

you felt your chest warm, a delicate reassurance flooding through you as you squeezed his hand. “hoon, i…” you trailed off, searching for the right words, realizing that he already knew. he could see it in the way you looked at him, the way you stayed close.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. “i just wanted you to know, and thank you for waiting so patiently,” his words were soft, thoughtful, as if he understood all the unspoken things you felt, as if he had been waiting just as patiently as you.

“i like you too hoon. like a lot a lot,” you giggled with a smile falling over your face. “i don’t know where this will lead,” you continued, feeling an odd mix of certainty and excitement, “but i’m ready to see where it goes. with you.”

the time it took to your heart might’ve been a while, but it was worth every second. love doesn’t happen fast, but when it does, it’s a wonderful beautiful thing.

his eyes softened, and he squeezed your hand in return, a silent promise in that touch, a reassurance that this was only the beginning.

─── ♡

the weekend after the exhibit opened, you and sunghoon decided on your first official date. it felt surreal, standing there with him in a different light—not as colleagues, not as friends, but something warmer, something that hinted at possibilities.

sunghoon picked the same café, cozy and tucked away, with large windows and low-lit ambiance that felt as comforting as a well-kept secret. as you settled into your seats, ordering your favorite coffee, that felt more like old friends than drinks, he glanced at you with a mixture of hesitation and excitement, a rare vulnerability in his usually steady gaze.

“there’s something i should probably tell you,” he started, a faint smile tugging at his lips, looking almost as though he were admitting a long-held secret.

you tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes, though you had a feeling you already knew what was coming. “go on,” you encouraged, a playful smile creeping up on your face.

he looked away for a moment, almost sheepish. “the calendar,” he said, his fingers tapping the table, “i started keeping track of… well, of things about you. your favorite things, places you liked going… i mean, it was probably overboard—”

you couldn’t help but smile, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “sunghoon,” you interrupted softly, “i already knew, i might have taken a peak in the car during the first practice shoot,” you giggled feeding him a bite of the coffee cake you had also ordered.

he exhaled, relief washing over him, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “i was terrified you’d find it strange or overbearing.”

“not at all,” you assured, squeezing his hand. “if anything, it felt nice. it felt… real.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the quiet comfort of the café fill the silence between you. sunghoon’s fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, as if he were memorizing every detail, just like those careful notes in his calendar.

he grinned, clearly pleased, and you both leaned into that moment, the knowledge of each other’s hidden care coming into the open, like the first step in something neither of you could wait to see unfold.

“what’s the plan now that the contract is basically up?” you asked a wave of unsurety washed over you. a moment of peace, but you were reminded he still had a job to do.

“i think i’m going to take a break, see where life takes me, hopefully with you,” he hummed out in response.

you nodded, the weight of his words sinking in slowly, and a quiet smile spread across your face. here you were, together at last, and he was already speaking as if this—whatever this was—was just the beginning.

“you’re sure?” you asked, voice almost a whisper.

sunghoon’s eyes softened, the confidence of his words melting away any trace of doubt. “i don’t think i’ve been surer about anything else,” he murmured, meeting your gaze with steady warmth. “i’ve spent so long capturing moments, freezing them in time… but with you, i want to be present for whatever comes next.”

while it was fun traveling to different countries, it’s not like he got to really experience them like he experienced the city he once called home. form a bond with the city. experience forming a bond with you.

you felt that same warmth wash over you, grounding you in the reality of his presence. a presence that had once felt distant, but was now unmistakably here, lingering in every breath, every glance, every small, silent gesture.

“i like the sound of that,” you replied, unable to help the way your smile deepened. “guess it’s a good thing you took such careful notes about me,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

he laughed, shaking his head. “all those notes… they didn’t even scratch the surface.”

you felt a flutter in your chest, a feeling that settled somewhere deep and familiar, one that whispered to you that everything was finally falling into place.

as you stood together in that moment, time seemed to stretch, just like one of sunghoon’s photographs. you knew there’d be more moments like this, moments where nothing needed to be said, and everything felt perfectly imperfect, just as it was.

“so, where do we go from here?” you asked, looking at him with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

“anywhere,” he replied, squeezing your hand gently, “as long as it’s with you.”

you knew then that whatever path lay ahead, it was one you’d face together. there’d be no more contracts or deadlines, only the quiet assurance of two people finding solace in each other’s presence, ready for whatever story life would let them capture next.

─── ♡

a/n: sunghoon's version of to: your heart!!! everyone cheered (me). happy belated birthday to jake ? (I have terrible timing and I should've written his first than do sunghoon's). make sure to SMASH that like button, but in all seriousness all likes, reblogs, and comments are deeply appreciated!! unrelated but thank you to sav for indirectly reminding me to write this by mentioning this like once in a convo LMAO. hope you all enjoyed !! ><

@ coqhee 2024. all rights reserved.

[magesforthedas]

Just have to share this, because I keep seeing critiques of Veilguard that like, try to guilt people who say they love, or even like the game. And HEAVY critiques of the protagonist, Rook, and how they aren't really a hero.

ALSO it contains some SPOILERS so just be warned ☺️ and an edit of additional thoughts now!

Like, yeah I have a couple gripes about the game, but overall it's emotional and amazing and I care about the characters so deeply. I keep seeing how people are saying how Rook and the party were not well written because they caused a lot of death?? This is Dragon Age, everything always goes from bad to worse, but the characters always bring out the light.

Rook was put in a very shitty situation, and I've seen people say they caused the destruction of thousands by trying to prevent the hundreds. But how many people, before the game came out, said Solas's plan to tear down the veil was a bad idea? Not all, I'm sure, but most. I always viewed it, and I know I wasn't alone, as that by trying to "fix" things Solas was just justifying his selfish wants, when he knew somewhere in his heart that the people of today, including the elves that he was "doing this for", would rather live alongside their friends & family in a world without their old magic, than live in a world with it alone.

That being said, even with differing views in and out of the game, it's very reasonable that a group of people would try to stop him, not know the consequences. And the beautiful thing about Rook, why Varric chose THEM, is that they saw what they had created, and didn't give up, didn't leave it to someone else to fix. Whether or not it was really their fault they stepped up and tried to save the world the best they could, from the mistake they unwittingly made (which I would argue against the fact that they made a "mistake", looking at that they were hired to do a job & by successfully completing that job there were unintended consequences).

Parallels anyone? Dragon Age loves those. But the difference, again illustrated in the game, is that while Solas couldn't move past the regret of his mistakes, Rook could. And on the topic of the deaths of those around them, not everyone that died in the past was Solas's fault, but some he did directly lead to their deaths. And he accepted that, did it over & over. Rook never led anyone to their death. Rook walked willingly into it themselves, and the love and trust their companions felt led them to choose to die for Rook, and the world instead.

And people who say the destruction of the south means the earlier games were for nothing? How so? 20 years ago, 10 years ago, things were happening, people were dying that needed saving. The heroes of that age saved the world so it would still be around to save now. And who knows what the south really looks like, or what it might look like as and after rebuilding? We will, in another 10 years once BioWare comes out with more content I suppose, and I wouldn't be surprised if everyone we knew is dead, but I also wouldn't be surprised if many, many of them lived.

Because that is Dragon Age. Death, betrayal, sacrifice, cruelty, pain. It's a dark, dark world. But there is always a ray of light, of hope. And characters who will do their utmost to protect that .

EDIT: Adding!! To this!! And more spoilers!!!

We know because of the Wetlands that it's possible to cause the Blight to pull back. In the end scene, as people are being broken out of the Blight Roots, it seems to me like it's died, at least to some degree. In my playthrough, Neve was cured of her blight sickness. There's obviously some immediate changes, and that all means that the South could have had an immediate reprieve. Plus, once more surviving wardens from Weisshaupt are free to travel south, and all the factions up north get things relatively in order, the South could get a lot of assistance.

The South was overrun... By hordes, by growths? That's the land, what about the people? Could the combined might of the Inquisitor, the Chantry, The Free Marches, Fereldan's ruler, have evacuated enough people that the death toll might be high, but not totally catastrophic? Enough people have survived to rebuild, maybe with a better, more unified attitude towards one another?

(The last bit may be wishful thinking 🥲)

But still!! We have no idea what exactly happened down there. And no matter what, Rook did the best they could, they WERE a hero, and made a difference not only for the North, but everywhere affected.

And yes, I might complain about this or that, mainly that we don't get to put more past game decisions in.... But I love this game and that won't change.

[earthlyangelbby]

Thank God for shitty landlords and old heaters.

Sfw!

Fluff so much fluff

2k words sorry I just wanna kiss him!!!

Mechanic Eddie x Server Y/N

Pls be kind I don't write often!! Also sorry for any mistakes I'm dyslexic anyways enjoy!

The wind howled outside, a relentless fury that whipped snow across the trailer park. You tugged your scarf tighter around your neck, feeling the chill seep into your bones. Your heater gave out hours ago, and now your pipes were frozen solid. No amount of blankets, space heaters, or hot water bottles could fix it. The cold felt like it had taken over your whole trailer.

You hadn’t seen much of Eddie lately. Life had gotten in the way. He was busy shadowing an older mechanic at the garage, learning the ropes, and you were stuck serving coffee and burgers at the diner. Both of you were still young in your early twenties, but adult life had a way of pulling you in different directions.

But it was cold, and you needed a warm place. And there was one person you knew who might not mind taking you in.

You grabbed your jacket, pulled on your boots, and made your way to the other end of the lot where Eddie’s trailer sat, a little out of place among the others. When you knocked, you weren’t sure what you expected, but the door opened almost immediately. There he was, looking exactly the same as he did the last time you saw him same wild hair, same Metallica shirt, same flannel.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite server!” Eddie greeted with that signature grin of his, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Y/N What’s got you out here in this storm? You look like you’ve been standing out there for hours.”

You shrugged, trying to act casual, even though the cold had your teeth chattering. “My heater’s out, pipes are frozen. I was hoping I could crash here for a while, if that’s okay Eds?”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. “Of course. Come on in  before you freeze your little self to death.”

You stepped inside, and the warmth immediately hit you like a wave. Eddie closed the door behind you, locking it. You could already feel your body starting to thaw as he tossed your coat onto the back of a chair.

“You want something to drink? Hot chocolate, coffee, whiskey...?” He raised an eyebrow playfully, but you could see the genuine concern in his eyes as he looked you over. “You look like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

You rubbed your arms, trying to warm up faster. “Hot chocolate sounds good. I think I’ve had enough coffee for today.”

Eddie grinned and headed toward the small kitchen area. “Coming right up. You’re lucky you showed up. I was just about to settle in for some much needed peace and quiet.”

You sank onto the couch, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the warmth from the trailer began to seep into your bones. Eddie had always had a way of making everything feel like it was going to be okay, even when things were chaotic.

You glanced around at the familiar clutter in his trailer band posters on the walls, tools strewn across the table, a guitar leaning against the couch. It was Eddie’s world, still the same as it had been when you were kids.

Eddie returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, handing you one before sitting down beside you. The tension in the room wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was noticeable. You hadn’t seen much of Eddie since high school, and the distance between you two had grown in those years. Back then, after that ridiculous “seven minutes in heaven” dare, you’d stayed friends. But adulthood had a way of pulling people apart, and somewhere along the way, you’d both gotten busy with life responsibilities, jobs, the everyday grind.

Still, every now and then, Eddie would swing by the diner where you worked. He’d always come in for coffee, sit at the counter, and shoot the breeze with you. Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed, and other times, it was like there was a lifetime between the two of you.

“So, how’s the diner these days?” Eddie asked, settling back into the couch with his own mug. “Still slinging coffee and making tips off the morning rush?”

You laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah, pretty much. Same old grind. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills. At least I don’t have to wear a uniform or anything. I just throw on my apron and pretend like I have my life together.”

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a *dream* job.” His eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint you remembered. “What about you? Still fixing up that bike of yours? I thought for sure you’d be a full-time mechanic by now, with all that grease under your nails.”

You could tell he was teasing, but there was a quiet pride in his voice too. Eddie had always been someone who preferred hands-on work—wrenching on cars, fixing up old engines, that kind of thing. These days, though, he wasn’t quite the mechanic he’d hoped to be. He was still shadowing an older guy at the shop, learning the ropes.

“Nah, not yet. I’m still learning the ropes,” Eddie said, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m just the guy who gets handed all the crap work right now—changing oil, fixing brakes, things like that. But I like it. I can actually see progress when I finish a job. It’s better than just standing around, y’know?”

You smiled, appreciating the way Eddie spoke about his work. There was a certain quiet satisfaction there, a grounded sense of purpose that hadn’t been there when he was younger, just throwing himself into whatever came next. “You’ll get there. Just takes time.”

Eddie’s gaze softened a little as he looked at you. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, what about you? You still trying to figure out your next move?”

You sighed, pulling your legs up underneath you on the couch. “I don’t know. Some days, it feels like I’m stuck. Like... I’m just going through the motions. Not sure if I want to be stuck serving coffee and pancakes for the next twenty years.”

Eddie leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours. “I get it. Life’s been... a little overwhelming, huh?” He reached out and tapped the edge of your mug, making it clink gently against the table. “But you’re still here, sweetheart. You’re making it work.”

You chuckled softly at the nickname, something so familiar about it despite the years that had passed since you last heard it. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just wish I knew what comes next.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and for a moment, you could see the old Eddie, the one who used to make everything feel a little less complicated. “You’ll figure it out. And, hey, you’re always welcome here if you need to get away for a bit.”

You smiled, feeling a warm glow spread through you that had nothing to do with the heat from the chocolate. “Thanks, Eddie. I needed this.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Anytime, sweetheart. You know that.”

For a moment, the conversation faded into the background as you both sat there, comfortable in the silence. But then, without warning, a thought crossed your mind. A memory. A teasing remark you’d made earlier, years ago, about that ridiculous dare in ninth grade.

You turned to Eddie with a sly smile. “Hey, do you remember that stupid ‘seven minutes in heaven’ dare we did at the sleepover?”

Eddie smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I remember. You and me, stuck in a closet together while everyone else was out there doing... whatever they were doing.” He leaned back on the couch, eyes narrowing with playful intent. “You know, I think I was the one who got *stuck* with the lousy kisser.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, no. That was *definitely* you. I was trying to keep it together, but you... You practically headbutted me.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “I’ll have you know, I was just... *testing* the waters. You, sweetheart, were just too nervous to make it anything more than awkward.”

You leaned in a little closer, giving him a teasing look. “I don’t know. Maybe you just weren’t that good. We were young, but maybe... maybe you still *haven’t* figured it out.”

Eddie chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Is that a challenge?”

Without answering, you set your mug down on the coffee table, your gaze lingering on his lips. The space between you suddenly felt charged with something old, something that had always been there, buried beneath years of silence. Eddie didn’t move at first, but when he did, it was slow, his hand gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

And then, finally, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was nothing like the awkward, clumsy thing it had been all those years ago. This time, it was soft, sure, and full of a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat in the room. Eddie kissed you slowly, as if testing the waters, his lips lingering against yours until you kissed him back with the same intensity.

When you pulled back, breathless, there was a moment of silence. Eddie’s gaze held yours, his hand still lingering gently at your cheek, thumb grazing your skin like he was afraid if he moved, the moment would disappear. He opened his mouth as if to say something but hesitated. You could see the emotions shifting in his eyes—the hesitance, the vulnerability, and something else, a softness that felt too delicate to name.

You were the first to break the silence, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That....wasn’t terrible.”

A flicker of his old grin returned, though this time it seemed tempered by something more real. “Glad I passed,” he murmured, voice low, his hand finally slipping down from your cheek to hold yours instead, his fingers lacing with yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He squeezed your hand, and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiate through you, driving away the last traces of the cold that had followed you inside. In his presence, with his fingers intertwined with yours, the trailer felt like the safest place you’d been in a long time.

“I’ve missed this,” you said softly, surprising yourself with the confession. The years you’d spent drifting in and out of each other’s lives had left a hollow spot you’d learned to ignore. But being here now, with him, made you realize how much you’d missed him.

Eddie’s expression softened, and he nodded, as if he’d been feeling the same thing. “I know,” he replied, a trace of sadness in his voice. “Sometimes, I’d sit at that counter at the diner, watching you work, wondering why the hell we let ourselves drift apart.” His eyes searched yours, open and earnest. “But... maybe it’s not too late, sweetheart.”

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, both soothing and startling in their honesty. Your heart raced as you realized he’d been thinking about this as much as you had—about those years, those lost moments, the quiet longing that you’d buried somewhere deep. But now, that longing felt closer, tangible.

“What are you saying, Eddie?” you asked, barely able to get the words out, afraid of breaking the fragile hope between you.

He took a breath, the smile slipping as he looked at you with a seriousness you’d rarely seen from him. “I guess I’m saying... I don’t want to be just the guy who stops by the diner once in a while. Not anymore.” He paused, his hand tightening around yours. “I want to be... there for you. Not just tonight, but when you’re tired from work, when the heater’s out, when... you’re trying to figure out what comes next.”

You swallowed, his words filling the spaces you hadn’t realized were so empty. No one had ever offered you that before this quiet, steady presence, a promise that didn’t need to be flashy or grand but was everything you needed.

“So” you said, voice wavering a bit, “you’re saying you want to be my heating repairman and my taste-tester for bad coffee?”

Eddie chuckled, the sound rumbling through the cozy silence between you. “Yeah, Y/N that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes intent. “And maybe... maybe we can figure out the rest together. If that’s something you’d want.”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face that you couldn’t contain. “I think I’d like that,” you whispered, leaning closer again, letting your forehead rest against his. “I’d really like that, Eddie.”

For a moment, you stayed like that, your breaths mingling in the quiet, the world outside forgotten as the warmth between you grew. Finally, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief.

“And for the record,” you said, grinning, “I take back what I said about your kissing skills. They’ve... definitely improved.”

Eddie laughed, pulling you close, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that felt like home. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispered, and his lips found yours once more, filling the cold night with a warmth that stayed long after the snow stopped falling.

Let me know what you think!!! Thanks for reading this far omg ❤️

[coppy-catt]

you stood quietly, your arms wrapped around megumi, feeling the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat through his thick jacket. the world outside seemed a blur, as snowflakes danced in the air, but in that moment, everything else faded away.

you had been friends since childhood, sharing secret dreams and secret kisses under the vibrant colors of autumn leaves. yet, as the seasons changed, so did your feelings—swirling like the snow around you, unknown if they are reciprocated or not.

you looked up at megumi, your heart racing. memories flooded your mind—the times you two would meet under the old oak tree, countless afternoons spent daydreaming about the future. but today was different; the world felt charged with unspoken words.

“megumi,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence. he hummed in response.

“what…” your voice caught in your throat, but you swallowed the nerves away. “…are we?”

he paused, the weight of your question hanging in the air. the warmth of your presence flooded through him, igniting emotions he had tried to suppress. “what do you mean?”

regret settled heavily in your chest. you wanted to sink into the floor. the silence that followed wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating, holding the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

“i don’t know - nevermind.” you tried to pull away but megumi held you tighter.

“no! i didn’t mean - i meant - “ he paused, took a deep breath and tried again.

“i know what you meant. i just didn’t want to get ahead of myself.”

ahead of himself?

you pondered over his words.

a poke in the forehead pulled you back into reality. a deep blush warmed your cheeks as you caught his gaze.

“where did you go?” he questioned, his eyes soft and reflecting a mix of fear and hope.

she rested her head back onto his shoulder.

“nowhere,”

i’m staying right here.

in that moment, under the gray sky, they took a step forward, hearts intertwined like a warm thread woven through the cold tapestry of winter. they stood together, embracing the uncertainty, the fear, and all the beauty that lay ahead—ready to reshape their world together, one snowy step at a time.

[quinnysnursery]

i’d really love to see some headcanons of cg!matt taking his little to disneyland for the first time bc they never were able to go as a child :((

[🩹] the most magical place on earth | matt sturniolo one-shot

paring : cg!matt sturniolo x fem!little!reader

summary : y/n's never been to disneyworld, matt thinks it's about time to change that

warning/extra tid-bits : being little in public, mentions of y/n having an unsafe childhood but nothing too serious!! i think that's all :)

word count : 1,599 + not proofread

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 (pooh bears from @kodaswrld ,, line from @taurus-magicka)

a/n : apart of @bambisturnioloalt 's NNN event!! ✨

Main Street U.S.A

Your eyes darted around the slightly overstimulating environment. You huddled closer to Matt’s side, trying your best not to have your shoulder bumped in the sea of people. 

“Stay close sweetheart.” Matt reminded, though he knew you didn’t really need the reminder- you hardly ever left his side in the comfort of your own home, you wouldn’t dare wander away inside of Disney World. 

“Dada,” You whisper, quickly causing Matt to turn his full attention to you. “Hm?” He asked, bending down ever so slightly to hear your better. You pointed to a store that was emitting a naturally sweet smell- “Main Street Confectionery”.

Matt smiled warmly at you and your sweet tooth. “Alright, but only because you ate all your breakfast.” He said, you nodded eagerly- briefly reminiscing  on the Mickey-shaped waffles you scarfed down in the hotel room.

The two of you stepped into the confectionery, both of you inhaling in the sweet smell of chocolate and pastries. Matt slowly led you through the aisles of candy, bringing you to the pastry case- a cast member smiled at you both brightly, “Hi! What can I get you two today?” She asked, her name tag reading “Ari”.

You gazed at all the different pastries and treats inside of the glass case. The selection was wide, ranging from cupcakes, cookies, candy apples and a multitude of decorated rice crispy treats. One in particular caught your eye though, a chocolate chip scone in the shape of a Mickey head. 

“That one p’ease!” You smiled brightly, tapping on the glass. Ari nodded, smiling as she quickly pulled on a new pair of gloves before scooping up the scone and placing it into a pastry bag and handing it to you before turning her attention to your caregiver.

“Can I get you anything?” She asked, Matt thought for a moment before shaking his head- knowing he’d steal a few bites from your scone. “Alright! That’ll be 5.29!” She chirped. Matt nodded, pulling out his card and tapping it to the card reader. 

“Have a magical day!” Ari called out, waving goodbye as the two of you walked away. You beamed, turning around on your heel quickly- “Hav’a magical day!” You squealed, looking excitedly at Matt- who’s eyes were full of pure love.

Adventure Land

Walking from Main Street U.S.A to Adventure Land didn’t take long at all- in fact it probably would’ve been quicker had Matt not insisted on stopping to wipe the melted chocolate off of your hands and mouth.

“Okay sweetheart, which ride do you wanna go on?” Matt asked, he knew that the “Pirates of the Caribbean” ride was out of the picture- as it had a drop that neither him nor you felt like concurring on a day that was purely about healing your inner-child. 

You looked at the map that your caregiver had made sure to snag up at the entrance of the park. 

“Let’s see there’s…the jungle cruise…the tiki room…and…aladdin’s magic carpets.” He smiled, showing you where each attraction was on the map. You thought for a moment, squishing your cheek into Matt’s arm as you leaned on him. 

“Mmm…magic ca’pet!” You smiled, bouncing excitedly. Matt smiled, collapsing your hands together once more before beginning to lead you to the Aladdin-themed ride.

The line wasn’t unbearably long. The two of you had planned your trip during that interesting period of time where the weather wasn’t sweltering hot and the lines were short enough- thanks to the holiday crowds not flocking the park just yet.

“How many in your party?” The cast member in charge of the line asked, you glanced up at Matt- shuffling behind him slightly. “Two.” He smiled, rubbing your arm in a soothing manner. 

The cast member, who’s name-tag read “Madi”, nodded- waiting for the current passengers on the ride to completely exit. 

“Do you want a sticker, hun?” Madi smiled, digging into her pocket and pulling out some Jasmine and Aladdin themed stickers- tearing one off and offering it to the little.

Matt looked towards Y/n, gently nodding to reassure her it was okay. You nodded softly, squeaking out a quiet “Thank ‘ou!” as you took the sticker- shoving it into your pocket.

“Oh! Looks like you two are up! Have fun, enjoy your ride!” Madi grinned, opening the gate and letting the couple walk in. You dragged Matt over to one of the ride’s vehicles- quickly shuffling in. 

It didn’t take long for the ride to begin, the magic carpets lifting into the air- causing you to cling to Matt a bit tighter, but giggle nonetheless.

“Should we move the lever?” Matt smiled, motioning to the lever that would allow you to move your carpet higher or lower as you pleased. You nodded excitedly, watching as Matt lifted the lever higher- in turn making your magic carpet fly higher than the others. 

You squealed with happiness, hands flapping excitedly as you a warm feeling spread throughout your heart. This was all you’d ever wanted as a child, and as Matt watched your face light up- he couldn’t be more grateful that he was the person who got to help your dreams come true.

Fantasy Land

Fantasy Land had been the area you were most excited to visit, all for one singular reason.

A plump yellow bear famously known as “Winnie the Pooh”. 

You’d been a fan of the bear and his group of friends since your childhood, he was one of the few comfort sources that you had access to and even after getting away from your family- you still loved the yellow bear.

Matt shared your love for Winnie the Pooh- in fact, it was one of the first things the two of you bonded over when you first met. So when you began looking into visiting Disney world with your caregiver there was thing that took precedence above everything else.

Meeting the beloved bear.

That’s what currently had you, anxiously breathing in line to meet the Pooh. The meet and greet spot was right outside of his ride, but due to the quick turns and darker lightening- you decided to pass on the ride this trip. 

…Only after Matt promised you could both come back to the theme park before the year was up.

Nonetheless, you were about three groups away from meeting your childhood hero and god, you couldn’t help but be filled with nervous excitement. 

Matt, of course, noticed this- wrapping you in a tight bearhug and pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. “Deep breaths,” He hummed, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

Matt knew how much this meant to you. How much Winnie the Pooh had been a source of comfort- a source of safety for you in your chaotic-like childhood. Even now in your adult-life, you still decorated you and Matt’s apartment with that silly yellow bear- claiming he just “made you smile”. 

Matt didn’t mind, you smiling made him smile. 

Your eyes widened even more as you realized it was your turn. Matt got out his phone to videotape as you cautiously approached the bear, beaming with excitement. 

Embarrassingly (at least, embarrassingly to you), you felt tears bud in your eyes as the bear pulled you into a tight hug- swaying back and forth playfully. Matt noticed this as well, feeling proud tears gloss over his eyes- he knew he’d never be able to heal everything you’d gone through, but he was proud of how far you’d both come so far.

Pooh Bear tapped his nose to your cheek and motioned as if he was wiping away your tears. You smiled brightly, using the sleeves of your yellow sweater to wipe them away. 

You giggled, going back in for one last hug before turning to Matt- allowing him to take a few photos.

“D’you guys want me to get one of the three of you?” The character-attendee asked- their name-tag reading ‘Comet’ offering up their hand for Matt’s phone. You nodded eagerly, waving Matt over. 

Your caregiver quickly handed the castmember his phone and joining both you and the bear- matching toothy smiles on you and your caregivers face as Comet snapped a multitude of pictures.

You got a final hug from your childhood-hero before quickly dragging Matt into the Winnie the Pooh themed giftshop- immediately gravitating towards the plushie aisle.

“Wasn’t he so sweet?” Matt asked, earning an eager nod from you. You were practically buzzing thanks to all the positive feelings that came from meeting the big yellow bear. “Uh-huh! Da’ sweetest like hon’e!” You giggled, Matt couldn’t help but let out a low coo.

“Okay baby, pick out any stuffie- Dada’s treat.” Matt decided, you let out a squeal, hugging Matt tightly before saying, “T’ank ‘ou!”

You browsed the plush shelf for a few moments- there were a few weighted plushies, a collection of plushies that were meant to replicate the original artstyle but there was one stuffed bear that captured your heart almost immediately. 

A medium sized winnie the pooh plush, wearing a onesie that was designed to look like his beloved friend, tigger. You quickly picked him up off of the shelf- hugging his soft boy close to your chest before shoving him mere inches in Matt’s face.

“Dis’ one!” You beamed before remembering your manners, “P’ease!” 

Matt smiled, “Alright sweetheart, let’s go pay.” He said, leading you to the cashier.

That night, you curled up in your cozy hotel bed- plush bear curled up tightly in your arms- satisfied with your visit to the most magical place on earth.

taglist !! :

@mattssturnz @littlestar44 @graceslittlecorner @zivall

@hrtz4alex2211 @bimbob1tch @sturnsxplr-25 @cherry-red-heart

@pr3ttyf4wn @frlinbruh @jazminepetit-homme @raynaaxx

@tyummyz @starri-nightss @cyberskulzzz @nicksbestie

@urfavbestiee @nicksloverrr @babybatxxx @ivysturnss

@natedoeswife @blahbel668 @nicksloverrr @flow3rsturns13

@pkfferoo @pixxiies @mattsturnswhore @17welch17 @pinksikhewei

@v33angel @conspiracy-ash @hoes4matthew @elislytherpuffsturn

@mattsturnsgirlie

friendly reminder that stealing isn't cute, credit me if you take inspiration from my works 😊🪄

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham's greatest detectives.

[chapter 3]

Mama I’m Chasing A Ghost.

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

The floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom looked out onto the manicured gardens of the estate, and in the distance, was a view of Gotham that never seemed to change.

The same scenery, the same routine.

The butlers, the maids, the drivers who ferried me from one lavish location to another.

Every day was like the last, but with one major exception;

Gotham Academy

For the first time in my life, I had been thrust into a world that wasn’t mine. My mother had insisted I’d go, telling me it was for my own good. I was homeschooled my entire life, my education confined to private tutors and digital classes.

That is.. until my mother moved me to a prestigious school a few months ago. I don’t know what changed her mind. She was always so hellbent on keeping my life private. Her sweet little girl that only she knew about.

But now here I am attending a school that is closely watched by weird, content-hungry journalists and creepy paparazzis hoping to catch a photograph of children with high titles.

Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider. A puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I was the new kid—the girl who came out of nowhere.

But being an outsider didn’t automatically mean loner.

My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

I was different. People knew it, felt it, and stared. Maybe it was the fact that I came from a family—a clan—that held such an influence over Gotham’s elites. I was basically one relative away from a famous celebrity or a corrupt politician.

But, of course, there was also the resemblance to Martha Wayne.

It was a ghost of a resemblance, really, but it haunted me all the same. From the first day I stepped onto campus, I heard the whispers;

She looks like Martha Wayne.

The wife of Thomas Wayne?

She could be her daughter...

Or granddaughter.

It had started out as idle speculation, but as the days passed, the gossip only grew.

People stared, talked behind my back, and pointed at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn't know me, but they had already formed an opinion. The mystery girl. The girl who had somehow, inexplicably, appeared out of nowhere. The girl who had the same smile, the same eyes, the same air of dignity and grace as Gotham’s most beloved figure. The figure whose tragic death had left an indelible mark on the city.

I had never cared for the attention. In fact, I hated it. I’m not interested in being some object of fascination, and that’s just how I was raised. I’m not Martha Wayne nor am I related to her—or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The more people asked, the more I pushed that idea away. But the whispers were constant.

It made me think. A lot. So much more than what I preferred.

And suddenly, the buried thoughts from childhood of who and where my biological father was came rushing back.

Ever since I was a child, I had learned to bury my feelings—bury the questions about my father, and why my mother wouldn’t speak of him. There had been one conversation about it, years ago when my mother still had the time to let me in her study.

"Your father is not someone you need to concern yourself with," mother had said, her voice cold and stern. "Do not ask about him. Do not seek him. He is not a part of your life. Understand?"

And now, in the halls of Gotham Academy, that memory itched at me, more often than ever before. The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, but I didn’t hurry to leave. I stood at my locker, staring at my reflection in the shiny surface of the metal.

Do I look like her?

————————

taglist:

@leeleecats @mariadvorak @deans-spinster-witch @rainlovewrites @xoacesgf @whiteoakoak @uknowimdumb @otterluver05

[starbluekindo]

work song

warning: victoria neuman x afab!reader, angst with a happy ending, blood, victoria using her powers unconsciously, reader is vicky's wife <3

a/n: i miss her so from now on this is real.

THE DAYS since victoria’s death had been a blur. you followed the basic steps of your routine because there was no other choice. zoe needed you, and the world around you didn’t stop to mourn a dead vice president, let alone someone who had lost more than a title.

mornings were the hardest. the silence at home seemed louder now, filling every corner as a constant reminder of her absence. zoe, despite being a resilient child, felt it too. her bright eyes were dimmer, and she asked questions you didn’t know how to answer.

“is she in heaven?” zoe asked one night, her voice low as you tucked her into bed.

you hesitated. the truth was, you didn’t know how to console zoe because you couldn’t console yourself.

“she’s in a place where there’s no pain,” was all you managed to say, even though your voice sounded broken.

after zoe fell asleep, you went downstairs. the house felt different now. without victoria, it was as if the space had lost its identity. you looked at the desk where she used to work late into the night, the papers still piled up as if she would return at any moment to finish them.

but she wouldn’t return.

the weight of that seemed crushing. you sank onto the couch, holding a cup of tea that had gone cold. your eyes wandered to the watch you had given victoria, still resting in the small tray where she always left it when she came home. the metal seemed cold and distant now, a reminder of something you could no longer touch.

the days passed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of incompleteness. people came to offer condolences, but their words felt empty, like echoes in an endless tunnel. they talked about how extraordinary victoria had been as a leader, a force to be reckoned with. but no one spoke about how she was at home — the way she gave that small side smile when she tried to hide her worries, how she always checked if zoe had done her homework, or how she held your hand at the dinner table when she thought no one was looking.

no one knew who she really was.

in the quietest nights, after zoe had gone to bed and you were left alone with your thoughts, you allowed the pain to overflow. you sat on the living room floor, staring at the shadows on the wall, wondering how the world could keep moving when yours had stopped.

and yet, something inside you resisted. it was what victoria would have done. she had always been stronger than you — more practical, more determined. you knew that if she could speak to you now, she would tell you to take care of zoe, to get up and move forward.

but in the moments when the pain felt unbearable, you whispered into the void, as if she could hear you:

“i’d give anything to have you back.”

and then you stayed there, waiting for the pain to lessen, even though you knew it would never completely go away.

THE DARKNESS felt infinite, but victoria was aware of every second. not in a human way, with clear thoughts or organized emotions, but in a primal, instinctive manner, as if her blood was screaming for something. something beyond death.

then came the pain.

it was a deep, visceral pull, as if the universe itself was dragging her back. the blood, which she had always controlled with almost surgical precision, seemed to have taken on a will of its own. she knew her powers, what she could do — explode heads, hear the subtle hum of people’s circulatory systems, even manipulate small flows within herself. but this? this defied everything she knew to be possible, defied the very order of nature.

it was grotesque. the blood, transformed into a thick, vibrant sludge, moved like tendrils within her body, wrapping around dead organs, dragging them back into place. collapsed lungs reinflated, her heart, once silent, began to beat again, the blood rearranging itself to form new connections where old ones had broken. the process seemed endless — ribs realigning with echoing cracks through the compacted earth.

victoria tried to scream, but there was no air yet. the sensation was suffocating, an unending cycle of pain and creation. for a moment, she thought it would be better if everything stopped, but then the image of zoe flashed through her mind like a spark. and then, you.

the blood responded to that, as if it shared her desire. the process accelerated, stitching muscles and connecting bones. finally, air entered her lungs with a rough, desperate sound. she gasped, coughing up dirt and clotted blood, her eyes opening with a dull glow.

everything was dark. she still felt the pressure of the earth around her, heavy and suffocating, but her body, now whole, responded.

with trembling fingers, she began clawing at the soil, each movement a monumental effort. the pain didn’t disappear; it just shifted, now a memory imprinted in her renewed flesh.

when she finally emerged, the faint moonlight felt blindingly bright. she blinked, trying to adjust her eyes, the smell of the night flooding her senses. and then she vomited, pulling chunks of her old organs from her throat with her own hands. the putrid smell made her dizzy.

victoria collapsed to her knees, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but one thing was clear. she closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds around her: the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of a streetlamp. and then, the sound she needed: your blood. you were nearby, faint but traceable. she could feel the rhythmic pulse flowing, like a familiar melody pulling her to the surface.

she needed to go home.

victoria started walking, her steps unsteady but determined. the hunger inside her roared, but something stronger guided her, something beyond physical need. she needed you. she needed her family.

when she reached the front door, it was as if the pain, confusion, and despair were replaced by relief.

you were on the couch, holding a now-cold cup of tea, staring out the window without really seeing the outside. the weight of victoria’s absence was unbearable. zoe was asleep upstairs, but you knew you wouldn’t find the same peace. there was no peace without her.

then, a faint knock at the door broke the silence.

your heart stopped for a moment before racing. you let the cup fall, forgetting the sound of breaking glass as you rushed to the entrance.

when you opened the door, victoria was there.

she looked like a specter. her skin was pale, her hair tangled and dirty with soil, her clothes torn. but it was her eyes that paralyzed you: confused, scared, but alive.

“victoria…” you whispered, unable to process what you were seeing.

she tried to speak, but her vocal cords failed, frustrating her. you noticed her distress, and her effort resulted in a raspy whisper:

“i... i came back.”

you pulled her inside before she could collapse, your hands holding her face, dirty and cold. her heartbeat thudded weakly under your fingers but was there.

“how?” you asked, tears already streaming down your face.

she shook her head, her eyes filling with tears too. “i don’t know... i just knew... i had to come back. for you. for zoe.”

her words were enough to shatter any doubts you might have had.

“you’re here,” you whispered.

victoria rested her forehead against yours, her shoulders trembling under your hands as everything finally began to make sense. she didn’t know how she had returned, but she knew why. it was for you and zoe. no force in the world, not even death, could keep her away from you.

[sunnynardelli]

The ability for each person to choose their own path was one thing she loved about life. There were definitely places in the world where there wasn’t as much freedom of choice. She was grateful that she didn’t have someone breathing down her neck telling her who or what she was expected to be. She knew that there were likely people in her own town who weren’t as privileged. At the end of the day, she felt empathy towards them. “That’s a lot of pressure for a kid,” she admitted, hearing what Cage’s dad would tell them. It wasn’t any less true. When you were in a big family, when one person stepped outside the norm or did something notorious everyone heard about it. She had no doubt that when her dad became openly gay before people were more accepting of it, there were a lot of whispers about that around town about him ruining the family name. People were honestly dumb when it came to rumors. “At the end of the day, I think you and all of your siblings turned out alright and the family name seems to still hold some weight so it’s good.” The difference in their parent’s generation and their own was they really didn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thought about their name. They were just going to live their lives and that was beautiful. “I mean, I prefer that to something ugly. I have choose words but this is a classy event so I’ll not say them. I’ll just say yes. Nice words are always better but at the end of the day, if people don’t like me, my business or my choices they can take a hike.”

For every single person navigating it, life was different. Some people wanted to be happily married with six kids and running a blueberry farm for the rest of their lives, like his parents, and some were happy to live their life on their own, setting their own terms, doing what they wanted to do day by day, no plan. Letting out a low laugh at her agreement about the name, Cage nodded his head, "no kidding. I can remember when I was younger, any time I fucked up pretty good, my dad would always remind me that it wasn't just me I needed to worry about, but my name, and I get it now." He didn't really worry about Colton doing something catastrophically bad to his family's good name, per se, but he knew what it was like to think about it, if nothing else. "I'm sure you'd rather prefer people hear your name and think good, savvy businesswoman who cares about her community and serves really, really good drinks, too, right?"

[paperstorm]

“Happy birthday, Tyler.”

TK hums into their next kiss. “How am I going to top this for your 30th?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Carlos mumbles before sealing their lips together. TK becomes lost in it, persistently swiping his tongue against Carlos’ lips until he opens up and accepts a deeper kiss. As much as Carlos wants to take him to bed and worship his favorite person in the entire world, he wants to make a few more happy memories out here tonight. 

“Can we clean the rest of this up in the morning?” TK asks when Carlos pulls back, and Carlos chuckles at the thought of TK worried that he was going to suggest they start deflating balloons and pulling down streamers even though it’s well after midnight.

“Yes,” he says firmly, and TK grins as he bites his bottom lip. 

“Good.” TK leans forward again, looping his arms around Carlos’ neck until it’s cradled in the crooks of his elbow. “Come to bed?” he whispers against Carlos’ lips. 

It takes all the restraint in the world for Carlos to counter with, “Dance with me first.”

TK gives him an adorable little confused smile. “I danced with you all night. We kind of ignored our guests, actually.”

Carlos holds his chin up high and straightens his shoulders. He pulls his phone out of his pocket—still connected to their speakers—and plays something slower, but still happy. When TK is looking at him in expectant amusement, Carlos offers a hand. “Not like this. Wanna dance?”

TK’s grin is blinding, and it brings a smile to Carlos’ face as they pull each other closer, hands on waists and elbows as they sway together. Their cheeks press close and Carlos lets his eyes slip shut as they begin their shuffled steps. He’s reminded of how they danced like this at their wedding, of how TK felt like his life raft in a vastless ocean. He’s had that feeling before, on that very first night. Carlos didn’t know who he was or where he belonged. Even in a crowded bar, it felt like he was always trying to figure out how he fit in, and then there was TK, and everything made sense.

“I fell in love with you on a dance floor,” Carlos murmurs. 

“Which one?”

The corner of Carlos’ mouth curls up as he presses his nose into TK’s hair and inhales slowly. He remembered thinking that he wanted to know TK so badly that night, and now, as TK’s cradled in his arms and their love surrounds them, he wants to grab his younger self and scream, ‘He’s yours! He’s everything to you and you’re everything to him. You got him!’.

“You know which one,” Carlos tells him and TK shifts to kiss his cheek. 

“Tell me again.”

“Tell you which dance floor?” Carlos knows what TK’s asking for, but he wants TK to say it as they sway back and forth, from foot to foot, holding each other close in the middle of their living room. 

TK slides his hands up, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ shoulders. His fingers scratch in the hair at the nape of Carlos’ neck and he smiles, eyes glittering in the fairy lights overhead. “Tell me the story of how we fell in love.”

“I was born on a rainy Tuesday,” Carlos begins, smiling when TK shakes in laughter against him.

“Maybe fast forward a bit.”

Carlos slips his hand underneath TK’s knitted shirt, splays his palm over the small of TK’s back where his skin is warm. They rotate as they move together, and for a moment Carlos feels as if they are the only two people in the universe. “Michelle was always trying to get me to come out with her. I said ‘no’ most of the time.”

“What was different that night?”

“I met a firefighter in the rain a few hours earlier. He was new to Austin. She mentioned he was gonna be there, indirectly. And something inside told me I had to go, had to try to see him again.”

TK tucks his head in, resting it against Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos can feel his lips curve into a smile against his neck.

“I didn’t know anything about him. Didn’t know his name or even if he was into guys. But he was so damn cute, and he smiled at me while his dad rescued a baby from a tree like some kind of superhero, and it made my heart beat faster and put butterflies in my stomach the way nobody else ever had, and I just … wanted to feel that again.”

“He was a mess,” TK interjects, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“He’d been hurt,” Carlos corrects, holding his husband just a little bit closer against him. “The world hadn’t been gentle with him the way it should have, but he had the biggest, most golden heart. I didn’t know all that, that night, but I’d find out pretty soon.”

“What happened next?”

“I stood at the bar for like a half hour, watching him and his friends like a creep and trying to work up the nerve to ask him to dance.”

“You did?” TK laughs. “I didn’t know that.”

“There was this moment where he hugged his dad,” Carlos remembers, swallowing briefly over a hint of a lump that rises in his throat. Most days he feels strong enough to keep moving forward, but there are unexpected moments when everything’s still so raw. “They seemed so close and so unashamed of it, I was fascinated. I wasn’t close with my dad like that. I don’t think he’d hugged me in years.”

TK exhales and whispers, “Baby.”

“And then his friends hit the floor and started line dancing, and his dad was flirting with Michelle, so I went over. I’m not sure where I found the courage, I think maybe my feet just carried me over there even though inside I was having a panic attack.”

“I said ‘yes’.”

“Mhm.” Carlos kisses the side of his face. “We danced, and he made me laugh. And then he dragged me to the bathroom.”

TK chuckles. “Kind of a slutty move, when you really think about it.”

Carlos laughs too, but counters, “He made me feel right for the first time in my whole life. I didn’t realize, then, how much that was going to change everything.”

“You know, I …” Breathing softly, TK pauses before he continues and Carlos keeps on swaying with him. “I spent a lot of time in my 20s thinking I’d never see 30. It’s hard to plan for a future when you’re not sure you’re gonna have one, so I just … didn’t.”

“I know,” Carlos murmurs. He doesn’t know , he can’t climb inside TK’s brain and feel exactly what he’d felt all those years, but he does understand the pain of not bothering to hope for a happy ending you’re sure you aren’t going to get. And he can hold TK close when the ache of those memories flares up like an old wound.

“But I woke up the morning of my birthday with my husband next to me. And my dad brought a cake to work to celebrate with my friends. And our home was full tonight of people who care about me and wanted to celebrate with me. And that’s …” TK sounds overwhelmed, a tremble in his voice, as he says, “It’s so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”

“I’m so happy you were born.”

TK lifts his head. His eyes are a little misty, Carlos is sure his are too, and he presses their lips together. Resting his forehead against Carlos, he asks, “How does the story end?”

“It’s not over, yet. But in this chapter … I know now that man is my soulmate. And I married him, and built a home with him, and he calls me ‘baby’ and it makes me feel so loved every time. And I hate that he had to go through so many hard days—”

“You, too,” TK cuts in, thumb brushing underneath Carlos’ ear.

“Me, too,” Carlos agrees. “But something was pulling us towards each other. Nudging us along and telling us to keep going forward even when it felt hopeless, so we could end up on that dance floor.”

“You still believe that?”

“I don’t know exactly what it was. God or fate or something I don’t even have a name for. But I know you made your way to me as fast as you could. And I know I was made to love you.”

“It’s a pretty good story.”

Kissing him again, Carlos says, “I’ll tell you again when you turn 40. It’ll have a bunch of new chapters by then.”

“Are you gonna love me when I’m bald and wrinkly?”

Laughing softly, Carlos promises, “Yep. You’re stuck with me.”

From brighter in the morning by @strandnreyes and myself. gifs borrowed with permission from @lutavero