#kinda wanna move out of the country | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceesimz · 4 months ago

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Reverie - Part 1

Autistic Reader x Barça Femení - Part 2

Hey, I have some things to say before you start reading. ASD is a very vast spectrum, no two people with it experience the same stuff on a day-to-day basis. This story is written with my knowledge from people I know, and also from my own experiences living with autism too. So don't take this as 'the' perspective, this is a drop in the ocean and this most definitely isn't a handbook on autism. If anyone has any questions or thoughts about this, or ASD in general, you are more than welcome to message me or drop something in my inbox! This is just part one, if you like this first half of the story (because I have no idea how this will go down), let me know if you wanna see the second part, it's ready to go whenever.

Big big thanks to @copper-16 for editing it and leaving such lovely comments on it, I wouldn't have the confidence to post this if it wasn't for your words. Thank you for taking a chance on this story and opening yourself up to learn more, the world needs more people like you and we're all much better off that you're here🫶🏼🫶🏼

This is my favourite thing I've ever written, and I kinda feel like I'm giving away a piece of my heart by posting this (dramatic much), let me know what you think, hope you like it :)

“Are you ready to go in?”

Are you?

Are you ready to walk into a new setting, head held high, and show your teammates you are worth it?

Or are you going to back out? Reverse right out the parking space, speed off to the airport, and catch a flight to god knows where?

That's simply not a possibility. Even if the thought of walking through those reception doors that stare tauntingly at you from across the car park perturbs you more than anything else, there's no backing out now.

Barcelona, the pride of Catalunya, the dominants of Europe, doesn't accept quitters. And that fact glares at you, along with all of its history and values held in the iconic badge that countless legends had adorned, and with it came a legacy you weren’t sure you had the strength to bare on your back. The new number nine, born and raised in Norway but made into the player you are now in Germany.

Here you were, after five years playing for Frankfurt, where you had grown accustomed to a comfortable routine with familiar faces and the same surroundings for so long, now in a new country that held so many unknowns. For someone with so many disadvantages ever present in their life, living in three different countries is a pretty impressive achievement.

Please, let it all be worth it.

After a few frustrating years in the Frauen-Bundesliga, you had signed for the best team in Europe and, arguably, the rest of the world too. Frankfurt had been a beautiful experience, one that had changed your life, but as a result of many, many long discussions with family and friends and psychologists, you had come to the terrifying realisation that it was time for a new challenge.

Why was that absolutely petrifying? Because you and life changes did not get along. Even after 26 years of living, it just wasn’t meant to be. But, such is life, and chances had to be taken.

You'd always be thankful for Frankfurt. Moving to play there was the first time you took such a huge leap of faith, and it had worked out well, eventually. In your eyes, the first season there was a disaster, but your mother would say it was the proudest year of her life. It had been difficult for her to see at times just how much you struggled at points, sure, but you made it to the light at the end of the tunnel and, by the end of it, you were a completely different person in the most incredible way possible. From then on, you continued to grow.

Yet, that was the thing with the German side. When you joined, they were a club with a legacy most teams would envy, but they never amounted to anything more during your time there. You fell in love with the staff, your teammates, and just about everything else during your time there. The only problem, which was pretty damn big in the grand scheme of things, was that you fell out of love with the football you were playing.

You were able to grow and survive at Frankfurt. You wanted to flourish and thrive at Barcelona.

Except, in comparison to the average human, there were a lot more obstacles ahead that could prevent you from accomplishing that aspiration. Over your life, you had overcome many bumps in the road, some leaving a harsh imprint on your self-worth and others hardly affecting you. For example, talking to the girl you were roomed with at 16 at the Norway Football Team camp had turned out to be one of the best things you could have done. Yet, in the same breath, playing for the national team had left you in a broken state, and as a result, you haven't played for them in a few years.

The back and forth travel was too much, and opting out of playing for Norway, as much as it broke your heart that you weren’t strong enough to represent your country on the international stage, it allowed you to rest and recuperate so that you were at the top of your game for your club. Did you dream of wearing your country’s crest one day? Yes, all footballers did. But you weren’t in a place to do that, and you’re not sure you ever will be again.

Signing for Barcelona could be life-changing, but it could also be world-shattering in the worst way imaginable. This was a pretty sizable leap of faith, and the only way that faith could form into something incredible is if you made that happen. You, no one else. That thought filled you with both determination and crushing anxiety. This just could not be another failed attempt. There was no way you could come back.

Ultimately, it would have been downright psychopathic to turn down such an amazing offer from Barcelona. Two years playing for a club that's won three of the last four Champion's League finals? A team that had just completed the quadruple for the first time in their history? Yeah, nonsensical.

However, like always, there were a number of doubts that spiralled from those incredible stats. Did they need you? If they had a mostly flawless season, did they really need a 26 year old woman whose mind hardly functioned like every other person? Did they really need someone who couldn't even play for the national team anymore because they were too overwhelmed with their life? Did they need someone who needed their hand held through every life event, big or small? Did they-

“Hey, you ready?”

That voice had some kind of magic to it. It was like clock-work, this always happened when she was around; that voice in your head consuming you with unwanted thoughts was erased as soon as you tore your eyes away from the doors and looked at the woman beside you.

Ingrid. The one person that had single-handedly convinced you to come here. To Barcelona, playing in a hot country, with people you don’t know, speaking a language you can’t understand- oh my God, what have you done?!

“I… god, I don’t know.” You breathed out in a whisper, hardly intelligible.

The world around you honed in on this one moment here, the peak of your career so far. Apart from Ingrid and the doors to the building and what was in store behind them, there was nothing else that could grasp your attention. There could be a blazing fire behind your car, a lion running full speed towards your car door, or a thief in the back seat for all you knew. Nothing else mattered. The two sides of your mind, the devil and angel on your shoulders were battling it out again, as they always were, whilst your hands fidgeted anxiously in your lap.

“You have to go in at some point, snuppa. You can’t stay in the car forever.” Ingrid softly reminded you, moving to take hold of your hand to comfort your stimming. “It will be a really good day, I promise. My years here so far have been the best of my life, everyone is so nice and welcoming. I never thought I could enjoy training as much as I do now. You will be fine, I have no doubts.”

“I’m not sure about that one.” You laughed nervously, eyes back on the building before you, now slightly glazed over and blurred.

“I am certain about everything I just said.” Ingrid stated definitively, squeezing your hand. “Plus, not everyone in there are complete strangers. You have me, Mapi, you know Caro and you’ve met Jonatan and some other staff members. You know Loren, the team psychologist who you can go see any time you want. We’ll get you past this part of today, and then you have the whole afternoon to do whatever you’d like.”

You nodded at her words, desperately trying to remind yourself of them over and over so that they stick, and you can get through those damn doors.

“You know how much easier my life would be if I knew how everything was going to play out?” You blurted out a moment later, Ingrid smiling in amusement. “It would be a breeze, Ingrid.”

“It would also make your life very boring, min skatt.”

“For you, it would be. For me, I'd live freely.”

Ingrid just laughed and shook her head, squeezing your hand once more before looking at the time on her watch.

“Come on. We have to do this one way or another, and I'm not letting you go in on your own. You want to make me late to training?” She teased, targeting your weak spot. Evil.

“That's cruel, Ingrid. So cruel.” You rolled your eyes but nevertheless stepped out of the car once you'd turned it off.

You didn't make it far though. Once you had gotten your kit bag from the boot of the car, you closed it and froze. Eyes unmoving from the daunting building in front of you.

“Would you like some company after training? We can stay at home, or go out for food, or do anything you'd like.” Ingrid offered, snapping you out of your anxious trance.

Even after… god, ten years now, you were still sometimes left dumb-founded by how well Ingrid knew you. A lot of the time, you yourself are in the dark about what you need, but your fellow Norwegian just gets it, even when you don't. It's pretty safe to say that your life, your whole career, would look a hell of a lot different if you had never met Ingrid.

If you put her characteristics into a different section when it comes to your favourite things about her, the thing you love most about the defender beside you is how she treats you. Sure, the majority of people treated you with respect and kindness, but the defender's love and care was on a whole other level. Like in this scenario now, when she knows you're too overwhelmed by the situation that confronts you to be able to think clearly. But here she is, giving you clear and thought-out options that off-kilt the tunnel vision you have on this one miniscule event, and now gives you something to look forward to.

It reminds you that the world won't end if this training session doesn't go how you want it to, that life goes on afterwards. It makes the road clearer, the journey easier, and allows solace to be found in a down-right terrifying moment.

The funny thing is, however, is that your new home is actually Ingrid's home. No, you weren't living with her, but you were indeed staying in her apartment. She basically lived at Mapi's apartment anyway, so the second she caught wind of your transfer, she immediately offered her disregarded apartment up to you. It was a huge item checked off the ‘things that need doing after uprooting your entire settled, content, perfectly routine life’ to-do list, but you couldn't quite relish in the relief yet.

That's because, though it went unsaid, another factor of Ingrid's offer of letting you stay was so that, if all went wrong and you couldn't make a life for yourself in Barcelona, there was no tenancy to rip up and ultimately it would be a lot less hassle than if you had rented an entirely new place. Ingrid's excuse of not changing your name on the tenancy for now was so that you could settle in with as little stress as possible, but you knew the underlying meaning. Basically, it was a giant get out of jail free card.

“I think I would like that a lot, actually. Thanks.” You said to the taller girl next to you, whose arm had come to wrap around your shoulders.

“Perfect! María has some things to do but I'm free all afternoon, so we can figure something out. For now though, we have to train.”

Taking in a deep breath, you nodded once more.

“That's all it is. Just training.” You told yourself, physically shaking the anxiety off of your chest and marching forwards. You got as far as those damn doors before you froze on the spot again. “Fuck, this is so scary.”

“I know it is.” Ingrid sympathised, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “We've got this though. It's just training, right?”

“It's just training. And a few introductions. And about a million new people.” You sighed. “Will you stick with me the whole time?”

“Like glue, søster.” Ingrid said firmly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let's go.”

And just like that, you did walk into the building with your head held high, disregarding the burdening nerves and replacing them with a deep-rooted determination to prove you are worth it. Maybe your teammates would think otherwise if they knew the secret you were keeping from them, but for now, you would put up a front and act just like them. Your best bet at succeeding here is to fit in, and that's what you'll do.

Ingrid wasn't impressed with this tactic of yours, not in the slightest. Jonatan and other senior staff members knew about you, Loren the psychologist knew about you, and Mapi knew. Besides that, everyone else was in the dark. There was only so long Ingrid could last before she had to tell someone at least, like Alexia or Irene or Marta, because she wanted the best for you and the best couldn't be given if your needs weren't catered for.

Like now, as she watched your whole face change in a split second as the mask came down so fast that, had she blinked a second later, she would have missed it entirely. The tension to the way you held your shoulders was all the evidence she needed that your whole nervous system was wracked with dread, and though she should expect it by now, it didn't stop the jab of sympathy she felt for you.

Of course she knew how difficult this would be for you, she just had really high hopes. Sometimes, even after all these years, it slipped her mind how much you still struggled with things. You'd gotten a lot better at dealing with various different circumstances and that mere fact could bring tears to her eyes if she thought about how far you had come, but moments like these were a snap back to the reality you still lived.

You lived so beautifully, you were so strong now, that your struggles were hardly visible anymore. Yet, when one knows a person for so long, they come to learn the signs. Ingrid knew you like the back of her hand. It still amazed her how quick you put the mask back up, normally being so care-free and light around her. But here, outside of the room everyone was due to meet in for the morning, a feigned smile on your face and a falsity to your posture signified all that Ingrid needed to know.

Even despite your dawdling in the car park, you and Ingrid were some of the first to arrive at the meeting, only a handful of unfamiliar faces scattered around the room. Jonatan looked up at the door upon your arrival and his face lit up, immediately dropping what he was doing to come and greet you with a beaming smile. He offers a gentle handshake, also being sure to speak in clear English so that your mind wasn’t overloaded more than it already was. All of it was reassuring, especially as he kept you off to the side as the room slowly began to fill up, before guiding you to the last chair on the front row beside Ingrid so that the meeting could start. Thankfully, to your relief, he gave you a short introduction to the rest of the squad, you only briefly turning and giving the room a general wave before allowing Jonatan to move onto more pressing matters.

From then on, you were rushed off your feet with introductions and training, all of which weren’t half as bad as you’d expected. During the short walk from the meeting to the changing room, a few others came along to properly greet you, all whilst Ingrid stayed close to your side. Mapi had also come bounding along after you the second you left the first room, Ingrid wincing at the excitement her girlfriend met you with but instantly that worry was erased as soon as you turned to Mapi with a matching overjoyed smile.

By the time you actually got onto the pitch, you had spoken to almost all of the team already. And like Ingrid said, they were just as amazing as you had hoped they would be. Every single one, in their own ways, welcomed you to the team and made small talk with you for a few moments before letting whoever next came by to have their own chance at greeting you. But, it wasn’t until you were about to join in with the warm-up that the person you’d been most nervous about meeting came along.

Your new captain, Alexia. The powerhouse of the Barcelona team, the one you had to leave the best impression on.

A few days prior, amidst a conversation in the corner of Ingrid’s favourite cafe, you had sheepishly demanded that she give you a run-down of each and every single member of the team. There had been Ona, who Ingrid described as a lightning fast defender whose jestful clapbacks were even quicker than her sprint bursts on the pitch. Then Cata, the new number one goalkeeper whose cheek was sometimes too much for even the younger members of the team. Jana, a surefire future talent who was often found beside her quieter, more reserved but equally talented counterpart, Bruna. Patri and Pina were much the same, as were Vicky and Salma. Ingrid gave you a short but detailed profile of all of them, leaving the most important for last. Alexia, who initially came across as slightly cold due to the stoic, focused expression she usually wore. But, to her teammates and those closest to her, she was a world class leader, an even better player, and most importantly, a defiantly caring person with a personality that had more sides than a kaleidoscope.

Upon hearing the exit door slamming shut, you turned your attention to the direction of the sound, only to be met with her. Casually strolling over, squinting in the face of the sun, she came over to you with a… a smile on her face?

“Hola! You must be the novota, nice to meet you.” She beamed, inviting you into a quick, polite hug before standing back. “Happy to be here?”

As always with new people, especially someone like the woman before you, you floundered internally for a moment, so many replies flitting around your mind with so little time to react.

“Y-yeah! Really happy to be here, thank you, Alexia.” You landed on, and judging by her reaction, it was the right thing to say.

“Good, I am glad to hear that. Sorry I was not here for the meeting, you’ve met everybody already, sí?”

“Yes, Jonatan introduced me in the briefing.”

“Good. Bueno, let’s get started. I am excited to be working with you.” The Spaniard smiled brightly once more, before gesturing loosely for the pair of you to join the rest of the group.

The rest of the day, as they say, is history.

It honestly went by in a blur, and if Ingrid was at all surprised by the way you literally fell into your bed when you arrived home, not surfacing from the newfound safe haven until about an hour later, she didn’t show it. This was Ingrid after all, and every quirk of yours, new or old, still brought a smile to her face. Ten years later and she couldn’t help but love you more each time she saw you.

—

The first week goes a lot smoother than you could have dreamed of to be honest - it’s only the start of preseason after all. But, there is still plenty of time for cracks to show. It only takes two days for all your progress to tear at the seams.

On the first day of your second week, you’re walking into training on your own for the first time since you joined. Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Wrong! Big fucking deal actually, because now it’s like walking blind, heading straight for what feels like danger. Unguided, no one by your side, only joined by the weight of an elephant seated right on your heart.

With the help of Ingrid of course, who else, you had established somewhat of a routine that made the transition so much easier. But it wasn’t quite clear until now, just how much easier it had made showing up to training everyday. Because, without your Norwegian counterpart who would be absent from training, you were left to show up all alone, and suddenly everything became ten times harder.

Ingrid was more than just your friend, she was the one constant in this new life you lived that was always present. Anything you needed, one glance from you in her direction and she’d be with you in an instant. She, as stupid as it may seem, was the foundation of your routine, and now that she wasn’t here, all the hard work you’d made to settle in seemed to crumble under your feet.

Three weeks of living in Barcelona, one week of training successfully completed, just for you to end up back at square one. And that meant you were trapped in your own body, limbs acting entirely on autopilot as your legs carried you over to those stupid doors that once again stood intimidatingly in front of you. Just like last week, except this time there was no one to coax you out of your shell, no one to mindlessly guide you over to one of the tables in the canteen, no one to walk you out onto the training pitch. You were all alone.

An unfortunate tactic hadn’t left your habits after all these years: avoidance. What better way to deal with something, then to not deal with it all, right? Right?

Obviously, you couldn’t miss the whole day, you still had commitments and expectations you needed to live up to. If there was one thing that you couldn’t handle (apart from almost everything in this neurotypical world) it was letting people down, disappointing them.

So, if you opted out of breakfast for the day and beelined straight for the changing rooms instead, what business was it to anyone else? You were here, that’s all they could ask for. The plan was to get dressed into your training kit as fast as physically possible, before heading out onto the pitch for some time alone before everyone else came along.

…Except, just as you were lacing up your boots, hand trembling at an embarrassing intensity as you did so, the door opened prematurely. And, really, out of everyone, did it have to be her?

“Oh. I did not expect anyone to be in here. Bon dia.” Alexia smiled at you, heading to her cubby just a few seats away from yours.

“Bon dia.” You muttered sheepishly, keeping your head down and tying your laces at a wildly uncontrolled speed. If Alexia noticed, she didn’t mention it. Thank god.

“I was just going to get some extra practice in, if you wanted to join me.” She offered, swapping her trainers for her boots since she was already in her training gear.

Great minds think alike..?

“Yeah, I was going to do the same thing. Thanks.”

“Ay, it's nothing. It's great that you're so hard working, you’re already fitting right in.” Sorry, could you say that again, or write it down even? “Ready?”

“What? Oh- sorry, yes, I’m ready.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile before slipping past where she stood in the doorway and heading towards the pitch.

“How are you feeling about your time here so far?” The captain asked kindly, the beating sound of boots clicking against the floor echoing far too long in your ears.

“Um, good. It’s an honour playing for this team, so.” You shrugged, offering an almost robotic, rehearsed answer.

“And what about how you actually feel? Not what you’re supposed to feel?” Alexia inquired lightly, an earnest and sympathetic look across her face. Slightly suspicious.

“Well… still good. It’s just different, isn’t it. Yeah.” You mumbled, cheeks flushing bright red as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

“Of course it is different. You were in Germany for five years, right?” You nodded affirmatively. “So it is a big, big change. I haven’t been anywhere else but here for twelve years, I cannot imagine adjusting to anywhere else.”

Oh, Ingrid. Seriously?

“I’m here though, I have to leave Germany behind.” You stated in a flat voice, honestly quite done with this topic but it’d be rude to voice so.

“If that is how you want to think, then do it like that. You have transitioned very well, we are all impressed.” Alexia shrugged with a soft smile, punching in the code for the storage cupboard and opening it soon after. “Grab the footballs, I will get some tiny goals. The others can get the rest when they’re done filling their faces.”

Thank god for that.

Alexia ended that conversation there, directing her focus on training from that moment on, much to your relief. All that you learnt from this day was that you needed to have a conversation with Ingrid. Your sixth sense was strong, even if to others it seemed like Alexia was just being an averagely kind person, you just knew.

The good thing was, you couldn’t quite call that day a disaster. In the end, you got through it, even squeezing in a few jokes and laughs here and there throughout the day.

It’s the next day that the first incident occurred. It happened like this; Ingrid isn’t in again, you learn she’s got some kind of stomach virus, so you turn up once more on your own. This time, it wasn’t quite so scary, but like yesterday you skipped breakfast again. And just like yesterday, Alexia met you in the changing rooms to do some early practice again. Except, there was one fatal flaw to your routine this day. It came back and bit you in the ass pretty harshly.

“Ale, what are you doing after this?” Mapi wondered from your right as she stood up after Jona had ended training for the day.

“Eh, nothing.” She shrugged, going to ask you the same thing as she reached her hands out to help you up.

For all you knew, the Spanish pair you were sandwiched between could be speaking absolute gibberish, nothing was registering. As soon as you stood up, everything went hazy. And then… your vision had gone, your body felt unbelievably heavy, and had it not been for Alexia’s tight grip, you’d have fallen back there and then.

“Hey!” Alexia called out in concern, feeling you go limp in her hold. “Mapi, she’s fainting!”

“What!?” Mapi cried, immediately falling to her knees as Alexia safely guided you to the floor.

“I don’t know, she just collapsed!”

Her voice dripped with worry as Mapi frantically looked around, only to find most people had headed inside already. Meanwhile, you were still awake, not totally out cold, but your eyes ached unbearably and you’d lost all control of your movements. Alexia’s hands flitted over your body, looking for any obvious problems but she couldn’t find any. She repeated your name over and over, only receiving somewhat of a whimper in reply.

“Mapi, go find someone, now!” Alexia demanded, the defender instantly rising to her feet and heading for the door. The captain turned back to you, her hands gently coming up to cradle your face where you lay on your side. “Hey, I need you to listen! Can you hear me?”

“Mhm.” You whined, providing the woman before you with an ounce of relief.

“What’s wrong? You need to tell me so we can help you, cariño, you just fainted on us.” She said frantically, her wide eyes boring into yours when you opened them.

Identifying the problem, even in your state, was quite simple. It was a common problem, something you were well versed with, though you rarely ever let it get this bad.

“Forgot to eat.” You mustered up your remaining strength, which really was very little, to answer her and quell her worries.

Thinking back to this moment in probably an hour’s time, you’d laugh at Alexia’s face when you said those three words, because she looked utterly perplexed.

“You forgot to eat?” Alexia repeated with a frown, but she couldn’t dwell on it much longer because Mapi came running over with the medical team hot on her tails.

“Is she awake?” The brunette woman asked desperately, opting out of kneeling back beside you so as to not overcrowd you.

“Yes, and she said she forgot to eat today?” Alexia looked up at her friend, refusing to shift out of the way and instead choosing to stick by your side.

“Oh, that would explain it.” Mapi sighed in relief, only puzzling Alexia more. Was this… normal for you?

The medics fussed over you, asking you questions and ultimately overwhelming you way too much, something Mapi notices quickly.

“Oye, basta, slow down. Her blood sugar is low, she needs something quickly. Get her an energy gel.” Mapi commanded them, now joining you by your head and smiling her bright smile down at you, combing back some of your hair. “Hola preciosa, we'll get you back feeling better soon.” Just as she said that, a member of the medical staff pulled out one of the energy gels the team used for games. “Can you have this for me? It will make you feel better, I promise.”

With a nod, the people around you helped you to sit up as Mapi tore open the gel packet, with Alexia still almost frozen in confusion. The defender noticed, grinning in amusement and quickly flicking her ear to bring her back down to earth.

“Ah! What's that for?” Alexia winced, watching on as Mapi shook her head and handed you the gel pack.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to your mouth, hardly possessing the strength to squeeze it enough to get anything out of it, but just as Mapi went to help you, Alexia got there first.

“It’s okay, here.” She does it for you, one hand on the packet and the other on your elbow that shakes under her hold. She seemed to be grounded now, knowing that it isn't the right moment to be wrapped up in her own thoughts when you're here in front of her, needing security and comfort whilst it takes a couple minutes to come back to yourself. “Easy with it. You'll feel better soon.”

And you did, literally no less than two minutes after having the energy gel, your nausea and dizziness and whatnot near enough disappeared. Though, your physical symptoms gave way for a barrage of anxiety, because this situation would consequently lead to an unwanted and challenging (but most likely necessary) conversation with Jonatan and the rest of the staff. They had also seen you, on the floor, near enough passed out, as a result of your own actions. You could only imagine the things they were thinking right now, and that unknown was scarier than the actual situation that had occurred beforehand.

“Feeling good now. Thanks everyone.” You said shyly, rising to your feet and avoiding everyone's gaze.

“You sure?” Alexia checked, giving you a look that tells you that you shouldn't even try to bullshit her.

“Well, a little bit… woozy, I guess. But much better than before, I swear.” You nodded, hating the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you.

“Let’s go inside, I’ll ask the catering staff to make up some food for you, if you want?” Mapi offered as her hand hovers against your back, not touching but guiding you back inside the main building.

“Okay.” You shrugged.

Meanwhile Alexia trailed behind, trying to figure out how, as captain, she could help this situation. It’s in her best interest to care for her team, and given what she had learnt, it was now clear that there was a lot more she could do than sit back and watch. She didn’t want to come across as overbearing, something Ingrid had warned her about, but she realised it was time to step in.

“Why don’t we go to one of the office rooms rather than the canteen?” She suggested just as Mapi went to open the door heading into said room. The defender should have thought of that sooner, but she’s glad her friend mentioned it, realising it’s most definitely the better option right now for you.

You were taken to an empty office, followed into the room by Alexia and Mapi and some of the physios, and if they weren’t overcrowding you outside, they definitely were now. In all honesty, as much as you were grateful for their care, you wanted to burrow under your duvet in bed at home and not surface for probably about a week. You wanted to grab a tray of cookies, eat them whilst seated on the edge of your bed so you didn’t get crumbs everywhere, and crawl under the sheets safe in the darkness of the four walls you had struggled to leave the past two days.

But no, you were here, stuck in a reality that in no way felt real at all. What were you doing here? Sat at a round table, surrounded by medical staff chatting between themselves, not really bothered about your blip anymore, whilst two of Spain’s greatest players stand off to the side, both pairs of eyes trained solely on you.

You, a no-name off the back of an unsuccessful run in Germany that had just collapsed after training. Them, Champion’s League winners and well-established in the sport for years already, and decades to come.

“Preciosa?” Mapi appeared beside you suddenly, speaking softly as her hand fell on your shoulder. “Is it okay if I leave now? Ingrid is still sick at home, I promised I would get back to her as fast as I could. If you need me to stay, I can. They won’t keep you here for much longer, they’re just making sure you eat before you get back home.”

She should be with Ingrid, her girlfriend who is much worse off at home. Not with you, who simply made a foolish mistake and was now wasting everyone’s time.

“Go home.” You told her as your own hands squeezed anxiously at your upper arms where they sat crossed on the table.

“Okay.” Mapi smiled pitifully down at you, giving you a light forehead kiss before backing off. She pulled Alexia to the side, giving her a warning glare. “Look after her, for me and for Ingrid. Protect her, too. Don’t let them overwhelm her, she just wants to get home.”

“Sí. Of course.” Alexia replied firmly, a solid look in her eyes that Mapi knew to trust immediately.

The defender slipped out of the room with no further fuss, leaving you alone with Alexia and the medical staff. Not for long, though.

“Guys, could you give us a moment? And can someone go collect her food from the canteen, please.”

They nodded and stepped out of the room, Alexia closing the door softly behind them. She turned back to you, watching as you kept your head down and focused on the shapes you traced on the wood of the table. Your shoulders were visibly tense, so uptight they’re basically touching your ears, and she noticed just how intensely your leg was bouncing up and down.

“Do you need anyth-”

“Did Ingrid tell you?” You asked bluntly, gulping back the lump in your throat that really had no place making itself known at this moment - now was not the time for a meltdown. Save it for later, in the safety of your flat.

Alexia blew out a breath, coming over to perch on the edge of the desk a few seats away from you.

“If you’re talking about what I think you are, then… yes. She did tell me.” She answered cautiously, trying to gauge your reaction but you didn’t give her much, just a single nod. “She did it with the best intentions though. It wasn’t to… purposely go behind your back. She just wants the best for you, and the more people that know, the more support you can have here.”

“I guess.” You murmured under your breath, clearing your throat after and moving to rest your chin atop your arms.

“Why… why didn’t you want anybody to know?” The midfielder wondered in a soft tone, trying hard not to scare you off or go over the top. If she wants to help you and understand you, which she desperately does, this is the pathway she has to, albeit reluctantly, go down.

“Wanted people to get to know me, not a label.” You frowned, hastily wiping the tear that slips out with the frustration slowly bubbling inside of you. “Didn’t want to be a problem for anyone. Wanted to fit in.”

Just like that, it all clicked for Alexia.

The feigned smiles, sometimes forced laughter, the troubled look on your face whenever you thought you were alone, all of it adds up. You had repressed parts of you so that things went as smooth sailing as possible, so that people didn’t think any differently of you or immediately feel drawn away like they often did. The biggest part of you, what makes you you, is the one thing you didn’t want people to see, out of nothing but complete and all-consuming fear. And Alexia would be damned if she let you go on like this.

“Can I take a seat next to you?” She said quietly, a hint of a smile on her face when you nodded again. She did exactly that; without making too much noise in the still room, she pulled up the chair next to you and sat down, her eyes raking up and down your face.

“If I told you that I don’t think any differently of you at all, would you believe me?” She began with.

You just shrugged dismissively, not having moved a single muscle in the past few minutes apart from breathing and blinking. If you don’t move, if you don’t draw attention to yourself, perhaps this whole thing will disappear. A girl can dream.

“Because I don’t, cariño. I really don’t. You are not a problem for any of us at all. You face different struggles than us, but nobody thinks of you as anything less than a great player and an even better person. We are all glad you are here. I and others on the team will face different struggles than you, and I can bet you would never think any differently of us. Am I right?”

Her words break through the defensive wall you’d put up to protect yourself from anything else around you. A common feature of the start of your meltdowns, except it’s quite possible that your captain had just stopped it from going any further.

Hesitantly, you sat up from your slouched position and wiped tiredly at your face.

“No, I would never.” You told her, slumping back against your chair and fiddling with the drawstring on your shorts.

“Exactly. You don’t need to worry about any of that at all, I promise. You are one of us now. A culer. We will take care of you.” She smiled brightly, you can hear it in her voice. So for the first time since you’d entered the room, you turned to look at her, only to find her eyes were filled with earnesty and kindness. And… perhaps for the first time since you’d arrived in Barcelona, you truly did feel like you belong here. Like you could make a life for yourself here, against all odds.

“Thanks.” You sniffled, feeling the remnants of your outburst fade away, only to leave overwhelming exhaustion in its wake.

“It’s okay. You can come to me anytime for anything. There will always be someone here for you to talk to, and I’ll be the first to fight for you if that’s ever necessary.” Now, you were actually smiling. A genuine one, too.

“I think Ingrid might beat you to it, actually.” You teased her, watching as she grins.

“You’re probably right.” She chuckled, before pausing. You already knew what she was about to say before she opened her mouth. Neurotypicals are just way too predictable. “How did you know Ingrid told me?”

“You can just tell when someone knows. They treat you differently.” Alexia frowned anxiously at that.

“I didn’t… did I treat you differently?” She questioned, along with a poor attempt at disguising the undertones of fear in her voice.

“You haven’t, not really, but… I don’t know, I can just tell instantly. It’s hard to explain. You haven’t treated me differently, but I could tell you knew compared to when you didn’t know. The look on your face too. But thank you for… just everything so far. You have helped a lot, so.” You shrugged. She smiled, a little in relief, but nodded nevertheless.

“You don’t need to thank me. Now, can I ask some more about what happened today? You said you forgot to eat?”

“Yeah. It’s just because my routine was messed up, that’s all. Yesterday morning I ate before training because Ingrid had baked me some pastries, but today I had none left and then genuinely forgot. It happens sometimes, it’s just part of it.”

“Part of what?”

“Autism.” Duh.

“Oh. I did not know that.” Alexia stated simply.

“Yeah, well, most people don’t.” You told her. Alexia nodded understandingly, a plan of action already formed in her mind.

“I’m sure you already know this, as an athlete, but it’s important for your safety that this doesn’t happen again. So I have a solution in mind that could help.” You hummed to tell her to continue. “I can ask either the catering staff here, or find a private chef, to start meal prepping for you. We can organise it on the club’s behalf so that you don’t have to pay anything. I will go with you, or for you if you’d like, to Jonatan and help sort it out for you. You can meet with a nutritionist to figure out what food you need and tell them what you do and don’t like, we can sort it all out for you. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Oh. You’d never thought about that before.

“I guess that could work.” You decided after a few moments of consideration.

That would actually be a really helpful solution. Certainly one less thing to worry about, and it could add a secure layer to your routine. An important one too.

“Would you be okay with that?” Alexia wondered, smiling when you nodded. “Good. Leave it to me, I will get it sorted for you.”

She paused again, clearly hesitant about something. You raised an eyebrow at her, trying to coax it out of her with a look, but you couldn’t help the amused smile on your face at the sudden, faint blush that landed on her cheeks.

“What is it?”

“Uh… there is no way to ask this without coming across as… very forward, to say the least.” She started, shaking her head at her own ridiculousness. “May I get your number? For captain’s reasons, of course.”

“Right.” You smirked, watching as she shakes her head, this time at your teasing, and grabs a pen from the stationary pot in the centre of the table. “And what shall I write it on?”

“Well… just use my hand, I guess.” She suggested, offering the back of her hand out for you. You grinned and gently took hold of it, jotting down your number for her.

“There you go, Capi.” You smiled, clicking the pen and putting it back.

Not long after that, one of the staff members came in with the food Alexia and Mapi had organised for you. So, leaving your captain with a promise that you'll eat it the second you walked through your apartment door, you went home. It was a great meal, and if it'd be the catering staff at Barcelona that would do your meal prep, well, it'd be a great deal.

That night went just like the others; you relaxed for some time to decompress after training, until you eventually started feeling somewhat human again, and arose from bed to do one of any of your hobbies that you felt like doing that night. Reading, watching movies, drawing and painting, listening to music, or any others that pique your interest that night.

On some occasions, you'll be so mentally exhausted from your day that none of them seem at all appealing, and it takes a lengthy period of time to feel yourself again. An hour, the rest of the evening, or sometimes even the whole week. After especially hard times, it could take weeks. Fortunately you hadn't been through such events in years, but the fear of falling into that hole ever again was always present in the back of your mind.

The thing about having this disorder is that some things never change. Most things never change. You learn to cope, you can heal from past experiences, but in the grand scheme of it all, things never change. Certain events, people, even words can still be triggers. No amount of therapy or coping mechanisms or whatever, can help. You were born this way, and you would die this way.

You would live a life and still struggle with even the most mundane things. Washing dishes was a no-go, the sensory issues were way too intense for that one. A day without showering first thing in the morning was automatically a write off. Bad performances in matches could still lead to a meltdown on certain days. One wrong look from someone can send you spiralling.

Autism was a blessing and a curse. It made you who you are; you have no idea who you would be without it. Yet, at the same time, it could debilitate you to such extreme degrees that… at night, when you were alone under the disguise of darkness, you can't help but wonder what you could have done with your life had you not been born with this burden.

And with the day you'd had already, well, the only way you'd learnt to get over these things were to move on from them. That's what you had to do. If you become too concentrated on them, analysed every detail that went wrong, thought about every opinion those who witnessed it could hold, you'd suffer for it more than you needed to.

You couldn't move on if others couldn't move on though.

Unknown: Did you get home safe?

There was most likely only one person it could be, but where's the fun in that?

You: Depends who I'm talking to…

Alexia: It's Alexia??

Too easy.

You: I knew it was you, dumbass. Yes I got home safe, thank you. Food was great too :)

Although, when a few minutes went by after that last text, the doubts came flooding in. Did you take it too far with her? It was a bit ballsy to say that, she's just checking in on you. Captain duties.

Then again, who was it calling you?

“Hello?” You frowned, and this was another instance where you're cursing yourself, because why was your heart racing and cheeks burning at one random phone call?

“Dumbass, huh?” Came a smug voice, and then your heart was racing for another, more light-hearted reason.

“Yeah, sorry about that… apparently I'm a bit of a keyboard warrior.” You blushed sheepishly, relieved beyond belief when the woman down the line laughed.

“Don't worry about it. You're feeling okay now, sí?”

“Yes, fine. You know, I didn't plan for today to happen. It just did.” You mumbled, still embarrassed by it all.

“I know, no one blames you for it. I just wanted to check in with you.”

“I'm good, thanks. I've only ever had that happen like once before, I guess training on an empty stomach isn't the greatest idea in the world.” You joked lightly, Alexia humming in agreement.

“How does it happen? You said your routine was messed up, how did that lead to you forgetting?”

“It's a long story.” You sighed, but Alexia doesn't care.

“I have a free evening.” She said simply. This woman.

“Well… every training session so far, Ingrid has met me in the morning at my apartment beforehand so we can travel in together. She normally checks in with me, asks how I'm feeling and if I've eaten and whatnot. But she was ill, which I obviously don't blame her for, by the way. So not having her with me these past two days has terrified me quite a bit. She's basically the thing that holds my whole morning routine together. I guess, because she wasn't there, everything just flew out the window.” You explained, but things still weren't quite adding up in Alexia’s mind.

“So how does that relate to you forgetting to eat? Do you not get hungry?”

“Not like normal people do. One of the things with autism is that… we're not really in tune with our bodies? Like, I don't often get hungry or thirsty, I have to force myself to remember to eat and drink. And when I don't, I only realise I haven't done either of the two when I start feeling ill, like today. But food and drink feel like a chore, which is another reason I forget too. It's different when it comes to football though, being an athlete has taught me to be in tune with my body in terms of injuries, but not for anything else. It's weird.”

“Wow, I never knew that before. That's interesting.” She commented. She's got a lot to learn.

“I prefer… inconvenient.” You said with a shy smile, glad to hear Alexia chuckle at that.

Unexpectedly, for quite some time after that, the pair of you just… talked. A lot. Like, for an hour. About everything - from what pastries Ingrid baked you, to a few more facts about yourself and your ASD, and everything in between.

It's unnervingly natural. Fun too, but also a little odd. Is she doing it out of pity, or..?

“I almost forgot the other reason I called you.” She said out of nowhere, the smile on her face audible once again. “We have our pre-season dinner this Friday, the whole team is going. You should come.”

A dinner? At a restaurant? Oh god.

“Oh, I… it sounds good, but I don’t know, I-”

“Hey, why not?” She questioned gently.

“Just, they’re not really my scene.”

In a split second, Alexia attempted to think back on all she knew about anxiety to combine it with the very little information she knew about autism, hoping the two overlapped somewhat. Luckily for her, they do.

“The club rents out the restaurant so it’ll just be the team and a few senior staff members. It shouldn’t be too loud. It’s more like a celebratory dinner before the season starts, so there's no partying or anything like that at all. I really hope you come, but I understand if not. There’s no pressure.”

Damn you, Alexia.

“Okay. Okay, I'll go.”

—

Normal order resumed for the rest of the week; Ingrid recovered from her short 48-hour bug and returned to training like she hadn't even had a day off. Her being back also meant your mind was a hell of a lot more at ease, even if Alexia had offered to see you every morning.

There was one other thing you were blessed with: obliviousness. Because, during the car ride to training the day after your phone call with the captain, the smirk that Mapi greeted you with in the rearview mirror after you tell her what happened once she headed home, is definitely not confusing at all. Definitely not.

That smirk made a comeback far sooner than you'd like.

“Say that again?” Mapi asked with a squint to her eyes, forcing down the laughter she so desperately wants to let out.

“Alexia is driving me to the team dinner.” You repeated the sentence you'd just said for her, looking to Ingrid for help. “Ingrid, tell her to behave please.”

“María, come on. Alexia is just doing her a favour, you know she's not a fan of driving.” Ingrid said whilst nudging her girlfriend, though secretly she's hiding some intense excitement levels under her very good poker-face.

“Exactly! Screw you, Mapi.” You sighed dramatically, turning back to the mirror as you put your earrings in.

“So you're sure you don't need us to drive you there?” Mapi asked suspiciously, and there was that stupid smirk again.

“Ugh, yes! I am making friends, you should be happy!” You groaned, fixing the shorter defender with a dagger-like glare in the reflection.

“More than fr-”

“Okay! Are you ready, snuppa? When is Alexia coming?” Ingrid interjected, discreetly stomping on her girlfriend's foot.

“She's on her way, she'll be here any minute now.” You answered after checking your phone. “You know, I can't rely on you guys forever like you're my parents or something. I love you, but I don't love you that much. And I'm sure you feel the same.”

“No!” Ingrid cried out in a way that's entirely too theatrical. She came over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I do love you that much, it's María you need to worry about.”

“I do worry about her sometimes. You should too, Ingrid.” You murmured, Ingrid humming in agreement as you watched her Spanish counterpart… busy herself in your fridge?

“María, out of there! We are literally going for dinner right now!”

“Ingrid, princesa, you need to work on your English- we're not at dinner ‘right now’, that is why I am in the fridge.”

“Guys! Alexia is here, let's go. I'll see you at the restaurant.” You kissed Ingrid’s cheek and flicked Mapi’s forehead as you ushered them out the door, locking it behind you and making your way down to the ground floor.

Alexia was there, waiting for you whilst leaning against her car, and a smile tugged at her lips the second she saw you. You heard some commotion behind you, most likely Mapi being scolded by Ingrid, but you shut it out as you headed over to the midfielder, fighting back a ridiculously cheesy grin.

She greeted you the same way she did on the first day she met you - enveloping you in a warm hug that really shouldn’t be as comforting as it was. Not a big deal. Regardless, you both clambered into the car and made your way to the restaurant.

Thankfully, the evening went surprisingly well. It was a very low-key evening, just like Alexia said. In fact, you might even go as far as to say you enjoyed it, that’s a welcome revelation. And it seems you weren’t the only one that had discovered something new.

“Can I ask you something?” Alexia said on the drive back to your apartment.

“Sounds like there’s no stopping you.” You replied, smiling when she teasingly rolled her eyes.

“At dinner, when Patri asked why you don’t drink, you said ‘long story short, I don’t like it’ so I was just wondering what you meant by that?” Alexia asked, before almost immediately regretting it. “I mean, you don’t have to answer, it’s your business, but… if there’s anything we should be mindful about, then let me know.”

Who needed alcohol when you had a tendency to lose your inhibitions whenever you got too exhausted?

“No, not really any problems. I don’t have any issues with people drinking around me, I just have a bit of a history with it but it’s nothing big. It’s fine.” You shrugged, trying to keep your eyes open as the streets of Barcelona passed by your window.

“What… what happened?” Alexia pressed gently.

“Well, when I was about seventeen, I started going through a really hard time. I had just dropped out of school, I’d had some trouble with friends, I was basically struggling quite badly. I started partying and drinking a lot, way more than I should have. Then I began to rely on it too much, just to get me through really basic stuff. It made me feel normal, it got rid of the voice in my head and it made me feel like a functioning person of society because it was what everybody else did. One day I decided it was best that I don’t drink at all, and it’s easier to tell people I don’t like it but actually I’m just scared of drinking because of all it reminds me of. So, I avoid it.” You explained, rather nonchalantly.

The mental exhaustion was hitting hard that night, it was evident in the way you spoke. There was one explanation; dissociation. Dinners were not your favourite things in the world, they were a challenge to get through even when you were in the best company. Small talk, food, the sound of people eating, the scrapes of cutlery against ceramic, and the attention on some occasions being entirely on you? Yeah, a big no go. Which is why you were so tired, so distant, because your mind was in protection mode to keep you running until you got home.

Talking about your past was difficult, you’d come a long way and it felt counter-intuitive to talk about the bad times when you’d worked so hard to come to a good place. Yet, here you were, baring your soul about a topic you normally kept to yourself. You don’t even feel at least a little bit anxious at the fact you’d just spilled that secret. Alexia takes all the concern you normally feel and keeps it for herself.

“I’m sorry you went through that, cariño. Thank you for telling me.” She smiled sadly over at you, an ache growing in her heart at your defeated demeanour where you sit in her passenger seat. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“Tired. So tired.” You sighed. Even just talking felt like a chore in that moment. “Wanna get home, s’all.”

“Okay, we’re almost there now.” She said, “I’m proud of you for coming today. I know you weren’t a fan of the idea initially but you came, and everybody was so glad that you did. I am really proud of you, and so are Ingrid and Mapi too.”

The woman to your left surprised you everyday with each act of kindness she was showing. She hardly knew you, she hardly knew of your struggles, but she was adamant to learn and show just how deeply she cared. You were beyond grateful for her and all she’d said and done, even if you couldn’t verbalise that just yet.

All you could do was offer a simple nod, almost entirely mute as a result of how utterly overstimulating the day had been. You had loved it, sure, but sometimes when days like today left you in such a dejected state that you could hardly talk, there were still times if you wondered if fighting for a somewhat normal life was worth it.

From then on, the rest of the drive home was silent. Alexia dropped you off, made sure you knew to contact her or Ingrid or whoever you felt comfortable speaking to should you need them, and that was that. You got inside, were barely able to get yourself changed, before passing out as soon as you got into bed.

—

A few weeks went by and it was more of the same. After that dinner, the team really clamped down and focused on getting everybody ready for the start of the new season. Training at Barcelona was different to anything you’d ever experienced before; it was intense, but light-hearted. There was competition, but it was healthy, everybody egged each other on even if they wanted to win. Ingrid was right, you had never found training this enjoyable before. You had to put that down to the people though, if it wasn’t for them then you’d never feel as comfortable as you do now.

There were blips, there were still obstacles, but apart from that time you fell ill after training , there hadn’t really been any meltdown-inducing moments. Just a lot of burn-out and exhaustion, but you were near enough a pro at dealing with that now.

The environment was… perfect for you. And one factor of that outcome is definitely down to the help of the famous three you had near enough attached yourself to since your arrival.

But the main factor to how well you had settled in was down to you. At some point along the way, not that the exact date mattered or anything (at exactly 12:02 on Monday the 26th of August), you hit a milestone that you had never managed to reach before.

It was unplanned, but once the initial shock had worn off and the anxiety left, you teared up in the arms of Ingrid at the pride you felt towards yourself. Then Mapi joined in with the hug, and so did Alexia, then… so did the whole team too.

For the first time, you were honest with your team. For the first time, you told them that you had autism. And for the first time, you weren’t suffocated by that prospect. When they all came together to hug you, it wasn’t just a physical embrace, it was them fully accepting you even with this burden you held and championed every day of your life. Though, with the support of others, it was hard to think of it as a burden. The gravity of a secret this big had weighed you down for years, but… now, your chest had never felt so light.

They supported you when you arrived, but the extremes this Spanish team took didn’t quite register until the week before the first game of the Liga F season. Fortunately for you, the first game of the season was at your new home of football, the Estadi Johan Cruyff. So, to help settle the rising nerves you were feeling as game day got closer, the club had organised a training session for you at the stadium a few days before. The more familiar you were with your surroundings, the less you had to worry about on the day. And, as everybody knew, the only thing you needed to worry about for your debut would be how well you did on the pitch.

What you didn’t know though, was that every member of your team was waiting in the stands for you to walk out. And the second the sound of boots hitting the floor echoed from the tunnel through the empty stadium, Mapi was up on her feet to cheer and encouraged her teammates to do the same. The only person that hesitated was Ingrid, but when she saw the look on your face as your te- your friends outwardly rallied behind you so openly and so freely, she became the loudest one of them all. That was the perfect way to prepare for game day, you really couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to work with everyday.

Were you jittery and wracked with nerves as you waited on the sidelines to be substituted in at the 70 minute mark? Yes, but the second you took your first step on the grass with the crowd’s applause as your welcome, you fixated on the game and everything else was just background noise.

From a young age, before you had even heard of the word autism, football had very obviously been your special interest, otherwise known as the one random topic out of everything in the world to take over your life.

You would spend hours in your backyard, kicking a ball against the side of your house, driving your family crazy. The walls of your bedroom were covered, corner to corner, in posters ranging from your favourite players, to clubs from all over the world. Christmases and birthdays as a kid were, to you, all about what from your presents you could add to your collection. Kits, boots, scarves, match-day programmes, magazines, even trading cards. Back at your childhood home in Norway, all these things were stored away in the attic, still items you cherished.

As you got older and life got a bit more difficult, football became your escape. School was exhausting, people were exhausting, but football was something you could do on your own. No one bothering you, no one expecting anything from you, it was a time you could forget the world and all its misdemeanours, and just relax. And honestly, that’s all you planned for it to be. It was hard to imagine it being anything else than just a hobby.

All it took was one game to change the whole trajectory of your life. A game of girls against boys at your school at the age of only eleven, and the next day your sports teacher had gotten you a trial at the local academy. You passed it with flying colours, and flourished in the sport from there.

…Until one random day when you were fourteen, your mother sat you down for a conversation you never could have expected. But once you'd had time to dwell on her words, everything made sense.

You had autism spectrum disorder.

It wasn’t made official until the assessment process was over and you received your diagnosis, but that was the day it felt like your life had been irreversibly changed. Your view of the world changed with one conversation, and it was as if everything you thought you knew was wiped completely. Like you had been thrown into the ocean with no one and nothing around to help.

All the tantrums, the bad behaviour at home compared to being a model student at school, the fussy eating habits, and the endless list of out-of-the-norm habits you had - it added up to this one, new label. The tantrums became meltdowns, the reasoning behind your behavioural differences were from spending the whole day surrounded by people and masking to fit in which led to you being so overwhelmed and overstimulated, your mind went into overdrive and didn’t know what to do. The fussy eating turned out to be sensory issues, with the textures and tastes of certain foods making you physically ill.

There was so much to learn that some days it felt like too big a challenge to tackle. Then there would be the days where you were up all night, the light of your family laptop kept hidden under the blanket you draped over yourself, as you researched this life-changing disorder until the sun rose.

It’s funny, really, how quickly your life can change with just three words.

For years, you had been defeated by it, succumbing to the assumptions that you could never amount to anything more than the label forced upon you, but look at you now. Providing a world class through ball to the most recent Ballon D’Or recipient to tie off a 3-0 win in the first game of the season.

You had learnt at some point in the last twelve years that the only choice you had was to live with it. Make the most of it. This was your one life, you had to make it work. You were adamant to thrive for the others that couldn’t, for the 1 in 13 women that didn’t believe they were strong enough to fight back, and to prove to the world that this disorder didn't hold you back.

They wouldn’t know that your mind could be your own worst enemy, or the self-deprecating thoughts you could have whilst your face gave away no hints, or that sometimes you didn’t believe in yourself and the anxiety was so intense that you could be stuck in bed for days, even weeks, at a time. All they saw right now was your team, FC Barcelona, rushing over to celebrate you rather than the goal scorer because they knew what it meant to you. The world would only ever see your victories, because they had no business to strike you when you were already down. You were strong, you were worth it, and most importantly, you had done it. You’d made it to the exact point you dreamed of. That’s all that mattered.

Unfortunately, it only takes one bad thing to set you down an unwanted path.

Part 2

#woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femeni #fcb femení x reader #alexia putellas x reader #ingrid engen #mapi león #fridolina rolfö #barcelona femeni #barcelona femení #barcelona femeni x reader

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diluc33rpm · 2 years ago

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3/3 If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing?

#get therapy??? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#i mean in all seriousness besides that #...work probably #move out of this country off the continent as far away as i can fucking get and cut all contact #then like. use the privilege to go around doing a bunch of jobs i find myself interested in doing #ive never really been the sort of person who has their One All Consuming Passion/Multiple Strong Fields of Interest driving their decisions #i feel like what’d suit me the most would be running around doing whatever i sorta enjoy wherever i sorta like until i die forever #there’s quite a number of things to try out in the world you’d be surprised #the one consistent thing i’ve had in my life that might qualify as a hobby is just... meeting and talking to people #hearing about different experiences and how they’re living #not a lot of better ways to do that if you have the access and ability than Travelling A Bunch and finding yourself in spaces #it’s kinda also why i’m into learning random ass languages like i don’t care that much about phonemes but #i’m curious about how people express themselves. i wanna be able to understand and find out about more stuff #that’s pretty much it

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javier-pena · 23 days ago

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three's a crowd

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and he is in love with you, but you both have no idea how to act on it. Until Joel Miller comes along.

Notes: I started writing this fic in June and it was supposed to be a fun little summer thing and then stuff happened and now it's October - but here it finally is. There isn't really much I can say about it except that Dani @alexturner saved the whole thing by pointing out that the final fic wasn't really like what I had talked about while discussin the idea with her and after editing it, it's much, much better. I also had a lot of fun talking about Frankie's and Joel's backstory with you, Dani 🤭 maybe I'll write that one day ...

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

BEFORE

It must have been two years ago, or maybe it was three. Your hair was longer, you had just broken up with your boyfriend of five years, had just moved to a town where you didn’t know a single soul. “A fresh start is what you need.” That’s what your therapist said to you when you cried your heart out after Derek dumped you and moved in with his new girlfriend a week later. But she hadn’t been talking about this, moving halfway across the country, all the way from Maine, where the winters are cold and the air is always salty, to Texas, where it almost never snows and the tornado sirens make you run for cover.

That’s how you met Frankie, sweet, smiling Frankie. Your truck broke down in the grocery store parking lot and he jump-started it. He stuck out to you because he was wearing a pale blue baseball cap, bleached from countless summers under the hot Texan sun, and not a cowboy hat like all the other men around. You bought him dinner at that steak place that would become your favorite, and after three shots of tequila you opened up to him. He held you when you started to cry, took you home, slept on your couch when you asked him not to leave.

You’ve been friends ever since.

He showed you around San Antonio, he flew you to Enchanted Rock in a helicopter he rented, he even took you to Mexico where you found out he speaks Spanish fluently. He helped you fix the roof of your bungalow when it started leaking. You, in turn, took him to the cinema, made him watch horror movies that made him squeal, dragged him along to a rodeo, taught him how to ride a motorcycle when he told you he had always wanted to learn. The two of you just clicked. It felt right.

Now, after three years, you can’t imagine your life without Frankie in it. You don’t remember who you were before him, and you don’t want to. He’s your best friend, and you’re his. Where one of you goes, the other follows. And of course, people mistake you for a couple, of course they ask, “And what about your girlfriend here?”, they say, “You’re lucky to be dating such a nice young fella”. You always laugh, correct them lightheartedly. But sometimes you wish they were right. You love Frankie as a friend, more than you ever thought you could love anyone, but sometimes you want more.

You almost got that more about a year after meeting Frankie. One of his friends, Santi, was in town, and you went out with a group before taking advantage of the hot tub that came with Santi’s motel. There were drinks involved, one thing led to another, and suddenly you found yourself straddling Frankie, wearing nothing more than a bikini, your fingers tugging on his curls, his hands roaming all over your body. It didn’t go any further than that, and the next morning he dropped you off at your house with his usual, “See ya ‘round.” He never talked about it and neither did you. He was probably regretting it and you didn’t want to lose him over something like this, so you left it all unsaid.

He started dating someone soon afterwards, first Arabella, then Bessie, and you hated them both, even though they were probably decent women. Luckily, neither relationship lasted long because it hurt. You didn’t tell Frankie, acted perfectly civil around them, but it felt as if your heart had been dropped from a great height and had shattered against the pavement. You had to ease that pain with a couple of meaningless one-night-stands but they couldn’t take your mind off Frankie buried deep in another woman when it should have been you. And when you told him about Billy and Carson and Hank and Landon and Clara to provoke him to do something, he just shrugged it off and said, “I’m glad you had a nice evening.”

Frankie is single now, and so are you, and life is good. It isn’t always easy, but it’s a far cry from how it was in Maine. You’ve made peace with the whole Frankie situation, realizing it might just be enough knowing you’re the most important person in his life, even if you’ll never have him completely. This way, there also won’t be a messy breakup, hurtful things said in anger, actions you can never undo. You’re content with being Frankie’s best friend, and that should be enough.

It's summer now, one of the hottest on record. The AC in your bungalow broke and Frankie wanted to help you fix it, but then he got busy at work. That was almost a week ago, and you use these circumstances as an excuse to hang out at Frankie’s place as much as possible. He doesn’t mind. He has a big pool in his backyard that he always shares with you, and he loves your company. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s putting off fixing your AC on purpose.

You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, the sounds around you muffled by the water. Frankie is lounging in a chair by the side of the pool, resting in the shade after a hot day. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes are closed. That gives you the freedom to truly look, to see him how not many people are allowed to see him.

You take a deep breath and dive, floating weightlessly for a few seconds. It’s so easy to imagine this to be your life, Frankie to be your boyfriend. If he were, nothing would be different. You’d get to use your shared pool, watch him doze in the shade, help him prepare dinner later, laugh at his corny jokes … Your heart squeezes when you realize you have all of that and still it isn’t enough. What’s missing is riding him by the side of the pool, your bodies sticky with sweat. What’s missing is kissing his neck while he’s watching the brazier. What’s missing is knowing he’s yours and you’re his, come what may.

There’s a shadow by the side of the pool, and you scramble upwards, breaking through the surface with a gasp. “What?” you ask, smiling up at Frankie, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand.

Frankie gives you a thumbs up. “Just making sure you’re not drowning.”

You’re treading water as you say, “Would you jump in and rescue me if I was?”

He laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’re a better swimmer than me.”

“I’d make it worth your while.” You wink at him.

He lowers himself into a crouch so he’s closer to the surface of the water, closer to you. “How?”

“Ever heard of mouth-to-mouth?”

He laughs one of those laughs that comes from deep inside his chest and shakes his whole body. “Leave it to you to make saving someone’s life sound sexy.”

“But it is sexy,” you say emphatically. “Imagine pulling me from the pool, your big, strong arms wrapped around me. I think you’d stay calm and collected; you’d know exactly what to do. Any woman who doesn’t fall for you after that would be a fool.”

Frankie dips his fingers into the water and flicks some of it in your direction. You squeal and try to duck, but the drops still hit you in a quick shower. “Shut up,” Frankie laughs.

You use your whole hand to try and shove the water back toward him. You miss. “Stop it,” you tell him, no weight behind your words, a broad smile on your face.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Don’t make me come in there, young lady.”

He always makes you laugh when he calls you that, the air of authority he puts into his words. You’re not that much younger than he is, but he always acts as if you’re 20 years his junior, while you have started calling him “gramps” to rile him up.

You propel yourself backward, away from him toward the opposite side of the pool. “You’re too chickenshit.”

“Oh, just you wait.” He starts to pull his shirt over his head, his cap that he always wears getting caught in the hem of the neckline. You really try not to but you can’t help looking at his soft belly, the white skin such a stark contrast to his tanned arms. You wonder what it would be like to touch him, what sounds he would make in response to the difference in pressure, if you were using your nails or –

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

You don’t mean to, but you squeal at the sudden appearance of a strange man next to Frankie. You were so preoccupied staring at your friend you didn’t notice someone else approach.

Frankie lowers his shirt. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Joel!”

You glance between the two men, but neither of them offers an explanation. Instead, a heavy silence settles itself over this already muggy afternoon.

Finally, the stranger, Joel, speaks. “Is this a bad time or –?”

“No, no,” Frankie quickly assures him while you bite down a harsh, “Yes, it is”. Frankie runs his palms down his shirt, trying to smooth the creased fabric. “I just … I had no idea you were in town.

“Well, I am,” Joel replies in a tone of voice that rubs you the wrong way. “I thought I’d drive by, see if you’re home.”

Frankie glances at you, seemingly only now remembering your presence. “This is Joel Miller,” he says in an oddly formal voice. “We sometimes work together.”

“Hi.” You raise your hand out of the water to wave at Joel, the smile you put on not reaching your eyes.

If you had to guess, you’d say Joel was older than Frankie by at least five years, maybe even ten. He’s taller too, broad-shouldered where Frankie tends to fold in on himself. His graying hair is slightly too long, but his graying beard makes him look handsome, especially when he gives you a twisted half-smile as if he’s fully aware of what he just interrupted and is taking pleasure in your discomfort and annoyance. You want him to leave but with a clench of your stomach you realize you also want him to stay.

“She your girlfriend?” Joel asks without pretense, nodding at you in a way that makes you clench your fists.

Frankie chuckles awkwardly, a sound you only heard a few times before and always hated. He lifts his cap with one hand to scratch his scalp, then shakes his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

Joel shifts, rolls his shoulders ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, just friend of Frankie’s.”

Can’t say the same about you, you want to say but if there’s one thing you learned from your years spent in the south is that there is nothing more important than hospitality. “You too,” you say instead, and start kicking the water, doing laps in the pool. If you ignore him, maybe he’ll leave soon.

But Frankie opens a beer bottle for him and Joel sits down in the lawn chair next to him, taking a big swig. You try to ignore them as best as you can, but you can’t keep your ears from straining to catch snippets of their conversation.

“… between jobs … just a couple o’ nights …”

“… go out tomorrow … bar in town …”

“… broke up with me ‘cause she … her friend …”

Sometimes Frankie laughs in a way he only does when he wants to impress someone. Usually, you can see it too, usually you admire the same people but there is something about Joel that makes alarm bells ring in your head. And you don’t like the way Frankie behaves around him. You don’t want to call it submissive because you hate that word, but it feels as if he’s putting up a front for Joel, not saying what he really wants to say, not doing what he really wants to do.

But then sometimes Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze hooded, and he doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. There is something in the brazen way he does it that makes you crave more, and you’re a little bit disgusted with yourself for wanting that. You don’t know this man, and you don’t like what you glimpsed so far, but when he asks, “Any chance of you joinin’ us, sunshine?” you’re so very tempted to say yes.

“I wanna shower first,” you answer, pushing yourself up on the edge of the pool. Joel’s eyes immediately shoot to your chest while Frankie’s are glued to his bottle, his fingers busy picking at the label.

“Don’t keep us waitin’,” Joel says in a tone of voice that grates on you and makes you tighten your jaw. You want to flip him off, and he knows it too because he raises his half-empty bottle to you. You wish Frankie would say something, or at least acknowledge your presence, but a loose thread on his jeans has caught his attention now. Your chest tightens with annoyance and, even though you’re loath to admit it, hurt, and you huff at Joel before grabbing your towel and making your way toward Frankie’s house. You feel Joel’s eyes burn a searing mark into your back.

You have no right to feel the way you do, you tell yourself as you work shampoo into your hair. Frankie can be friends with whomever he wants to. This is his house and he can let himself be treated however he sees fit. And you’re not dependent on him to defend you against a jerk like Joel, you can manage that all on your own. Besides, it’s not as if Joel is going to be around for long, he will most likely leave after another beer or two, so there really is no reason for you to get so worked up about it.

And yet …

You turn off the water with a quick jerk of your hand.

Stepping out of the shower, locating a fresh towel, it’s like second nature to you. You briefly bury the face in the soft fabric, inhaling the clean scent of Frankie’s detergent, a scent that will always bring you comfort. Then you pull one of the several dresses you keep at Frankie’s house over your head before using the towel to superficially dry your hair. It comes away smelling like him, which sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You’ve come to terms with it, you really have. Yes, you sometimes dream about kissing him, yes, you can’t stop fantasizing about what the two of you would be like as a couple, but what you have is nice. And it feels like it should be enough, which should count for something, right?

“Took your sweet time in there, sunshine.”

You jump, only registering Joel’s presence leaning against the opposite wall as you pull the bathroom door closed behind you.

“There’s a half bath next to the kitchen,” you tell him, avoiding his searing gaze. “You know, if you need to go.”

You try to scurry down the hallway and back out into the garden, but Joel pushes himself off the wall and steps into your way. “I don’t,” he answers. “I was looking for you.”

You sigh and look up at him, hoping he’ll notice your mild annoyance. “Why?”

“Frankie’s busy with dinner.” His gaze sweeps you from your damp hair down to your bare feet, widening as he notices your dress is slightly too tight at your chest. “And you look like good company.” Before you can come up with a snide remark, he’s two steps closer and his hand is suddenly resting on your waist, his palm hot to the touch even through the fabric. “You’re certainly prettier.”

The sudden contact, his brazen approach catches you off-guard. It’s been years since a man has treated you like this, and many years more since you were free to do with that whatever you wanted.

“Come on.” Why is his voice so low suddenly? “Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes. “N-”

But before you’re able to finish the second short sound, the thumb of his free hand is on your bottom lip and he starts to pull it down. “Let me check.”

Before your brain can consider all your options, you bite down on his finger, hard, out of reflex, drawing a hiss from him. He pulls back, steps away, shakes his hand. But that sleazy half-smile is still firmly fixed on his face. “Oh, you’re a little fighter, is that it?”

You take a step closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him, but he doesn’t budge. “I just don’t like it when people touch me without my permission.”

“I bet that sweet little pussy of yours is tellin’ a different tale.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him, both palms hitting his chest, and he loses some ground.

He tries to snatch your wrist but you’re too fast for him. “Careful, sunshine. Don’t irritate me.”

“Why?” You push your chin forward in defiance. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, I have some ideas.” Joel reaches for your waist again, but you manage to step back quickly. He balls his hand into a fist. “I just ain’t sure you’d like them very much.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“I’d like to teach you some,” he shoots back.

The sound of Frankie clearing his throat makes you jump. He’s standing behind Joel, just inside the sliding door that leads into the garden, a cocktail shaker in his hand, an apron covering his chest. “Drinks are ready,” he announces, his voice tense. Then he turns around, leaving you to wonder how long he’s been standing there and how much he heard.

Your stomach curls tightly with shame. Not because of anything he might have overheard or because of anything you did, but because you liked the way Joel talked to you, you liked that he decided he wanted you and went for it. You liked being close to him, feeling his uninvited touch on your body, hearing him say those lewd things. And all the while you forgot about Frankie, for the first time in months.

Joel glances at you and some of the shame must show on your face because he says, “If I kissed you right now, do you think he’d punch me?”

And just like that you’re back to feeling the slow grating of annoyance, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you huff before pushing past him and stepping back out into the garden.

The evening light is softer now, the heat feels less oppressive. The sun has begun to dip toward the horizon, and Frankie’s shadow is long against the grass as he waits for you to rejoin him by the pool. You want to put on your brightest smile for him, want to show him how much you appreciate everything he is doing for you, but with him you never have to pretend. Your face lights up when you see him whether you want it to or not, your steps quicken, your heart feels full of happiness. Even someone like Joel can’t ruin that, no matter how hard he might try.

“All clean?” Frankie has a lopsided grin on his face and a martini glass in his hand. When you nod, he hands it to you. “I made it just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, honey,” you tease and playfully kiss his cheek.

“This one’s for you.” Frankie hands Joel a tumbler full of amber liquid.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Just whiskey?”

“You seem like a whiskey kinda guy,” Frankie answers with a shrug before taking off his apron and hanging it over the backrest of his lawn chair.

“What are you having?” you ask, sitting down on one of the sun loungers Frankie keeps next to the pool.

Frankie lightly shakes his beer bottle. “I’ll stick with this for now.”

You glance from him to Joel and then back to him as both men remain standing, clutching their drinks. “Well, this is nice and relaxing.”

“Sorry,” Frankie mumbles and lets himself fall back into his chair. “Long day.”

Joel chuckles and steps forward, but instead of choosing the chair next to Frankie’s, he sits down on the sunbed right next to you. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes against your naked thigh and you scoot away from him, clearing your throat. Joel doesn’t seem to have noticed; his eyes are fixed on Frankie.

“You never told me you had a nice place like this,” he says, vaguely waving his hand at the pool and the manicured lawn. “I would’ve come over much sooner.”

“Where do you live?” you ask before Frankie can say something.

Joel chuckles before taking a sip from his whiskey. “You know what would go great with this?” He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, conveniently having to lean against you to retrieve it. You push back, refusing to make yourself small. He holds the pack out to you first, but you shake your head. He doesn’t offer it to Frankie.

“She asked you a question.”

Your eyes snap from the sight of Joel lighting a cigarette, the filter hugged firmly between his lips, to Frankie, who has his elbows propped up on his knees, a thumb and forefinger wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle, holding it precariously.

Joel takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. The smoke tickles your suddenly very dry throat. “I live here and there,” he finally replies. “Wherever work takes me.”

“Okay, so where do you currently live?” you probe.

Joel waves his hand around. “Y’know …”

“What he means to say is that he’s currently between houses,” Frankie clarifies, a slight tension in his voice you haven’t heard before.

“Oh, so you’re a bum?” Is Frankie’s face lighting up with satisfaction at your comment or are you only imagining that?

Joel takes another drag. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

It was bad enough that he had no regard for your boundaries when Frankie wasn’t right there next to you, but he can’t expect you to just take it now that Frankie is this close. You try to stand up, but his hand closes around yours and pulls you back down next to him, the force of it making some of your drink spill.

“Hey!” you protest loudly, but he only slings his arm around your shoulder.

“His girlfriend just kicked him out,” Frankie goes on, pretending he didn’t notice what just went down. “He cheated on her with her best friend.”

“Couldn’t have been a very good friend then.” You pick Joel’s heavy arm off your shoulders and let it fall down next to you.

Joel shrugs. “If I see somethin’ I want, I take it.”

“Must be lonely, going through life with that mindset,” you observe, watching him as he stubs out the cigarette against the tiles surrounding the pool.

“Depends on what you want out of life, I s’pose.”

You glance up at the slowly darkening evening sky, currently a soft, darkening blue, then take a sip from your very strong martini. “And what is that?” you ask, watching a bird glide across the sky.

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

AFTER

“Yes.” It comes out rough and breathless and eager, and suddenly your blood is rushing in your ears. You have no idea when the evening shifted to this, but you suppose it was inevitable from the moment Joel walked in. You just didn’t think Frankie would be the one to ask the question.

You glance at Frankie, sweet Frankie, who always respects you, always treats you like you’re royalty, and you see something in his gaze you’ve never seen before, a sort of strangled curiosity, like he’s desperate to find out where this might go, but unsure if he can handle the way there. You smile at him, and you nod, and his pupils dilate immediately, setting your heart pounding. That’s all he needs from you, and all you need from him.

Frankie puts his beer bottle on a small table next to his chair, leans back, crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting against his thigh. “Tough luck, pal,” he says, and next to you Joel stiffens. “You can kiss her though.”

For a moment, you’re right back there in high school, a bottle pointing at you, your friend Ines grinning at you from across the circle, Billy licking his lips nervously. But you’re all grown up now, you’ve played these games a million times, should know their rules by heart. Then why are your hands so sweaty?

Joel doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even wait for you to turn toward him. His hand is already at the back of your neck while your eyes are still on Frankie, and his lips have found yours while you’re still trying to decipher the look in Frankie’s gaze. The kiss is rough, almost unpleasantly so, and you can taste the nicotine and whiskey on Joel’s tongue that claims your mouth with hungry licks. Joel’s whole body is pushing against yours, and you push back, pressing your chest against his, making his concentration slip briefly. You use this moment of inattention to gain the upper hand and bite his lip, less violently than you bit his finger but hard enough for him to inhale sharply. Maybe even hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

Joel shifts, tightens his hold on your neck, and pushes up against you even more, like he’s trying to get you to lie down and submit to him. Resisting his efforts gives you a feeling of power you’re unable, maybe even unwilling, to control. You’re still trying to come to terms with the newness of the situation, with the shift that has taken place, but you know exactly what you want, and that is not to give up one inch to Joel without making him work hard for it.

Joel’s hand is on your naked thigh now, tough callouses rubbing against smooth skin. Just like his kisses, it almost feels too violent, but then you remember Frankie’s hands roaming your body in that hot tub, the way the water hadn’t managed to soften his skin. You remember how much you wanted him that night, and suddenly you wish Joel would touch you more.

As if he can read your thoughts, Joel’s hand is suddenly at the underside of your breast, cupping it through the fabric of your dress, his thumb finding the nipple so confidently as if he has touched you a million times before. Your body responds to the touch immediately and you lean into it, your lips parting in a stifled moan. The pad of his thumb rubs across your hardening nipple, rolls it through the dress and the bra you’re wearing, and you should push him away, make him feel like his efforts are futile and he has no effect on you whatsoever, but it’s been too long. Too fucking long. You’re on fire, unpleasantly so, feeling like you’re burning up too fast, like the flames have barely touched you and you’re already turning to ash. You press yourself into Joel’s touch as your jaw slackens, and he grabs your breast and squeezes it roughly while pushing his tongue into your mouth with the sole intent of making you gag.

“Hey!” Frankie’s voice is sharp, but when you flinch away from Joel and glance over at him, he’s still sitting in his chair holding his bottle of beer.

Your ears feel hot with shame as you refuse to acknowledge Joel’s presence and avoid Frankie’s gaze. Frankie was the one to suggest the kiss, Joel made the first move – then why do you feel such shame? Like you’ve been caught cheating? Why do you feel it’s wrong to –

“What?” Joel asks, interrupting the spiral you’re about to slide down.

Frankie squeezes the neck of the bottle, his skin making a wet sound against the glass. “We said kiss.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that sleazy smirk return to Joel’s lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little second base.”

Frankie seems to consider this, his eyes fixed to the ground beneath his feet. You wish you could tell what was going on in his mind, but your heart is still racing like you’re being hunted for sport and your body is screaming for Joel to put his hands on you again, and all of that is too much to read Frankie.

Frankie holds out a hand to Joel. “Cigarette,” he says, and Joel obliges. You watch Frankie light it up and take a deep drag, a sight so unfamiliar it makes you eager to commit it to memory. “So you really wanna fuck her then?” he finally asks.

There is a pressure low in your abdomen that makes you shift against the lounger.

Joel only laughs, crude and hoarse, as if deigning that question with an answer is below him. “Where did you get that idea from?”

Frankie takes another drag, a short one this time, before glancing directly at Joel’s crotch. You follow his gaze to find a bulge there, one that definitely wasn’t there before, straining against the stiff fabric. When Joel’s eyes find yours, you make sure he sees you lick your lips. His jaw twitches.

Frankie leans back comfortably in his chair, some of the ash from the cigarette landing on his pants. He brushes it off with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll let you fuck her. But you’re gonna do exactly as I say.”

You think you must have entered a parallel universe or another dimension. For a short while at least. None of it makes sense: the cigarette in Frankie’s hand, the way he talks and what he says, that man next to you who is nothing more than a stranger, who had his tongue in your mouth two minutes ago, and that all of this makes you wetter than you can ever remember being. But then Frankie’s eyes meet yours, dark pupils blown unfamiliarly wide, and yet there is something in them you recognize – this isn’t a stranger who is looking at you, this is your best friend. No matter what happens next, he’s going to look out for you. All you need to do is trust him.

Next to you, Joel shifts, adjusting his crotch. He licks his lips. “Yeah.” He nods. “Okay.”

Your eyes are on Frankie now, heart racing in your chest, mouth completely dry, as you wait for what comes next. Your brain is running hot trying to go through all the possibilities of what Frankie could have Joel do to you, but all you come back to is Frankie kneeling in front of you, spreading your legs. Joel is nothing more than a shadow beside you, watching with a hungry gaze.

Frankie leans forward and reaches out his hand as if he means to touch you, but then stops himself and leans back. “You don’t have to do as you’re told.” The softness in his voice catches you by surprise, but he goes on before you can analyze it. “To start, do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You glance at Joel, at how stiff his shoulders are, and you face him, trembling fingers pulling his shirt up where it is tugged into his jeans. Up and up you pull it until he has to raise his arms for you to get it off, and then you finally see his body betray his nerves as his chest flushes a deep red. There is a scar on his left collarbone, old and slightly brighter than the skin around it, there are some sparse, dark gray hairs on his chest, and his stomach is so much firmer than Frankie’s, so much less inviting.

Joel huffs and your gaze shoots back up to his face. “Kinda boring, don’t ya think? Pullin’ off my shirt when you could’ve done anythin’ to me?”

You won’t let him get to you, not like that, not when Frankie’s eyes are on you. “There’s no shame in me enjoying myself by taking things slow,” you retort. “I know your first move would’ve been to stuff two fingers into me but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, you’re gonna see where the fun in that is when you’re comin’ ‘round ‘em,” he replies with that infuriatingly sleazy smile darkening his face.

You lean in just a tiny bit closer. “Only if Frankie lets you.” God, that thought turns you on so much your head starts to spin.

Once you recover, Joel’s right hand is cupping your jaw, his grip firm, while his thumb rests against your lips. “Someone should stuff that mouth o’ yours.”

You open your mouth then, until his thumb is only pressing against your bottom lip. You let it slide in past your teeth until you can feel it on your tongue, heavy, tasting like nicotine. You close your lips around the digit and suck on it, your cheeks hollowing, your tongue massaging it. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. Somewhere to your right, you hear Frankie’s chair groan.

The sound of Frankie’s voice interrupts you. “I want you to take off her dress.”

With a wet plop, Joel pulls his thumb out of your mouth and then starts pulling at the straps of your sundress, pushing them down your shoulders.

“Slowly,” Frankie adds, his voice calm as if he’s talking to a semi-feral animal.

Joel moves you so both your feet are planted firmly on the ground, then shifts so he’s behind you. He finds the zipper at the back of your dress and begins to pull it down, torturously slowly as if there is something he wants to prove to Frankie. As more and more of your skin is revealed, he brushes over it, calloused fingers making you shiver. His hands feel so much like Frankie’s, and yet not at all like him. Frankie would be soft and gentle too, but he wouldn’t scrape you with his short nails, he wouldn’t tremble like it takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

The fabric of your dress glides down your shoulders and back, and comes to rest around your hips. It isn’t anything Frankie hasn’t seen before – your breasts are still covered, after all – and yet there is something in his gaze when you look at him, a strange kind of longing, like desire that has been kept in check for so long it has become second nature to him. You can see it in the flare of his nostrils, in the darkening of his eyes, in the way his bottom lip trembles briefly before he darts out his tongue to wet it. And yet he sits there, watching, his body unmoving like it has been trained not to give in.

“Take off her bra.”

Even Frankie’s voice is controlled and even. You shift, pulling back your shoulders and pushing out your chest in an attempt to get him to break, but his gaze shifts from you to Joel as he waits for the other man to follow his orders. Joel doesn’t need to be told twice. He flicks open the clasp at your back with one hand and your bra falls away. You push out your chin, willing your face not to heat up.

Frankie’s throat works as he swallows, a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable wall he has put up. “You’re perfect …” His voice, too, cracks on the second syllable and he coughs. “Wouldn’t you agree, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply. Instead, he cups one of your breasts again and squeezes the nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch you back as a small stab of pain shoots through you. Now that the protective barrier of fabric is gone, you can feel just how rough his skin is against your sensitive spots, how his callouses catch in places your own fingers smoothly glide over. Your head falls back against his shoulder as he pinches your nipple again, as he begins to roll it roughly, pull on it from time to time to hear you hiss.

Joel’s chest rises and falls against your back, hot skin pressing into hot skin, his breath caressing the back of your neck. He runs his nose from your earlobe all the way down to your shoulder, then back up again, but before he reaches the starting point, he sinks his teeth into your neck and bites down, drawing a shivering gasp from you. And then he doesn’t let go. He bites down harder, holding you in place, while cupping your breast with his entire hand, kneading it until your world tilts.

You’re not aware of how desperate you are to find purchase, but the garden and the pool and the sky above right themselves when your hand finds Joel’s thigh. The denim is rough beneath your palm, but he is a rough man so it doesn’t surprise you. What does surprise you though is how hard you have to fight to keep yourself from bucking your hips.

“Joel, stop.”

For just a short little while you had forgot Frankie is there with you, but his voice reminds you with brute force. And when Joel does as he’s told and you are left with nothing to distract you, all you can do is look at your best friend, at his fingers wrapped around that cigarette, and wonder what it would feel like to have him play with your nipple instead of Joel. The painful way your heart constricts at that thought utterly catches you by surprise.

Frankie takes a final drag on his cigarette, flicks the butt away, and clears his throat. “You’ll only do what I tell you to do.”

You shift, the fabric of your underwear rubbing against your clit sending a bolt of desperation through you, mixing with that unbearable longing to create a heady, dangerous cocktail. “Frankie, please.”

Frankie takes you in, and you have no idea what he sees, but he runs his thumb across his bottom lip and asks, “Do you want him to touch you?”

Joel runs his fingers up and down your arm, his touch so light it feels like torture. You try to squirm away but he keeps you trapped against his chest.

You exhale shakily. “Yeah.” There’s a brief moment of hesitation, one that makes your heart flutter as you decide whether you should keep going. You do. “God, I’m so wet.”

Joel’s wandering fingers close around your upper arm like a vise.

But Frankie keeps up his walls. “Show me how wet she is, Joel.”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment in your life where you were more turned on, a single moment where you were less in control of your body and your desires. You try to stand up, your legs trembling like you just finished a marathon, hands wrapped around your dress, ready to pull it all the way down. Joel doesn’t even let you straighten your back. He pulls you back against his chest and wraps an arm around yours before running his free hand down your stomach, not seductively or teasingly but as if he has a task to fulfill. You’ve barely registered the sensation of his fingers against your lower stomach before he has pushed them past the fabric bunched around you hips and into your underwear, and this time you lose the battle against your own body. You roll your hips into his touch as your eyes flutter shut, you push and push, moans and whimpers urging him on. He doesn’t need to be encouraged – he rolls your clit beneath his index finger, just like he rolled your nipple, before dipping it lower, pushing past the muscles at your opening and up into you.

Before you can make sense of it all, he removes his hand and holds up two fingers right in front of your eyes, glistening with your slick. Your chest heaving, you try to catch your breath.

Frankie’s eyes are wide open. “What does she taste like?” he asks, his voice rough as if he hasn’t used it in quite some time.

Joel rubs his thumb against his index and middle finger, toying with your slick. “Don’t you want to find out for yourself?”

Frankie nods so slightly you can’t be sure it really happens, then hides behind a smirk, and you feel something unbearably insisting curl up tightly in the pit of your stomach. “You tell me.”

Suddenly, Joel’s fingers are at your lips, pushing into your mouth. You open up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and then his thick digits are pressing down against your tongue, making you gag. Tears are filling your eyes, and spit drips out of your mouth as you feel Joel’s hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Tell him.”

You can’t, not even if you wanted to. Not because you can’t taste yourself on Joel’s skin, not because you can’t talk with his fingers filling up your mouth, but because Frankie flies out of his chair, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Before he can come to your aid, you close your hand around Joel’s wrist and push his fingers even deeper into your mouth, not breaking eye contact with Frankie, not even for a split second.

Joel presses down against your tongue and you suck on his fingers eagerly, but none of that matters to you. The only thing you care about is the red flush creeping up Frankie’s neck and into his cheeks, and the way he keeps closing the distance between the three of you until he’s standing right there, close enough for you to reach out and run your hands up and down his thigh.

Frankie’s hand is warm and heavy as it closes around yours, pulling Joel’s fingers out of your mouth. You gasp, unable to prevent a thin thread of spit from connecting your lips to Joel’s hand. It winks out of existence a second later when Frankie’s mouth clashes against yours, drawing another gasp from you, one that releases months and months of pent-up longing, one that originates deep in your chest but almost dies on your lips, stifled by wonder.

It isn’t a soft kiss, it isn’t even particularly well executed since your teeth clash painfully and Frankie pushes too hard too quickly. He also tastes more like Joel than himself, of beer and cigarettes, but none of that matters. He could have given you a small peck on the cheek and it would have been the greatest kiss you had ever shared with anyone. You feel his breath against your cheek, a shaky exhale, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself fisting his shirt, fingers clenched so tightly you will never be able to let go again. That is all you ever wanted, all you ever prayed for, and now that you have it, you never want to lose it again.

Eventually, Frankie pulls back ever so slightly and whispers against your lips, “Summer, that’s what you taste like,” and it’s such a corny line it should have you rolling your eyes, but instead you crane your neck and seal your lips to his again, high from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. He huffs and pushes up against you, but he’s not close enough – there’s still so much space between you. You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him even closer, but suddenly rough hands grab your arms and hold you back forcefully.

“I wanna go first.” It isn’t a request, that much is clear.

Frankie pulls back and smiles down at you, his face soft and open, searching for any indication you don’t want to do this anymore. Even though you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now, the thought of him watching while Joel fucks you, utterly in control of the situation, makes you clench around nothing. Frankie can tell – he switches back to his neutral mask in the matter of a second. “You didn’t do as you were told …”

It isn’t a threat, but it might as well be.

Joel hooks a thumb into your mouth and pulls down your bottom lip. You try to bite him again, but he is prepared this time, holding you in place. “Let me come in her mouth at least.”

Frankie grabs Joel’s wrist again and pulls his hand away from your face. “No.”

You have never heard him use that voice before, that kind of voice that makes you snap to attention, that voice that commands people to follow him. You shift, trying to rub your thighs together, but it’s just a primal reaction you have no control over. All your attention is on Joel trying to pull his wrist out of Frankie’s grip, and on Frankie holding him in place, the muscles in his arm straining.

“I’m going to sit back down, and you’re going to fuck her.” Frankie’s voice is so calm it sends a shiver down your spine. “Slowly,” he adds, letting go of Joel’s wrist. “And if you make her come before I tell you to, there’ll be consequences.”

Every muscle in your body tightens. You’re too wound up to rationally consider what Frankie is proposing, too wound up to think about how much you want this and what that might mean. You glance behind you to catch Joel’s reaction, to see if he’s just as affected by Frankie’s proposition as you are, just in time to watch him lick his lips.

“And I get to fuck her however I want?”

Frankie’s gaze shifts to you. It’s nothing more than a glance, a quick check-in, and you nod, just as quickly, just as imperceptibly.

“Yes,” Frankie answers.

Next thing you know, you’re up on the lounger, knees and hands braced against the soft pillows, faded from long summers under the hot Texan sun, focusing on the sounds of Joel unbuckling his belt. You feel your throat tighten at those sounds, leather scraping against skin, metal clicking against metal, but your mouth is too dry to swallow. Joel unzips his jeans, then there’s a rustling sound, followed by a deep, needy groan. It’s enough to make your heartbeat stumble over itself with excitement. You try to turn your head and glance behind you to see what he is doing, but Joel catches your movement and forces your head down, firm grip at the back of your skull.

“Stay.”

To your right, you hear the sound of Frankie shifting in his chair. He doesn’t intervene.

Joel grabs the bunched-up fabric of your dress with both hands and begins to tear it with quick, jerking movements, ruining it. It falls away and glides down to the ground where it comes to rest next to the lounger, leaving you almost completely exposed to Joel. And Joel doesn’t hesitate. He pushes the thin fabric of your underwear aside and sinks into you with one deep, calculated thrust you can feel in your chest.

Your fists clenched, your head hanging low, you try to take it, but his thrusts send shudders of pain up and down your body. It’s not unbearable, and it shouldn’t surprise you; he fucks like he does everything else – rough and with an edge of violence to it – but the stretch is uncomfortable, and the thrusts are greedy, so much so you wish he had surprised you after all.

“Slow down,” Frankie orders, and you lift your eyes to him. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and when Joel does as he’s told, he watches you closely, searching your face for any signs of the discomfort lessening. You shift, your body adjusting to the feeling of being so full, and when Frankie asks, his voice low, “You okay?” you realize that you are. You’re more than okay, actually. Two more shallow thrusts from Joel and you’re completely relaxed.

“Yeah,” you answer, just for Frankie to hear and his lips quirk up in a smile.

“We’re good,” he tells Joel.

Joel’s open palm lands against your ass cheek catching you unawares, as does the moan you let loose at the sudden burst of pain. Frankie swallows, or at least you think he does – you can’t be sure with your eyes flutterin shut. You push back against Joel, eager for more, pulling him deeper inside of you with a greedy clench.

“The way you’re clenchin’ ‘round me makes me think you’ve never had dick before.”

Joel’s voice comes out restrained, the words are punctuated by more slaps, one harder than the last. Their meaning is lost on you as you are reduced to a babbling mess, unable to retain anything that is happening outside of your desire for him. You gush around his cock, hot and wet and wanton, and somewhere between the thrusts and the grunts, you hear a chortle.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya.”

That chortle is what pulls you back into yourself, and you risk another glance behind you, hoping that this time he will let you see. He does, and you watch him pound into you, both hands on your hips, denim pulled just low enough to free his cock, dark hairs curling just above it, streaked with bulging veins. He has one knee braced against the lounger, one foot firmly planted on the ground. You almost hate yourself for being so affected by that sight, but you can feel everything tighten, your body begging for release.

“Fuck,” you groan, your voice breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna –”

With a condescending smirk, Joel reaches for your clit. “Go ahead, sunshine.”

You close your eyes, focusing on how you’re clenching around him. You’re so, so close, you can almost taste the release on your tongue. Your mouth hangs open, a moan begins to emerge from someplace deep inside your chest and –

Joel’s hips falter and still, and you can feel yourself flutter desperately around him, but it’s not enough. You glide along his length, coming down from the edge, frustration blossoming in the pit of your stomach. Joel’s fingers rest uselessly against your swollen clit, still as the rest of him, and whenever you try to grind yourself against them, his touch lessens.

“Joel …,” you whine, opening your eyes to look back at him.

It’s not Joel your gaze lands on. It’s Frankie, standing right there next to the lounger, one hand on Joel’s head, fisting his hair, pulling on it so his chin is raised high, his neck exposed, a thick vein pulsing near its base. Joel is breathing heavily, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to free himself, while Frankie looks down at him, darkness clouding his features.

“You’ll do as I tell you or I won’t let you come inside of her.”

Frankie lets go of Joel’s hair with a shove to drive home the point. Even now, freed from his restraint, Joel doesn’t fight back. He glares at Frankie as if he’s imagining beating him bloody, but he does like he’s told, removing his fingers from your clit to dig them back into your hip. He picks up the pace again, thrusts a little shallower than before, drawing a sigh of relief from you, scratching that undefinable itch Frankie restraining Joel like that triggered in you. That itch you don’t want to examine too closely right now but that you know you’ll return to.

Frankie pats Joel’s shoulder, two firm raps against the straining muscles. “Good boy.”

You clench so hard around Joel he must notice, but he doesn’t remark on it. He resumes the steady snapping of his hips while your eyes fall shut and drop down to your elbows, those two words floating around your mind like an echo.

Good boy.

A desperate little whimper escapes you, one at least Frankie seems to hear, because he runs two knuckles up and down your spine in a movement that is meant to calm you but shoves you toward the edge with a violent jolt. He must know what he’s doing to you, there is no way he hasn’t noticed. And it should fill you with shame, it should make you resent him, the way you lie bare before him, showing him the most vulnerable parts of yourself, but it only makes you want him more. You open your eyes to find him standing right next to you. This close, you can see how tight his pants stretch over the bulge you hadn’t noticed before, how you think you can even make out a dark spot of precum forming against the fabric. You lick your lips.

“Frankie, please.” Your voice is rough and broken, laced with desperation.

Joel shoves into you so violently you feel the thrust in your throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

Frankie leans down and places a soft kiss against your temple, then runs his thumb across your furrowed brow. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You whish you could tell him you’ve been ready ever since he suggested Joel should fuck you, but you can only laugh, a broken sound followed by a hard swallow.

Frankie straightens his back, his eyes bright with excitement. “I see.” He makes his way back over to his chair and sits down, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Joel picks up the pace, making every thought, every doubt you might have, instantly disappear from your head. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing you hard, and after that it doesn’t take long at all. After that, you let out a deep moan and push back against Joel so hard it makes him lose his rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. You’re coming, pulling him deeper into you as he fucks you through it, letting you squeeze him as you sink deep into pleasure, losing track of your body’s movements.

You come back to the surface when you’re spent, and everything feels sore and tender, but Joel doesn’t stop. There is a burning between your legs now and you hiss, reaching back for him.

Frankie is there next to you again, cupping your cheek. You have no idea when he approached, what made him leave his role as spectator this time, but you instantly relax when you feel his touch on him. “Just a little more,” he murmurs, calming you. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You watch him squeeze the bulge in his pants, and giving it another, harder squeeze when Joel grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back. The proof of how much he’s affected by you is enough to chase away the discomfort and rekindle the fire in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes glued to the bulge in Frankie’s pants you wonder what it would be like to feel him thrust into you, chasing his release, to feel him take what he needed from your body, fueled by how much you want him in return.

Finally, Joel stills and spills into you, groaning as his orgasm sparks through him. But your eyes are locked to Frankie’s, as neither of you dares to look away.

THE OUTCOME

The neon sign of the motel casts deep shadows into the cabin of Frankie’s pickup. Your gaze is fixed to the flashing letters, promising vacancy. A car rushes past, its tires whispering against the concrete, still hot from the Texan summer day. You try to ignore the tightness in your stomach, but when a door falls shut with a rattling bang somewhere nearby, you feel that sound like a punch to your gut.

“That was fun,” Joel says from the backseat. He stretches his legs, kicking his foot against your backrest. “If you ever wanna repeat that …” He lets the offer hang there in the air between you.

Frankie grabs the steering wheel tightly, the wood groaning under his skin. “We’ll know where to find you,” he finishes the sentence.

Joel braces both hands against your backrest and leans forward so his lips are close to your ear. “I think I’ll stick around for a while, so if you ever wanna grab some drinks, sunshine …”

Only half-listening, you reply, “Whatever,” fighting down the nausea you’ve been feeling ever since you climbed into Frankie’s truck.

“Whatever,” Joel echoes with a huff, opens the backdoor, and climbs out. “You know, I’ve had better,” he adds, before shutting the door with a loud bang.

“Hey!” Frankie barks, but you shake your head, and Frankie lets him walk away.

It doesn’t matter what Joel says to you. You couldn’t care less. Because as soon as Frankie starts the car, he’ll drive it straight over to your place, say goodnight without really looking at you, and tomorrow, he’ll pretend that none of this happened. Just like he did before. And as much as you hate that thought, you’re going to have to live with it.

As Joel climbs the stairs to the second-floor landing of the motel, you say, “You’ll want to take me home now, right?” It’s best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

The wood groans again, but this time from Frankie loosening his grip. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his ruffled curls. You don’t look at him, but you study him out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his face. He puts the cap back on, then slings his arm across the backrest of your seat. “Actually … I was hopin’ you’d come back to my place.”

The nausea you’ve been feeling pricks up its ears with interest and then curls up into a tiny ball, tugged away in a corner of your stomach. “Oh?” you say. And that’s all you manage before he closes the distance between you, his left hand cupping your jaw, his lips brushing against yours, tentatively, asking for permission. You give it to him by fisting his shirt, pulling him toward you, by smiling against his lips, exhaling all the tension in one short giggle, full of relief. He strokes his thumb across your cheek at the same time as you open up for him so he can brush his tongue against yours. You find yourself mirroring him, hand on his cheek, thumb running over the stubble there, relishing the feeling of him being so close.

You pull away first, and he follows you, mouth slightly open, chasing another taste. “What are we gonna do at your place? Do you have more friends who want to fuck me while you watch?” you ask, high from the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, from that promise that he won’t forget about any of this in the morning.

A neon flash lights up Frankie’s face, once, twice, as you watch his cheeks darken with a flush. He takes his time, studying your face closely. “No,” he says, his voice a low rumble, so unfamiliar it draws a smile from him, “I want to fuck you myself.”

If you enjoyed the fic, I'd love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime ...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #frankie morales x reader x joel miller #frankie morales x you x joel miller #triple frontier fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i need to stop with these insanely long fics lmao

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sunsburns · 5 months ago

Text

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

reblog to support your writers!

#and that is tea #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #patrick x tashi #art x tashi #tashi x art x patrick #challengers 2024 #challengers smut #art challengers #challengers movie #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi’s hotel room

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opens-up-4-nobody · 1 year ago

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...

#i experience an emense amount of guilt ovet not being able to focus on work. go into the lab and run into a lab mate and hes like #u leave Thursday? why tf r u here? and that makes me feel a lil better lol #ive just being data entering all day. that takes so fucking long. and then helping an undergrad #exept my code was out of date so i was like welp i can only get u this far bc i did not write this code. i do not work with the #supercomputer on a regular enough basis. and i gave my 30 days notice today so ill be working remotely until the 18th #i probably should have done it way before but like ive still got so much to do i might as well get paid for doing it #the undergrad was like id probably work to the end bc i feel lost when im not working and i was like. bro. im so fucking brunt out that ppl #around me r like yo r u ok? theres a thing as too much work. dont cross that line. snd ill still probably work to the end bc i dont wanna #have to do it on top of other shit. but god. in a few days i never have to go back in that building again #sometimes having to be in that lab would make me feel physically ill i thibk just bc i have so much stress associated with standing at that #lab bench but woof i will not miss it. its not great. the ppl r nice but like the institution kinda sucks. but i probably #wasnt the best fit for the school. i only cane out here for my advisor and on that front i have no regrets #god im so tired tho. just make it Thursday already so my parents can b helping me move >~< lets fucking goooooo #srry for not posting much drawing wise. i prob wont b able to for a while as i transition across the country lol #also. a note to myself. i should get a proper sketchbook so i can actually draw out ideas and store them in a place. that would b convenient #god. its so hot 😖 let me leave #unrelated

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renjunphile · 7 months ago

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kiss, cry, fall in love ☆ jung sungchan

୨♡୧ WORD COUNT: 19.3k ୨♡୧ PAIRING: riize's jung sungchan x female!reader ୨♡୧ TAGS & WARNINGS: figure skating!au, skater!sungchan, skater!yn, friends that kiss to lovers!au, secret/hidden relationship, fluff, angst, mentions of anxiety and skating-related minor injuries, lots of pining, lots of internal monologuing, lots of making out descriptions but no smut!, non linear narrative ୨♡୧ SYNOPSIS: jung sungchan is completely, utterly and hopelessly whipped for the struggling skater who keeps him at an arm's length, yet loves the feeling of his mouth on hers in every corner of the globe.

୨♡୧ NOTES: im sorry this is SOOOO long and its just y/n and sungchan being so cute and head over heels for each other. it's kinda a self-indulgent fic and i didn't really explain the figure skating terms, but i think you can make do without knowing what they mean (ask me anything if you wanna know tho!) pls enjoy this cute piece :) anyway, miss u seunghan!!!

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SKATE AMERICA, OCTOBER 2023

Your first love will always be figure skating. There was something about the way the cool air kissed and then smothered your face as you stepped onto the ice, and something about the way your sharp blades screeched as it cut through the top layer. There was something about the way the lights around you reflected on the glossy surface and the way you felt like you were most yourself while cutting through the air.

Your first love is figure skating, and everything to do with it- from the 5am call for training, to the sleepy drives all around the country and the world to get to your competitions, to the cheering, the gasps and the booing from the audience, to the gifted plushies making their home on your couch in your living room, to the stumbles and the landings, to the kiss and cry and most of all, to the skating.

Figure skating was also your first heartbreak- one that you were still trying to get over.

The arena you were competing in today was a familiar one, since you'd completed competitions in both the junior and senior circuit here a couple of times. Over the years, your nerves had truly eased up a little - never totally, of course, but you were always more excited than nervous no matter how well you thought you'd fare.

Still, the familiarity of the layout and the size and the ice was no help towards the pit growing in your stomach that you hadn't felt in competition in years. No matter- you woke up with that dread every single day for months now.

The stands had fallen into a hitched silence when they announced your name over the speaker. You had opened the barrier to the rink with a deep breath and one last forlorn look to your coach, who diverted her eyes quickly from you after a tense smile. It was weird; this was one of the loudest crowds in the grand prix circuit, but for you- last to skate in the short- you could hear a pin drop.

This time last year, you were on top of the world going into your first assignment of the season. You were fresh off the back of an amazing run at your very first Winter Olympics, helping your team secure gold medals in the team event and yourself a silver for your own effort. You had been skating in ice shows left and right in the midst of creating new routines for the new season, and you were on a high in life.

The season had passed well- you won gold, and then silver at your grand prix assignments, cruised through the grand prix final and then swept your discipline at nationals. You medalled for the 4th year running at 4 Continents and then all that was left was worlds.

Easy right? All you had left at the end of the best season of your career was the World Championships against all the skaters you had been consistently beating for years.

Anyway, back to the present.

You continued inhaling and exhaling consciously and intentionally for a while and it felt like forever before the first notes of your music began to boom into the arena and you could make your first move.

All eyes were on you.

It took you a split second to snap yourself from the sudden stage fright that had come over you. For a second there, you had thought that your feet refused to move from their starting position and had anchored themselves to the ice, but thankfully your brain and muscles had connected after a brief pause to send you on your first lap around the rink.

You had a few seconds to compose yourself and perform some intricate arm waving before your very first, and most difficult jump- one you had been rigorously training over and over and over again since the end of the last season when it had sabotaged your Worlds free skate.

When on the ice, the faces of the audience blurred into one continuous mass. You were thankful for this, otherwise you would be staring at the anxious expressions of hundreds of people that would bury and make home in your already fluttering stomach.

You sighed heavily to yourself before beginning the lead up to your jump. You told yourself that even if you didn't make it, it wouldn't affect how the rest of the routine went- you wouldn't let it.

You made the dreaded turn to start skating backwards and counted to 3 in your head before you turned again to take off forward, throwing your arms around yourself and launching your body in the air. You wish you could say that you knew what happened afterwards, but all you know is that you landed on the correct feet and the arena burst into cheers. You prayed that you landed your triple axel, but who knows at this point.

You let out a sigh of relief and continued with the rest of your programme that was ingrained in your mind. You were pretty much running on autopilot, which was not always what you preferred to do in competition. You wanted to be more in control, but honestly whatever got you through this skate would be okay.

The rest of the skate flew by and with each jump and element, you began to loosen up and the cloud in your mind began to dissolve. By the end of it, you could clearly make out the relief and pride splattered on your coach's face.

She gave you a tight squeeze when you opened the gate once more and cooed into your ear how proud she was of you, not that a blip in your routine would make her any less proud.

"Let's go to the kiss and cry and then i'll treat you to whatever you want," your coach Lina squeezed your hand with a reverent smile.

"Well now it sounds like you're bribing me to skate well," you grabbed a Keroppi plushie from one of the attendants that had cleaned up after you, giving her an appreciative smile.

"I always believe that you'll do well," she uttered back.

She sat you down in the middle of the bench and you gave smiles and waves to the camera pointing at you. You finally got to review yourself on the screens showing the live feedback of the broadcast and you were elated to find out that you had in fact landed your triple axel perfectly, instead of just a double.

The score blared out your season's best, just cause it was the start of the season, and it was on par with your scores from the start of last season, so you quickly celebrated and made your way to the media area and the changing rooms.

"Y/N!" you were greeted with a familiar squealing voice and were quickly enveloped in a tight hug.

"Sho! I didn't know you were coming!" you were so happy to see one of your friends around.

Shotaro pulled away and you noticed a towering figure beside him, holding a small bouquet of your favourite flowers, tulips.

"Sungchan," you smiled softly, "Hi."

His eyes were as sparkly as you always found them to be, his lips challenging the pinks on the flowers he was clutching.

He gave you a shy smile back and offered out the bouquet, "Taro and I got this for you. Congratulations on your short."

You wrapped your fingers around the stems and admired the vibrant orange and pink, "I bet you guys were holding your breaths. I know I was."

"It was incredible, as always," Sungchan assured you.

"Every skater goes through this, Y/N. We always know you're giving your best and we always believed you would recover," Shotaro hummed sincerely, "Anyway, we came because a lot of the gang is skating tomorrow. We begged our coach to let us come to this assignment and surprise you and the boys."

Shotaro was the first friend you made outside of your skating club in the junior ranks. He had approached you years and years ago, telling you he admired your skating and offered to be skating friends. In a career that was sending you everywhere around the world with never any stability, it was good to be friendly with people that could end up in the same assignments with you.

He had introduced you to the boys he had befriended himself and that was something you were so grateful for after you stopped finding yourself lonely in the cities you were drawn to.

You recalled seeing Anton and Wonbin drawn to this assignment too, but you hadn't had the chance to see them in their practice or otherwise.

"I'm gonna talk to a few reporters cause I can see my coach giving me some death stares to do them right now, but wait for me and we can get dinner? Or are you seeing the boys?"

"Toni and Bin have practice just after this and the others are watching, so we can get dinner just us and then we're hanging out in Anton's hotel suite after if you wanna join," Shotaro explained, "But yeah, go!"

You gave them both smiles and turned around to make a beeline for the press area, trying to ignore the booming feeling in your heart seeing the tall brunette for the first time in months.

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WORLDS, MARCH 2023

"Last to skate, Y/N Y/L/N."

You set off into a lap around the rink before settling in your starting position. You were well poised to walk away with the gold medal this competition, after ending up second in the short program and the competitor above you falling out of her combination in her free skate just before you. It wasn't that you prayed for the downfall of others, it was just that you had to take advantage of all you could.

Still, you were incredibly nervous. Your warm up and public training yesterday hadn't gone so smoothly considering you under-rotated your triple axel and landed your other quads shakily. You didn't know what was wrong with you- you were rounding off the best season of your career so far and this was just one last programme before you could have time to relax for a bit.

Lina gave you an encouraging thumbs up from the side and mouthed a good luck. You gave her a nod and waited for the music to start.

You had polished this routine to perfection, having performed it for two seasons already, so you were able to hit every piece of choreography perfectly as you led up to your first jump.

It was weird, the minute you began the lead up to the axel, this unfamiliar feeling began to nestle itself into your stomach and your mind and you didn't even have a split second to shake it away before you shot up in the air.

Then something snapped.

It felt like time had stopped and you were frozen mid spin in the air. The world had gone quiet and you could suddenly see the faces of everyone contort into worried gasps in slow motion. You didn't know how many times you spun in the air. It should have been 3 and half, but maybe it was 5 and maybe it was 2. It seemed like the laws of physics were non-existent as time suddenly snapped back into motion and you were on the floor the next moment.

You had no idea what was happening. Your mind had completely fogged up as you pulled yourself up. In the replays of this moment, you'd later see your coach in the background motioning for you to stop your skate and retreat, but you had bit your lip to stop the tears and continued your skate.

It was as if you blacked out for the rest of your free skate. All you remember was spinning around and around and trying your hardest to get back on track, but that was incredibly difficult when you had popped out of your quad lutz and fell again on your triple-triple. The audience was stunned, watching in silence and shock as the most likely contender of the competition was skating the worst in her entire career. Even in your junior years, you had never placed lower than 5th and you had certainly never popped out of your jumps before. You could probably count on one hand how many times you had fallen in competition, and this skate was obliterating that statistic.

You received your score in the kiss and cry stoic and unmoving. As soon as the cameras switched, you bolted to the halls of the arena while your coach shouted behind you. It took less than a minute for you to lose her as you navigated the maze of the 'backstage'. You were running on your skates (protected, of course) and you were running on some kind of adrenaline that was currently preventing you from breaking down. It would run out soon enough.

You had finally run into a corridor where the lights weren't activated until you stepped into them, so you had felt safe enough to hide in one of the rooms in the hopes they were empty.

The one you had barged into was a small dressing room, but evidently it was occupied by some people judging by the skate guards on the coffee table and the Team Korea jackets thrown on the couches. You didn't care as long as it was empty.

The silence dawned on you after the ringing that had been plaguing your ears since you came off the ice. It was then that all your emotions erupted and you fell to the floor in body-shaking sobs.

You had no idea what had happened at all. Nothing in the world could explain it and you had never felt like this skating ever again. In fact, skating always made you happy- it was the one thing in life that felt like it was for you. You never belonged anywhere else doing anything else. Skating was it.

So why did that happen?

You had heard of a phenomenon in gymnastics- the twisties. It was the sensation of losing yourself in the air, with your mind and body disconnecting in the middle of an element. It was one of the scariest things that could happen to a gymnast, and maybe that was what you had experienced.

Your tears were falling like a rainstorm on your sequinned dress and you felt the creeping of a throbbing and thunderous headache as you cried into the couch.

That was probably why you couldn't hear the door opening and a tall, young figure skater strolling in with a hum before he stopped in his tracks, noticing you on the floor, "Uh-"

Your eyes snapped to the leaning figure and you couldn't even make out who it was through the tears.

"Y/N?"

That was a voice you knew anywhere.

"Sungchan."

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SKATE AMERICA, OCTOBER 2023

"Where's your next assignment again?" Shotaro mumbled out through his mouth full of noodles. The three of you were in a hole-in-the-wall ramen restaurant downtown in the city, somewhere that one of your club-mates had recommended.

You grimaced, urging him to finish his bite first before speaking, "France. So soon."

"That's my first event," Sungchan hummed, sitting diagonally across from you.

Sungchan was one of the quieter ones around you. Of course, that possibly didn't reflect his usual personality around his friends while you were absent, but you'd noticed that in a large group, he tended to flitter on the outskirts and just listen.

"I'm off to Canada in a few days and then to Japan," Shotaro added, "I keep telling the federation to invite some lower ranked skaters to give them Grand Prix experience, but they keep including me in their domestic picks."

"Oh what a shame! You're popular in Japan!" you rolled your eyes playfully and chuckled at him, Sungchan joining along with you.

"Yeah, whatever. I want to experience other assignments. You know i've never been seeded to France?" Shotaro grumbled, "But yeah, I guess a home crowd is always the best crowd."

"The only time I experience a home crowd like that is for nationals, where all my competitors are also the same nationality. Then no one has a home crowd advantage," you mused, "I hope I make it to the final though- I haven't been to Italy in a long time!"

"I believe in you," Sungchan cheered timidly. You returned his musings with a gummy grin.

"Thanks, Sung. After Worlds I stopped believing that phrase, to be honest, but I think I'm getting better at internalising it."

"Ah yeah," Shotaro hissed, "A lot of the guys haven't seen you since. I don't know how much you want to talk about it; do you want me to tell them not to ask?"

"Thanks for being considerate, Taro," you said, "But I think i'm okay to talk about it if they ask. I think I'm coming out the other side of that dark tunnel now. And my therapist says talking about it is the best way to get over it. I guess she's paid to talk about it with me so maybe she just says that so our appointments aren't filled with silence."

Your best friend gave you an understanding nod and continued digging into his bowl of ramen. A comfortable silence fell between the three of you as you finally stopped chattering and were able to divulge into your food. You made small talk about the bowl in front of you- how good the broth was, how chewy the noodles were and how tender the meat was.

After the bill was split three ways, you huddled into the back of a taxi that was taking you to the hotel that most skaters had booked for the competition. You were squished in the middle, thanks to your shorter stature compared to Sungchan and Shotaro, but in an effort to not make Sungchan uncomfortable, you tried to scoot closer to Shotaro. It was pretty much a futile attempt considering the way Sungchan's broad shoulders sprawled over his seat and yours.

Still, you sneaked some glances over to the quiet Korean, who was peering out of the window and watching the busy streets of downtown Texas. His side profile was one you admired, with his enviable nose bridge and plump lips that were pulled into a somewhat pout as his eyes followed the people and the lights outside.

"Hm?" Shotaro poked you with a whisper, "You okay?" You didn't even know that you had dissociated and were staring expressionlessly out through the windshield.

With this, Sungchan snapped his head to you, eyebrows pulled in concern as you dismissed them with a wave, "Yeah i'm fine guys. Just thinking about stuff."

"Well don't plague that pretty head of yours. We're here tonight to help you take your mind off things," Shotaro was well aware that you still had some anxiety about skating and competing, and he mainly dragged Sungchan along to Texas just to help you through your first competition since your disastrous World's run.

Sungchan hummed along, agreeing with Shotaro and soon enough, the taxi was pulling up in front of your hotel. You rolled your eyes when Shotaro pressed on the penthouse button in the elevator; Anton often booked the most expensive suite at his competition hotels, claiming his environment had to be perfect or else it would affect his performance. Whatever, all the more space for all of you to hang out.

Sungchan produced a keycard from his pocket and you could already hear some commotion from the other side of the door. As soon as you heard the beep and the click of the lock opening, you felt a stampede of footsteps running towards the door.

"Noona!" Anton beat everyone to wrapping his arms around you, "Haven't seen you in forever."

"Yeah, I know. I've been a recluse these past few months. I missed you guys though," you giggled into his neck.

"Congratulations on the short," Eunseok hummed as he hugged you.

You received the same sentiments from the rest of the boys before you were being dragged over to the plush L-shaped sofa that they had begun to make their home at, judging from the blankets and jackets and snacks.

"Are you guys excited for tomorrow?" you asked Anton and Wonbin, recalling that the men's short program commenced in the afternoon.

"Excited, nervous; it's all the same emotions," Wonbin shrugged, "I kind of hurt my knee in practice today so hopefully it's okay tomorrow."

You winced at the prospect of an injury. It was so difficult to gauge how much certain bumps and grazes could actually affect you until you're on the ice and giving your all.

"Don't hurt yourself, okay?" Seunghan nudged his friend as he nuzzled into the corner with his blanket.

"Yeah, trust me, you don't want to make it worse," Sohee groaned. He had been dealing with a knee injury for a better part of 6 months and he was praying it would miraculously heal itself before his first assignment in one month.

You plopped down in the middle of the couch and to your surprise, Sungchan took his seat next to you. You tried not to make a big deal out of it, meeting his eyes for a brief second before turning your attention to Eunseok and Shotaro rock-paper-scissoring over who was choosing the movie. Shotaro won and the rest of you groaned, knowing that he was about to subject you to Studio Ghibli film again. For as long as you knew the boys, which was a long time, but you hardly saw them, you had cycled through the whole roster maybe 3 times over.

"How about we don't watch a movie and just chat shit instead?" Seunghan murmured sleepily from his position, "Like to start with, how's everyone's love life going? Any updates?"

You threw a pillow at him, knowing the question was directed at you. The 7 boys were attached to the hip in Korea, all training at the same rink (how the coaches managed that, you don't quite know) for the majority of the off-season. They knew everything about each other.

"Yeah, Y/N, how's your love life?" Sohee teased with a shit-eating grin.

"Non-existent, as always," you rolled your eyes, "I literally don't interact with any guys outside of the 7 of you in this room and that's even a stretch. The only man in my life is my cat at home."

"Why don't you date one of us then?"

Sungchan erupted into a coughing fit and you all looked at him strangely before deciding to address Wonbin's crazy suggestion.

"Sorry, swallowed my spit wrong," Sungchan avoided your eyes and chugged the water bottle he had snatched from the coffee table. He was thankful that everyone moved on from him.

"Wonbin, what the fuck?" you turned back to the long-haired skater, "Are you in love with me or something?"

"Psh, you wish," he dismissed, "But i'm just saying it makes sense. We've been friends for years, you trust us, you can't be bothered to go look for a man and i'm sure the thought of dating even just one of us won't kill you."

"Shut up, Bin. Did you hit your head or something cause that's some crazy allegations there," you defended, "You can't skate with a concussion, you know that right?"

"I'm legit fine," he rolled his eyes and began annoying Eunseok who was sat cross-legged next to him.

Your relationship with these boys was somewhat complicated, you would say. They were your closest friends in the skating world, but you also barely saw them and befriended each one on different levels.

You knew Shotaro better than everyone and you considered him a brother to you, meanwhile Sohee and Anton felt like your children since they adored you so much. Seunghan and Wonbin were your drinking buddies in whatever corner of the world you could find them in and you found yourself museum-hopping with Eunseok more often than not.

And then Sungchan. Ah, Sungchan.

Sungchan was just a consistent and quiet presence in your life. You didn't know much about him but he always appeared in the most random times. You weren't sure if Sungchan just treated you nicely because he felt obligated to because of your friendship with the others, or if his considerate but small gestures were out of his own friendly affection for you. There were phases that you convinced yourself that Sungchan disliked you and merely tolerated you for the sake of the others, but he would always prove you wrong otherwise in ways that you like to cast out of your memories.

Sungchan remained pretty quiet for the rest of the night, only chirping in when he felt like he could add something to the conversation, but the warmth radiating from his body next to yours gave you constant comfort. You would say the two of you were friends, but it was hard to quantify and label what you and Sungchan were exactly.

Eventually, Anton and Wonbin began dropping hints that they were tired and needed to rest up for their skate tomorrow, so you began to usher the boys into their rooms. The two competitors were sharing the three-bedroom penthouse, but with the surprise from the boys, they were having to squeeze 7 to the suite. Of course, Anton and Wonbin needed their beauty sleep, so the rest of them were cramming themselves into the 2 king beds in the third bedroom.

The two skaters bid their goodbyes first and you gave them good luck hugs, promising to watch the event tomorrow if you were able. This left the other boys and you standing around the coffee table looking at each other with no purpose.

"Uh, Shotaro and I are going to the gym," Wonbin began.

Sungchan perked up at this, "Oh! Let me co-"

"No!" Shotaro cried out suddenly, "You're not invited! Sorry! C'mon Bin let's go get changed," he dragged the smiling boy towards the spare room in the suite.

You looked around in confusion, noticing Eunseok, Sohee and Sunghan looking mischievous, "We're going to get chicken," Sohee declared, "I know you don't eat fried chicken so close to competition, right Channie? So why don't you walk our dear Y/N to her room? It's dangerous out there, you know?"

Their intention must have flown over your head as you furrowed your eyebrows together and shook your head, "It's okay Sungchan, I can go by myself! It's only a few floors down and you should rest. Must have been a long flight."

He mirrored your action as he reluctantly tugged on your arm, "It's okay; I'll walk you. I wanna get something from the vending machine anyway."

You gave him an unsure look, but relented when he returned a confident smile. You said good night to the boys who were slipping on their jackets and followed Sungchan out of the suite.

"I'm sorry they made you do that and they all just left you," you scurried after him. His long legs were definitely no match for you, "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything so you can just go down to the machine!"

"Hey," he interrupted your ramblings as the two of you entered the elevator, "Don't worry. We're friends, right? And I would hate if something happened to you on the way down. You have a pretty crazy fanbase, you know?"

You grimaced, thinking back to the time that a couple of fans had stalked you around Toronto when you had competed there once. Sungchan was right, in fairness- you never know what information people have access to.

"Thanks, Channie," you reluctantly called him by his affectionate nickname that the others loved to coo at him, "I also think they decided that you're the most eligible bachelor for me, considering they all dipped and left you behind."

"Ah, they're crazy," he rolled his eyes, "Ignore them, please!"

The two of you had reached your floor and you were glad that your room was close to the elevator. You took out your keycard from your jacket pocket and opened the door. You hadn't had time to unpack before going to training the day before, so all that was in your room was your free skate dress hanging in the exposed wardrobe to let the wrinkles drop out, and your closed suitcases in the corner of the room.

"Well, uh," Sungchan scratched the back of his neck, "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Sungchan?"

He looked up at you with glimmering doe eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to come in?" you moved aside to give him the choice to.

He chuckled in amusement, "Yeah, I do."

He stepped foot into the room and kicked off his shoes while you peeled off your jacket. As soon as the lock clicked shut behind him, Sungchan snaked his toned arms around your waist and attached his lips to yours.

Okay, confession time.

Your relationship with Sungchan was incredibly, incredulously complicated.

It all started 3 and a half years ago when your high school boyfriend broke up with you over the phone between your short and free skate in Canada. Sungchan had been the only other one of the group who was competing at the same assignment and although the two of you weren't close, the boys sent him to your hotel room with chocolate, tissues and a picture of him to rip up or stab with a pen.

You had embarrassingly cried your eyes out all over his training shirt and then pathetically asked him to distract you from the heartbreak by making out with you. You couldn't say that 18-year-old you was very smart or emotionally available. Well, to be honest, you still weren't particularly any better.

Anyway, the next day, the two of you decided to never talk about it ever again, swearing to never tell the boys anything and decided to continue with your semi-awkward acquaintanceship.

That was until the two of you stumbled into each other months and months later at a fellow skater's birthday party halfway across the world and ended up making out again in a coat closet for a good amount of time.

And then it carried on like that- finding places to make out around the globe, swearing not to say anything to anyone and then not talking about it ever again.

"We should really stop this, you know," you panted against his lips.

"You say that every time," Sungchan muttered, slotting his tongue between your lips and snaking his smooth hands to your throat, "But totally, yeah. We should stop this."

"Okay, this can be our last," you decided, as he led you over to your bed and pushed you gently down.

To be honest, you would say that you didn't know much about Sungchan despite making out with him 2 or 3 times a year because it was a correct statement. The two of you never really did anything else other than blow off some steam by making out. You never shared meals together or cuddled in bed indulging in pillow talk. It was always a transactional thing. It was weird in your head- all that the two of you did, but Sungchan was too good of a kisser for you to care about all the details of it.

"Better make it worthwhile, huh?" he peppered kisses down your neck until he reached the spot that had you putty in his hands. Sungchan knew better than to leave marks that your friends would definitely not let go of, so he just bit and sucked for a short time before connecting his lips back to yours. Your shirt had creeped up your torso, exposing a sliver of smooth skin that Sungchan attached his large hands to while he laid waste to all your emotions by kissing the breath out of you.

You didn't know how long had passed until Sungchan pulled away with blown out pupils and a pant. A small smile tugged onto the corner of his lips, which you couldn't help but poke, "What's with you?"

He giggled, "Nothing, nothing. You're beautiful, you know?"

A blush rose up to your cheeks and you broke your eye contact with him. It was weird- Sungchan seemed so confident when he was alone with you, but the moment he stepped out of the confines of your little situationship, he returned to being quiet and mysterious. You wished that you could get to know who the real Sungchan was.

"Shut up," you dismissed, cupping his chin and bringing his face down to yours. Sungchan stopped himself until your noses touched and he nudged his against yours sweetly before kissing you once again.

Kissing Sungchan felt like the world stopped spinning and it was only the two of you. All your worries disappeared and every stress left your body when Jung Sungchan's was on yours. He had this amazing power of making the world tilt on its axis the minute his lips touched yours and frankly, you were addicted to the feeling of him.

Your heart was completely and hopelessly beating out of your chest with the way his lips melded perfectly between yours and it was times like this, alone in a hotel room in a city you'll only ever see the ice rink of, that you forgot what your relationship with Jung Sungchan was.

"You should go," you murmured, halting his actions, "I have training early tomorrow."

"Yeah," he untangled his limbs from you and gave you a limp smile, "It's good seeing you again, Y/N. We haven't spoken in a while."

You internally cringe, thinking back to all those nights you sometimes contemplate texting him, only to realise you really don't text or speak at all outside of the groupchat. You think the last time you spoke was when you greeted him a happy birthday over text, and even that was a very fleeting exchange.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Channie," you felt the emptiness rise up again in your stomach as you walked him to the door. You were back to acting like nothing had ever happened between the two of you and as if walking you to your room was the only thing he did, "Thanks."

He bid you a soft goodnight and disappeared around the corner. Your hands rose up to your swollen lips and you sighed.

What were you actually doing?

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JUNIOR GRAND PRIX FINAL, DECEMBER 2017

"Urgh," you kicked the vending machine in anger as it withheld your drink in its clutches. It was a futile attempt as it sat on the edge of the shelf, taunting you. You gave it a few more hopeless kicks and groaned in frustration.

First, your triple salchow in your program was a total mess and definitely under-rotated, and now the vending machine wouldn't even disperse the drink that you paid the last of your Japanese coins for.

"Do you want some help?" a soft voice called out to you. You turned around and came face to face with who you presumed to be a skater judging from the pass hanging around his neck. He looked kind of familiar, you thought, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

You tried to give your politest, "Sure," but he could probably tell you were annoyed.

He enveloped the vending machine between his two sprawling arms and gave it an abrupt shake. You sighed in relief as you finally saw the melon milk can tip over and fall into the hole.

"Ah, thank you," you crouched down to take the drink, "I'd buy you a drink for that but I just used the last of my money."

He gave you a dashing smile, finally meeting your eyes.

Ah, wow.

He was certainly an attractive boy, with light brown fluffy hair and eyes so big that it made you swoon. This guy was almost two heads taller than you, but he was still built from the soft definition of muscles you could see from his short-sleeve top.

"It's okay," he assured you, flashing you the coins in his palm, "I was gonna buy myself a drink. I'm Sungchan, by the way. I'm a skater from Korea and I'm competing tomorrow."

It clicked in your head suddenly, "Jung Sungchan? Shotaro's friend? I'm Y/N!"

He smiled sheepishly, "I know who you are, of course," he motioned to your ensemble consisting of your competition dress, "You literally just came off the ice, you know that? Plus, Taro talks about you all the time."

You looked down at your costume and your feet that were still in your covered skates, "Oh, yeah. It wasn't my best out there. Anyway, sorry for not recognising you- Shotaro also talks about you guys a lot but he never shows me pictures. It's my fault though- I know I've probably been at numerous assignments with you guys since I've known Sho."

Sungchan popped open his can of strawberry milk, "You're quite harsh on yourself, you know that? Shotaro always says that about you. It was an amazing skate and you swept your competitors. Even if you made a small mistake, it doesn't take away from the rest of your incredible elements. You should always be proud, because those who watch you always are."

You tilted your head at him, a near-stranger offering you some comforting words, "Ah, I've never thought about it like that. I guess I'm harsh on myself because I want to do this for as long as possible. My dream is to win an Olympic gold."

"You're probably the closest out of all of us. Your skate in Norway was out of this world!" he chided. It was true- you already had a Winter Youth Olympics medal, but that was never really a predictor for the real thing- wait, he was at Norway Youth Olympics. Maybe that's why he looks so familiar to you?

You fought the smile arising, "Well, skating's an unpredictable sport; you never know what can happen. You just have to hope for the best," Sungchan opened his mouth to reply, but you could see your coach appearing around the corner, "Ah! I have to go- my coach is coming! It was nice meeting you, Jung Sungchan. I'll definitely see you around and good luck for tomorrow!"

"You too, Y/N," Sungchan watched as you bounded over to your coach, happy to see that you were in a better mood than when he first encountered you. That feeling did something funny to his stomach.

⋆｡°✩

GRAND PRIX DE FRANCE, NOVEMBER 2023

You're on top of the world, and then suddenly you're not. That's the feeling you get when your blade collides with the ice so abruptly, shooting the pain all through your body as you fall on your triple axel again.

You think that you don't even breathe for the rest of the free skate, just running on pure adrenaline pumping through your muscles to get you out of this situation. Fight or flight was really taking over, but you knew that you could never step foot on the ice again if you decide to leave halfway through.

Your coach fussed over you as soon as you stumble out, shell shocked and delirious, but not yet crying.

"Y/N?" she snapped her fingers in front of your face, "Are you okay? Go to the medical team and get that checked out now," she ordered you.

They're satisfied that you didn't sustain any injuries with that fall; you think your mind took the worst of it. You're hunched over on the examination room bed, blanket around your shoulder and shivering.

All you need right now is someone to hold your hand and tell you everything's okay.

"Sungchan?" you whispered into the phone when the call finally connects.

"Y/N! What happened? Where are you?" he sounds breathless, as if he's been running around.

"I'm in the medical room," you looked around the empty room, thankful they gave you the privacy you needed to process, "Can you find me?"

"I'm coming, don't worry," he assured you, "For now, just breathe okay? Just make sure you're breathing. In and out, okay love?"

Love.

Sungchan doesn't bat an eye on this or even try to correct himself. It's something that slips out so naturally to him and that gets your mind going at another 100 miles per hour. Well, at least you weren't thinking about your skate.

It took Sungchan a few more minutes to find the medical room, having asked two staff members along the way. The whole time, he stays on the phone, making sure you're still okay.

He knocked twice and entered the room, finding you in the corner, just staring at his contact information on your phone. Sungchan pressed the hang up button and sighs in relief as he finds you.

Reluctantly, he approached the stiff bed and wrapped his arms around you. The second he does, you melt into his embrace and he's more confident to squeeze you tighter.

Your body begins to shake with sobs and Sungchan feels his shirt become damp, so he places his hand on your head and gave reassuring pats.

"Ah, let it out, Y/N. I know how hard that must have been for you," Sungchan whispered, hoping and praying he was saying the right things.

Falling was nothing new to Sungchan. He fell every day, even. But the immediate feeling you get after it never gets any better. You just have to get better at dealing with the aftermath. He knows you've fallen countless of times before, but after a nearly-traumatic competition all those months ago, he understands why nearly 8 years into your career, you're starting to deal with these new anxieties.

"You're okay, Y/N, you're safe," your sobs let up after a while, but he can still tell that you're still crying, "This is nothing. You're still in the Grand Prix Final and you're still the most amazing skater in the whole world."

You pull away and gave a half-hearted smile through the tears, "Just cause I'm having a breakdown doesn't mean you need to lie to me."

Sungchan is in awe at how beautiful you still look despite the tears rapidly falling. He tucks the hair in your face out of the way and tried to wipe some of the tears, "I'm not a liar. You're my favourite skater and you always have been, ever since juniors."

"Have a crush, do you?" you teased, sniffling and trying to finish up the release of emotions.

"And how bad would it be if I did?"

You tried to ignore him, you really did. You tried to ignore the way his words sent impulses straight to your heart and brain and made you dizzy.

Look, you weren't stupid. You were nearly friends with benefits with this guy and you knew how that usually ended- lovers or enemies. You had been suppressing any emotion all this time to postpone finding out which one you and Sungchan were gonna end up as.

"Y/N?" he called, pulling you out of the trance.

"Hm?"

"Come to Paris with me for a couple of days," Sungchan hums, taking your fingers and playing with them, "I'll help you take your mind off it all."

"Just you and me?"

You think about Eunseok and Seunghan, and how they had expressed their desire to come to Paris after the competition.

"Just you and me," he stated, "Let's just- keep it between us. A healing trip."

"What are you healing from?"

He brings his face close and nudged his nose against yours, "Seeing you cry breaks my heart every time, but I'm glad you come to me."

⋆｡°✩

Sungchan holds your hand the whole 3 hour drive to Paris the next day. While you were feeling better, and watching him skate to a gold also made you happy, you were still fighting your inner thoughts. You look over to your companion, his head resting on his shoulder with his pink lips slightly open as he let out deep breaths. He looked so pretty sleeping, you thought to yourself.

You felt like you were in a romantic film, to be honest. Outside the windows were the sprawling countryside of France between Angers and Paris, and his hand was intertwined with yours and you were sharing an earbud each from his wired headphones connecting to his phone.

You wish you could fall into a slumber like he had, so you wouldn't have to be faced with these thoughts about the two of you. Since your arrangement with Sungchan started, you refused to think about the possibility of anything more between the two of you, convincing yourself that friends was the only title you were destined to bear. When you think about it, you're actually in a much dire situation than you wish to be in. You know you'll have to confront these feelings soon enough the more that Jung Sungchan entwines his life with yours.

Then again, Jung Sungchan has always been in your life.

The minute after you met him at the Junior Grand Prix final when you were 16, you suddenly began to notice him all over the world. He was at nearly every grand prix assignment, every challenger series you participated in and every corner of the world. He was always just there and you never really realised that until recently.

It started off as shy smiles between the two of you and 'good luck's' in passing, and then happy waves and asking each other how you were. When you finally turned 18 and had more freedom at the competitions, you were able to explore town with the boys, Sungchan always in tow since the world loved to put the two of you together.

You didn't know everything about Sungchan but he had already seen you at your worst and at your best. That has to mean something, right?

"We're almost at Mr. Jung's requested destination," your driver cleared his throat, breaking you out of your spell.

You thank him quietly and face the task of waking up what you believe to be the most beautiful sleeping boy in the world.

You reached up to his eyes, pushing the hair out of the way and you cup his warm face with your cold hands. His eyelashes began to flutter, until he woke up at your touch.

"We're almost here," you told him.

He squeezes his eyes shut adorably as he stretches out his body, never breaking his hold on you, "Ah, I fell asleep? Sorry, I didn't mean to!"

"It's okay," you shrugged, "You must be pretty tired considering you had the whole competition and you were last to skate at the gala. You did so well yesterday."

You thought back to how you also met up for drinks with the other boys that night and didn't get into your hotel until 2 in the morning.

"I wanted to spend some time with you, though," he pouted and your head spins at the thought of wanting to kiss the pout off his face.

"We have a few days," you reminded him, "Speaking of, where are we going?"

Sungchan pulls his lips into a sheepish grin, "You might hate it but give me a chance, okay?"

He's right in saying that you absolutely hate the thought of it the second you stepped foot in the building. You pleaded him to do literally anything else in the world as he paid for the tickets and led you past the barriers. You're slow in putting on the equipment and grumbling as you meet him by the gate.

The ice rink is busy, bustling with teenagers, families, couples and everyone alike.

"Give me a chance," Sungchan echoed as he extended his large hands towards you. You nearly laugh at this gesture, considering the two of you were definitely the most experienced skaters on the rink and the possibility of falling was nearly 0, but then you look up at the other couples and groups on the rink, all holding hands as they tried to keep themselves upright.

"We've just spent the last week going around and around the ice until we were going crazy," you began as the two of you set off on a leisurely lap, "And your very best idea for our so called 'healing' trip was to do the same thing?"

He looked at you pleadingly, "Look, I know I can't change the way that skating makes you feel instantly in one day. But I want to get to know you a bit more- find out why you love skating in the first place and hope that I can help you in your journey in falling back in love with skating."

You're struck silent by his explanation, mouth agape. Sungchan smiled softly, tugging on your hand and doing some more intricate steps as you followed. Looking around, there were people of all abilities- adults stumbling and adults gliding, teenagers falling and teenagers spinning, and little children across the whole spectrum of abilities. You awed at the little girl who fell, but got back up immediately, cheeks flushed but expression determined.

There was some couples that you could make out- one partner would be hobbling, holding onto the railing, and then every so often, their more gifted partner would catch up to them in their lap and make conversation, usually grinning and laughing together despite the disparity in ability. You could see the couples holding hands, reassuring each other that they were supported and they weren't gonna let the other fall.

"I was already 9 when my parents first put me on the ice. I fell so many times that my legs were bruised and bleeding up and down both sides and they had to stop me from skating because I was tracking blood and it was a biohazard," Sungchan began, "I hated skating so much at the beginning because I was so bad and I hated being bad at things. I begged and begged my parents to put me into lessons and I was determined to be the best. I hit a stump when I was 13 and puberty hit. I hated how all the easy jumps I could land were suddenly the most difficult thing in the world and it took me a while to find my balance again since I grew so tall in a short period. The time that I hated skating made me realise all the more how much I loved it because it was just showing how much I was willing to give to the sport. That's it, that's my story."

"That's your whole story?" you let go of his hand and skate around him, holding eye contact.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "That's all there is to me. Once I started skating, nothing else mattered. All I do is hang out with you and the boys, and get on the ice at every other time. What's your story, Y/N?"

The two of you skate around an adorable child clutching onto a penguin aid and join again at your hands as you reminisced, "My older cousin loved to skate, so when she would babysit me, she would take me to the rink. At first, my parents hated the idea of that since they didn't want me to get hurt, but I took to skating immediately. It became my life too. School was hard- I was always leaving school early or coming late because of practice and I would be missing days at a time for competitions. I never made many friends at school because of that, so skating was my only friend. I loved everything, but I guess I'm hitting my stump now."

Sungchan hummed and nodded along, "Do you know why?"

"I know it's all in my head," you affirmed, "Me and my therapist agree. I know I can do these jumps and I know that I still do love this sport deep down. I think all the pressure is mounting onto me- you know, continually being the best? But it's all I have and it's driving me crazy. It's the only thing I can take pride in and I think I need something new alongside skating."

"Like what?"

"You're definitely helping," you admitted, looking down, "Not just you. Spending time with you guys is giving me a bit more purpose in life- striving to form better friendships. But you've helped me a lot."

Sungchan grins down at you, surprising you by planting a kiss at the top of your head. He had never been affectionate in public, considering the two of you were keeping a secret from the world, but in this small rink in the outskirts of Paris, he felt like he could shout to the world how he felt about you.

"I don't want you to dread competitions or tear yourself up over your falls. I know there's nothing I can personally say or do to help you, but I just wanna be here for you," Sungchan's words are nearly a confession, but you push that aside as you come to a halt by a little girl falling in the middle of the rink.

"Hey," you coo in your best French, "Are you okay?"

The little girl grabbed your hand with her little fingers and you swooned at how tiny she was. Her eyes are brimming with tears as she tries to find her feet again, so Sungchan grabs her other hand and helps her to stabilise.

He looks over at you, fondness in his eyes as you try to set off the little girl into a slow routine. She's giggling when she is finally able to skate on her own and she thanks you in a cute little voice when she does.

"What's the likelihood that she's gonna be a figure skater when she's older?" you lean against Sungchan's frame, watching her shoot off into the bend.

"Hm, pretty high. You just showed her that if someone's there to pick you up after you fall, it's all gonna be okay."

⋆｡°✩

GRAND PRIX FINAL, DECEMBER 2023

"Song Eunseok," you greeted your friend with a tight hug, and turned to the other, "Park Wonbin! Haven't seen you in a couple of months."

Wonbin affectionately nuzzled his head into your neck, "Did you miss us?"

"I don't know if miss is the right word. Maybe, noticed your absence is better," you teased back, "Isn't this exciting?"

The three of you took your seats right in the front row of the area you had reserved, you in the middle as you watched your best friends warm up on the ice. The other 5 were all participating in the grand prix final, having had the best results in their assignments of the season and were about to compete in the free skate to determine the medalists. Yours had just finished in the slot before, but you were still awaiting the awarding ceremony, hence you still in your costume.

"I would like to be on there with them," Eunseok grumbled, waving hello to a passing Shotaro, "But getting to watch with you isn't so bad."

"There's more seasons to come," you nudged his elbow, "Everyone's on top form this season."

"Especially you, our newly crowned Grand Prix Final gold medalist," Wonbin excitedly clapped, "Three in a row, how does it feel?"

"Like the pressure is still crushing me," you dismissed, "But thank you, Bin. I'm happy."

You steer the conversation along in a different direction, talking about the boys' program and what you were looking forward to see. Anton had a mean quad combination, meanwhile Shotaro's dance elements and step sequences always blew everyone else out of the park. Although you had watched these routines time after time each season, you never got tired of how talented your best friends were.

"Ah right, you went to Paris right? After your assignment there?" Wonbin asked you suddenly.

Your face flushed beet red immediately, "Oh, how do you know?"

"You posted a picture of the Eiffel Tower on your Instagram," Eunseok butted in, "Who'd you go with?"

"Ah, no one you know. Just stopped by on the way to the airport," you lied through your teeth and you hated that you had to do that, but it was your decision anyway.

Sungchan was nearing your side of the stands, and he slowed down significantly as he sent the three of you a wave. You hadn't seen him yet since the end of your free skate that crowned you gold medalist, since he had to prepare to be on the ice immediately afterwards.

"Something's up with Sungchan these days," Wonbin began, eyes trained on the tall figure skating away.

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, "But he's like, uh, happier these days? But also more secretive? He's always on his phone and smiling at it and he always sighs when we mention setting him up on a date. Do you think he has a girlfriend he's keeping from us?"

Eunseok nodded along, "I've been noticing that too, actually. What do you think Y/N?"

Your ears flushed red and you prayed they wouldn't notice as you kept your eyes on the boys warming up, "Why are you asking me? You guys spend the most time with him. Plus, why don't you just ask him yourself or wait for him to tell you?"

In all honesty, you were burning with guilt about keeping such a huge secret from the boys, but you and Sungchan were suddenly treading into new territory that you wanted to navigate together first before anything else.

"When we ask him he just changes the topic," Wonbin answered, "To be honest, I thought he had a crush on you. We all did."

"Me?" you exclaimed, looking between the two of them nodding.

"He always talks about you and we thought that was so weird considering you two didn't even seem that close. Channie always asks Taro how you are and we're like: 'why don't you text her yourself?' and then he gets all shy and flustered," Eunseok rambled, "But I guess not."

"Yeah," you trailed off the word, decidedly ending the conversation as the boys evacuated the rink for the first skate.

The thought of Sungchan asking the boys about you made you feel some way- happy, maybe? It was so adorable that he thought of you and that texting you made him shy. You weren't stupid- Sungchan made his intentions clear towards you, but the two of you drew a line and stayed behind it, so you weren't sure what to think. These days, it seemed like Sungchan was destroying that line inch by inch.

Anton was first to skate, so the three of you focused your attention to him instead. A grand prix final with 5 of your best friends was definitely conflicting, but the boys all agreed to never get angry or too competitive with each other and just cheer for each other. Whoever won, won and that was that.

You were glad that all the boys were making it through their programs cleanly and the scores were all in such close proximity to each other that it was actually unclear who might win. Sungchan was last to skate by luck of the draw and by the time it was his turn, you were nearly biting your nails off in anticipation.

While you try not to have favourites between the boys, considering them all to be equally talented in their own ways, Sungchan just had a way of skating that spoke to you. You determined this even before your arrangement.

For a skater his height, he was incredibly graceful with long limbs creating beautiful lines and silhouettes. Despite his abnormally broad shoulders, his jumps were well balanced and tight, and his athleticism made all of them look so easy. His choreographer and coach really used all of his features and abilities to create the most visually stunning and technically superb skate.

"Hyung's been on fire this season," Wonbin muttered beside you, in awe of his friend that was so magnificently treading the ice.

"He's incredible," you agreed softly.

Sungchan was incredibly passionate about figure skating. Of course, you all were since it was your careers and if you didn't love what you were doing, you would quickly burn out. He just had this fire in him that you hadn't seen reflected in other people in a very long time, and that's what you admired about him.

Pushing your own feelings for him aside, you watched him intently as he led up to the most difficult skill in his arsenal- the three of you in the stands all linked arms and muttered prayers and pleadings. It felt like you were on the ice instead- you couldn't breathe until it was over.

"1, 2," you counted under your breath as he took off into his quad lutz. It was almost as if you watched him jump in slow motion, counting every turn until he landed, switched sides of his blades with an euler, before taking off into his triple flip.

You were still holding your breath when Wonbin and Eunseok dragged you up as they jumped up to cheer and whoop at the clean landing and combination. Jung Sungchan was truly one of a kind.

"He's so good," Wonbin squealed as you sat back down to watch him finish off his program, "Crazy good."

You're completely captivated by him for the rest of his skate and it even takes your coach multiple tries to catch your attention to tell you to come down to prepare for the victory ceremony. You plead to wait until Sungchan finished his skate and she just clicks her tongue and gives you a knowing smile.

The rest of the event goes by in a whirlwind, accepting your medals and flowers and taking pictures with your fellow medallists. You speak to some media and change into your comfier clothes, relaxing in your self-prescribed dressing room, which was just an empty room with a table and a couple of chairs.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your trance thinking about your program, and you shouted for them to come in.

"My gold medalist," Sungchan grinned over at you from the door as you jumped up to greet him. He's holding a gorgeous arrangement of flowers in his arms, extending it to you once more, "A gift from us."

You took the flowers, admiring the colours and the smell, before placing it down with the other gifts and your medal, "You guys are always so sweet to me. Congratulations to you as well; that was one of the best programs i've seen in my life!"

"Thank you, Y/N. And Taro says you're our only ice princess so we should spoil you," Sungchan chuckled, slowly approaching you closer and closer, "Anyway, they asked me to come and get you so we can go and get dinner together."

"They asked or you volunteered?"

A smirk took over his face, "Now why would I want to get you alone?"

"Who knows?" you teased as his large hands cupped your cheeks and guided your face to his. All tiredness left your body as you melted into his kiss and you wished that time would stop so you could do this forever.

He captured your lips with his own soft and plump lips, nibbling and kissing so softly and delicately, as if he would break you. It was worlds away from the way you two would make out ferociously in dimly lit hotel rooms after competitions ended at night. It was intentional, sweet and utterly heart-clenching.

"My gorgeous champion," Sungchan murmured against your lips, connecting them again passionately as he snaked his arms around you.

"Channie, we talked about this," you whispered, "We're just getting to know each other still."

Sungchan playfully rolled his eyes and left a fleeting peck before he pulled away, "I know, I know. Let's go before the boys get suspicious?"

He offered out his hand after you picked up all your things and you laced your fingers together and walked out side by side.

⋆｡°✩

PARIS, NOVEMBER 2023

November in the city of love and enlightenment was certainly a chilly ordeal. You were wrapped up in infinite layers, face red and tucked behind a wooly scarf and hat. You would think that since your profession was being around literal ice all day that you would be acclimated to the cold, but Paris was tearing you a new one with its weather.

You and Sungchan were taking a stroll by the River Seine, people watching and basking in each other's quiet company. The thing with Sungchan was that you felt comfortable with him; you's been friends for 6 years anyway, but all this time, you had kept him at arms length in order to protect your heart. Sungchan was still somewhat of a mystery to you- all his thoughts and all his feelings unknown.

"I heard that at night in the summer, they have people play live music here and people will dance along all night," Sungchan sighed, watching the couples stroll by with arms and hands interlocked, bundling together tight to warm each other up.

"That really sounds amazing," you replied, trying to stop yourself imagining dancing with Sungchan by a twinkling river on a cool summer night, "I want to come to Paris again when it's warmer and fully explore it!"

"We should do a trip," Sungchan said and you don't even ask if he meant as a group or just the two of you.

"Y/N?" he called again.

"Hm?"

He stopped to lead you to an empty bench, sitting with a considerable gap away from you before he made the bold move to shuffle closer. Sungchan stared you in the eyes with a longing gaze, "How come you trust me so much? How come you let me stay through your vulnerable moments when I know you don't do that with the others?"

You paused to think momentarily about his question that you'd pondered yourself during sleepless nights many times, "You're always just there. Whenever I end up in a situation like that, you somehow always find me like you have some spider-sense that i'm breaking down. And your presence calms me; you don't even need to say anything," you talked through your thought process slowly, trying to make it make sense in your head as well, "I feel like you understand me well whereas others may feel like I'm self absorbed and selfish for freaking out over such minor mistakes. And I can just feel in my heart that I can trust you. Thank you for always being there for me, Sungchan. I hope I don't burden you with my own breakdowns."

Sungchan smiled shyly, taking your gloved hands between his, "I'm really thankful that you do trust me. Don't ever think that you burden me because I do want to be there for you. Me and the boys hate seeing you so upset, so whatever I can do to help you through is nothing for me; we're in such a demanding field that it's important to have a good support system."

"You guys have really made my career. I don't know how I could have lasted this long without all of you," you emphasised the 'all', hoping he would catch on to your allusion of how special he was to you.

"You know, Y/N," he began, voice suddenly shaking and nervous, "I've been meaning to get some time alone with you in the daytime to talk for a while now."

You chuckled anxiously, "Did you take me to Paris to break up with me? Break up as in end our arrangement?"

"I like you, Y/N," he deadpanned, dismissing your pessimistic comment. Your heart started beating fast instantly, "I really like you and I can't carry on what we have until I tell you. We can move forward however you want: we can end the arrangement or just carry on as we are, but I just wanted to tell you."

His words don't shock you much. You think Sungchan has been confessing in his own little gestures and actions for some time now, but he finally threw the ball in your court.

You looked down at your intertwined hands, smiling softly and exhaled a puff of white frost, "We were bound to fall for each other, right? I just don't want to to hurt you since I've been in a bad place this past few months. I'm slowly getting out of it, but I just don't want to drag you down with me."

"I just want to be by your side," Sungchan whispered gently, "I just want to be able to kiss you in front of the world and call you mine."

"In front of the world?" you teased, ignoring the way your heart was swooning at his sweet confession.

"I know it's selfish of me, but I don't want to hide you forever," Sungchan voiced out, "I want to text you how you are and not feel like I'm overstepping and I have so much more of myself I want to give you."

You finally met his eyes again, "Let's make a deal, Jung Sungchan. Let's get to know each other well and more intentionally over the rest of the season and try that out. When it ends, we can think about what's next."

"I like the sound of that," Sungchan grinned, "I can still kiss you though, right? I think I'd die without it. The months between Worlds and your first assignment was hell for me."

"You're so dramatic," you rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulders against his.

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Sungchan?"

"Does that mean you like me back?"

You let out a laugh that Sungchan swears is the best thing he's heard in his life, and you pulled him by your entwined hands, telling him you want to go see the Eiffel Tower.

⋆｡°✩

SOUTH KOREA, APRIL 2024

Shotaro is smiling happily as he placed the orange juice pouch in front of you on the sand. You're sat on a blanket, knees tucked up to your chest as you watched the waves crash against the rocks peacefully. You think it's a good time to swim since the tide might be too strong later.

"Thank you," you coo at your best friend as he laid down beside you, flicking his sunglasses over his eyes.

You pierced the pouch with the straw and let out a happy sigh as the freezing cold juice invaded your taste buds. Late April in the south coast of Korea was thankfully warmer than the previous weeks you spent in Seoul with a new choreographer, piecing together your new program for the upcoming season.

The beach house behind you does very little to block out the sun, considering the sun is shining the opposite way and down to you, so you had made sure to lather up in sunscreen before relaxing on the beach. You had read half your book before Shotaro woke up from his short post-breakfast power nap and decided to join you on the sand.

"I think Anton and Sohee are still asleep cuddling," Shotaro laughed. You had tried to wake up the pair for breakfast, but they had both grumbled and sent you on your way back to the kitchen, nestling into their shared bed even more.

"They can be in charge of lunch then," you huffed, "When's everyone else coming? What time is it?"

"It's only 11:30," he told you, "I think the other 4 are all arriving together soon- maybe around now."

You, Shotaro, Anton and Sohee were able to make it first to the beach house that you all booked for a peaceful week and a half trip. You had already stayed the night, but the other boys had commitments that meant they could only come now. It was all fine, since you were there for a pretty long time anyway.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as Shotaro closed his eyes and took in the fresh sea breeze.

"How have you been since Worlds?" Shotaro broke the silence.

"Better, but I'd hate to find out if my happiness only stems from redeeming myself at this year's Worlds," you recounted. The last time you had seen the boys previous to the trip was the Worlds Championship the previous month, the same competition that caused a year-long spiral down into near insanity. Thankfully, you managed to escape scot-free and with a gold medal around your neck.

"How does it feel now stepping onto the ice? Does that dread still overcome you?" Shotaro asked softly.

After your worst skate on the world stage, it had taken you nearly a month to step back onto the ice since every time you attempted, you were instantly tossed back into that moment. It took another month before you even tried attempting your signature triple axel again. At your first assignment, you had felt fear instead of excitement as you began.

"I don't think so," you said lowly, afraid that if you said it with anymore confidence, it would come back to haunt you, "I think i'm on the other side completely. I have you and the boys to thank for that."

Shotaro smiled proudly, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tight affectionately. You missed speaking like this to your best friend, just the two of you- on rooftops, beaches, cafés, ice rinks, diners- spilling your hearts and confiding in each other. You hated that you were still keeping such a big secret from him.

"Hyung? Noona?" you heard a soft voice call out behind you. You turned around to find Anton peeking only his head out of the double doors at the back of the house overlooking the beach, "The others are pulling up!" The two of you shot up, picking up your blanket, your book and your trash before skipping through the sand to reach the house.

You were nervous, quite honestly, but the good kind, which was new for you. You hadn't seen Sungchan since Worlds (though you've stayed much more connected than in the past when apart) and all you could think about was the agreement between the two of you to revise your arrangement once the season had ended. And it has.

However, the talk was still pending.

You joined Sohee and Anton watching from the wide open front door as the boys were getting their bags out of the car trunk and rolling it up the driveway.

"Vacation time!" Seunghan whooped, dancing into the house with his suitcase in tow and a plastic bag filled with clinking glass, "We're going to get fucked up this week!"

"Well hello to you too, Hannie," he approached you with open arms before you were pulled away into another hug.

"Hmph," you were taken by surprise as Wonbin crushed your frame.

"Haven't seen you in ages," he said sadly. He wasn't at Worlds since he had injured himself slightly at 4 Continents before that, so it had been a while.

"How are you?" you poked his arm, "How's the knee?"

"It'll be totally fixed up before the season starts," he dismissed, grinning at you before going to greet the boys. You quickly hugged Eunseok and turned your attention to the last one through the door.

"Sungchan," you quickly enveloped his waist in a tight hug and he wrapped his arms around your neck and leaned down to your ear.

"Hey there," you could feel him smiling, "Missed you."

You pulled away quickly, trying to not be obvious in front of the boys, simply giving him a smile of reciprocation as you all migrated to the living room.

"D'you guys claim rooms already?" Eunseok looked around at the interior of the beach house.

"Hm," Sohee nodded sleepily, "Anton and I took the double bed on the right of the stairs and there's a room with another double across it."

"My room has a single bed and a double so two more of you can stay with me," Shotaro explained, "Then our princess Y/N gets the master bedroom all to herself."

You grinned teasingly at the boys who affectionately cooed at you and your overpacking. Your clothes were all currently sprawled out everywhere since you dug deep into it to find your pyjamas the night before and didn't bother to unpack properly.

"Dibs on the single," Eunseok rushed out, to which the other boys groaned at, "What? Shotaro likes to cuddle at night and I get too hot for that."

"I'll cuddle with you, Hyung," Wonbin said cutely, wrapping his arms and leg around Shotaro's side. Shotaro chuckled and fondly agreed.

"Yay, we're roomies!" Seunghan tugged on Sungchan's arm, "What are we doing today?"

"How about relaxing?" Wonbin groaned, "Sleeping?"

"Yah, you already slept the whole drive down!" Eunseok protested, "We can unpack and then grocery shop?"

The others seemed to decide that was a good idea so you also headed up to your room to sort out your clothes. Normally, you never properly unpacked in the countless hotel rooms you stayed in, since you only every brought your skates, your costumes and a couple of comfortable sweats to lounge in in between skating sessions. However, since you were staying for a while and doing activities (Shotaro made sure to book a place far from any ice skating rinks), you had to bring a lot of clothes.

Leaving your door open as you sat on the wooden floor and arranged your clothes into piles, you saw Eunseok and Wonbin drag their suitcases up the stairs and onto your wing of the house and they peeked in.

"Wow, noona this room is so nice," Wonbin expressed, "You're so lucky."

"Yeah I deserve not having to share with you guys. You're all pigs," you threw a sock at him that he threw right back.

"Guys, come look at the master," Eunseok craned his head and called over to the other boys bringing their bags up. Eunseok and Wonbin crossed the landing to their room to make space for the approaching Seunghan and Sungchan.

"Wow," Sungchan gasped in awe as he traversed the room and past you, "A bay window looking out at the sea?" He clapped happily as he stretched out across the cushions on the bay.

"Yah, get off! It's mine," you pouted, getting up from the floor to check the view outside. Since you arrived after the sun had already set, you didn't get to see what the view was like before and in the morning, Shotaro had dragged you straight down to the kitchen without even letting you do so much as brush your hair.

You could see from the corner of your eye that Seunghan had turned around and closed the door behind him, which left you slightly suspicious.

"Why did he close the door and leave?" Sungchan frowned, sitting up and patting the cushion next to him for you to have a seat. You sat down, twisting your body to examine the view. It was so peaceful and you couldn't wait to see how the sunset would illuminate your room in vivid colours.

"Beats me," you shrugged, "Did you tell them anything? They've been suspicious that you've been dating someone since grand prix final!"

"Yeah, I know. They keep bugging me about it," he rolled his eyes, "But I haven't said anything!"

"Hm," you hummed, "Anyway, how was the drive up?"

"I called shotgun then Eunseok demanded that I stay awake the whole time to keep him company," Sungchan recounted, "Seunghan and Wonbin were completely knocked out in the back, but it was a nice and smooth trip. What have you guys been doing here?"

"We all just explored the house and then went to bed last night pretty quickly, but Taro and I had breakfast and sat on the beach for a bit before you guys came."

Sungchan shuffled over, his hips bumping against yours, "Mhm, sounds nice! We should take a walk on the beach later. A nice long walk on the beach."

"Just us?" you inquired, brow raised.

"To be honest, I'm not really sure how to get you alone without the others being suspicious. This is probably suspicious enough," he pointed at the door, "They're all probably on the other side with their ears pressed against the door."

"We could just tell them," you suggested cautiously, "That we're getting to know each other?"

Sungchan dropped his head onto your shoulder and sighed, "I like keeping this to us. Our own little secret. It's fun for now, but maybe when we get a bit more tired we can tell them. We'll find a way to spend time with each other a little bit, but I guess it's a group vacation after all."

"Yeah, let's not stress," you agreed. Sungchan started playing with your fingers, twisting your rings and measuring up his large hands with yours before he entwined them together. He peered up at you from your shoulder and reached up to press a kiss along your jawline. You rotated your head to look down at him and before you know it, he had stolen a kiss from your lips.

You nudged him off of your body playfully as he tried to lean in for another kiss, "Go unpack! Hannie's gonna get suspicious!"

He feigned displeasure as he got up and stretched high, nearly touching the ceiling, "Mhm, okay, whatever you say. I'll see you later, love."

You bit back a grin, "Bye Channie."

⋆｡°✩

Sungchan is pushing one of the shopping carts as Shotaro and Sohee trailed behind him. In reality, they should be ahead, but they stopped far too often to point at random things and Sungchan was getting impatient. The three of them were on snack duty, while you, Eunseok and Wonbin were on ingredients duty, as you were the best cooks. Anton and Seunghan had skipped away the second you all arrived and every so often passed by and dumped an armful of things in the cart.

"What kind of crisps should we get?" Shotaro placed his hands on his hips and examined the vast wall of options in front of him. He picked out a few, Sohee following also and placed them in the cart.

Sungchan spotted a rare flavour to find, "They have truffle flavour! Let's get this. I think Y/N likes these."

"How'd you know that, hyung?" Sohee questioned, not interrogatively, just nonchalantly.

"Uh- I think she's mentioned it before," Sungchan stammered, "Let's get drinks."

Shotaro shot him an unsure look, but skipped ahead of the cart anyway to find the beverage aisle. From a few aisles down, Sungchan could hear you laughing with Wonbin and Eunseok and he wished he was by your side.

Eventually, you all converged at the checkouts, carts full and wallets about to be emptied, metaphorically. You had chosen a bunch of meats to grill on the patio down to the beach and lots of ingredients to make side dishes and other random things. The three in charge of cooking followed their task diligently, whereas Anton and Seunghan had produced a pool floater, a bunch of water guns and so many hangover sticks that you were all worried about how much Seunghan was going to force everyone to drink.

You returned to the house in two cars, the same groupings as how you came to the house and rapidly unpacked everything.

"Today, Eunseok, Wonbin and Seunghan are in charge of lunch for everyone," Shotaro declared, "We'll take turns making food each mealtime!"

Everyone made noises of agreement, slowly dispersing through the house as the cooks brainstormed what to serve.

"Does anyone want to go on a walk on the beach? I haven't seen it yet," Sungchan queried to no one in particular. Anton and Shotaro had turned around guiltily from where they were crouched under the TV. You could see that they were fiddling with some wires and powering on the console that they brought to the house. Ah, boys.

"Gonna play FIFA," Shotaro held up the game case sheepishly, "Maybe later?"

"I'll come with you now," you offered slowly, "I love the beach!"

Sungchan gave you a knowing smile and turned to Sohee, "What about you?"

Sohee looked up at you and Sungchan and then down to Anton and Shotaro, who had widened their eyes in order to communicate with him. He opened his mouth and spoke hesitantly, "Uh, I wanna play as well. Is it okay?"

"Mhm, suit yourself," Sungchan shrugged, happy on the inside that he had found a way to be alone with you.

The two of you slipped on more suitable footwear and grabbed a few snacks before heading out onto the beach.

(Meanwhile, Shotaro, Anton and Sohee were smirking in the living room, delighted that their own devious plan to get you and Sungchan together was coming into effect.)

"That was easy," Sungchan chuckled as you chose a direction to walk down.

"Surprisingly! You know how much Sohee loves the beach!" you frowned again but shook out the suspicion, "Whatever. I'm happy to spend time with you."

The second you were far enough from clear view from the house, Sungchan had interlaced his fingers with yours, happily swinging your conjoined arms between you. With his other hand, he ran it through his fluffy brown locks and basked in the soft breeze of being down by the ocean.

The beach was fortunately pretty deserted of people, since it wasn't terribly hot in climate yet, but there were a couple of people dotted around closer to the water.

"This is definitely what a healing trip is made of," he sighed contently, "That was a hard season."

Facing your own challenges didn't mean that the boys also weren't experiencing some hardships of their own. You know that Sohee was taking it hard with some injuries and Sungchan had only introduced his hardest combination the season just past, which is never easy.

"We all deserve a little break," you agreed, "To spend time with each other and definitely not talk or think about skating at all."

"What a dream," Sungchan was too elated being on this trip and it had barely begun, "Here with my best friends and my best girl."

You had stopped in your tracks and punched him softly in the chest, "Don't say that!"

He lowered his neck to meet you at your eye-level, "Why? Did it give you butterflies?"

You scoffed, pushing him away from you, but he decided to wrap his arms around you instead and sway your bodies around.

"You're too bold now, Jung Sungchan," you huffed, "Where's the boy that never speaks whenever we're around people? And the boy that blushed every time we kissed in secret?"

"He found out that the girl he liked likes him back and was giving him a chance to woo her off her feet!" Sungchan poked his tongue out at you and finally let you go, returning to your linked hands and continuing to walk.

"Woo?" you laughed at his teasing.

He nodded affirmatively, "Yeah, woo. Have you been woo'ed?"

You looked away for a second, hesitant to be so candid with him, but you figured that if he was so bold, you couldn't let this chance slip away.

"You're my ideal man, Sungchanie," you admitted quietly, "I like everything about you. I like having you by my side."

His face heated up so suddenly, so far removed from the confidence that was radiating off him just seconds ago. His heart was beating out of his chest as he tried to utter his words as casually as possible, "Enough to make me your boyfriend?"

You nibbled on your bottom lip to stop you from freaking out and smiling like a maniac, "Is that a confession? Is this our evaluation?"

"You already know I like you," he affirmed softly, "If you're ready for a relationship and if you're ready to have me in that way, you're in control."

You were still walking, barely looking at each other and too shy.

"Ask me."

"What?"

"Ask me the question," you whined as he seemed to play dumb.

Sungchan grinned down at you, his bambi eyes sparkling in the sun as he shook his hair out of them. He paused your stroll momentarily, turning to face you and closing the distance between your feet.

He nudged his nose against yours, a favourite move of his as he took a deep breath, "Y/N," he began slowly, "Please can I be your boyfriend?"

"Sungchan!" you laughed suddenly, "The question is 'will you be my girlfriend?'"

"That's not enough to express how much I want to be your boyfriend though," he pouted, "Doesn't matter, just give me an answer."

You threw your arms around his neck, still giggling, "Of course you can be my boyfriend, Jung Sungchan. I'm sorry you've been on trial period for like 5 months now."

Sungchan connected his lips to yours, giving you a soft peck, "Don't be sorry. I just wanted to show you how much I wanted to be there for you."

"And thank you for that. I couldn't have gotten through this season without you," you proclaimed gently.

He bumped his shoulders with yours as he took your hand again, "Don't get too sappy. You'll probably hate us by the end of this trip."

"I swear, if you guys don't clean after yourselves and leave the bathroom messy and dirty, I'll kill you all!" you remarked.

Sungchan laughed heartily- a sound that you had grown to adore over the past few months when you would share hushed conversations getting to know each other over the phone at night and calls whenever your schedules aligned. The two of you walked a little further, just talking about your plans for the trip and pointing out the cute, but also the endearingly ugly, dogs that were running around the beach. Eventually, Eunseok had texted you that lunch was nearly cooked and for the two of you to start heading back.

You couldn't believe that you left the beach house in a situationship and came back as a girlfriend! In fact, you probably still hadn't processed the fact that the Jung Sungchan was finally your boyfriend after all these years of creating boundaries and drawing lines to protect yourself and your heart.

All this time, Sungchan was your right person, wrong time, but you were so happy to be able to say that he stayed by your side long enough to become your right person at the right time.

⋆｡°✩

You were breathless and pliant in Sungchan's hold as he pressed feather-light kisses along your neck. He peppered them across your jaw, ending at the corner of your mouth before pulling away.

"Just kiss me," you begged as he smirked above you. Sungchan loved seeing you like this and now that you were officially his, it ignited a new spark in his heart that had always beat for you anyway.

It was past halfway through the beach trip and you had spent the past week lounging around on the beach and exploring the seaside town together. You spent mornings taking walks with the boys, the afternoon sunbathing and relaxing under parasols on the beach and the evening huddled around a bonfire just talking, singing and reminiscing. You were hard-pressed to find time alone with Sungchan, but you didn't mind since you came with the intention to hang out with your best friends and the new season wasn't going into full effect for a few months anyway.

Despite that, Sungchan had been sneaking into your room either before the others woke up or after they went to sleep, usually just to say goodnight and pillow talk, but sometimes to also make out like you were doing now.

Light flooded into the room from the expansive bay window, bathing Sungchan's face in sunlight. His twinkling eyes against his golden skin made you want to stare in them forever.

You were snapped out of your daydream when you heard a door click open and then close behind someone, and then footsteps on the hardwood floor. You pushed Sungchan off of you and he rushed over to sit at the bay window while you straightened out your bed and your clothes to give the illusion that your boyfriend hadn't been attacking you with his lips for the past half an hour.

You could hear a few more doors open and then close, before a knock on your door sounded out. Gingerly, you shuffled to your door and peeked out to find a sleepy and dishevelled Seunghan.

"Noona, have you seen Sungchan-hyung? He's not in bed," he was blinking slowly, as if trying to adjust to the natural light in your room. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, you opened the door wider and pointed sheepishly at the missing boy.

"Hey, I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep so me and Y/N were just talking and planning the day," Sungchan hummed as casually as he could muster up, "Do you need something?"

You let Seunghan inside your room and he immediately collapsed on your four-poster bed, sighing as he felt the soft sheets hit his head, "Nah, just wondering where you went and if you guys suddenly all decided to wake up and do something without me."

"You know everyone's so hard to get up in the morning," you mused, "Sungchan and I are the only morning people."

"You must have got closer then," Seunghan mumbled to himself, eyes fluttering shut, "That's good, noona. You weren't always as close to hyung."

You sat criss-cross next to his body as you shot Sungchan a pointed look. Was this the time you were going to reveal your relationship to the others? Sneaking around for the past week had been exhilarating, but it did weigh on the two of you to keep such a big secret from them.

"We're going to the fair today, right?" he carried on, breaking the tension between you and your boyfriend.

"Mhm, so you better get up and wake the others up so we can have breakfast and get going," you told him as he groaned. Sungchan was just smiling at you lazily from the window, watching your sweet and maternal interaction with the younger boy. You prodded Seunghan a few more times before he finally rolled away and off the bed and Sungchan followed him out of the door, giving you a small wave goodbye.

You slowly got yourself ready for the day ahead, knowing it was going to take a while before all 7 of the boys could wake up and get refreshed enough to leave. By the time you were done, the youngest ones were preparing breakfast in the kitchen, singing along to the song on the radio perched on a floating shelf.

"Need any help?" you cast your eyes over Sohee and Anton who grinned happily as they saw you for the first time.

"Mhm, no," Sohee assured you, leading you to the already set dining table and pointing at the food, "We're nearly done so you can just wait for us or start eating if you want."

For the duration of the entire trip, it seemed like the boys were determined to not let you lift a finger. Although you were happy to help in cooking and cleaning, every time you were on the rotation, whoever was with you would work hard and take a lot of your work off you. Then again, the boys had always been sweet to you. Of course, they were funny, teasing and ridiculous, but at the core of it, they treated you like their little sister even though you were older than most of them. You really think that you couldn't have lucked out more with a friendship group and found family.

Anton served an over hard egg on your plate and you noticed that the rest on the serving plate was filled with sunny-side up eggs. See, they even paid attention to your food preferences.

Seunghan was next to come down, more wide awake than when you saw him last and seemingly energised by the prospect of food. He sat on your right, quickly scooping all of the dishes he wanted but stopping himself from eating until everyone came down.

Wonbin and Shotaro descended next, complaining about how long each other took to shower and get ready, but Eunseok came right behind them hair still dripping, to your chagrin as he made the floors slippery. Sungchan finally came down just moments later and took the empty seat next to you.

"Yay, let's eat!" Anton clapped his hands together as you completed the table.

"Wonbin-hyung, you'll go on the rides with us today, right?" Sohee crunched through his sausage.

"No, you can't force me to do anything," he grumbled and the rest of you chuckled at the man you knew to be so scared of fast and high rides, "I can watch over our stuff if you do go."

That was exactly the coversation you were having 2 hours later as all 8 of you stood in front of the tallest and fastest rollercoaster at the fair. In all honesty, it wasn't even that big and scary considering it was only a small fair that moved around, so the rides had to be simple to deconstruct. Even still, Wonbin planted his feet on the ground and firmly shook his head.

"But there's an uneven number of us," Shotaro whined, tugging at Bin's arm, "C'mon, just this once?"

He pouted and batted his long eyelashes as Anton sighed, "It's okay, I'll stay with hyung. I don't feel that good after that hot dog anyway."

Looking around, all of you had accepted defeat, so you joined the short line for the ride and immediately began grouping yourselves into pairs. At the one amusement park you had joined them at since you guys became friends, you stuck by Shotaro's side the whole time as you were still opening yourself up to the others. This time, you didn't really mind as Sohee linked arms with your boyfriend.

As the line progressed and you were at the front, Eunseok made his way to the back of the pack with you and helped you into the cart before sitting by your side. The climb up was decently steep and you could hear and feel the vibrations of the rails under you. You could also see Sohee still clutching Sungchan's arm and Seunghan and Shotaro preparing to raise their arms up when the ride plummeted.

As it slowly approached the peak, Eunseok cleared his throat, "You guys are pretty obvious, you know?"

You snapped your head so fast that even this rollercoaster couldn't give you the whiplash you gave yourself, "What?"

The ride was so rickety and loud that the boys in front of you couldn't hear you as Eunseok smirked, "You and Channie. Well at least to me you're obvious."

You opened your mouth to say something along the lines of you had no idea what he was talking about, but suddenly the ride dropped and a scream erupted from your throat. From beside you, Eunseok was nearly doubling over in laughter at how he caught you so flustered and shocked.

"Yah, don't run away from me," Eunseok laughed, calling after you as you gave him a pointed stare and ran ahead to catch up to Wonbin and Anton first.

Sungchan with his long strides reached you quickly, "What was that about?"

Anton and Wonbin's eyes were trained on you, so you merely waved your hand and dismissed it, "Nothing, just some nonsense."

You were grateful that Eunseok didn't say anything else when he arrived at the fence the others were waiting at, but for the rest of the fair, he would give you teasing smiles whenever you got so much as remotely close to Sungchan.

The sun was about to set and you were all nearly tired enough to go home. Between the big rides, the boys put on their competitive hats and kept challenging each other to the stalls that were known to be scams. They were probably blowing all of their prize money between them, but you had to keep walking back and forth between the fair and your cars since they were accumulating far too many plushies to hold.

"Just one more," Sungchan pleaded so cutely that you were resigned to say yes to, "Then we can go home after! Song Eunseok! Do this one with me!"

He was tugging on your arm, pointing at the basketball booth before slinging his arm around Eunseok's shoulder and dragging him along. Behind you, the youngests were happily munching on long churro sticks that Shotaro had bought for them, meanwhile he was conversing with Wonbin behind them.

"Loser has to grill all the meat later," Eunseok bargained. It was the two of them on main dinner duty once you returned to the house.

"Well what if we both win?" Sungchan huffed.

"Doubt it," Eunseok chuckled, as he handed over his bills to the booth manager.

You rolled your eyes at their antics- everyone knew that the basketball hoops were oval shaped and the chance of getting a ball in was slim. Even still, they both paid for the highest amount of balls in order to have the chance to win the biggest prize. If they got three balls through the hoop, then they could pick from the large prizes.

The boys finally caught up to you guys and sighed at the competition they saw in front of them. Eunseok was very passionate about basketball and Sungcham was very passionate about winning.

"No cheating," Sungchan swatted at Eunseok, who narrowed his eyes playfully.

They both began, the rest of you cheering them on. Both of them missed their first two shots, and they had to make the last 3 to win the big prize. Surprisingly, they also both were able to shoot the next two together, and were staring each other down as they picked up the last basketball.

"You're going down, Song Eunseok," Sungchan taunted, sticking his tongue out. Eunseok rolled his eyes and decided to shoot first at the hoop. You all watched in anticipation as the ball hit the rim... and then bounced off. Eunseok screamed in defeat and all eyes were turned to Sungchan.

He carefully examined the hoop and decided to just go for it. You were all shocked that it went in!

Sunchan whooped in glee, taunting Eunseok before throwing his arm around your shoulder. That was a pretty normal thing for the other boys to do to you, but it certainly wasn't the way Sungchan used to interact with you.

"You can choose the prize, Y/N," he grinned down at you, pointing at the array of large animal plushies attached around the booth.

You gasped as you laid your eyes on the most perfect choice and you leaned into his touch as you pointed it out, "That one!"

The booth attendant took it off its hook and handed it over to you. Gleefully, you held it up to Sungchan and cooed, "It looks just like you, Channie!"

Sungchan was smiling so dorkily at how the large baby deer plushie was making you so happy, and you were both too busy cooing at the plushie to notice the boys, jaws dropped and watching you.

"Uh," Wonbin uttered, "What's going on here?"

The silence that fell caused you and Sungchan to turn around, and upon realising their reaction, you jumped away from each other, still both holding the plushie.

"What do you mean?" Sungchan scratched his neck awkwardly, "You all got a prize for Y/N earlier. I wanted to as well."

Seunghan nodded slowly, "Okay, okay. Sure. But we just got small prizes."

"Is it my fault that I was good at this?" Sungchan retorted as he began walking your group towards the car park. You scurried behind him, hugging the deer close to your chest.

You fell back a little from Sungchan and slowed your footsteps since the boys behind you started whispering to themselves.

"I think Operation Sung-Y/N is working!" Sohee whisper-hissed. You raised your eyebrow at that. There's no way, right? There's no way that they were doing a whole scheme to set you up together with your boyfriend- not that they know that.

You decided not to confront them and joined Sungchan's side again. He had turned to talk to you, but saw you had slowed down so he had stopped in his tracks and waited for you. Sungchan sighed to himself as he watched you bound over with the plushie. He wished he could be in your embrace the way that plushie was connected to you. Frankly, he should have just told everyone else right then as they got suspicious, but he had a feeling you wanted to do it more lowkey.

Later on that night, Sungchan was lying on top of your sheets as you played with his hair. It was his turn to hug the deer- the only one that made it to your bed as you banished the other plushies the boys gave you onto the windowsill.

The others were all downstairs, either preparing the side dishes and preparing the grill or fighting each other on the playstation.

"We can tell them tomorrow," you sighed happily. his hair was so soft and bouncy that it instantly bounced back to its spot after you ran your hand through it, "And then we'll have 2 days here to act like a couple."

"Ah, two days," Sungchan sighed, "When am I going to see you again after that? I want to take you on a proper date, finally."

You gasped to yourself, bringing your hands to your mouth. Sungchan sat up quickly, eyebrows stitched together in worry, "Oh, what's up? What's wrong?"

You began laughing to yourself and Sungchan looked at you like you had grow two heads, "I forgot to tell you guys completely! I have some news for you all!"

"Ah, what is it?"

"I'm going to train in Seoul this season!"

Sungchan yelped in surprise, suddenly attacking you in a hug down onto the bed, "Oh my gosh, really? Are you serious? It's not a joke right?"

You giggled happily as he attacked your face wiyh kisses, "You know my coach Lina? Well, she's pregnant and she asked if I would be willing to relocate to Seoul so she could be around her family and her husband's family! She wants to receive maternal care here, so," you trailed off.

"Oh my, I'm so happy," Sungchan breathed out, "You mean I won't have to wait months in between competitions to come and see you? I can see you everyday?"

"Hey, you have a skating career too," you poked his chest, "Make sure you focus on that. But if it works, then sure! I'm going apartment hunting as soon as we all drive back up to Seoul!"

Sungchan was so elated, dreaming about all his favourite places that he would take you, "Ah, I think there's an apartment empty in our building. Do you want me to ask our management team?"

The boys all lived in the same building, some of them sharing and some of them living alone since there were various apartment layouts. You recalled that Sungchan lived with Shotaro on the 7th floor of the building, but you had only visited twice before.

You had a thought about declining his offer. Maybe it was moving too fast for you if you moved into his apartment building, but then again, the rest of your friends were there too and it wasn't like you were moving into his room. The thought of having all of them around often and being able to guide you through the city comforted you, so you just gave him an appreciative smile and nodded, "Mhm, that would be nice."

A happy sound escaped his throat and you're certain that moving to Seoul was the best move for you at this stage. Sungchan flipped you around so he was below you and you hovering over him. He brought his hand up to your face, tucking your hair out of your eyes and settling his large palms on your soft cheeks.

He guided your face down and you could feel his breath ghosting over your mouth. Sungchan connected his eyes with yours, "I really, really like you, Y/N. Thank you for giving me a chance."

Stealing his move, you grazed your nose against his, "You tell me that everyday, baby. I really, really like you too. I'm excited for this new season."

It wasn't just a new season of figure skating where you were going to debut new programs. It was a whole new season in your life. It felt like you could finally release yourself from the shackles of the bad moments of your past and start anew- a new country, and a new boyfriend.

He craned his neck up to softly touch your lips together, but he hadn't made any other moves, so you slid your arms around his neck and melted into his chest, parting his lips with yours and deepening the kiss.

You have always loved kissing Sungchan. His kisses seemed to heal every pain and suffering in the world and made you forget even your own name sometimes. He was always a passionate person, tending to your whines and requests whenever you got frustrated and he was teasing you. You don't know how, but since becoming his girlfriend, kissing him felt even better than it did before.

You were so engrossed in each other that you hadn't even heard the footsteps coming up the stairs, or Seunghan's soft calls for you, or his knocking on the door, or the way the door creaked as he opened it.

"Yah!" his scream caused Sungchan to sit up so hard and fast that you fell off of him and onto the floor, "My eyes!"

Sungchan smoothed his clothes out in a panic and yelped in apology as he helped you up from the floor. He scowled at his younger friend, "Do you know how to knock?"

"I did!" Seunghan exclaimed, throwing his hands up, "I even called for you, noona! Ah, I'm so traumatised! How can I get that out of my head?"

Your face must have been as red as the way it flushes when you get drunk as you just watched silently against the bed.

"Hey, what's going on? Hurry up, we wanna eat!" Wonbin appeared behind Seunghan who was still rubbing his eyes, unable to believe what he saw. Wonbin looked at him, confused by his reaction and the yells, "What happened?"

Suddenly, the other 4 boys all came out of nowhere too, crammed in the small hallway and looking between you on the bed, Sungchan closer to the door and Seunghan just on the other side.

"I caught them," Seunghan dramatically screeched, throwing his arms around Wonbin, "I caught them!"

"Caught them doing what?" Shotaro frowned.

"Making out!" Seunghan screamed, to which the rest of the boys started yelling in surprise too, suddenly firing questions at you and Sungchan, who was looking worriedly and apologetically at you.

"I knew it!" Eunseok smirked.

"Oh my God?" Anton gasped quietly and Sohee was mirroring his reaction.

"Are you guys fucking?" Seunghan was still dramatically wailing.

Sungchan scoffed, offended, "No! Well-" he looked at you, giving you the choice to give as much information.

"We're in a relationship," you revealed softly, laughing at their dropped jaws, "Well, only since the trip. We've been getting to know each other since Paris."

"Paris?" Wonbin gawked, "Paris? So when we asked you who you went to Paris with and you said no one, you actually were with Sungchan-hyung?"

"Yeah," you tilted your head and scratched the back of your neck, "Sorry for some white lies we've had to tell. We just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a bit, navigate new territories and make sure it doesn't affect our friendship with you guys."

Shotaro stepped into the room, huddling over to give you a hug, "Well we're all happy for you both. Besides, we were all conspiring to set you two up this trip."

"We were so proud at how well it was working," Sohee cried out, "Turns out we're the fools!"

You think back through the trip at the instances they created to get you alone together, whether it was taking quick trips to the grocery store because they 'forgot' an ingredient, or just leaving you two behind whenever you were walking and relaxing on the beach. You were thankful the boys were so silly to create a plan like that, otherwise you couldn't have spent so much time with your new boyfriend on the healing trip.

"It's okay guys," Sungchan grinned lopsidedly, "It was funny to watch." "Um," Seunghan interrupted, "I actually came up cause I was coming to tell you that dinner was ready."

Eunseok nodded, turning on his heel, "Yeah, I'm really hungry. Can we talk about this over barbecue instead?"

The rest of the boys nodded in agreement, making their way down the stairs. You sighed heavily, looking at Sungchan who placed a loving kiss on your hair, "That was so chaotic. Are we okay, though?"

You smiled up at him and took his hand pulling you up, "More than okay. They were bound to find out and they're all so happy about it."

Sungchan splayed his palm against yours and then locked your fingers together, "Ah, wait til you tell them about moving to Seoul. They'll forget this news instantly!"

You let the grin invade your face as you happily imagined the way they'd cheer and instantly bombard you with outings to do and places to visit together in Seoul. You were definitely certain now that your relationship with Sungchan wasn't going to change your friendship.

"Lovers, come on!" Eunseok yelled up the stairs, "The food is getting cold so stop making out!"

Well, maybe a little bit. But as long as you were able to call Sungchan yours, you were sure you could endure anything.

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a/n: thank you for reading:) pls let me know what you think<3

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