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sohnric · 2 months ago

Text

extra cheesy — e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: pizza boy! eric, very mild childhood friends to acquaintances to friends to lovers au. college au, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst. mutual pining, slowburn, jealous eric, oblivous reader, the whole lot... includes pizza boy! sunwoo and eric's older sister! lisa manoban.

wc: 31k (31.071)

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, mention of throwing up, mentions of jealousy, the reader and eric are the same height bc i wrote this for and about myself, talks about the ex-gifted kid burnout syndrome lol.

listen to: so american - olivia rodrigo, love - wave to earth and stuck with u - ariana grande and justin bieber

being a wingman is not always the easiest task - especially not when your roommate's target is best friends with someone taking your attention away from the main goal.

a/n: thank u so much best friend @csenke for beta reading as always and thank u best friend @from-izzy for hyping me up and listening to me ramble hours upon hours about this fic (oh and also for stepping in as the reader's roommate HAHA).

“Come on, we deserve a little pizza for dinner!” your roommate, Izzy, shakes your arm as she clings to you on the sofa the way she always does when she wants you to do something. And although your dear flatmate isn’t usually the one to order in, much preferring to cook meals at home and save the leftovers for another day, you wouldn’t find her desperation for pizza as strange, if it wasn’t for the batting of her eyelashes and her pleading voice.

Surely, she doesn’t need the pizza that much, right?

“I’m not saying we don’t, I’m just saying I have leftover soup from yesterday that I have to eat tonight or else it’s gonna go bad,” you justify your protests, “but you can get one, if you want. I’m not stopping you,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows at the girl in confusion before reaching for the TV remote.

“Oh come oooon, Y/N,” she pressures, pouting at you in disappointment. More weight is put into your body as she clings to you, acting like a child throwing a tantrum. “You deserve to have delicious pizza for dinner today, because you finally bagged that internship! Isn’t that a reason to celebrate?”

“We can just pop the champagne, if you wanna celebrate–”

“Y/N, can we please just get the pizza tonight?” she turns serious for once, the smile disappearing off her face, replaced by a much more stoic expression. And see, that’s a little scary– desperation can make people do bad, bad things. You’d be a fool to turn down your flatmate’s request– you’d have to sleep with one eye open tonight…

“Okay, fine,” you grunt, shaking your head at her ridiculous antics, “from the usual place?”

“NO!” the girl chimes, making you jump in your place on the sofa with the loudness of her voice. If she wants to scream, she should move further away from your ear, goddamn it. After sending her a look full of anger, she offers you an apologetic one before she reaches for her laptop resting on the coffee table in front of you, opening it and pressing in a new Google search. “There’s this place I found with Yizhuo after class one day,” she says, scrolling through the browser and finding the site of the place she wants to order from today, “and they make pretty good pizza. So just choose one and then I’ll put it through the online order.”

“They have online orders?” you hum, interested. “Twenty-first century, this is. Online shopping for pizza…” you snicker, shaking your head in disbelief. Maybe you’re getting old– and it’s not like you don’t enjoy the comfort this gives you, not at all, you just find it a little strange to order food over the internet. What happened to phone calls?

“Yes, grandma,” Izzy sighs, “that’s like, a normal thing, I fear.”

Rolling your eyes at her irony, you scan the menu before deciding on your usual– margherita, extra cheesy. After pointing your finger at the pizza of your choice, your roommate takes it upon herself to add the meal to her cart (while also adding one she likes as well) before she proceeds further with the order. Your eyes stay glued to her, interested in the way this whole thing works– because let’s be real, ordering a pizza without having social interaction is every introvert’s dream– and watch as she hesitantly clicks onto the “add a note to your order” section of the website.

Confusion fills your veins as you stare your roommate down. What more could she possibly need for this order? Does she not just want to eat? Does she need her pizza sliced in a special way, or does she want the pepperoni in the shape of a flower, or something? You really wouldn’t be surprised, with how peculiar Izzy could get sometimes, but still– wasn’t she the one mourning about how hungry she was just a few minutes ago? Surely, she would want her food to get here the fastest it can, with no additional requests that would take up too much time.

“Don’t say anything,” she mumbles as she starts typing, and finally, it all starts to make sense.

The desperation in her voice. The determination. The need to have a pizza tonight, right now. Because after reading out the words she’s written down, you realize that it was never about the pizza itself in the first place. Knowing Izzy, you should’ve known– after the months of sharing an apartment with her, you should’ve been able to predict her antics.

There, proud, black on white, shine five words saying: Send your cutest delivery boy :)

“Izzy what the fuck–”

“I told you not to say anything!” she cuts you off, clicking through the rest of the order hurriedly, as if worried you were going to make her delete her embarrassing request.

“Okay, miss, ‘I don’t chase no man!’, I see that you’re living up to your motto. What? You ate there with Yizhuo last week and saw a cute guy doing deliveries, so you thought you’d drag him to our house instead of asking for his number like a normal person?” you grunt, shaking your head at the lengths your roommate is willing to go to– while also making her own life twice as complicated as it needs to be.

“Well, pretty much, yeah,” she peeps as she closes the laptop after paying for your pizzas– you’re not paying her back, just for the record. Not after she just publicly embarrassed you by making that stupid request with your address attached.

“Are you crazy?” you scoff. “Why didn’t you just talk to him back there?”

“He was busy!” she mourns. “Look, this is me shooting my shot. You’re getting a pizza out of it, so I don’t see the problem here.”

“The problem is you doing all of this when you could’ve literally just walked up to him last week and introduced yourself,” you say, watching your roommate physically crumble under your scolding, but truthful words.

Izzy slides down further into the sofa, as if to shield herself from the attack. She puts her hands over her face, hiding the blush on her cheeks as she mourns into the silent apartment. “Look, I was shy, okay?” she says.

“But not shy enough to be so bold over the internet, huh?” you mock her, feeling your roommate’s hand slap your upper arm in frustration.

“You should’ve seen him, Y/N! There was no way I was going to walk up to him after the whole day I spent at uni. I looked like a dead rat, that’s not how you pull men,” she mutters. “And he looked so perfect, so adorable, it’s… I keep thinking about him and his plump lips and his dark messy hair, and he was so tall and–”

“Okay, okay,” you cut her off, a hint of annoyance tinting your tone. “I’ll see him with my own two eyes in a bit anyway,” you comment, “if he’s really the cutest out of them, as you requested,” you snicker.

“He is! I swear. There is no way he isn’t going to appear on our doorstep in a few minutes, trust me.”

Little did the two of you know that you caused havoc on the other side of the town. It was a slow day in Sohn’s Pizza, leaving the two part-timers on duty scrolling through their phones, awaiting any new customers. It was the middle of the week, 2 hours before their closing, and so the sound of the new online order coming in surprised the two boys, having the owner’s son sit up from his place in the corner of the room and click through the system.

“Dad, it says one extra cheesy margherita and one pepperoni!” Eric yells out into the kitchen, followed by a loud acknowledging hum from the cook himself. Sunwoo looks up from under his chocolate bangs, pausing the game he’s been playing on his phone, licking his lips.

“Do you wanna go?” he asks, obviously too lazy to move from the pizzeria. See, the two part-timers had many responsibilities. One wasn’t just a delivery man or just the server. Because Eric’s father didn’t really trust anyone with his business, he relied only on the people closest to him– which caused this place to operate mostly as a family business. Sunwoo only got the job because he was Eric’s longest friend, and that made the Sohn family consider him as one of them.

That meant the pizzeria was almost always short on staff, though– which was a problem Eric complained to his dad about more often than not, being too busy with deliveries and also wiping down the tables, serving the customers and helping with the sides. The poor boy already learned that his dad won’t do anything about it from the sheer discomfort of having to go through the hiring process with anyone, though, and so after a while, he just stopped trying.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes scanning the order. “It has a note, though.”

“What does it say?” Sunwoo asks, voice barely coated in any interest. Eric would argue that the boy doesn’t really care, but is just asking to seem mentally present.

“Send your cutest delivery boy, smiley face,” Eric hums, snickering to himself. Now, that’s a request he hasn’t gotten before– and the pizzeria has been open for quite some time now.

“Oh, so I’m going,” Sunwoo says, already standing up from his place in the camping chair behind the counter even though the order isn’t ready yet, full confidence flowing through the man’s veins.

“Didn’t you just ask me if I’m going?” Eric jokes, eyes darting towards his coworker.

“Yeah, but that was before I saw the note,” Sunwoo scoffs, “we obviously don’t want our customers to be unhappy, so I’m going to do my job, and as the cutest one, go deliver these pizzas.”

“Where did the confidence come from?” Eric clicks his tongue. “Well, that being said, I am going to deliver these.”

“So you think you’re cuter than me?” Sunwoo looks at his friend with a stern face, and to be honest, it’s kind of funny how serious the matter is for the boys. They would both blame the 8 hour shift getting to their brains, but in reality, it’s clear as day that they both want to win this argument.

“I’d say so,” Eric nods. “Didn’t you say you were more sexy than cute the other day?”

Sunwoo looks at his friend suspiciously. He doesn’t really remember the full context of the conversation, but he does remember stating the fact– and although he’d argue it’s true, he also doesn’t want to lose to Eric. Because look– the job is taking up the majority of the boys’ time, so looking for a girlfriend has gotten severely more difficult.

Why not take the opportunity at work? And besides, everything is more entertaining than sitting around and waiting for the place to close for the day.

“I did,” Sunwoo carefully admits, “but that was more to do with the general attractivity. I’d say those two go hand in hand, and therefore me, as the objectively more desirable one, should go deliver these.”

Eric blinks slowly at his friend, trying to process the self-absorbed words spilling out of the taller one’s mouth. “Are you calling me ugly right now?”

“No–”

“I’m pretty sure you just called me ugly.”

“I would never–”

“I’d say I’m the cuter one,” Eric snaps back, shrugging. “I have this aura around me–”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. You know the note was obviously for me, so why don’t we stop this and you let me make this delivery? You can always do the next one–”

The argument is growing more heated. Who would’ve thought such a simple note would lead to two men trying to advertise themselves as the cuter one? The room is filled with testosterone, although the objective of the fight was somewhere completely else– the question was who the cuter one was, and if they had to be truthful, they had to go with facts, no?

Small things are cute. Eric is shorter than Sunwoo. Logically, it should be him– but he won’t say this comment out loud in fear of carrying the burden of admitting to his laughable height in front of his spiteful friend’s ears.

“How can you tell it was for you?” Eric scoffs. The arguments were starting to get ridiculous.

“It was the energy, I swear, the note is calling for me–”

“Boys, the pizzas are ready!” the voice of Eric’s dad calls from the kitchen, making both of them snap their heads towards the source and hurry. Never in a thousand years have either of them reacted to an order so quickly– not even in the highest of rushes– when they reach for the two boxes with grabby hands, like it was some sort of a prize.

It felt like everything was on the line. Eric Sohn prides himself in being a fast runner, but when he senses the taller boy breathing down his neck, he breaks all rules of safe workspace and also friendship as he outstretches his leg towards the right, tripping the boy– all to win the title of the cutest delivery boy.

Snatching the pizzas and also the car keys, Eric pays his coworker a victorious smile. Sunwoo glares at him from the ground, breathing heavily, anger roaring inside of his body. Eric finds this as his cue to hurry out before he’s attacked– while he’s a good runner, he was never quite good at combat– and so he jogs out of the pizzeria and unlocks the door to the Honda Civic parked outside, hopping in and typing in the address into the GPS on his phone.

Back over at your place, you try to pass the time by watching the TV. Netflix failed you with its poor selection of things to watch– mainly because you’ve already seen most of the true crime documentaries that you could find– so you just let yourself get pulled into the doom of teleshopping, your brain quickly getting used to the flashing images and over-exaggerated voices advertising the newest sumo slicer. You had a long day at university today– while also finally managing to get the internship with the company you dreamed of working for– and after all of the stress, your brain decided to simply turn off.

You’re only taken out from your trance as the doorbell rings, making you jump slightly at the loud noise. Dinner must be here– your stomach churning at the premise of a good pizza already (you have to give it to Izzy. She was right and you do deserve pizza tonight)– and so you stand up from the sofa in the living room, calling for your roommate.

“Izzy, the pizza’s here! Come get the door if you wanna see the guy!” you yell into the depths of your apartment.

You get no response. Did she fall asleep? “Izzy!” you call again, this time louder.

“Coming!” you hear her reply. You wait a few seconds, standing in the hall, when the doorbell rings again– after not opening the door for at least 2 minutes, you’re starting to get worried that the delivery man will just turn on his heel and take your pizzas away from you.

And you can’t let that happen– not when you were finally persuaded into eating them– all because your roommate is seemingly getting ready to open the door and see the newly found love of her life, probably putting on some cute clothes in her room.

“I’m just gonna get it!” you say, reaching for the door handle.

Opening the door, you are met with the sight of a delivery boy standing on the other side, two boxes in his hands, shifting weight from his heel to the tips of his toes. He sends you a soft smile before he raises his eyebrows at you so high they almost touch the red cap adorning his head, opening his mouth to speak.

“Eric?”

“Y/N?”

Both of you shock the other with the recognition. You haven’t seen Eric Sohn since elementary school– and while you must admit that the son of your parents’ friends grew up to be mildly attractive, you must say he hasn’t changed a bit. Now, this whole interaction grew even more embarrassing for you– you completely forgot about the note.

“Hello?” your roommate calls from behind you, walking up to the door in– you guessed it– her finest clothes. She always wears this outfit out, which makes you roll your eyes at her. She is trying too hard. And for whom? Eric Sohn, of all people?

“Izzy, here’s the cutest delivery boy you asked for,” you awkwardly say, trying to save your face. You won’t allow her to embarrass you like this– yes, you are completely content with throwing her under the bus in this situation. This is the boy you were forced to hang out with the whole entirety of elementary school, after all. You won’t let her humiliate you by making him believe it was you who found him so attractive.

Because let’s face it– he wasn’t. Well…

Maybe he was and you’re lying to yourself. But still– you won’t let him think you’d be so pathetic to shoot your shot by an online order. The boxes in his hands have Sohn’s pizza written all over them– maybe you should’ve paid more attention to the name of the pizzeria you were ordering from.

“Ah,” Izzy hums, and something in her composure shifts. Her shoulders drop and her smile dims– and that’s when you realize Eric is not the delivery boy she was hoping for. You have to laugh at her.

Izzy makes no effort to move or take the pizzas from the boy’s hands, and that’s when you take charge. Sighing at her, you move her out of the way before you send Eric an apologetic smile, freeing him off your order. “Thank you for the pizzas,” you say, watching as the delivery boy nods at you, offering you an awkward smile.

You push the boxes into Izzy’s hands, ordering her with your eyes to take them into the kitchen. As she slowly moves out of the hall and disappears into the apartment, you face the boy again, still standing at your doorstep. You scan him all over– from the top of his red cap that’s hiding his honey blonde locks to the black cargo pants covering his legs– before you nod to yourself, the awkward atmosphere making you tense under his gaze.

“Uhm…” you hum, not really knowing what else to say to diffuse the atmosphere. This is embarrassing. This is humiliating. Why did your dumb roommate do this?

Now she got the poor boy disappointed. Couldn’t Izzy at least act like he’s the one?

“Well, I’ll.. see you around, I guess…?” Eric says, nodding to himself. He scratches the back of his neck as he looks at you– one short glance up and down that doesn’t go unnoticed by you, making you instantly regret getting the door in your sweatpants and the pink socks with hearts and a single hole on the toe on them– before he takes a step back from the doorstep and starts walking away from your apartment.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, mentally punching yourself with how pathetic you sound, “see you around. And… and thank you again! For the pizzas, I mean…” you hum. Now, you’re mentally kicking yourself. Scratch that, you’re throwing yourself down the stairs. Why are you so awkward? You’re only making it worse.

He flashes you a smile, not oblivious to the shame you feel. If you really think about it, the situation is kind of funny, isn’t it?

“Bye, Y/N,” he says, waving at you as he walks down the stairwell, sending you one last glance over his shoulder.

“Yeah, bye!”

Closing the door behind you, you try to take deep breaths to steady yourself. You will murder your roommate with your own two hands and use her blood as the sauce for your pizza. Slowly walking towards the kitchen, you see Izzy munching on the pepperoni slice, sending you a look full of innocence.

“Well, that didn’t work out,” she says, trying to make light of the situation, ignoring how embarrassing this situation was for both parties involved. Without a word, you sit down at the table, opening the box of your pizza of choice, taking a bite.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit–”

“Shut it.”

“How was it, bubs?” Izzy asks you once you get into the car while simultaneously reaching for the volume button on the radio, turning the music down so she can hear you talk.

“Terrible,” you mourn, sighing as you buckle your seatbelt and watch your roommate back out of the parking lot. She was nice enough to offer to drive you home after your first day of your new mandatory internship, and although you told her over and over how you didn’t need a ride and could just walk home after, you’re actually very grateful for her act of kindness now– for your feet hurt like a bitch and you’re so mentally tired you think you could get lost on your way home, had you not paid enough attention.

“That bad?” she hums, voice full of consideration. Izzy only pays you a short look full of undeniable worry before she gazes back at the road– thankfully, because she is not the best driver and you think her not paying full attention to where she’s going would significantly lower the chances of you getting home safely today– subtly allowing you to vent about the day you had.

A grunt escapes your mouth. “Yeah,” you agree, “it’s just– god. The place is full of morons, my boss is demanding a marketing project from me until the end of my internship, everyone keeps using me as their coffee delivery person because I’m new, and I forgot everyone’s names already…” you complain, furrowing your brows in concern. How are you going to survive going there weekly?

As a business student, you have to go through an internship in order to successfully graduate. Getting one was already hard enough, but the responsibilities that come with doing all the stuff you’re not even educated enough to do yet are only making the weight on your shoulders heavier and heavier to the point where you suddenly start to doubt if you’re even good enough for your major. Hell, you barely have any interest in it in the first place– hence why you lack the enthusiasm your boss would surely love to see from you.

“Can’t they just not make it easier for you?” she shakes her head in disapproval. “You’re a mere student, not the new hire,” Izzy grunts, sympathizing with you.

“Apparently not,” you roll your eyes. “I’m so tired, man…” you sigh, resting your head against the window, letting your eyes close for a bit. “Thanks for giving me a ride, Izz.”

“No worries,” she innocently replies. Almost too innocently, you think– but with the amount of hours you slept last night and the mental overload of new information you had today, you choose to not pay much attention to it. Maybe you’re just making it up…

If the drive was a bit longer, you’re sure you would’ve fallen asleep. The car comes to a halt in a few more minutes, though, and the sudden silence of the vehicle as the engine turns off and the radio goes silent has you opening your eyes, scanning your surroundings.

And you were right. Izzy was almost too nice in giving you a ride home. You should’ve known she always had different motives.

“Why are we here?” you ask, choosing not to face her so you don’t have to look at the dumb smile on her face again, for you think that if she dared to force innocence on herself right now, you’d seriously punch her.

“Oh,” she hums, “I thought we could get pizza for dinner.”

“We had pizza last week,” you deadpan, tone of voice only a bit hostile.

“That’s correct,” she agrees, “however, I am in the mood for some pizza right now. And we don’t really have any groceries at home, so I think this is the best alternative to end your bad day–”

“You’re not dragging me in there after embarrassing us so much last week, Isabelle,” you grunt, pulling out the full name to act more tough and get your point across. “I am never going there again. You simply can’t force me–”

“Oh come on! You’re ruining all fun.”

“That’s because I am not having fun right now,” you note, already too tired after the long day.

“Then let me cheer you up! I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it,” Izzy glares at you, sighing. “Besides, the last time I checked, you owe me pizza, and I would like to redeem that now.”

“Since when–”

“Don’t think I forgot that you didn’t pay me back last time,” she cuts you off, sending you a stern look.

If you were closer to home right now, you would’ve left the car and just walked back to your apartment, leaving your dear flatmate to get her pizza alone. You both know you’re not here for the pizza itself anyway– so why does she need you there? As an excuse? It’s already embarrassing enough for the both of you. Why won’t she just drop it?

But since the circumstances are given the way they are– you’re tired, hungry, frustrated and full of worry about your internship– you figure there is really no need to argue with your roommate right now. When she sets her mind on something, she is going to get it, no matter what. You know her well enough.

“Fine,” you sigh, getting out of the car and slamming the passenger door with as much force as you can humanly conjure in yourself after the long day, satisfaction flowing through your veins at the sound that’s loud enough to make your roommate jump in surprise.

You’re going to give her what she wants, but you’re not going to act happy about it. You’re just gonna get the pizza and leave. That’s the plan.

Walking up to the building of Sohn’s Pizza, you push the door open, ears instantly catching the low music coming from speakers situated in the corners of the room. You haven’t been here before, so you take your sweet time looking around– noticing the neat-looking interior, admiring the wooden furniture– before you walk towards the table in the corner of the middle-sized restaurant, sitting down. Izzy follows you like a lost puppy with its tail wagging because she got what she wanted before she sits down opposite of you, offering you a giant smile. She is like a kid under the Christmas tree with the toy she always desired securely in her grasp. Which is weird– the cute delivery boy hasn’t even shown up yet.

After scanning the menu for a bit– since you already know what you’re going to get– a server walks up to your table, a big, welcoming smile on her face. She is short even when wearing heels, hair pulled up into a ponytail, straight-across bangs sitting on her forehead. It’s been years since you last saw her, but the resemblance is undeniable– it’s Eric Sohn’s older sister.

“Hello! What can I get for you today, girls?” she asks as she takes out a notepad. Her eyes land on you for a bit before she gasps, even a bigger smile appearing on her cheeks, if that’s possible. “Oh my god, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you nod, grinning. “It’s me.”

“How are you?” she asks, beaming. You and Lisa were never really close– since she was so much older than you back when you hung around the Sohn’s house, but she was always really kind to you. You remember her making snacks for you and Eric to eat in afternoons or taking you two out to get ice cream, your heart squeezing at the nostalgic memories.

“I’m good, what about you?” you ask, genuinely interested.

“I’m fine,” she nods. “Well, just rotting in here, if I’m being honest, but other than that, I’ve been good,” she laughs, making you mirror her actions.

“Well, it’s really pretty here, if that makes you feel any better,” you smile.

She shrugs at your compliment. “I did most of the decorating, so it should be,” she snickers before she looks back at you after scanning over the entire room. “What will you get today, then?”

“Just a margherita is fine,” you note, “could I possibly get extra cheese on that?”

“Anything for little Y/N,” she hums, making you roll your eyes at her teasing– yet the grin never leaves your features. “And for your friend?”

“I’ll get pepperoni,” she peeps. It’s unusual for your roommate to be so quiet in a conversation– you guess she was caught off guard at your sudden acquaintanceship with the staff in her new favorite restaurant.

“Coming right up!” Lisa smiles, walking away from your table.

After the server leaves, you are left with a few seconds of silence from your roommate. You raise your brows at her in question, mocking her change in demeanor, waiting for her to get back to her usual, chatty self. “What?”

“You know her?”

“Obviously,” you snicker. “Our families used to be close years ago,” you note, shrugging. “We lived in the same neighborhood.”

“Wow…” she hums. “So you know that guy who dropped our pizzas off last week as well?”

“I do,” you nod. “We are the same age, so our mums forced us to hang out often.”

“Interesting….” Izzy says, lost in thought. If you didn’t know better, you’d suspect she was scheming something up. Actually, you think you know her well enough– just give it a few more minutes.

The door opens again, making you two look around and watch the people coming into the restaurant. Instead of new customers, you are met with two men obviously wearing work uniforms– white shirts with a pizza logo in red on them– the shorter one with a cap on, the taller one with baggy jeans adorning his long legs. You recognise one of them instantly– and even despite the nature of the restaurant, his presence still shocks you and makes you feel alarmed.

You feel something come in contact with your shin as your roommate kicks your leg under the table. “That’s him, that’s him, that’s him–” Izzy chimes, whispering, making you furrow your brows at her in question. Yeah, of course that’s him. Eric’s dad owns the restaurant. Who the other guy by his side is, though, you don’t–

oh.

So that must be the cute delivery boy your roommate has been thirsting over for the last couple of weeks. She has a lot of determination in her, you’ll give her that. If it was you, you would’ve forgotten about a random mediocrily attractive server after a day or two. Not her, though. What a strange woman…

“Y/N!” you hear for the second time today. Your heart skips a beat at the tone this time, making you remember the events of last week, heat instantly creeping up your neck at the memory.

“Hi,” you peep, watching as the two men make a bee-line towards your table.

“Hello,” he greets. He wears a bright smile on his face– one that makes his cheeks look fuller, something in his eyes glimmering (you think it might just be the reflection of the lights). He is wearing a blue cap today, covering his honey locks– which leaves you wondering if he has a fucked haircut, or if he really just likes to wear hats that much– but other than that, his attire is the same as last time. “What’s up?” he asks.

Casual. Friendly. Like nothing happened– like this whole encounter isn’t totally embarrassing.

Or is it not? Are you just being overly-dramatic again? You really don’t know at this point.

Still, you act nonchalant. “Oh, not much,” you hum, “just got off my first day of internship, so we decided to get some pizza to comfort myself.”

“Didn’t go well?” Eric asks, a sympathetic look on his face. Somehow, his concern seems genuine.

“You could say that,” you note, shrugging.

“It will be better next time,” he says lightly, smiling at you all encouragingly. For the first time in the last couple of seconds, you pay attention to your roommate again– seeing her eyes glued to the taller boy. If this was a cartoon, there would be hearts drawn in her sockets and she would be drooling. Izzy seems to be totally enchanted with the delivery boy currently standing to Eric’s right, and you can’t stand the view any longer.

“Oh, this is Sunwoo, by the way,” Eric says, introducing his coworker.

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, shaking the boy’s hand. He sends you a boyish grin, greeting you back, before he moves towards your flatmate, holding her hand in his.

“Izzy,” she introduces herself, tone of voice a few octaves higher than usual. “We’re roommates.”

“I gathered as much,” Eric notes– almost a little awkwardly– making your body electrify with a full body cringe. Why can’t he just pretend last week didn’t happen?

“Yeah,” you hum, nodding and scratching the back of your neck. “She pretty much dragged me here, haha…” you vocalize the laughter as a word, mentally slapping yourself. Haha? What’s so funny? Y/N, you’re only making it worse.

“Well, it’s nice seeing you again,” Eric says. When your eyes meet, he averts his gaze, an awkward cough battling its way out of his throat. “Uhm… we better get back to work, or else my sister’s gonna kill me–”

“Oh, but it’s not busy!” Izzy suddenly utters out, making you snap your head towards her with shock, a look worthy of many words burning a hole into the middle of her forehead. What is she thinking? “Why don’t you sit with us for a while? It seems like you and Y/N have a lot to catch up on,” your roommate sweetly says, throwing the burden onto your shoulders again.

Why are you suddenly forced into the role of a wingman? You really didn’t sign up for this.

“Oh, I–”

“I could use a little break,” Sunwoo grins, not even waiting for his coworker to immediately deny the idea. You swear you can mentally hear your roommate's excited squealing on a telepathic frequency as the dark-haired boy takes a seat right next to her, sprawling his legs wide and resting his back against the chair, seemingly tired. “Come on, Eric. Lisa has a soft spot for me, she won’t eat our heads off.”

Eric meets your gaze. You hope your brains match at frequencies with the boy as well as you send him mental apologies, the atmosphere once again getting too awkward for you to handle. He seems to be the victim of his friend’s terrorizing strategies as much as you are, though, so you think there is silent understandment hanging in the air over the two of you as he reluctantly sits on the chair next to you.

You’re starting to think Izzy has a death wish. You’re also starting to be fairly certain that you will be the one to fulfill it.

The passage of time is weird. It’s a strange construct to you, finding yourself dwelling on it at times when it’s the least suitable to– especially when you have things to do and a workload to get through. See, it’s incredibly bizarre to you how when you’re doing nothing, time is passing by quickly without you even noticing it: a few episodes of your favorite TV show go by and you’re suddenly well into the evening. When you’re working on assignments, though, it seems like time has stopped.

You promised yourself you’re going to stay in the library and work on the project you were assigned in your internship until at least 6PM. You arrived at 3 o’clock– three hours should be easy, right? Not that much time.

Wrong. Because you swear you’ve been aimlessly searching around the internet and writing things down for at least 10 years now, and it’s only been an hour and you still have two more to go. Time is weird like that. It’s fascinating– at least when you hypnotize the numbers in the right corner of your screen, sucked into the doom of your laptop. Maybe you should’ve taken Physics instead. You’d love to learn about this.

(The fact that this has nothing to do with Physics and everything to do with your focus and attention is a completely invalid argument to you at this moment, so you don’t even let yourself think about it.)

Something finally pulls you out of the hyper focused state that you put yourself in while staring at the time on your screen (as if to mentally push the clock to go faster), and that is a figure moving right opposite of you, resting their hand on the back of a chair.

“Hi,” you hear, making you snap your head up and face the intruder, “can I sit here?”

“Hi…?” you mumble, watching the boy in front of you not wait for your answer as he pulls the chair back and settles his body onto it. He empties his pockets in the true manly fashion– putting his wallet, his phone and his keys onto the wooden table– all while letting you absorb his existence for a bit before you have to react to it some more.

You spent years not seeing Eric Sohn. Now, you bump into him at least every other week. Strange.

He is wearing a simple white hoodie, his hair now not covered by a cap. You glance over the honey blonde locks, noting to yourself that he does not have a messed up trim, which means he just must like hats a lot. You feel like you should probably say something– start up a conversation– but the shock of seeing him is still settled deep in your bones, stopping you from every attempt.

Looking around the library, you note that it’s half-empty– meaning that Eric could’ve chosen any seat, any other seat in the whole entire place– yet he chose to sit right opposite of you at one of the long tables in the middle of the room. Nodding to yourself as you absorb the information, you open your mouth to say something– anything– before the boy beats you to it, acting in his true, nonchalant casualty.

“What are you working on?” he asks. “I mean… you seemed quite miserable when I arrived, so I assumed it was for the best to take you out of the frozen state before you go crazy,” he jokes, having you close your mouth and awkwardly smile at him.

“Yeah,” you hum, shrugging. “I was mainly just trying to force the time to go quicker with the sheer power of my gaze, but I think it doesn’t work like that…”

“You set up a timer for yourself?” he asks, laughing.

“Kinda,” you nod. “I knew I had to hold myself accountable and do work, or else I’m going to leave things until the last minute and hate myself even more for not doing anything sooner, so I told myself I’ll work on my assignments until 6, but it’s… easier said than done.”

Eric nods at you, acknowledging your struggle. He takes out his own laptop and presses the power button. As he waits for it to turn on, he looks back at you, his gaze making you nervous.

It’s not that you don’t like Eric– not at all, you have your fair share of fond memories with the boy when you were little– it’s just that you haven’t seen him in ages, haven’t properly talked to him since you were kids. You know nothing about the man he is right now– aside from the fact that his father owns a pizza place now. You don’t even know what he majors in. Hell, you didn’t even know he went to the same university as you up to this point– which makes everything just a little bit too awkward for you.

How to navigate the conversation? What to talk about? Why does he not just… ignore you? It’s not like the two of you were that close in the first place.

“What do you major in?” he asks. You wonder if it’s sheer politeness, or if he really just wants to know.

“Business,” you say, tone of voice hinting that you’re not really satisfied with your own answer. “I’m actually supposed to be working on a project for my mandatory internship right now.”

“Damn… what is it?” he asks.

Scratching the back of your neck, you lick your lips before answering. “It’s like… I have to make a pitch about a new product for them to sell. I work in the sales section for Trust, the insurance company, so I have to do a lot of… market research… and then also marketing… it’s… kind of a lot, actually…” you nervously laugh, trying to diffuse the fact that you’re genuinely scared of the very project you were assigned.

Eric stares at you with interest, a look of acknowledgement settling onto his face. “Wow. That sounds hard.”

“I mean, I don’t know…” you shrug. “Maybe I’m just too stupid for this–”

“No you’re not,” the boy instantly cuts you off, shaking your head. “I’d say they just have high demands from you.”

His words do a bit to soothe you. You avoid asking your classmates about their internships in fear of being the only one that’s finding things hard and being overly-dramatic. Talking to someone who doesn’t really have the same experience as you makes things a bit easier– you can complain and they won’t judge, because there’s no way they know how it feels. Eric won’t judge you for finding your business internship hard, because he doesn’t know what it takes– at least not on his own skin. But if you’d complain to your classmate Yeji, for example, she might find it weird– what if your tasks are the easiest thing to do in her eyes?

“Thanks,” you hum. “What do you major in, though?” you ask him, somehow committing to keeping the conversation going for just a little more time.

“Communications,” he laughs. “I just… write a lot of papers, I guess.”

“Ah,” you nod in acknowledgement.

You feel like you should add something. Maybe you should comment, sympathize, ask more questions, but in the moment, no fitting words reach your mind. After a heartbeat of silence, Eric’s eyes finally leave your figure to focus on his laptop, and the only thing resonating through your brain is the fact that the last two times you met him, it was painfully awkward and maybe a little strange– which leads you to questioning the fact that he still chose to approach you today.

“Look, Eric, we… you don’t have to act like we’re friends now,” you say, refusing to meet his gaze. Somehow, your blank laptop screen is much more interesting. “And I’m sorry about last week,” you note, tone of voice lighthearted– trying to mask how much you actually think about the encounters and how they make you wish they never even happened. Somehow, you worry about how you’re perceived by him. “My roommate just kind of likes your coworker– Sunwoo–” you call him by his name, “so she has been doing all of this to get his attention, and it’s…”

“It’s okay,” Eric laughs, making you glance up from the blank document and finally meet his eyes. There is no stern look on his face, no signs of disappointment or disgust on his features. It helps you calm down a bit. “I’m used to girls being all over Sunwoo, really,” he says, shrugging.

“Yeah…” you sigh. “Sorry for making it all awkward, and stuff. As I said, you don’t have to feel obliged to–”

“I don’t, though,” he hums. The sentiment silences you. You offer him nothing but a nod, suddenly at a loss for words. “Look, we used to be close when we were kids,” he shrugs, “so don’t even worry about it.”

You’re not really sure what his words are meant to imply. Does he mean that you’re friends now again? Does he mean he doesn’t find this whole thing absolutely awkward? Are you supposed to hang out more often now? Do you get his number?

After trying to clarify everything, you’re left even more confused.

If there’s one thing about Eric Sohn that you remember from your childhood, it’s the fact that he’s friendly. And also… pretty fucking competetive. “It’s almost 4:30. Whoever gives up on their assignment first pays for coffee later, yeah?” he challenges you, looking at you with mischief glimmering in his dark orbs.

You guess both of these qualities stayed with him until adulthood, and although you were awkward with him just a few minutes ago, you don’t really have it in you to overthink the interaction any longer.

“Deal,” you nod.

As if this was all the motivation you needed, you get back to working.

“Jokes on you, drinking is not a forfeit for me,” Jake, the underclassmen you see around the campus sometimes says after a round of spin the bottle in which he refuses to make out with the person to his right (that was friend Sunghoon from middle school, just for the record), “I actually enjoy it. So–”

“You should stop drinking, dude…” the said friend nudges him to his shoulder, looking at the boy with a concerned look in his eye. It’s no secret that both of them are light drinkers, but one of them is clearly handling his alcohol worse– and it’s the shorter one of the two.

“Why? You wanna make out with me?”

“I’d rather not carry you home again, that’s all–”

“That sounds a bit sus, Hoon–” Jake snickers before he downs the shot of whatever alcohol is passed to him, “y’know, if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just said so…” he slurs, making Sunghoon sigh, closing his eyes for a second to collect himself in time before the frustration in him turns into anger and he swings at his friend.

You can’t help but laugh at the commotion. You don’t really go out to party much– since you and Izzy are introverted, you don’t really search for these types of gatherings– but you figured that doing something other than watching the TV on a Friday evening would be nice. Especially when you were invited by the guy you met in your internship.

It felt rude to deny an invitation to a party by Park Jihoon, given the fact that you wanted to make friends and connections during your stay with the company. He is an intern just like you– maybe a bit more energetic and extroverted, that’s all. Which you welcome with open arms, just for the record. It’s been a while since an extrovert extroverted the way they are supposed to and adopted you– it’s always a pleasant experience.

You’re also not really the one to participate in a game of spin the bottle. You find such games embarrassing and nerve-wrecking. They induce anxiety in you from what you have to do, and it’s not the good kind. The adrenaline in your veins is enough for you to call it quits, but then again, you’re always good at falling for peer pressure and your roommate’s battling eyelashes are ones you don’t find yourself resisting too often.

There’s alcohol running through your system, warming you up. Wearing a cropped top and shorts surprisingly didn’t really help you to cool down as you soothe yourself with alcohol after another week of stressing yourself over your damn internship project (which Jihoon offered to help with, but you’re too much of an individualist to let anyone partake in even just the smallest task of your assignment) and after careful consideration, you realize you haven’t had that much to eat before turning up to the party.

Which is always a mistake. Drinking on an empty stomach is one of the biggest flaws you bring with yourself to social gatherings.

“Maybe I should eat,” you suddenly comment, perking up the attention of Jihoon to your right. He looks at you with considerate eyes and nods.

“There should be pizza coming soon, actually.”

“Really?” you gasp, excitement suddenly flowing through your bones. It’s been at least a month since you last had pizza, and you’re slowly starting to crave it. Did Izzy give up on that cute delivery boy? Maybe you should remind her… the pizza was worth it, you must admit.

“Yeah–”

And as if you wished it into existence, the sound of the doorbell suddenly brings you out of the conversation and has people closest to the door standing up to get it.

It seems like randomly running up to Eric Sohn is your newest hobby. It’s strange how life works– you haven’t seen him in ages, and suddenly, he finds his way to randomly walk back into the plotline of your life casually, as if it was fate. It’s kind of laughable, really.

Because there he is– standing behind the door with boxes of pizza in his hands, accompanied by his friend Sunwoo holding up even more. The amount could feed a whole village, you think, and you’re suddenly glad you aren’t the one paying for the food, since you’re sure it would add up to a big check. The crowd hollers at the two boys at the door, and it takes you a few seconds to realize it’s not because of the feast they just brought into the building.

“Eric! Sunwoo! Come in, you two!” Jihoon suddenly calls from next to you, waving the two over with a motion of his hand. This has the shorter boy look into the spacious living room, eyes scanning the surroundings. His eyes fix on you for a second, offering you a smile, before they move back to the host.

“Can’t, we’re on the clock, actually,” Eric snickers awkwardly, shrugging.

“Oh come on!” Haechan, the boy that was introduced to you today as Jihoon’s best friend, joins. It seems like everyone around knows exactly who Eric Sohn is, and it leaves you wondering just how you managed to unawarely avoid him for all those years. “Just for a bit!”

“Yeah,” Jihoon adds. “Just stay for like 10 minutes, or something. Actually,” the tipsy boy has a million-dollar idea, “I’m not paying y’all until you stay for a bit. How about that?”

“Great, dude,” Sunwoo laughs, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s tactics. “Let’s go in, then.”

The two get ridded of the pizzas they brought, walking up into the room. You feel Izzy poking your leg with her pointer finger repeatedly, and when you look at her, she is staring at you with eyes that remind you of someone slowly slipping into a manic state. You think it’s the effect of Kim Sunwoo entering the room with a smirk on his face, but you’re not really sure at this point.

“What are we playing?” Sunwoo asks the obvious as he sits down, dragging his friend with him. Their spot is currently straight across from you. After more careful examination, you realize Eric’s eyes are glued on your figure, making you smile at him and wave silently before he moves to scan your new friend sitting close to your right.

The last time you’ve seen Eric was that day at the library. That was almost 2 weeks ago now, and although you went for a coffee after you declared that you ‘simply can’t do it anymore’ and ‘would rather die than to work on this project any longer’, he insisted on paying for both of your drinks instead of making you do it, as was previously agreed on. You exchanged numbers after chatting and walking around for a bit, and although you waited for him to text you the same week, he never did, and you never tried to make conversation either.

Somehow, you simply didn’t know what to say. Then again– it’s not like the two of you were friends in the first place.

The game proceeds like before even with the new members added. Some of the people hanging out around the living room move to eat the pizzas, but if you’re being completely honest, the idea of eating was long forgotten to you the moment Eric and Sunwoo walked through the front door. Admittedly, maybe you did have a considerate amount to drink this evening, because everything is starting to turn into a bit of a blur from this moment. You watch the game absent-mindedly, not really taking much in, as your eyes sometimes subconsciously move to Eric sitting leisurely on the sofa opposite of you.

After a round where Jihoon is asked to suck on Haechan’s toe and Yizhuo is told to confess the last person she hooked up with (which was a guy to whose name everyone gasped, but left you clueless, since you didn’t really know who it was), your biggest fears are proven to be reality as the bottle lands on you. Heartbeat instantly picking up at speed, making you hear your own blood in your ears, you look up from the cursed item and wait to hear your ordeal.

Who would’ve thought playing spin the bottle would feel like a near-death experience?

“Truth or dare?” Yizhuo asks.

After a second of consideration, you blurt out: “Dare.”

Big mistake. At least you can lie when you pick the truth, goddamn it. What was drunk you even thinking…?

“Okay,” she nods, contemplating for a bit. As the gears in her head start working and the idea comes into her brain, a smug smirk appears on her face, hinting that this whole evening was a bad, bad idea. “I dare you to sit in the lap of the hottest guy here for three rounds.”

The crowd goes crazy.

Girls gasp, guys whistle, and your brain– it completely shuts off. Alcohol should logically make you feel more courageous and daring, no? That’s what they all say.

You’re the one to prove the sentiment wrong as you gulp and contemplate your next decision. Given the fact that you’re one shot away from throwing up, you decide to not drink to protect yourself– making sure you save your image and don’t embarrass yourself by showing the contents of your stomach to everyone on Park Jihoon’s beige rug.

Scanning the circle, you watch the men situated right in front of you in the living room. It resembles window shopping a bit, except you’re feeling really fucking miserable while doing it. You know it’s all fun and games and that if you take the situation with enough nonchalance, everything will turn out fine– hell, some might not even remember this moment in the morning, so it’s really not that big of a deal– but the more you contemplate the object of your dare, the more nervous you’re starting to feel.

Kim Sunwoo is a clear no go. You and Jihoon are close enough where it wouldn’t feel awkward, but somehow, you know you would be lying to yourself if you picked him. Your eyes smoothly drift past Haechan, Jake and Sunghoon, all the way past Renjun and Jeno to Eric sitting right across from you, eyeing you with interest in his dark orbs.

The circle is starting to rush you. Jihoon nudges your side, telling you to ‘just pick one,’, making you briefly glance at him with a stern look in your eyes. After your gaze lands back on Eric– whose eyebrows slightly furrow when he notices you paying attention to your new friend– you come to a downing realization of the fact that somehow, your eyes keep landing on the short boy, not really wanting to look away.

It’s alright. It’s nothing. Eric Sohn is conventionally attractive– you’re sure it’s not that big of a deal.

Standing up from your spot, hearing the crowd pick up the excitement, you walk over to the other side of the circle– while trying not to trip over your own foot and fall over in the process. Eric looks up at you with big eyes glimmering, expecting your final answer, making your palms sweat and voice a little shaky as you awkwardly let out.

“Do you mind…?”

The question is laughable, really. You audibly hear Yeji and Yizhuo squeal in excitement at your action, while Haechan hollers out a laugh from the back. Trying to ignore the reactions, faking nonchalance, you watch as Eric shifts slightly in his spot and moves his hands to his sides, as if to make some space for you, before he shrugs.

“Go ahead.”

Nodding to yourself, you scratch the back of your neck before you turn your back to him and slowly settle yourself onto his lap.

And here you thought the delivery boy incident could simply not be beaten on the scale of awkward and embarrassing moments with Eric Sohn.

It’s now your turn to spin the bottle, you realize– which you try to focus on instead of the fact that you are currently sitting in the lap of the guy you grew up with– making you bend to the ground and proceed with the game. Only three rounds and you can move back to your initial spot, you think. You just have to survive three rounds of this stupid game before you’re free.

Watching the empty wine bottle spin in circles before it stops, your eyes move to the side with the opening, trying to see who it landed on. When you look up, your roommate is staring back at you with a suspicious look on her face, not even waiting for you to ask the question to determine her fate. “Dare,” she spits out.

Her eyes bear into you with such intensity you think she’s trying to tell you something, but right as you try to match her brain frequency and decipher what exactly she wants from you right in this moment, you feel Eric’s hands land lightly onto your sides.

They don’t move, nor do they put any pressure into your skin. They just lay there, fingers on the skin of your bare midriff, sending an electric shock into your brain that completely shuts off your telepathic communication with Izzy, making you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Uh… prank call your latest hook up and tell him you want to get together with him,” you say.

She immediately throws darts into your skull, making you regret your decision.

What? Is it not spicy enough? Judging from the reactions of the rest of the players, you’d say you did a good job– which makes you believe she just didn’t want to expose hooking up with Jaemin in front of everyone.

Nonetheless, she moves on with the dare. You don’t really pay much attention to it as a wave of sickness comes over you. You’re genuinely left seeing things twice, which leads you to close your eyes and rest your head in your hands for a second before a low voice lands into your ear.

“How drunk are you on a scale of 1 to 10?” Eric asks.

“Like… 8, I think?” you snicker. “I’m okay, I just need to–”

Before you get a chance to finish your sentence or even barely think of what would help you in this moment, you feel Eric’s hands on your sides lightly tug your body towards him, leaving you to fully glue your figure onto his. Your back meets his front, sprawling out onto the sofa, leaving you to settle your head onto his shoulder.

You can’t say your stomach feels less crazy at the moment, but you also can’t say this isn’t strangely nice. “Better?” he asks.

You think you lost your voice for a second, so you only offer him a nod.

His next actions leave you wondering if he’s always been this touchy and affectionate. While one of his arms sneaks around your waist and holds you to him, his other palm leaves to take its new place on your thigh. The rational side of your brain is telling you that this is just the most comfortable place to let your arms rest when you have someone sitting in your lap, but it’s still enough to have heat rising up your neck, slowly warming up your face.

A few seconds pass before Eric absent-mindedly starts to draw circles onto your quad, your brain hyper-focused onto the feeling of his forearm on your bare midriff. When he laughs at the way Izzy’s prank call is going– to which he earns a warning look from your roommate to keep quiet and not break the facade– you feel his body vibrating under you, making you realize that you’re the only one out of the two that is so affected by this simple gesture.

It leaves you feeling silly. It must be the alcohol, surely– but god,

Eric Sohn surely has hands that make hell seem cold.

You’re woken up in the morning to the sound of your roommate screaming, yelling at you. Not only do you already have a massive headache from the hangover you surely accidentally threw yourself in, now you also feel like there is someone cutting parts of your brain off with a knife. (Which sounds contradicting, because you do know the brain can’t be in pain. Why does it feel like that, then?)

“You had the perfect opportunity to think of something that could make me and Sunwoo closer. You could’ve said anything! But no, you chose to–”

“Why are you screaming?” you ask, voice hoarse and quiet, your throat scratchy as you utter the few words.

“–lay in Eric’s lap like a princess and do nothing–” she continues, making you wince. It’s not that you don’t remember the moment, no– you do. The memory is almost painfully crystal clear in your brain, you just didn’t really mean to think of it the first thing in the morning.

“Isabelle,” you grit your teeth and put your pillow over your eyes to shield them from the sunlight that is only making your headache worse, “I’m gonna need you to shut. the. fuck. up–”

“You’re a terrible, terrible wingwoman, I’ll tell you that,” she accuses you.

Suddenly, the cause for her telling looks and annoyed huffs throughout the last night make total sense. Hell, you’re smarter than this– you shouldn’t need explaining for such a simple task. It was your turn to dare your best friend to do something, and the object of her desire was right there. You will blame the shortcoming on your alcohol-infused brain– in Izzy’s eyes, though, it doesn’t really change the narrative.

“I’m sorry,” you mourn, “I wasn’t thinking properly.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” she grunts, tugging the pillow off your face. “At this rate, me and Sunwoo are never gonna be a thing, and I hope you know it’s completely your fault.”

“How could it be my fault?” you grunt, suddenly frustrated with your roommate. She is the one that isn’t sending him obvious enough hints, and it’s your fault he isn’t catching on? Why are you suddenly blamed for something that is completely out of your control? This is getting a bit ridiculous.

Wanting to sit up on your bed and fight against your roommate, but failing to do so before she escapes your room– sensing that you would throw the pillow onto her as soon as you’d get the chance– you sigh and reach for your phone sitting on your bedside table. There is a notification shining at the top of your screen, and when you unlock your phone and absent-mindedly click on the message, you’re taken off guard by the view in front of you.

Eric Sohn [1:21 AM]: hi, just checking in to see if you got home okay?

You read the message over once, then twice, before you decide to reply. Clearing your throat, as if you were going to record a voice message, you think of the most appropriate answer.

If you’re being honest, you don’t really remember much about how you got home last night– all you know is that after three rounds of spin the bottle, you reluctantly climbed off Eric’s lap, to which him and Sunwoo escaped the party and trailed back to work with excuses of Eric’s sister killing them if they didn’t show up soon. You’re fairly certain that you and Izzy just took a cab home, but since you notice you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes, you assume you weren’t really with yourself at that moment– which is also the sole reason for you not replying to Eric’s message when you first got it.

You [11:10]: hello!! yes we did :) You [11:10]: sorry for replying so late, but as you could see last night i wasnt rlly checking my phone haha..

Surely this is good enough to play it off. Not suspicious at all! Eric Sohn will never know you were drunk off your face and hardly made it through the front door of your apartment. (Except he does know, and you’re also painfully aware.)

And all of this for what..? A bad week at your internship? You’re one of the weak ones, for sure.

Switching apps and deciding to scroll through Instagram for a bit before you get up and face the day– which includes making lunch, because you didn’t have any leftovers left in the fridge– your phone buzzes in your hands, showing you a new message.

Eric Sohn [11:15]: good to hear :) Eric Sohn [11:15]: are u feeling well?

God. You feel like throwing up– surely the cause of the alcohol still in your system.

Well, it’s not like he didn’t know before. And you’re a grown woman! There’s no shame in a bit of a hangover. You’re fairly certain he gets them all the time– you two are in university, after all.

Faking nonchalance, once again, you text back.

You [11:16]: yeah, just a massive headache that’s all :// You [11:16]: im sure lunch will fix it lol

Eric Sohn [11:16]: speaking of… do u wanna get lunch w me? im sure eating out is a better option for u rn haha

Something inside of you panics at the message. You don’t know what it is, but somehow, you always feel a bit awkward with Eric at first. Maybe it’s the fact that you always remember how you grew up together and then vanished out of each other’s lives– without each other even noticing– or maybe it’s the fact that you always feel like you only embarrass yourself in front of him.

He seems to be casual about things, though. He doesn’t make fun of you for anything– rather, he takes those moments as opportunities to get closer to you and maybe even build back the friendship you were forced into in childhood, but chose in your adulthood.

There is no reason to overthink his words or actions. It’s Eric, after all.

Eric Sohn [11:17]: me and sunwoo that is, btw. u can bring your roommate if she’s down!:D

Oh.

Well, at least you have a way to fix things with your butthurt friend. Clearing your throat before calling into the depths of the apartment– because Izzy left your door open, seemingly hinting that it’s time for you to get up and cook lunch– you slowly start getting out of bed.

“Izzy, do you wanna get lunch with Sunwoo, Eric and I?” you ask, a grin slowly appearing on your face. She rewards you with a few seconds of silence– as if trying to tease you– before she gives you the obvious answer.

“Yeah.”

“Thought so,” you chuckle, sending Eric back a text agreeing to his invitation.

After a few minutes spent showering and making yourself look presentable, you walk out of the building with your roommate by your side (that’s currently smelling a bit like she just poured the whole perfume bottle over her), nearing the building you decided to meet in over text messages. It’s a small Korean place just down the street, making you wonder if it’s the boy’s favorite, or if he just chose something that was nearby for you out of convenience.

When you open the door and walk into the place, you’re immediately hugged by the smell of delicious food making your stomach churn in hunger and the low music playing in the background. It doesn’t take you long to notice the two boys already sitting at one of the tables, chatting to each other. Sunwoo is very passionate about something, waving his arms around, but the moment you two arrive at the table, their conversation dies down a bit, replaced by warm greetings.

“Wow, you look terrible,” Sunwoo lets out when his eyes meet your figure. The comment makes you shrink in yourself– truth be told, you know you don’t look your best right now, given the fact that your headache was still very much present and you didn’t put any makeup on– but still, it isn’t the best experience to hear someone say it out loud.

“Thanks,” you nod, watching as your roommate eagerly takes a seat next to Sunwoo, her body in respectful, yet close proximity to his, “I feel like it too.”

“Auch–” the said boy lets out, glaring at Eric sitting opposite of him. You’re not really sure what happened, but you don’t pay it much mind as you slowly settle yourself in the last spot possible– next to Eric in the little booth.

“Did you order already?” Izzy asks, clearly more joy and cheerfulness in her body than in yours. You don’t really know how or why she’s not currently dying of a hangover like you are, but something is telling you that maybe, just maybe, you were the only one that took the drinking too far last night. (You and Sim Jake, that is. The poor boy had to run to puke only a few minutes after the game of spin the bottle ended, and it was not a fun sight.)

“No,” Eric shakes his head, “we were waiting for you to get here. Wanna check the menu? We already skimmed through it.”

You nod at his preposition, taking the laminated paper into your hand. You’re always indecisive when it comes to ordering food– never really knowing what to get, because everything is either foreign to you or too appealing, nothing in between, leaving you on the fence about what you’d like to eat at the given moment– and the lengthy list of options in this place isn’t really helping you.

A sigh escapes your throat at the sight. Truth be told, you’re not even gonna read the whole thing– so you opt to look at Eric to your right with a begging expression on your face.

“Do you know what you’re getting?” you ask, watching him nod.

“Ramen.”

“Is it good?” you inquire, having the boy nod at you casually, replying to your question.

“Pretty good, yeah,” he answers. “Also, I’d argue that it’s the best for a hangover.”

“Perfect. I’ll have that, then,” you note, putting the menu back to its place on the other side of the table, not really wanting to think about it any longer.

When the waiter comes and asks for your order, you notice Eric taking charge and saying your choice as well, ridding you of the burden. Grateful for his initiative, you turn to smile at him in return, before you choose to rest your head in your hands on the table, still not relaxed enough after the long night you had.

There’s a soothing hand rubbing your back in just a few seconds, pressing comforting circles into the middle of your torso. You think you can’t really blame Sunwoo for making fun of you today– you surely must look like absolute shit.

“Did you two go to the same party?” Sunwoo chuckles, pointing out the obvious difference in your composures. “How come do you not look dead?” he addresses the question to Izzy, curious.

“I can handle my alcohol well,” she hums.

“That’s a lie,” you grunt, eyes still glued to the wooden table, “she just didn’t drink much last night.”

“I think that’s a part of handling my alcohol well–”

“No it’s not,” you squint at her, shaking your head. “Abstinence is not ‘handling alcohol’, you moron.”

“Okay, well, I’m just saying that’s the reason why you look like you have some sort of disease, while I look fresh and beautiful,” she sings in half-seriousness, half-irony, going as far as posing like a flower, offering the whole table her bright smile.

“I mean, you always do,” a low voice echoes around the restaurant, making you snap your head up to gaze at the boy opposite of you that is now refusing to meet anyone’s eye. Eric’s hand freezes on your back, stilling, as a chuckle leaves his throat at his friend’s comment.

Interesting. Sunwoo’s usually cocky demeanor changes as he blushes, scratching the back of his neck. The air gets a little tense as you allow yourself to look your roommate in the eye, a hint of surprise playing with her face. She looks taken aback, but pleased with herself– and you have to give her that. Her magic is finally working.

“So, anyways…” Eric breaks the awkward silence, arm slipping off your back and resting on the table. The absence of the soothing circles on your clothed skin makes you miss it only a little bit, but you won’t really dwell on that any longer or mention it out loud.

The food comes just in time to diffuse the weird atmosphere, making all of you thank the waiter for the meal and get to eating. You can’t say ramen is your favorite meal on the planet, but you must admit that the way they prepared it here really gets your taste buds on Cloud 9. You’re enjoying every bit of it, salvaging the salty taste and chewing on the noodles, looking like a person that’s been starved for five days with the way you’re just inhaling the food like it’s oxygen.

“Feels nice to finally eat somewhere else than at work,” Sunwoo grunts in pleasure, throwing his head back and letting his eyes close, fully enjoying the moment.

Eric nods in agreement, having you furrow your brows at them. “You must work a lot.”

“Yeah,” the boy next to you nods, “I do it to help my dad, but the more I work, the more miserable and absolutely boring it gets.”

“I would imagine it to be kind of fun, I dunno,” you hum sheepishly, noticing the boys eyeing you with a deadpan expression on their faces.

“I mean, everything’s better than a corporate job, in my opinion,” Eric throws a jab at you, a smirk playing with his lips. He’s not wrong.

“Don’t even remind me…”

“Still no progress on that thing?” he asks, genuine interest lacing his tone.

Shaking your head, you sigh. “I mean, I did a bit of market research, but nothing to show my boss, that’s for sure. It’s just been rotting my brain for weeks and I feel like I’m frozen with stress that I can’t actually pick it up, y’know?”

Eric nods in acknowledgement, swallowing the last bits of food in his mouth. “Maybe you just need to think about it less.”

“Yeah,” Izzy joins, “take off some steam. Maybe you just need a little break from it.”

“But if I take a break from it, I might never actually start it–”

“That’s ridiculous,” she cuts you off. “You know you work well under pressure.” You sigh at her comment, shaking your head in disapproval. Procrastination isn’t really your favorite thing under the sun, but it’s something you can’t really control during most projects you pick up. “What do we say we all hang out together when you’re free? To chill, do something fun, get your heads off work…?”

You look around the table with questioning eyes. You’re not really sure if you crawled across the bridge to the friendship side yet, or if Izzy’s efforts are what is going to do just that. Not really knowing where you stand with the boys– because they did invite you to lunch, but you also hadn’t spoken in a long time before that– you don’t push them for an answer. You’re going to go along with whatever they choose.

“I’m down,” Sunwoo nods, “I bet that if we tell Lisa in advance, she can do the deliveries. There’s a new Deadpool movie coming out next week, wanna go see that?”

You’re not really a fan of Marvel movies nor have you seen the first two parts of the series. The same could be said about Izzy, but she grasps at the invitation like a thirsty woman seeing water after 20 days spent on a desert, nodding eagerly at Sunwoo. It’s almost laughable how easily she agrees to everything the boy has to say.

You guess you can’t really blame her, though– he is giving her subtle signs of reciprocation with today’s compliment, isn’t he?

You think about it for a while. Looking to your right, facing Eric, you lock eyes with him, as he was already gazing at you and expecting your answer. The boy shrugs at the eye contact, seemingly down to the offer.

You guess seeing a movie with them isn’t such a bad idea, right?

“Yeah, okay,” you say, “what day is that?”

Foolish. That’s what you are.

Foolish for thinking you could get everything done in time and actually enjoy your time with your friends. Foolish for thinking you could have a day off when you don’t have to think of all the responsibilities that adult life is throwing at you– because as you realize exactly one day before you’re supposed to see the new Deadpool movie in the cinema with Izzy, Sunwoo and Eric, after a discussion with your boss about how he needs some spreadsheets done before the next day, you realize don’t have enough time in your schedule for both.

Frustration, anger and also a bit of sadness fills your bones as you announce to your friends– in person to Izzy and over a text to Eric– that you probably won’t make it. The boy tells you that if you do end up being able to come after all, you should, which makes you only feel worse at the realization that you are now missing out on what could’ve been a chill afternoon.

The frustration only grows in you when you decide to do your work in the library the next day, not even walking back to your apartment after class– because you realize you not only don’t enjoy any minute of your internship, but you also feel like a failure after not being able to finish any simple task with no bigger issues.

After sending one last message to your friends about how you’re stuck in the library for the time being, you try to drown yourself in work– while simultaneously trying to ignore the clock in the corner of your screen telling you the exact minutes you’ve spent missing out on the plans.

You don’t really know how much time passes before a hand lands on your shoulder, making you jump violently in your seat. Your heart starts beating a thousand miles an hour as you turn your head to make out who is the cause of your heart attack, preparing yourself for the screaming match you’re very well mentally ready for.

Up until… you notice who’s standing behind you, offering you a gentle smile.

“Sorry. Did I scare you?” he asks, laughing softly at your shaken composure.

“I almost died, dude!” you scold him, shaking your head at the boy. Something inside of you lights up at the idea of a distraction from your workload, your heart squeezing on itself when you scan your visitor over– from the bottom of his feet cladded in simple Nike pandas to the top of his head covered not only by a beanie, but also the hood of his gray sweater.

“Sorry,” he once again apologizes, eyes glimmering in amusement.

“What are you even doing here?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion and checking the time on your laptop. “The movie starts in a few minutes!”

Out of all the people on the whole entire planet, Eric Sohn is the last person you’d expect to appear in the library exactly at this moment. The sheer presence of him right in front of you makes you blink a few times in hopes of figuring out if his existence is not a fata morgana, watching as the boy only shrugs at you in nonchalance.

“Ah, that…” he hums. “I actually brought you a treat, since you said you will be stuck in the library the whole day,” he says, offering you a bag containing something sweet-smelling.

Once you take a better look at what he’s holding in front of you, your stomach churns and your tastebuds yearn for the sugary dough he must have gotten in the bakery at the corner of the campus on his way here– pink glazing and colorful sprinkles, almost bringing tears into your eyes in appreciation. “What? Why?” you ask. “You didn’t have to…”

“I figured there was no use going to the cinema if you’re not going,” he explains– his words making a nervous little bug fly around your stomach. “Since I’m sure Sunwoo and Izzy wanted to go alone anyways, I didn’t wanna be a third-wheel.”

Oh. Right. You forgot about that part.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave them alone together, to be honest,” you say, making Eric chuckle at your comment.

“This might either be the best, or the worst thing on the whole entire planet.”

“Agreed,” you nod.

Eric sends you a prolonged look in which you realize you haven’t accepted his offering yet, making you reach for the bag containing the donut and placing it onto the table, right next to your laptop. “But really, thank you,” you nod, “you didn’t have to. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing…”

“I wanted to make your stay in the library more pleasant,” Eric says, shrugging. His figure is still towering over you– as he’s standing and you’re sitting down– something about the fact making you wish he would take a seat next to you and maybe even stay for a minute. “I imagine it’s gonna be a long day for you…”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “All thanks to my stupid internship and my stupid boss and this stupid assignment…” you ramble, watching as Eric’s lips turn into a soft smile. What he’s smiling at, you’re not really sure– the topic of the conversation is already miserable enough for you without actually doing any of the things you’re complaining about– but you drop it as the boy crouches next to you, putting his arm around your chair.

“What do you need to do?” he asks, interested.

“I just need to finish this spreadsheet,” you hum, “which isn’t that hard, it’s just a lot of tedious work that no one wants to do, so of course it falls on the intern.”

“That’s the beauty of an internship,” Eric jokes.

“Do you even intern?”

“No,” he laughs, shaking his head. “But I’d like to see what it’s like. Want help with that? I can read the numbers out for you so you don’t get lost in all those rows and columns,” he suggests, pointing to the amount of reports waiting at your desk, waiting to be digitized.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you sheepishly say, although touched with the offer. He’s probably only saying it to be nice– but that’s still enough for appreciation to grow in your chest. “You don’t have to stay and do boring things with me just because we were supposed to hang out today. Actually, you should hurry so you can get to the cinema on time–”

In your peripheral vision, you watch as the boy stands up from his crouched position only to pull out a chair from one of the empty seats, placing it next to yours so he has a view of your laptop. Before you get a chance to protest any longer, he’s sat in the seat with one of his legs popped up and resting on the bottom construction of your chair, hands reaching for the papers that you could physically drown in sprawled all over your desk.

“Don’t be silly. I’d rather do anything else than to watch Sunwoo embarrassingly try to flirt with your friend,” he chuckles. “So, which numbers do you need?”

“Eric, really–”

“These ones?” he persists, not even giving you a chance to protest any longer.

Eyes meeting– his big and honest, a warm pool of honey– yours a little tired, but still filled with tender appreciation, he waits for you to answer and explain how he can help you. He patiently awaits your instructions, wanting to make your life a bit easier– and something about that makes your heart leap in your chest.

You guess you’d say you and Eric are friends now. Yeah, you definitely are.

“Look, the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can get out of here and get another donut with me on your way home. Because trust me, I thought I could resist, but the more I look at the one I brought you, the more I kinda want one for myself…”

Laughing, you shake your head at his boyish antics. He looks so casual right now– like someone cut out of your everyday life, like someone you’ve known for years and are destined to know forever.

You show him which row he should read out loud for you. You share the donut with him. It takes a bit longer than you expected and the donut place is closed when he walks with you home, but he assures you it’s okay– you can get one another time.

“Five iced americanos, two lattes, one iced tea– do you want anything?” Jihoon turns to you with raised eyebrows, getting a look of your sulking face.

“No,” you bite back, anger getting the worst out of you.

“Okay, so we’ll also add another americano and a flat white, please,” your coworker slash friend turns back towards the barista, smiling at him and paying with the corporate card.

After the two of you move into the line waiting for drinks, you continue on with your little tangent.

“So they think they can make me do all the dirty work, leave me with no time to do anything and announce tasks at the last second, only to be bitchy and don’t even say thank you when I do everything they tell me to?” you snap, scowling at Jihoon. “And then they decide that oh, maybe I’m not good enough to do all those fucking spreadsheets for them, so I am demoted to a coffee runner?!” you yell out, having the heads of the rest of the customers turn to you with annoyed and concerned looks on their faces.

“Okay, so we are going to calm down–”

“I don’t wanna calm down!”

Jihoon laughs at your little outburst– which only makes you more frustrated– before he puts a finger against your lips to silent you, an amused expression taking over his face. “Don’t scream when we are inside, at least.”

After his finger leaves your lips, you are left staring at him with a sharp look– like a child that is mad because it didn’t get a new toy it liked in the store. You acknowledge that you might be acting a bit overly-dramatic at the moment, but you also still think your feelings and thoughts are justified.

You hate the corporate lifestyle. You despise how you have to be a stuck-up to climb it, and how hard work never truly gets you anywhere if you don’t have connections.

Which is why Liu Yangyang is currently helping your boss with all major tasks, getting the experience he truly needs for his degree, while you and Jihoon were sent to get coffee for the whole office. Amazing, isn’t it? The way you can feel so looked down upon, even though you’re aware this is the place you’re supposed to be in, this is how you’re supposed to be treated.

You’re just an intern, nothing else. But sometimes, the uneven weight of responsibilities you get at work makes you stressed and nervous that one day, you’ll have too much on your shoulders to bear while all the other time, you aren’t even worthy of a normal task.

“I hope each and every one of them burns their tongue on that fucking coffee,” you grunt, making Jihoon only laugh harder.

“At least half of them ordered iced americanos, babe.”

A sigh escapes your throat at that. “Okay, so I hope they all spill the drink onto them,” you refute, making Jihoon grin.

“You’re so petty,” he points out as he stands close to you, suddenly deciding to use you as his own personal armrest. “Besides, I think you should appreciate that you don’t have to do a lot today, don’t you think? It’s nice to get a breather. I know I wouldn’t wanna be in Yangyang’s shoes right now.”

“I guess so,” you sigh, looking up to meet the tall boy’s eyes. “But it makes me feel like they don’t think we’re good enough for anything else.”

“And if that’s my crime, then so be it,” he playfully shrugs. “At least I’ll have the experience on my CV and I can graduate.”

“I’d love to have your mindset,” you muse.

“It’s quite easy, actually,” he nods. “You should get it into that pretty brain of yours,” he says as one of his fingers points to the side of your skull, making you scrunch your nose at him and try to avert the contact.

Jihoon is persistent, though, as he suddenly makes it his quest to ruffle your hair to tease you and make it all disheveled. The two of you get into a play-fight of some sort, consisting of you trying to wrestle the boy off and him trying to make your life a living hell in any way he can, when he abruptly stops and raises his eyebrows at someone behind you, offering them a wave.

“Yo, dude! Hi!” he greets, making you turn your head to see who he is addressing.

There, standing just a few meters in front of you in the line, is Eric Sohn wearing cargo pants and a loose shirt, earphones hanging around the base of his neck. After being greeted by your friend, he moves closer to the two of you, smiling.

“Hi!” he says, paying both of you an up-and-down scan. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Jihoon replies for the both of you, settling to his previous position of resting half his body-weight against your shoulder. You’ve grown used to his nature– playful and friendly, much like an older brother would act– so you don’t really mind the casual touch and teasing from him. “We were sent here to get coffee for the whole building, so we’re just doing that while Y/N here complains about everything–”

“I don’t complain about everything, just the systematic oppression of interns in the workplace–”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Jihoon cuts you off, snickering. “What about you?”

Eric watches the two of you bickering with furrowed brows before he clears his throat, shrugging. “On my way to class,” he says, “I’m late already, so I figured a few more minutes while I get my coffee won’t hurt me in the long run.”

“Very responsible of you,” you joke, watching as the boy in front of you laughs, paying you a short look.

“Look, I don’t have any big responsibilities like the two of you do, so…”

“Y/N, on the contrary, doesn’t think getting coffee for the corporate people is enough of a responsibility,” Jihoon chimes in, making Eric’s eyes shift towards the taller boy, sending him a look slightly different to the one he gives you.

“She just doesn’t really know how to chill out,” Eric nods.

“Hello?” you snicker. “I’m literally right here.”

The shorter one looks at you with glimmering eyes, shrugging. “It’s something you have to hear,” he notes. “Truth hurts, but it’s better than lying to yourself.”

Just after that, an order is called that makes Eric’s attention perk up, turning around to the barista. “I think that’s me,” he says, taking a step back towards the counter to retrieve his coffee. “I better get going, but it was nice seeing you two,” he nods.

“Us two…” Jihoon whispers next to you, making you look at him with furrowed brows, confused.

“It was nice seeing you too!” you nod instead, smiling.

“I’ll see you around!” Eric says. Before he completely disappears to the top of the line and out of the coffee shop, he turns to you one more time. “Oh and Y/N, we should hang out again sometime… Text me?”

“Oh, sure,” you agree, your stomach fueled with a strange kind of sensation at his words. You know you should’ve had breakfast in the morning– surely it’s just you being hungry. “I’ll- I’ll text you.”

Only after Jihoon waves at him, finally ridding you off the burden of being his personal armrest, do you realize how hot you feel in your cheeks and how you’ve spent the last couple of seconds carefully, intensively watching Eric get his coffee and step out of the building. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, the atmosphere suddenly too quiet to the one there was between the two of you before Eric Sohn arrived, you feel Jihoon elbow you in your side.

“So,” he starts, already hinting that this is going to be a difficult conversation, “what’s up with you and Sohn?”

“Hm?” you snap your head around to face him, almost breaking your neck with the force. “What do you mean, what’s up with me and Eric? There’s nothing up between the two of us.”

“Sure… and he wasn’t staring at me like he wanted to personally kill me with his own two hands just now, correct?” he teases, making you stop in your tracks.

Was Eric looking at him like that? You didn’t even notice.

“Correct,” you agree. “I don’t really think he was…”

“And my name is not Jihoon–”

“Stop being so difficult to talk to all the time, dear god–”

“Okay, miss ‘I find Eric Sohn to be the hottest one in the world’–”

“When have I ever said that?!” you call out again, suddenly feeling a little too hot in your cheeks, ears, and the back of your neck. What’s up with this visceral reaction? You swear you were nonchalant about these things!

“Oh, sorry, let me correct myself. It was the hottest one in the room, actually, but I think that speaks for itself, since Lee Heeseung himself was present–”

“Are you jealous, or something?” you choose to counter attack, leaving Jihoon to laugh at you in amusement.

“As if,” he shakes his head at you. “I just think it’s cute how whenever I see you two interact, he acts like a lost puppy following you and you’re too oblivious to do anything about it.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you furrow your brows at him, the words not even fully registering in your brain. What does he even mean by all of this? You and Eric are friends– that’s all there is to it.

“Sure… stay being like that and end up a bitchless loser forever, then,” he shrugs. You’d react more to his pointless arguments– because let’s be real, he is just making all of this up to stir some drama– but your awfully long order is called right in the moment you open your mouth to come up with a clever comeback, and so you choose to drop the topic, because it’s quite meaningless in your eyes anyway.

Walking back with two cup holders in your hands, fulfilling your one and only task of the day, you turn to Jihoon with a teasing grin. “Wait, did you just call Lee Heeseung sexy?”

“It was purely objective–”

“I really hate this, y’know?” you mutter as you stand in front of the gates of the amusement park, your cheerful roommate standing by your side bouncing on her feet as she waits in excitement.

“Shut up,” she says, a smile never leaving her face despite your gloomy expression, “don’t ruin this for me.”

“Well, it’s either you or me that is going to have their day ruined, and I think that judging by the fact that I’m already here, we know which one is going to turn true,” you say as you aimlessly look around, watching people going in and out of the premises of the park, some with goofy headbands on, some holding balloons– all of them sickly in love.

“It’s not like I invited you to a funeral, y’know,” Izzy grunts, “you could just act happy for me. It wouldn’t hurt you, y’know–”

“I would act happy for you if you didn’t feel the need to drag me to your dates with you–”

“Stop being such a party popper, dude. You’re going to have fun if you just allow yourself to,” she rolls her eyes at you. Yeah, she might be right about some parts of her argument– you got free tickets to the amusement park, which you love, just for the record– and you also have a day off from your internship and classes, which makes any day basically the best day on earth for you, but there is one thing about this whole situation that is making you doubt it just the tiniest bit.

That being the fact that you’re tagging along to a date. And you’re not alone in it– which automatically makes this whole thing seem a little too similar to a double date.

“I just don’t want him to think I see this as a–”

Your argument is quickly shut off as your roommate physically squeals into your ear before running off, feet automatically taking her to her sweetheart. Sunwoo is quick to catch her in his arms when she jumps into his hold, excited to see him despite hanging out with him two days ago, and you’re left walking slowly to the two approaching figures alone.

The moment you see Eric Sohn wearing tan cargo pants and a red windbreaker over his figure, your throat goes dry. His eyes light up a bit when they land on you, which makes the reality of not being able to run away anymore settle deep inside of your bones, and suddenly, you feel strangely nervous in his vicinity.

This hasn’t happened to you yet around him– if you don’t count all the moments where you embarrassed yourself in front of him, feeling painfully awkward. However, the fact that this whole situation is too similar to a double date is making you feel slightly weak in your knees simply because of the fact that you don’t want Eric to think you want this to be a double date. You only went because Izzy promised to wash the dishes for you for two weeks if you did, and that’s an offer nobody should turn down, you think.

The idea of Eric Sohn thinking you want to go on a double date with him makes you feel agonizingly embarrassed. You two are just friends– nothing more, nothing less– and you wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea. You would never think of yourself as someone Eric would invite over for a date in the first place anyway– you don’t want him to have a feeling that you suddenly have high thoughts about yourself.

“Y/N! Hi!” Your thoughts are quickly cut off when you hear the boy himself greet you cheerfully, walking up to you to envelope you in a short hug.

His arms sneak around you only for a moment, but you feel yourself automatically reciprocating the gesture before it even has a chance to register in your brain. You don’t really know when the two of you passed to the level of friendship where you greet each other with a hug– maybe the few text messages you shared since you last saw him in the coffee shop might have done the work– but you try to not question it when he pulls away, leaving you awkwardly standing around and watching Sunwoo and your roommate gaze romantically into each other’s eyes.

“Today’s gonna be tough,” Eric notes.

Chuckling at his words, knowing he’s referring to the honeymoon stage your friends have somehow ended up in– because you still can’t believe Izzy managed to date the boy after her embarrassing attempts– you just shake your head and move towards the entrance of the amusement park, not really wanting to pay any more attention to the couple than you have to.

“It is,” you agree, “I wouldn’t have agreed to go for this exact reason, but the idea of rides persuaded me,” you hum.

“I only went because this was the only way I could get a day off at work,” Eric mutters, “my stupid sister insisted I come with Sunwoo or else she wouldn’t cover my shift.”

“That’s strange,” you chuckle, furrowing your eyebrows at him. “Why would she care?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “said something about ‘enjoying my youth’, or something,” he grins. “I don’t really even like amusement parks, if I’m being honest.”

“You don’t?” you gasp, shaking your head at the boy. “Damn. I would think you’re an adrenaline junkie, if I’m being honest.”

“I am!” he agrees, nodding. “The other day, though, I saw a Tiktok about a ride breaking down somewhere in Japan, and that was the same day Sunwoo invited me here, so I think it might’ve been a sign from the universe to not go on any of these rides, or else I will die.”

Laughing at his words, shaking your head, you lightly slap his arm at the comment. “Don’t say that,” you tell him, “you’re just being a scaredy cat, admit it.”

“No…” he suspiciously shakes his head, very obviously lying.

“Yeah, right…” you snicker. “I mean, it’s okay, dude. I won’t laugh.”

“You’re already laughing, though?” Eric points out, an accusing finger in your face. His actions make you burst into even bigger giggles, eyes meeting his. When your gaze lands onto his face– the upper half shielded by the shade casted off his cap, yet still having his eyes crinkled up and cheeks full as he grins at you wide and warm in the sunlight– your stomach does that weird thing again, completely ruining the moment.

Clearing your throat, trying to keep your composure, you turn your head to search for Izzy and Sunwoo. The moment you catch them in makes your eyes go big and a grunt leave your throat involuntarily– the PDA making you even sicker to your stomach. While Sunwoo is standing in front of your roommate, his arms securely around her middle, she is gazing up into his eyes with a pout decorating her lips. The boy holds her cheeks in his hands for a brief moment before he leans in and gives her a short kiss that makes the girl stand up on her tippy toes, chasing for another one.

“Oh wow,” you let out, making Eric sigh next to you at the sight.

“Now that’s…”

“Yeah,” you nod while you turn back forward, trying your hardest to not look at the two of them any longer than you physically have to. “I knew they would be like that if they started dating. It’s like my worst nightmares came true.”

“Sunwoo can’t stop talking about her either. I’m starting to think I will know more about your roommate than you do, at this rate.”

“You might,” you agree, laughing to yourself. “With how many nights she’s spent at his place, I’m starting to think she’s going to move out soon.”

“Well, that’s only good for you then, no?”

“Yeah,” you agree, joking. “The only reason why I still keep her around is to pay half the rent, if I’m being honest,” you chuckle, having the boy shake his head at your playful antics.

The two of you move forwards slowly while looking around the place, trying to see what you should do. The sun is strangely aggressive today, making it hard for you to see as you squint in the brightness– since the amusement park doesn’t really provide you with much shade– only making you a bit more frustrated with your choice of plans today.

“Should we get some drinks first?” Eric asks, pointing towards a stand that sells coffee, milkshakes and other beverages.

The line is long, but you don’t really see a reason not to wait. You have the whole day in front of you, after all, and since it seems to you that Sunwoo and Izzy have taken it upon themselves to ignore you two completely, acting like this was their own date, you choose to stick to whatever Eric wants to do.

As you move to stand next to him– while also moving out of someone’s way– the back of your hand comes in contact with the boy’s next to you, having a slight wave of electricity run through your spine as you clear your throat and move away from him, wishing he didn’t notice. You take it upon yourself to look around to see what your next choice of plan should be.

After ignoring many couples walking around– since it seems that you chose a day when no other visitors were around, just teenagers holding hands and kissing in front of the rides (much like your friends are doing right now)– you opt to point your eyes at the horizon, looking at the tall constructions and rides. You have to shield your eyes from the sun with your hand to really see them, but the sight of them excites you a bit, so you guess it’s worth it. Squinting at the Pirate ride or the big rollercoaster twisting and turning like a caterpillar in the distance, you make a mental note of all the attractions you want to visit today.

Slowly moving to the top of the line to get coffee with Eric, you continue gazing behind him, blissfully unaware that he’s been watching you the whole time, noticing your little struggle.

“After we get the coffee, I wanna go on that roller coaster there,” you hum, “and I’m bringing you with me, because Sunwoo and Izzy–”

Your words get caught in your throat as the man suddenly moves the hand you’ve been resting against your eyebrows to shield your eyes from the sunlight down, replacing it by taking his cap off and making you wear it. Your heart jumps at the action, eyes finally relaxing now that they’re in shade, making you gulp and stare at Eric.

“You don’t have to–”

“I have my sunglasses with me, so it’s fine,” he says, tugging the peak further down your head in a teasing way, a smile adorning his face.

You forgot what you were even saying in the first place– the idea of Eric’s hat on your head making your brain overheat a little with the added fabric on top of your hair. It’s the same cap you see on him often– his favorite one, you think– and your stupid, silly brian is starting to make connotations around the action that you’re sure are not correct.

You can’t say you’re not happy about wearing it, though. It does help your eyes.

“You were saying?” he asks, making you look back at him with big eyes, trying to think of what you were talking about before.

“Oh,” you hum, while also simultaneously reaching to fix his hair– since he hasn’t bothered to after taking off his hat for you– not even thinking about your actions as you run your fingers through the honey strands, “I was just saying you’re gonna have to go on some rides with me, because the lovebirds are ignoring us and I am not going alone,” you repeat.

When you’re done moving the blonde locks to their supposed place, eyes drifting back to Eric’s– now big and watching your every move, making you falter a little under his gaze and heat creep onto your cheeks– it’s his turn to clear his throat, shrugging.

“You’ll have to hold my hand when I get scared, though,” he says. The casualty of his tone shocks you, having you watch as the boy averts his gaze from you and presses his lips together into a thin line, not even paying a second thought to the implications of his words.

You pay them a second thought, though.

You keep repeating the words in your brain over and over, fingertips buzzing at the preposition, hands sweating at the mental image. Do you mind the thought of it?

Well, no. You don’t.

Not a big deal, after all…

“What did you want again? Flat white?” he asks, completely ignoring the previous conversation. You didn’t even realize you got to the top of the line, too deep in your thoughts, and before you have a chance to take out your wallet to pay for your drink (or maybe even Eric’s, since he paid the last time), he is holding the cup up to you already.

As you take it from him, your fingers touch again. It makes a warm pool of honey glisten in the pit of your stomach, foolishness creeping up your bones.

The boy takes it upon himself to shock you even further as he swings an arm around your shoulders, tugging you close to him. “Let’s go back to the lovebirds before they forget about our existence completely.”

You choose to ignore the fact that you forgot about their existence yourself.

When you get on the ride a few minutes later, Eric holds onto your hand. Your heart beats a thousand miles an hour, but you will write it off to the adrenaline– you do, however, foolishly wish he was scared more often.

Turns out having Park Jihoon as your coworker isn’t as bad as it seems. Sure, he is good at making the atmosphere lighter in the office and also amazing at gossip in the workplace, but he is also surprisingly very good at his job– and with the date of your presentation fastly approaching, you had to get all the help you needed.

Which is why you made the boy sit with you in the park as you went over it again and again, showing him your laptop and rehearsing your speech, taking notes of every little thing Jihoon said you should fix or add into the whole thing. You genuinely appreciate what he’s doing for you, which is why you also remind yourself to get him something after the internship is done– but after at least two hours of working on your laptop with him, he gets tired and his attention span seems to get shorter and shorter– and you don’t really blame him.

Actually, you welcome the distractions he offers with open hands. Even more so, you add on to them and fuel them with more conversation, the laptop opened on your thighs long forgotten as you search through your gallery and show the phone screen to your friend, talking about the cute pillows you found at the store last week.

“See? They’re like… sea foam green, but Izzy says they wouldn’t go with our couch,” you hum, furrowing your brows at him, trying to see a different opinion on your newest choice of furniture for the already overcrowded flat.

“What color is your couch again?” he asks as you keep swiping, showing him all the angles of the pillows.

“Brown.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jihoon shakes his head, “that’s a Perry the platypus type of combo, I’m with Izzy on this one– oop, that doesn’t look like the pillows anymore–”

Swiftly turning the phone towards you again, worried of what picture you accidentally revealed to him (while you don’t have any nudes on your phone, you’re sure any selfie would be just as much embarrassing), you’re left with heat rising to your cheeks and shame drowning your system.

“Well, anyways, so the pillows–”

“We’re not talking about the pillows anymore, girl–”

“We are–”

“No,” he keeps interrupting you, making you grunt and sigh as you rest your head against the trunk of the tree behind you, banging it against it in frustration.

“Shut up,” you mutter. The thing is, you know you won’t escape the teasing now– because Park Jihoon watching you swipe through your gallery to a high-angle selfie of Eric Sohn in his work uniform, pouting, is surely a very incriminating image. “We text on Whatsapp and he sent the pic, so it automatically saved–”

“And you just never deleted it, naturally,” Jihoon hums with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I forgot–”

“You just didn’t want to–”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” you sigh again, locking your phone and throwing it into the grass.

You and Eric have grown close since the day you spent together in the amusement park. So much to the point where you get lunch together sometimes and he sends you selfies when he’s bored at work, it seems. You don’t mind the subtle shift– hell, you welcome it with open arms– you just wish Park Jihoon (and Izzy, at this point) would stop teasing you about something that was not even vaguely true.

There is nothing going on between you and Eric Sohn.

And nothing ever will be– not a chance.

“I think the denial is being a little embarrassing now,” Jihoon chirps, making you swat his shoulder. You are not in denial– there is nothing to deny.

“You are being a little embarrassing.”

“You know I’m right,” Jihoon shrugs, grinning. Does he not have enough drama in his own life to stick his nose into yours? Not that there is any drama between you and Eric– but you bet Park Jihoon would love to create some.

“You’re never right.”

“Sure,” Jihoon hums. “I’ll mention this on your wedding speech–”

“I’ll kill you before I get married,” you grunt.

“But you didn’t deny the identity of the groom–”

Launching at the boy again, a threatening fist almost landing to his cheek, you watch as he wrestles you away with a loud laugh resonating through the space. Something about how lightly he takes the situation makes your stomach churn in an unknown emotion– you really don’t see why everyone thinks there should be something going on between you and your childhood friend.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if you want this to be a thing, maybe you should finally make a move, since the guy seems to be dull as fuck–”

Interrupting, never letting him finish a sentence when it comes to this topic, you try to finally prove your point. “I don’t want this to be a thing. I don’t even know what you’re talking–”

“I should go before I’m killed,” Jihoon suddenly hurries out, making you furrow your brows at him.

“What?”

“See you on Monday!” the tall male waves, scattering to his feet. He doesn’t give you much explanation as he runs off to the other side of the campus, making you watch him with confused eyes. Where has he gone so quickly? He doesn’t want to be killed?

By whom? Should you be afraid? Should you run as well?

Somebody clears his throat next to you, making you jump as you turn your head to see who is disrupting your peace. The moment your eyes meet the intruder, Jihoon’s comment finally settles in– god, you’ll kill him when you see him again.

“Eric! What are you doing here?” you ask, watching as the boy shrugs, taking a seat next to you on the grass.

“Just got off work,” he says, “and you said you’ll be here, so I thought I’d come and say hi,” he hums, yawning and stretching his arms above his head.

The sentiment makes you mentally coo– the emotion going as far as reaching your face in a form of a gentle pout– as you dwell deeper over his words. You didn’t think that complaining about how you have to do work would make Eric think of visiting you after finishing his own, but something about it makes you all warm from the inside.

“You didn’t have to,” you hum. “You seem tired.”

A gentle smile is sent your way, so illuminizing it makes you look away. “I know, but I wanted to,” he says, “I also brought you leftovers, if you want some. It’s almost dinner time.”

An involuntary gasp leaves your throat as you watch the male take out an aluminum wrap from his backpack and offer it to you alongside his bright grin. You waste no time in taking the pizza slices into your hand and carefully unwrapping them, allured by the smell.

“Why did Jihoon run so fast, by the way?” Eric asks, laughing.

“Oh, he said he was late for something…” you hum. (You’re not even convinced of your own excuse. You don’t know how Eric doesn’t see right through your lies.)

“Ah,” the boy nods in acknowledgement, scooping closer to you so his back is now resting against the tree, his eyes gluing themselves onto your laptop screen. His piney smell fills your nose, making your stomach feel like it’s on water, before his soft, tired voice lands into your ear. “Did you make a lot of progress?”

“Mhm,” you nod, clicking through the slides and showing him. The boy makes an acknowledging sound after each new information you tell him– something that makes you find him immensely endearing– as you simultaneously reach for the pizza and mindlessly offer the slice you’ve already bitten into to him, watching as his straight teeth chew down into the dough, sharing one piece with you.

“Are you done for the day? I’ll walk you home,” he says, tiredness completely seeping through his tone now. You can tell he needs sleep– which makes you feel slightly bad about making him take a detour just to meet you.

“Almost,” you hum apologetically, closing your laptop. “I just need to read a few more articles Jihoon recommended for me and then I should be done,” you say, reaching for your iPad as you put your computer away into your bag.

“Okay,” he nods.

“You can go home, Eric,” you say, “you don’t have to stay for me.”

“No, it’s fine,” he shakes his head, smiling at you.

Watching him, eyes meeting for a heartbeat, you see that he won’t budge no matter how harshly you’d tell him to go– so you figure that quickly getting through the articles and going home is your safest bet in this situation. Tapping on the screen and finding the email Jihoon forwarded to you, you open the first link in the message, subconsciously registering as the boy next to you gets comfortable sitting in the grass with you.

You only get through half of the (lengthy) article before you see Eric’s head lolling forwards, sleep taking over him. The motion wakes him, but not for long as he just can’t keep his eyes open anymore– the combination of a long shift, classes in the morning and finishing up his assignments late in the night getting the worst out of him and making you feel immensely bad for the boy. Not focused on the words in the article anymore, you watch as your friend scooches further down in the grass, acting on instinct as his head suddenly rests against your shoulder, soft hair tickling the side of your neck.

Heart leaping in your chest and whole body freezing– begging the universe to not make the boy wake up from his half-asleep state right now– you try your hardest to pay attention to the business tactics described in the article you’ve been reading for the last couple of minutes. It seems to be the hardest task you’ve ever set your mind on, though, as you notice the screen of your tablet getting dark, mirroring Eric’s relaxed face.

His neck is craned and his eyes are closed shut, making you turn your head to watch the sight first-hand, mentally counting all the eyelashes kissing his cheekbones and his puffed-out lips. Something about his pose doesn’t seem the tiniest bit comfortable, though– although it makes a strange wave of satisfaction run through your veins– and so, like any other decent person, you gently cradle your fingers through his hair, waking him up.

“Hmm?”

“Your neck is gonna be sore,” you quietly say as you put your arm around his shoulder, “just lay down, yeah?” you say, doing your best at adjusting his position.

The male lets you navigate him with half-lidded eyes as you make him scooch even further down into the grass before you pull his upper body towards your lower half, essentially making the boy lay his head into your lap. Eric looks up at you from his new position for just a few seconds, eye contact reminding you of a small, shy puppy you just brought home from the road, making you smile softly and treat him as one when you instinctively reach out and pet his head, running your fingers through his soft strands and gently scratching his scalp.

After a few seconds, the male closes his eyes again, seemingly drifting off into the dreamland. Your actions soothe him and simultaneously bring you into some sort of trance you can’t bring yourself out of– eyes glued to his face, studying it.

The angle of his nose and the slope of his upper lip is much more enjoyable to study and memorize than the sales statistics of your job’s concurrency. You find his long eyelashes to be nothing far from angelic, his light hair like a crown of gold under your touch. Everything about him is soft and gentle in this state– with the golden hour shining down onto his features, making his skin glisten like honey– the view so pretty you’d like to take a picture to remember it forever.

Your head spins and your stomach does that weird thing again. This is not the first time you are acknowledging Eric’s attractiveness– just the first time you are appreciating his beauty, his prettiness to the point where you are enchanted by it, not able to tear your attention away. You can’t deny the fact that it affects you anymore.

You can’t deny the fact you feel around him lately. It makes you feel strange and embarrassed, but not to the point where you’d want to keep away from him.

Your iPad is thrown next to you on the grass, forgotten and abandoned. You’re jealous of the sun– for it’s able to kiss his cheeks without fear, without judgment– the boy turning into a putty under your touch, subconsciously leaning into it when you drag his light bangs away from his forehead.

You admit the fact that you stopped working on your project the moment he arrived, not able to put your attention elsewhere than to his presence. You’re also aware he’d sleep better and more comfortably in his own bed, but for some reason, you selfishly want to keep him there– looking like a painting, something akin to a poem you wish you wrote.

Just for the moment, you let the reality down on you– that maybe Park Jihoon was right and there is no use denying the obvious anymore. Just for the moment, you let the feeling consume you, eat you alive. For now, though, the boy in your lap is all yours to admire. Blissfully unaware and painfully beautiful, soft and gentle all around.

The feeling inside of you is too raw, too real and so much different to anything you’ve ever known before.

When you’re satisfied with the dose of skinship, you wake the boy up and let him walk you home. You pretend for a moment the feeling is reciprocated and not left scared and lonely out in the open as Eric helps you carry your stuff for you and pulls you into a bear hug in front of your doorstep. You don’t tell him that you had the scariest realization while he was soundly asleep in your arms– it’s too scary and too real and you’re not ready to get your heart broken just yet.

You pretend everything’s like before. Normal.

You convince yourself that it will pass.

Once you enter the place, you’re instantly surrounded by the sound of people talking amongst each other, forks and glasses being put down, resonating through the whole place, the phone ringing somewhere in the distance, and a cold shot of liquid coming in contact with your stomach, making you gasp out in surprise.

“Oh shit!” Sunwoo grunts as he registers the mess he just caused, looking up at you with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry!”

Noticing the rush everywhere in the pizzeria and the amount of customers he has to take care of, you can’t really blame him for not watching where he’s going. Still, your face slowly morphs into a subtle frown at the realization that there is now a dark stain on your favorite white T-shirt, your outfit for the evening ruined– meaning half of your confidence disappeared just as fast as the Coca-Cola did from the glass Sunwoo has been holding.

“It’s okay,” you sigh, shaking your head. “It’s nothing–”

“I’ll get you a towel! I’ll be right back,” the boy urgently says as he makes you hold the half-empty glass of the beverage he just spilled all over you, making you shrug and question if you should just drink the rest of it as a price of consolation.

“Dude, this place is packed,” Izzy grunts from next to you, “can’t even blame him for being all over the place, at this point.”

“Yeah,” you absent-mindledly nod, eyes searching in the crowd to find the figure you came here for in the first place. Not that you only want his presence, no– it’s just that Eric was the one who invited you to the festival your university is throwing as a celebration of the end of the semester. Supposedly, he knows the guy that’s playing in the band that’s headlining it, and even though you tried to refute his arguments and invitations with the fact that you have nothing to be celebrating just yet– the final season is surely going to kick your butt and the presentation for your internship is in just two days, which means you should be preparing for it really hard right in this moment, but his pleading voice in your speaker as you talked to him on the phone on your way home from class was strong enough to convince you that maybe you do need some time to wind off before the responsibilities sweep you off your feet again.

Once you find the boy himself walking away from one of the tables in the corner, his eyes find yours– as if knowing you’ve been looking for him, sensing your presence. His face is outstretched into a smile as he practically skips towards you and Izzy, but the grin leaves his features swiftly once he notices the ugly stain on your shirt.

“Damn, what happened?” he asks.

“Sunwoo spilled a drink over me,” you shrug, watching as his coworker rolls his eyes in frustration at the new information. You laugh at his fakely mad expression, shaking your head at him. “It’s fine, he was in a rush.”

“Yeah, we’re kinda behind, so I don’t know if–”

“No, it’s fine!” you hear a female voice call out, making you snap your head towards the direction of the counter behind you, noticing the presence of Lisa, Eric’s older sister. Her face is adorned with a wide grin that gets a teasing hint when her brother sends her a questioning look, making you watch the interaction with interest. “You said you’re leaving at 7, so you’re leaving at 7. I told dad my friends are coming up to help today, so you just go and enjoy your time out!”

“Really?” Eric asks, tone full of disbelief. You think he spends more time at the restaurant than he does in his own bedroom, and suddenly, you’re happy his sister is being so kind towards the poor boy.

“Yeah! You have more important business to take care of anyway, so…” Lisa says, wiggling her eyebrows at Eric. The boy sends her a look full of fear– which might be justified, since you don’t really know what’s going on at the moment– before he clears his throat and turns his attention back towards you.

“Anyways…” he starts, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “You can change into my shirt, if you want…? I have a spare one in the back in a case of emergency, and this surely looks like one, so–”

“Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have to–”

“I mean, the stain is pretty noticeable, so I was just–” he says.

“It’s fine, Eric, I’ll just wash it in the sink, or something.”

“Or you can take my shirt that does not have a stain on it. I swear it doesn’t smell, I only wore it once! I’ll wear the one I forgot in my locker the other day,” he says, looking at you with wide, expecting eyes. Your heart does a flip in your ribcage.

You have to mentally restrain yourself from freaking out over this. He’s just being nice. He’s offering you his shirt because he probably knows that you want to look good– he is offering you his shirt because he knows the stain on yours is bothering you and that it wouldn’t come out as easily in the sink if you don’t wash the shirt properly with laundry detergent that you don’t have on hand right now– and when you weight all the positives and negatives of the offer (which you find far less pros than cons in, just for the record), you realize you don’t really have a reason to decline his offer.

“I mean, if you’re sure…”

The boy only nods, gently takeing you by your forearm as he leads you towards the back. You’ve never been there before and you also don’t really know where Izzy disappeared to, but you stop worrying about those the same moment Eric opens his locker and hands you his black shirt, a tight-lipped smile adorning his features.

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thanks,” you nod. You wait for the door to close before you quickly drag your sticky T-shirt over your head and discard it off your chest, glad you’re ridded of the nasty feeling of it against your skin, fastly putting on the soft material that Eric draped onto your hold before on your upper body.

The smell of his cologne instantly hits you in the face stronger than a baseball ever could, making your head spin and your stomach feel like it’s floating in the middle of the sea. Taking a quick look at yourself in the mirror on the wall next to you, you admire the way the garment fits you just well– since the height difference between you and Eric is barely existent. It makes you wonder if you could share wardrobes– the mental image of him in your favorite oversized graphic T-shirts making a foolish smile creep onto your cheeks, one that you forcefully wipe off the second you see it in the mirror. You smooth down the fabric before you tuck one side into the waistband of your jeans, satisfied with your new outfit.

Giddy, you walk out of the storage room. It takes you a few moments to find your group of friends standing next to the counter, chatting. You notice that Sunwoo has already changed out of his work uniform into his regular clothes– a black band tee and camo cargo pants– one arm around Izzy’s shoulders.

“Ready?” your roommate asks, watching you nod.

“I’ll just go change and then we can go,” Eric says, swiftly turning on his heel and disappearing into the room you just came out of.

Izzy and Sunwoo talk amongst each other before they turn to you, finally deciding to include you in their conversation. “Excited for tonight? Eric said you need to destress,” Sunwoo raises his eyebrows at you, making you shrug.

“I guess,” you hum, “I think I practiced my presentation so many times I could recite it in my sleep now, but it also strangely feels like I don’t know it enough, y’know?” you say, shaking your head. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“I just think you need to take your mind off things, babe,” Izzy chirps, sending you a comforting smile. “You worked hard enough.”

“Well, we will find out soon if it really was enough,” you snicker, making your roommate glare at you with disapproval. Before she has a chance to ridicule you for your self-deprecating thoughts, you choose to change the topic instead, picking one that’s interesting her enough to forget all about your worries. “I heard from Izzy you wanna go bowling?”

“Yeah!” Sunwoo perks up, excitement swirling in his dark orbs. “I haven’t been in a while, actually. I was thinking us four could go after exams are done? As a celebration?”

You four. You find the fact that this is your new usual strange, but also welcome. How you fit into the group, your presence always counted on. Somewhere along the way, you fell into the causality of the friend group– and you can’t say you hate it as much as you thought you would.

“Yeah, I’m down,” you shrug. “I’ve never played, though.”

“Dude, you and Eric go so well together, then. He’s actually shit at it, so I would even go as far as saying you will be better than him after two tries,” Sunwoo laughs.

You and Eric go so well together– your brain repeats like a mantra. You know he didn’t mean it in that way. You can’t help but wonder– if you’d ask, would he further support his point?

“Speaking of Eric, what’s taking him so long? We’re gonna be late for the concert, at this point,” Izzy hums, checking the time on her phone.

“Should I go tell him to hurry?” you ask, receiving a pair of nods ushering you to go get him.

Taking a few steps towards the staff-only room, not thinking much before you pull the doorknob, you peep inside– regretting it immediately.

You’re met with the image of Eric turning towards the door to see who it is, shirtless. Your eyes can’t help but wander over the angles of his defined arms and stomach, making heat rush into your cheeks faster than you’ve ever felt it before, a broken noise escaping your throat as you pathetically try to both apologize and pretend you didn’t just have a visceral emotion to the sight of his bare body right there, a few meters away from you.

“Shit, sorry, I just–” you say as you turn on your heel, your body moving by itself and on its own accord as your brain flashes a few red exclamation marks right in front of your eyes, “they just– we should hurry, they said,” you mutter out, blanking.

“Coming!” Eric hums, the shuffling of clothes behind you making you believe he is now fully dressed. You won’t test your theory and look over your shoulder, though– you fear the dreams you’d have tonight if you saw him shirtless even for a second longer. You don’t take the initiative to leave the room either, though– feet glued to your spot right behind the door.

You hear the locker slammed shut, the sound of footsteps approaching making you all alert. God, you feel awkward. You feel embarrassingly awkward.

You find comfort in picking at the fabric of his shirt on your body, playing with it in between your fingers. After a moment, you feel his palm come in contact with your shoulder, his arm reaching around your figure as he leads you out of the storage room once again, completely ignoring your flustered state. You’re not sure if he’s uncomfortable or if he truly didn’t mind– but the moment he utters out his next comment, your knees almost buckle, making you breathless at the sight of his cheeks dusted a light pink.

Tugging at the sleeve of his own shirt adorning your body, he admits: “This looks really good on you, by the way.”

When you arrive at the festival, the band isn’t playing yet. You and your friends decide to hang out in the back of the crowd, not really wanting the music to blast straight into your ears from the speakers on the podium, and before you even have a chance to ask Eric who is the friend that’s singing in the band you’re here to see, the male disappears to find the toilets.

Chuckling at the fact that he couldn’t take care of the business before you left the pizzeria, but also suddenly too bored without him (since Izzy and Sunwoo don’t count as proper company when all they pay attention to at this point of their relationship is each other), you decide to get in the line for drinks, announcing your departure to the love birds before you go. You figure you should probably get a drink for Eric too, since he always makes it his quest to pay for yours before you even get a chance to take out your wallet, and you suddenly see his departure as the perfect opportunity to do just that– he won’t have a way to stop you this time.

Standing promptly at the end of the line, you people-watch and listen to conversations of the fellow students hanging around the field. The drink stands are the most occupied out of the whole festival, the crowd of people waiting for a beverage accumulating half the population waiting for the concert, making you almost regret going here alone, since it’s pretty boring to just stand around, doing nothing.

“Damn,” someone hums from behind you, making you turn around to face the stranger, “I’m doomed.”

Instinctively, you raise your brows in question at the male, only prompting him to speak more once you make eye contact.

“I’m playing on stage in a bit, but I wanted to get a beer before we start,” the guy states, chuckling. “At this rate, I’m gonna be late for my own set!”

The fact that one of the band members that are supposed to perform in just a few minutes is currently standing behind you in line for drinks is a little amusing, to be honest. You’d say it’s kind of irresponsible to get to your own gig late, but you guess the boy is living the lifestyle of a punk star already, despite bagging only a mere university concert.

“You should try skipping the line and saying you’re VIP, then,” you joke.

“And get killed? No, thank you,” the boy laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll just see if I can make it in 15 minutes. If I don’t, I’ll just make a run for it.”

Laughing, you nod in acknowledgement at his comment. You don’t really expect the conversation to go any further after that, but the stranger surprises you as he offers you his hand to shake, a lazy smile appearing on his face as he introduces himself.

“I’m Yeonjun, by the way,” he says.

“Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you smile, shaking his outstretched palm.

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” he hums, making a step towards you as the line moves, making you walk back a step to close the gap in the crowd. Still, he follows you a step further and invades your personal bubble, standing too close for someone you’ve just met.

“Maybe you have,” you shrug, “and you just don’t remember it.”

“I’d remember a pretty face like yours,” Yeonjun comments, making you bite back a laugh.

Is he flirting? Wow. You scan the male up and down, his self-assured stance making you believe that he is very confident in his persona. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s very attractive– plump lips, tall, shoulders broad– or maybe it’s the social status that comes with being in a band. Nonetheless, you can see the act working on many women.

Not you, though.

“Well, I study business, so maybe that’s why.”

The male nods, shrugging. “Maybe I’ll have to hang around the business building more often, then.”

“Maybe,” you nod, chuckling. “There's a bunch of weirdos majoring in Accounting out there, though, so I’d watch my back, if I was you.”

“Well, if it means I get to see your face, I can put that past me,” Yeonjun smirks, making you mentally roll your eyes at the cheesiness of his words.

You don’t really get affected by obvious pick-up lines like these. Not that you hear them often– quite the opposite, really– but you much prefer more natural dynamics. One where conversations feel easy and casual, not forced and with deeper intentions. You can’t deny Yeonjun’s attractiveness, no, but you also can’t really say it’s doing much for you.

Not really knowing what to reply, you awkwardly shrug. “And what do you major in, then?”

“Communications,” the male replies. Something in you clicks– is this the friend Eric was mentioning? You should ask him about Yeonjun after he comes back.

Before you even have a chance to open your mouth and say the words, the male cuts you off after taking a quick glance at his phone. “Look, Y/N, I’d love to get to know you more, but I really have to run now. But if you give me your number, we can get a drink together after my gig is done?”

“Oh–”

“That won’t be needed,” you hear a low voice coming from behind you, making your eyes snap towards the source. Your eyes go wide as you recognise the owner of the voice instantly, your heart hammering in your chest at the close proximity he puts between the two of you. “She’s with me, actually.”

“Eric, dude!” Yeonjun beams– confirming your suspicions. “Sorry dude, I didn’t know that was your girl.”

Your girl. The two words echo in your ears, making your world tilt slightly on its axis. It’s not even true– you’re not together and you’re not Eric’s in any way, shape or form– but something about being called that by other people while wearing his clothes makes you feel like you just shifted realities into one where you’re with him and not so scared of his rejection. One where you’re dating and you get to be called that all the time– one where the words are true.

You’re being foolish again.

You look at Eric in shock, noticing him already staring down at you with a panicked expression on his face. You don’t really know what’s going on in his head behind the shaking orbs of his, a tight-lipped smile offered to his mate as the tips of his ears burn red, a hesitant tone of voice making it known that the possessive words caught him off guard just as much as they did to you. “Well, not exactly…”

The male trails off. Your stomach does that weird thing again. You’d say there’s a soaring hint of hope in your chest, swimming around your intestines, that you want to simultaneously help and also drown in fear of holding on to something that is not even there in the first place, as you look back at Yeonjun. He is now staring the two of you down– shifting his gaze from one of you to the other, a knowing grin appearing on his lips as he processes the situation.

“O-oh… Okay, I see what you mean,” he nods, laughing. “Well, see you two later! I’mma head to the stage,” he pats Eric’s shoulder and waves at you before fully disappearing from the never-ending drink line.

A suffocating silence engulfs the two of you after his departure, making you nervously chew on the inside of your cheek. The thoughts running through your brain almost suffocate you before Eric brings air into your lungs again, making your inner monologue stop as he casually speaks up again, showing you that nothing has changed in your dynamic after this interaction and there is no reason for you to feel awkward with him right now.

You just need to silence your thoughts and feelings more efficiently. These slip-ups can’t keep happening.

“What will you have to drink?” he asks.

“I’m not telling you, because then you’ll get it for me and I decided I’m paying today,” you say, batting your eyelashes innocently at the male.

“I can just pay anyway, you know?” he laughs, making you shake your head.

“You don’t have to do that,” you hum. “Actually, I don’t want you to. You keep getting things for me, so I think this is the time to repay the favor.”

“Damn it,” he sighs. “That was me paying the Y/N subscription, though. How will I manage to make you keep hanging out with me now?” he jokes, shaking his head.

“Stupid,” you giggle, teasingly pushing him out of your way. “What will you get? And don’t say nothing, it’s my time to pay the Eric subscription fee.”

“I actually get paid in hugs and cuddles, so this doesn’t work on me,” the male shrugs, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Damn,” you hiss through your teeth, acting distraught. “That payment is long overdue, then. Wonder if they’ll come and take my house, or something.”

“I heard they won’t if you pay back what you owe,” he states casually.

How can he say such things with a straight face? Does he not realize just how much his sweet words affect you? Does he not know you feel like he has a magnet inside of him at all times that is begging to pull you in and glue you to his side, always and forever? Is he unaware of the effect his arms have on you whenever he puts them around your shoulders in public, or to the way your hands sweat whenever his fingers mindlessly drag themselves along the length of shoulder while doing so?

Or does he know and only wants to drive you crazier, more insane? Does he enjoy your misery?

“Hope it’s not a lot, then,” you joke, watching as the boy finally looks at you, eyes soft and glimmering, shoulders shrugging.

“I’ll hand the accounting over to you,” he says. “I trust that you’ll figure it out.”

Punching him in the shoulder lightly, you shake your head at his antics. “Peach iced tea, then?”

“How did you know?”

“You always get that one when you’re driving,” you say, walking up to the counter.

He lets you pay for the drink this time, eyes glued to your figure. You’re unaware of the way he watches you in the crowd, just as much as he is of the fact that he doesn’t have to fear an older, taller band guy stealing your attention away from him.

You come back to your friends with the drinks in hand just in time for the show to start. You watch the stage and grin at the sight of the frontman you just met having the time of his life during his gig, while the boy next to you watches your face every time a love song appears on the setlist. Neither of you are bold enough to dance together to the slow beats the way Izzy and Sunwoo are, lovingly gazing into each other’s eyes. You share knowing looks instead– growing shy when you hum the lyrics off the well-known songs Yeonjun’s band covers and the words get too intimate.

In the tune of love by wave to earth, though, when your heart skips a beat as Eric’s hand accidentally brushes against yours, you decide they wrote the song about him– not that you’ll ever admit that out loud.

The doorbell rings. Alone in the apartment, but knowing exactly who you’re expecting to see on the other side of the door– well, at least who you’re hoping to see– you shuffle towards the hall in your socked feet, taking your sweet time, your pace slow. There is not much energy stored in your body after today, and even though you wish to just bury yourself under the covers of your bed and sleep until you regain everything that your internship took away from you– until you don’t feel so bad about yourself and so defeated with your efforts– your small, fragile heart yearns for the presence of one person in particular, making you sheepishly order pizza through their website, because you know he has work today and there is no other way for you to see him.

Reaching for the handle, you open the door and reveal your busted appearance to Eric Sohn standing at your doorstep with a box of pizza in his hands, a light pink hoodie covering his figure, eyes big as the moon staring at you all expecting.

“So? How did it go?” he asks, genuinely hopeful. The boy has been suspicious of your mood ever since you got the final presentation on your internship over with and you didn’t instantly text him, telling him how it went– and the look he finds on your face only further proves his suspicions.

Your face morphs into a deep frown, trying to bite back your tears. His cheerful demeanor drops the moment he sees you struggling, not wasting a second as he shifts towards you and makes you back up into your apartment, putting the pizza box onto the coffee table in your hall before throwing his arms around your body, leading your grabby hands to hold on to the fabric of his sweater.

“It was terrible,” you sniffle, feeling the palm of his hand cradle your head into the crook of his shoulder, petting your slightly matted hair. A few tears escape your eyes and roll down your cheeks, making your whole body shake and tremble in his hold.

You don’t usually show how affected you are by disappointment. You feel a bit humiliated, a bit embarrassing for both flunking your presentation and also for showing your weakness in front of Eric, but his gentle nature and the comfort you feel in his sheer presence is enough for you to forget about the hurt. You try to focus on the warmth of his skin instead, on the way his arm soothingly runs down your back, making you ground yourself. There is not much you can tell him in your current position, words getting caught in your throat, but it’s still enough for him to understand.

“I worked so hard on it,” you mumble, “I tried so- I tried so hard, and then they said it w-was bad and–”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he hums, holding you closer to him.

You’re not used to not being instantly good at everything. It’s something you have yet to come to terms with after getting into university. You’re no longer the top of your class and you aren’t the best at all assignments and final exams you take anymore– and it’s a big kick to your ego. It makes you feel useless. It makes you feel stupid.

And that’s world-shattering. The image you once had of yourself is now taken forcefully away from your hands, replaced by disappointment and shame from the fact that you’re only mediocre and everything you thought about yourself up to this point was just a mere lie.

“Y/N, you tried your best. And I know you feel bad now, but I’m still proud of you for working so hard– it’s not your fault your efforts weren’t appreciated,” he says close to your ear, trying his hardest to be the calm after the storm for you.

After a few moments spent breathing in his scent, anchoring yourself to his presence, you force yourself to pull away from his chest. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, averting his gaze– because still, this is all so new to you and you don’t really know how to let yourself feel less foolish for your sudden outburst– you shrug and clear your throat.

“Uhm… thank you,” you mumble, “sorry for…”

“No,” he shakes his head, suddenly moving to take off his shoes. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re… Eric, you have work, you can’t just stay. I don’t want you to get in trouble–”

“They can’t fire me,” he chuckles, trying to make light of the situation. After you watch him with worried, guilty eyes– because even though the logical part of your brain is telling you to throw him out of your apartment and just go eat the pizza you ordered as you bite back your own tears, the emotional side of you really wants him here, it really wants him close. He moves towards you again and ruffles your hair, gentle eyes watching you, preventing you from protesting any further. “It’s okay, Y/N. You need me here more than they do tonight, trust me.”

“I feel bad now,” you mumble.

“I know,” he playfully notes, “that’s why I’m here. Besides, you’re more important than work anyway.”

“That’s a pretty fucked up list of priorities,” you laugh airly, trying to mask the way his words have your heart squeezing on itself, nervous gold swirling in your stomach.

“It works for me,” he shrugs.

The moment you move back towards your room, the realization of the fact that Eric’s never seen it before sinks in fully, suddenly making you nervous about the act. Everything feels strangely natural as he enters the space, though, feet shuffling towards your bed as he takes a seat on the comfy mattress. However, your eyes still nervously scan your room, chewing on your bottom lip as you wonder if the perception of you has changed after seeing the state of you, the state you live in. “I’m sorry, it’s kinda messy–”

“Y/N.”

Looking at him, noticing the encouraging, gentle gaze he offers you, everything around you shifts in its axis– the world stops, giving you a chance to breathe, a chance to exhale, and the weight slowly disappears off your shoulders.

“Relax,” he laughs softly as he reaches for your hand, tugging you towards him. Taking your place in between his legs, towering over the sweet creature in your bed, you feel like you can finally breathe more easily now that he’s here.

It’s okay, you realize. Magically, today no longer feels like the end of the world.

His thumb gently swipes across the back of your palm, making your insides turn into a putty, a soft smile slowly mirroring his appearing on your previously frowning face.

“I’d like to, uh..” you clear your throat, shying away from his gaze, “pay back the missed subscription fees then, if I can.”

Your bold statement has the room fall into an overbearing silence. For a moment, you forget it’s Eric who you’re with– the man that never judges you, the only one that makes you feel safe– as you go into a momentary panic. When you dare to look at him again, though, you notice him eagerly searching for your gaze, a boyish smile playing with his lips showing you that he doesn’t mind you asking– quite the opposite, really. He enjoys the preposition.

The male leans back in your bed and watches you as you climb next to him. For a moment, you don’t really know what to do, being too shy to hold onto him the way you truly want to, but the male wastes no time as he shuffles a bit in your sheets and moves to his side. One of his arms sneaks around your middle, pulling you to him, as his leg carelessly swings over your feet, trapping you in. His whole body weight rests against your figure, but it does nothing to suffocate you or take air out of your lungs– quite the opposite, really.

You feel content in his hold. Your hand instinctively holds onto his forearm, keeping him close. If you could, you’d crawl into his skin, make a home in his chest and stay there, protected from all bad. What you don’t realize is that there’s a little fort in his heart reserved as a house for you already– one he guards and lets no one into– the unspoken, tender words now hanging everywhere around the corners of your room.

“The pizza will get cold, though,” he mumbles, tone of voice low from the close proximity of him next to you, the desire to protect the intimacy showing through the hushed out words.

“I’m not hungry,” you say lazily– exposing him to the fact that it’s not the food you needed tonight when you were ordering. “I kinda feel sleepy, though” you admit, letting your eyes rest a bit. You’ve been restless ever since you came home from work today– you didn’t know all you needed to finally turn off your endless stream of thoughts was Eric’s presence.

“Sleep, then,” he hums. “I’ll heat it up for you when you wake up.”

You let out a disapproving sound.

“You need sleep. And also food,” he scolds you, his other hand somehow sneaking itself under your figure and into your hair again, playing with the strands and scratching at your scalp. “You’ve been stressing out for so long, no wonder you’re so worn out right now.”

You feel like you’ve been laid bare, exposed right in front of his eyes. You feel naked and fully vulnerable, but you make no effort to shield yourself from his gaze, for it’s not prying and unwanted, but gentle and caring– so much to the point you feel like it’s going to consume you. Your head spins and your heart aches with deep yearning– it’s strange.

You already know what that feeling is:

You’re falling, falling, and falling.

All there’s left is to hope he won’t drop you. All there is left is to hope he’ll catch you on your way down.

Your body shifts so it’s facing him, your breathing mixed. Your faces are inches away from each other, making you afraid to open your eyes and study him from up close– for you think he knows how to read you too well by now, and your lingering gaze would tell him too much. Eyes don’t lie, after all– they never do.

“You did well,” he hums.

The shattered pieces of your tender heart spill themselves into his outstretched palms. You watch as he mends them together, sewing them with an invisible, red string. The boy silently leans into your face and his lips press a gentle kiss to your cheek, only further strengthening your decision to stay blind in the moment, not wanting to reveal just how much you’re affected by the tender action.

It’s been a long drop– a slow one, one you could get used to. Still, you’re falling, falling and falling,

And even though you’re unaware, he’s there all this time, waiting at the bottom, his arms open wide.

The idea of celebrating the end of the exam season with Izzy, Eric and Sunwoo by going bowling is quickly and forcefully taken out of your hands when you arrive at Sohn's Pizza to pick the boys up, all dressed up and ready. The place is full of people, there is screaming coming out of the kitchen, and while usually, Eric or Sunwoo would be greeting you by coming out of the back and welcoming you in, there is no one in your sight– which makes you just the tiniest bit suspicious.

Sharing a concerned look with your roommate, the two of you curiously walk through the place and peek behind the counter, being met with emptiness as more screaming resonates through the kitchen. You don’t mean to intrude or listen in on a conversation you’re not exactly invited to, you really don’t– but you just can’t help it as the sound of Eric’s angry, frustrated voice cuts through the space, catching not only your attention, but also everyone else’s in the restaurant.

“I don’t care that dad is too scared to hire someone into our sacred family business!” he huffs. “I don’t give a single flying fuck, because now, our plans are ruined again, all because they decided to go on a surprise holiday and they left us three to deal with the whole place!” Eric ironically sings the words ‘surprise holiday’ as he expresses his frustration, showing how much the whole situation bothers him.

“Eric, calm down, people can hear you–” you hear Lisa muttering, making you chuckle at the interaction between the siblings.

“So if dad wants to go on a holiday ever again, he either hires someone so we don’t have to be here 24/7, or I quit!” he finishes his little rant.

There is a moment of silence behind the thin walls, making you and Izzy stare at each other with a blank look– a look empty, but full of understanding that there is no bowling happening today and there is nothing you can really do about it– before the sound of dishes hitting the floor hits your ears, making you wince. The fall is followed by a pained voice full of misery.

“FUCK!”

Izzy chuckles, opening the door to the kitchen without much hesitance, inviting the two of you into the chaotic situation. Taking a step towards the room behind the staff only sign which you ignore because Izzy thinks she’s basically a part of the family now, you look around a bit anxiously, being met with the sight of Eric picking up bowls and pans from the floor and throwing them back into the sink to wash, Sunwoo adding topics to a pizza with furrowed brows and his bottom lip jolted out (clearly sulking), and Lisa checking up on the food in the oven.

All three pairs of eyes are glued to you the moment the sound of the door opening fills the space, two sets lighting up and the third one looking at you with pure curiosity.

“Need any help around here?” Izzy chuckles, looking around. The place is messy– covered with sauce in some places, flour all over Sunwoo’s apron, soap and water dripping down the cleaning station. It’s clear as hell the three of them aren’t handling the after-exam Friday rush well by themselves, and although you mourn the idea of relaxing in a bowling alley with your friends after the hard weeks of finals, you can’t say you’re too disappointed.

You can’t play bowling, after all, and you still get to see your friends– so it’s no big deal.

“No, you don’t have to–” Eric starts, ever-so considerate.

“It’s okay, we just–” Sunwoo follows, the two boys not wanting to share the responsibility that’s not yours.

After hearing each other interrupting their dismissive words, the two look at each other and chuckle. “I’m afraid we can’t hang out today, though. As you can see, our parents left the place to us and went on a holiday–”

“We heard,” you cut the owner’s son off, a teasing grin on your face shutting the boy up instantly, to which he offers you a shy look as he drowns his hands in the sink again, trying to tackle the dishes.

Walking over to the poor boy reminding you a little of a wet dog now, since his bangs are damp as well, making you believe he’s been running his hands through in frustration mid-washing up– you take a kitchen towel off one of the shelves and decide to dry off the plates he’s done scrubbing, putting them away neatly on one of the trays situated next to the sink and getting them ready for the next customers. You don’t really ask what to help with, since you’re sure Eric and Sunwoo wouldn’t tell you either– feeling bad for making you work with them instead of taking you out like they promised they would– you only tackle what seems to be the most important task in the moment, helping out the best you can.

“Izzy, I’m really sorry for exploiting you,” Lisa starts out, making the whole room laugh out at her joke, “but for a free pizza or maybe even two, would you mind doing the waitressing for a bit? I fear people out there are mad as hell, but maybe if you tell them we are short on staff today–”

“I’m on it!” your roommate nods and salutes to the older girl, disappearing back into the main area of the pizza place. Since she has some experience with waitressing and working in the food service, you doubt there is anything to worry about.

The kitchen quiets down, the only sounds heard being from the sink, an occasional sigh escaping Sunwoo’s throat– he really must have been looking forward to this day– the atmosphere growing less heavy and hectic with two more pairs of hands in the building. You know they don’t want to admit it, but the boys are secretly glad for the help– it makes working so much easier and less nerve-wrecking to the employed youngsters.

“I’m sorry,” falls out of between Eric’s lips after a while, low and sincere. You look at him from your place to the left of his figure, furrowing your brows at him in question.

“Huh?” you voice out, watching him shrug.

“Well, we were supposed to hang out today and now we can’t, so…” the boy trails off, making you chuckle and coo at him, touched with his sincerity.

“That’s not really your fault, so I don’t see why you’re apologizing,” you say, “besides, we are still hanging out now, no? I don’t mind the location change,” you smile, slightly bumping your hip into his, the kitchen towel now getting damper and damper with the amount of dishes you’ve dried off with it in such a small time frame.

The two of you continue on with the task, all while playfully bumping hips from time to time, trying to catch the other one off guard with the contact, grins shared between the two of you. You barely register Izzy coming in and out of the kitchen, telling the cook– Sunwoo– the new orders, Eric and you pulled into your own bubble, attention focused mostly on each other, then at the otherwise domestic act accompanying you in your interaction.

“Exams went well?” Eric asks.

Nodding, you hum in agreement. “Some were harder than others, but I didn’t fail any, so that’s a win. You?”

“About the same,” he grins. “I mean, the grades aren’t great, but I passed all of them, so…”

You laugh at his comment, shaking your head at his attitude. You wish you could take school and all of its responsibilities with as much ease as your friend does– too bad you’re an anxious over-achiever and don’t really know how to relax ever.

“Academic weapon,” you joke.

“Oh, that’s your title,” he says as he finally scrubs off the last plate and turns the tap off, placing it into your hands to dry, “I don’t even try, because I don’t wanna take it away from you,” he jokes.

“So considerate,” you muse, rolling your eyes at him. The boy wipes his hands on the towel hanging off your arm, the two of you sharing a playful look– Eric’s eyes swirling with honey and gold inside, making you all warm and fuzzy. You find it hard to look away.

The noise of someone suddenly clearing their throat catches you off guard and pops the soap bubble you’ve been trapped in with your friend, making you look at the source, curious what his sister has to say. She is looking at the two of you with a teasing smirk on her face that instantly makes your cheeks burn– for you know you were caught staring too much, too long at her younger brother– before she points to the pizza boxes in front of her, towering so much they almost topple over and drown her in the baked dough and cheese.

“I need you two to do the deliveries,” she muses, “if you don’t mind, of course.”

Shaking your head, showing that you’re completely fine with the task, the two of you walk over towards the impressive pizza tower. Eric takes the bigger half into his hands while Lisa puts the car keys onto the box on top of your smaller stack, sending you a knowing look that you try to ignore.

Walking out of the place, noting that one person could very well do the deliveries alone after loading up the car, but also realizing that even though you could be more needed inside, you kinda wanna spend more time with Eric, you wait for him to shut the car door and tell you the next instructions.

“I think the most efficient way to do this is one of us driving and the other one going up to the doors with the orders,” he muses, watching you nod in understanding. “I can drive, if you want?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, not really happy with the mental image of talking to so many people tonight, you huff. “I kinda wanna drive, though…?” you peep.

The male stares at you for a few seconds– as if contemplating if you’re safe enough of a driver, or something– before he places the key into your hand and closes your palm, entrusting you with… pretty much his life, if you really think about it. In his defense, it only takes one wrong turn and both of you could be dead– but he seemingly believes in your abilities.

After you get into the driver’s seat and adjust it to your liking, making sure you can see in all of the mirrors, you pull out of the parking lot with ease, turning with Eric’s directions. You see him watching the map on his phone, making sure you know where to go in time to not turn this drive into an amateur redemption of The fast and the furious: Tokyo drift. You drive smoothly, getting to the destination in short time, stopping in front of the targeted house and watching as your friend gets out of the car with a few pizza boxes, jogging up to the front door.

The sight makes you remember how you met him a few months ago. It makes you chuckle, noticing how much has changed– you didn’t even want pizza that night, but today, you’re driving him in his car, watching as he makes the deliveries.

“No strange notes asking for cute delivery boys?” you joke when he gets to the car and tells you to drive straight until he says to turn right, making him chuckle.

“No, not really,” he shakes his head, “but I think it’s funny how Sunwoo didn’t get to go, yet it still landed him a girlfriend.”

“I mean, they were both pretty desperate,” you admit, chuckling. Your foolish brain can’t help but wonder– what if it could land both of them a girlfriend? What if you were bold enough to confess your feelings one day?

“True,” he nods, “they go well together.”

“It’s still miserable to watch them interact sometimes, though,” you joke.

“I’m sorry, I tried my hardest to prevent it,” he muses.

Furrowing your brows, you look at him in confusion only for a second before you focus back on the road. “Huh?”

“I physically fought Sunwoo so I could go deliver those pizzas to your house back then,” he grins. “Back then, it was because I genuinely believed I was the cuter one, but I think that somehow, I kind of felt it, y’know? Like, intuition. It was telling me ‘Eric, don’t let Sunwoo deliver those pizzas, because then your friend will get into a relationship and make every second with him miserable, because he can’t shut up about his new girlfriend–”

You cut him off by laughing, shaking your head at his antics. Eric points towards a street, hinting that you should turn, having you follow his orders.

“I like your confidence,” you say, “but to be fair, seeing you show up at my door was kind of crazy, after all these years.”

“You make it sound as if you disagree with me,” he casually utters out.

Your hands sweat on the steering wheel. Maybe you should swerve off the road and drive into a tree so you can avoid this conversation.

“Maybe I do,” you shrug, thankful that driving makes it easier for you to avert your gaze from him and not make it seem like you’re forcefully avoiding him.

“So we’re just gonna ignore the fact that you called me the hottest–”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m crashing the car–” you threaten, your voice coming out a bit more miserable-sounding than you intended it to, showing just how not casual the whole situation was for you.

“Look, you don’t have to be shy about it, we both know–”

“Okay, passenger princess,” you shut him off, watching as the boy next to you has a visceral reaction to your comment.

“I literally offered to drive!”

“Whatever you say,” you muse as you make the car stop at the next destination and let Eric out to complete another delivery.

After the boy jumps inside of the car again, he ignores the previous topic of the conversation. That fact makes you happy, since you don’t really know if you’re ready to face the problem at hand– the problem being the very obvious and strong, magnetizing feelings you have for the boy– so you only continue to drive, listening to the radio he puts on and his occasional humming that he slides in through the directions he gives you.

He continues to deliver all the pizzas they baked when he announces that you’re approaching the last destination. You can’t say you’re happy about the fact– since you started to quite enjoy the comfort of the drive, but you guess you can’t really prolong the moment any more and force it to last forever, no matter how much you’d like it to.

Eric walks out of the car with the last three boxes in his hands, knocking on the door. The commotion lasts longer than usual, making you suspicious of the interaction he has with the man at the door, before you see the boy shrugging and walking back to the car, one pizza box still in his hands. To say you’re confused would be an understatement.

“What happened? Did we mess up somehow?” you ask, motioning towards the pizza box in his hands.

“I don’t think it was us who messed up,” Eric snickers, “apparently, they only ordered two pizzas, so I think Sunwoo accidentally made three.”

“Oh,” you hum, nodding in acknowledgement.

“But that’s fine, because that means we can have this one for free,” the boy grins at you as he puts on his seatbelt. “Let’s move a few blocks so we don’t just stay in front of this dude’s house, though.”

You furrow your brows at him, but still start the engine nonetheless. “Shouldn’t we head back? I bet we should hurry, from how packed it was, they surely need our help–”

There is a lack of worry in Eric’s face as he shakes his head in disapproval. It seems that neither of you really want to go back to Sohn’s Pizza and work– because it’s not as fun as driving around together, singing along to the radio– but the lack of empathy towards his sister and his friends surprises you. “I’m sure they will survive a few more minutes. Come on, Y/N, the bowling didn’t work out, so let me make it up for you at least this way.”

His pleading voice does enough to persuade you as you drive down the street and then a few more blocks to the left, trying to find a calm place where you could park the car and won’t bother anyone as you eat the remaining pizza, while also trying to forget about Lisa, Izzy and Sunwoo alone in the pizzeria working their asses off. You feel a bit guilty with the idea in your brain, but you try to push it back with the image of spending more time alone with Eric– and suddenly, the previous is almost too easy to ignore.

Little did you know that this was Lisa’s plan all along. While you may be a bad wingman, Eric’s sister surely isn’t.

Stopping in front of one of the houses that seems to be empty, turning the engine off and undoing your seatbelt, you spin around to face Eric as he opens the pizza box and gasps at the sight of the cheesy dough. “I’m pretty sure this was fate, man,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “There’s no way we are left with your favorite. Extra cheesy too, damn...”

“This is unbelievable,” you agree, playfully clasping your hands together in prayer. “Thank you universe for the sign. You were right, we were supposed to stay out longer.”

“I’m always right,” he nods, watching as you eagerly take a triangle off the greasy cardboard and bite down into it, your taste buds cheering in joy as you chew on the treat.

Eric is quick to follow as he takes one for himself as well, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as you eat. You didn’t even realize you were hungry before– your intentions being to eat at the bowling alley– and so you welcome this idea even more now that your stomach is less upset. Crossing your legs on the seat, not really caring about getting the car dirty– which in retrospect, you should’ve– you hum before you speak up again, already on your second piece.

“If you were a pizza, you’d be this exact pizza right here,” you hum. You don’t really know where that idea came from, but you think you’re speaking the truth– in your mind, it makes total sense.

Eric stares at you like a confused puppy, a slight grin appearing on his face showing you that he’s trying to see where that came from. “Why?” he asks. “Because you love me?”

Here it is again– the heat appearing on your cheeks from the panic, embarrassment filling your veins. You feel like you were caught in the act, like he sees right through you– with how he’s been acting the whole evening, you think he might have some sort of intuition. Still, you won’t admit to your feelings out loud– because there’s no way they’re reciprocated, and you won’t cause such a heartbreak to yourself willingly.

Eric is just social like that. He is sweet, playful. There is no undertone to his actions– it’s just who he is as a person, and there is no way he likes you back.

“No,” you cough out, almost choking on the pizza. “You’d be a margherita, because it’s a safe choice. Everyone likes a margherita! It’s fun, and it’s–”

“Tasty?” he interrupts you, a shit-eating grin already plastered onto his lips. “I taste good too, wanna check?”

You think he might be teasing you just for the fun of it now. He loves to feed on your misery, because he sees right through you, he knows you’re absolutely, incredibly enchanted by him, and it strokes his ego to rile you up and make you flustered. You’re sure of it now. “Oh, shut it!”

Eric laughs out loud before he swallows another bite, shrugging. “If you were a pizza, you’d be hawaiian.”

“Hm? Why?” you ask, busying yourself with chewing on the cheesy dough in your hold.

“Because you are both salty and sweet,” he starts, “and I didn’t expect to be so into it.”

His words make you stop in your tracks. He didn’t expect to be so into it. Does he mean he’s into you, or are you just reading too much into his words? Trying not to seem too affected by his words– trying to play it casual, nonchalant– you clear your throat and avert your gaze from him, continuing to chew. The pizza in your mouth loses all its flavor the longer you focus on it, turning into a mass of nothing to your taste buds. After the last bite, you’re left mortified with the realization that you have nothing to focus your attention to now, if you don’t want to face your friend again and take another slice in between your fingers from the pizza box resting in his lap, and so you just continue to stare ahead, beaten up by the awkward silence.

Play it cool, Y/N. Be normal. He must think you’re weird now, because you wondered even for a second if his joke was serious, and now he won’t want to hang out with you ever again–

“So, uhm, just checking,” Eric awkwardly laughs, something about his tone sounding nervous in your ears. “Are you really still that oblivious, or are you just pretending you didn’t catch that to not hurt my feelings because you don’t like me back…?” he asks.

Your heart does a somersault. Hell, you think you just went into cardiac arrest– your ears are ringing, your stomach is floating on water and your breathing quickens with his words. Having a full visceral reaction does nothing to help you speak back to him, but your body reacts on itself as you snap your head to the side and finally look at him, gazing into his big, honest eyes.

He looks at you in a similar way he did back at that party– expecting, hopeful. You didn’t catch it back then– the eager, desperate look in his orbs, wishing, praying you chose him in a room full of people, picked him in a row of anyone who would like to have you. It leaves you weak, it leaves you feeling like you were just punched in your face with the realization that you’ve been foolish to ever think that this was just how Eric acts and there was nothing more to his acts of care and affection.

“I- uh… I just didn’t expect you to like me back…?” you say, making it sound like a question, still uncertain about the whole situation. “I thought you were just…” you trail off, pupils shaking as you watch the boy’s face morph out of nervousness into a bright, amused smile.

“Look, I’m– I just–” you stutter, not really knowing what else to say, how else to express yourself.

Eric was always much quicker than you, much more clever in social situations. He takes your lack of words as a hint as he holds onto your honest, surprised state and takes it upon himself to solidify the reality for you, to show you what the two of you’ve been missing for the last couple of months. Reaching over the gearstick, he gently glazes your cheek with his palm before he sends a one last look to your eyes, watching out for any sign of discomfort.

His lips lock with yours. You’re convinced the world stopped turning.

Eric Sohn is sweet like cherry cola. He is a taste of familiarness with something more to it, something new and fresh, sugary and addictive. He is gentle, with an exciting aftertaste, leaving you breathless and wanting more. He is like a hint of home, a memory of your childhood, all safe and loving and tender.

The kiss is short. It has you leaning towards him, a handful of his hoodie filling up your fist as you desperately, foolishly drag him to you and press your lips to his again, as if to check if the last kiss was real and you didn’t just make it up in your mind by wishful thinking.

You guess you finally reached the bottom after the long, slow fall. You don’t even feel the landing as his arms hold you up and spin you around instead, showing you that falling in love doesn’t have to be all that scary– if the one you want is caring, if the one you want is nothing short of an angel in your eyes.

After you pull away from him, he rests his forehead against yours and enjoys the proximity which he doesn’t have to hide the need for anymore– now that he’s all yours to keep and you’re all his to hold.

“You really thought I didn’t like you back? Hell, Y/N, you’re all I ever think about,” he scoffs, showing you the ridiculousness of your own beliefs, his ever-so playful tone only further solidifying the sweet aftertaste of his confession. “I like, have butterflies in my stomach and all,” he confides, grinning at you.

Rolling your eyes, finally easing into the new territory, you tease him for his words. “That was extra cheesy.”

“I thought you liked that?”

Gazing into his eyes, feeling your own heartbeat hammering against your chest, you can’t help but chuckle at the subtle irony of it all.

“Maybe I do.”

#deoboyznet #bjnet #the boyz #eric sohn #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #tbz fluff #eric sohn fluff #eric fluff #eric x reader #eric sohn x reader #tbz scenario #tbz fic #the boyz scenario #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #sohn youngjae #youngjae x reader

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mariclerc · 5 months ago

Note

hey!... can you write a Charles × horner reader.. where the reader has a crush on since they met.... but Charles doesn't like her very much cuz he thinks she's a nepo baby... but the reader still tries to win his heart.... but one day after a bad race he lashed out on her.... breaking her heart.... later he realizes he also has fellings for her...then ask the reader for forgiveness and a second chance (pls make it a happy ending)... thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you for this request! It took me a little while to try to develop it, I hope you like it!! 💗💗

Second chance spark | cl16

Summary: where Charles thinks you're a nepo baby just because of your last name. Warnings: a little angst, horner!reader, christian being an asshole and fluffy fluff.

a/n: let me know if you want a part two!!

Part 2

The paddock of the Spanish Grand Prix is in big move, thousands of people moving from one place to another and there you find yourself, outside of the Red Bull hospitality talking to several of the girls on the team. This is what your life has become, practically, since being the daughter of Christian Horner you can walk around the hospitality and the paddock as many times as you like during the year.

Most people believe that you only walk around the paddock because it is a case of "nepotism", but in reality you are working very hard to be an engineer and earn a place in motorsport and that's why you find yourself doing internships at Red Bull. Also, your relationship with your father is not the best, so it is always a constant argument, but, even if you try not to give it so much importance, it always hurts.

“Oh god girls, look who's coming!” You say excitedly, Charles was walking through the paddock, to you he always looked like an angel, you blush slightly.

Mara, one of the Red Bull pr girls spoke. “Leclerc? Are you trying to charm the competition's sponsors I see.” she jokes and you blush a little.

You rolled your eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, he probably doesn't even know I'm here.” You say and a silence is present between the three of you. “I'm going to say hi.” You say determined.

Lila rise up an eyebrow. “Careful y/n. You don't want to spook the red prince.”

“Oh, please. Like he'd give me the time of the day.” you scoff.

You excuse yourself and stride confidently towards Charles. He notices your approach and his expression becomes guarded.

You've liked Charles since he debuted in the F4 European series, you always thought he was someone quite nice and talented... Besides of being cute, of course, but nothing ever happened between you, you were simply acquaintances. But now since you are always in the paddock you see him every single day and those feelings that you thought were already buried, were reborn with much more strength.

“Hello y/n. Didn't expect to see you here!” he smiles shyly.

“Well, I just came to say hi, a little greeting doesn't go amiss, don't you think?” you say shyly with a soft voice. “Are you nervous about the race?” you asked shyly.

“Yeah, uh, a little bit... But let's see how it goes.” he says trying to avoid your gaze.

“Well, you have a good shot, maybe you can achieve a podium finish.” You say and he looks at you surprised.

“You actually follow the races?” he asks.

You feign offense. “Of course I do, I'm trying to be an engineer! I may not be out there on the track like you and the boys, but I appreciate a good driver when I see one.” you smile brightly.

Charles looks at you for a long moment, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Just make sure you're cheering for the right team on race day in the future.” he says teasingly.

“We'll see about that, Leclerc.” you two share a comfortable silence for a moment. You take a deep breath. “Well, I'll leave you alone, I have to go. But good luck in the race, yeah?” You say with a small smile.

“Sure, see you later! And thanks!” he smiles too.

You smiled back and turned to leave, a triumphant glint in your eyes. Charles watches you go, a genuine smile gracing his features. His heart is probably beginning to soften to let you into it.

***

“Is seriously? You talked to him and he didn't think you were a little innocent girl?” Christian said sitting in his chair in the office.

You were at the Red Bull factory in Milton Keynes, you had gone to see some engineers and work with them since you are doing your engineer internship at Red Bull and they have been very generous to you, teaching you everything they know, what you didn't realize was that your father was going to need you to have a talk. Such talks never end well, let's put it that way.

“Well, no... But I think he was being nice.” you say quietly. “I just wanted to wish him good luck, that's all... Just a little greeting... it's not a big deal.”

“You know? It's amazing that you're so stupid and dumb.” He says getting up from his chair. “And also by talking to the enemy, you don't really learn, don't you?” he asked sharply.

He never misses the opportunity to speak badly about you on any occasion, he simply doesn't care about your feelings, he is only interested in the job, winning and that's it. As if that were more important than your well-being as his daughter.

You take a deep breath. “Then let me finish my internship in another team.” you said and he looked at you. “I think it would be better for both you and me. Don't you think?” you said in a whisper.

“What? You really want to finish your silly and stupid internship at Ferrari, right? To be after a man who doesn't give you attention, is it serious?” he says sarcastically, that wasn't your idea but since he puts it on the table it doesn't sound too bad... “How ungrateful you are, to waste the fact that I gave you the opportunity to do the internship here.”

“And it was the only thing you did.” you murmured. “Because, as far as I remember, you haven't done anything else.”

“What did you say, huh? You little bitch.” He said, raising his voice towards you.

“What you fucking heard! Do you think it's not difficult to be under your shadow every day? How tiring it is to have everyone tell you that you are a child of nepotism just because all you did was get me the internship here! And you know that I had to sacrifice many things to get here.” you said in screams, taking everything out of you, all the years of abuse and so on. “And don't come pretending to be a saint because we both know you're not.”

You leave his office and everyone looks at you, but you don't care, you couldn't allow your father to call you names and spoke to you in a not very nice way. Your tears blur your vision as you leave the factory and you run to your car, you feel as if you no longer have a weight on your shoulders, but at the same time you are afraid of what may happen later between the two of you.

***

A couple of weeks later, the Austrian Grand Prix is a blur of disappointment, specially for Charles, since he finished a distant third, strategy blunders costing him a shot at the win against Max. The Red Bull Hospitality is abuzz with post-race celebration, a stark contrast to the muted atmosphere in the Ferrari hospitality across the way.

You stand awkwardly near the doorway, your presence a silent question in the room. Charles sits alone, staring into the bottom of an empty beer glass, his face an iron mask of frustration. A knot of worry tightens in your stomach, that's not the Charles you know, always so cheerful and lively despite everything. It's another version of him, darker and more mysterious.

“Charles?” you asked softly.

He looks up, surprise flickering across his features before hardening back into a grimace.

“What are you doing here?” he said sharply.

“I...I just wanted to see if you were alright.” You say shyly.

His harsh tone stings, cutting through the fragile connection the two of you would built.

“Look y/n, I appreciate the concern, but I need to be alone.” he said sharply.

“But-” hurt creeps into your voice.

He interrupts with his voice rising. “No buts! Don't you get it? This is my job, my life! And today, I failed.”

Tears are pricking at your eyes. “I know it hurts, Charles, but you can't let it consume you.”

He stands abruptly, knocking his chair over with a clatter. “Easy for you to say! You don't have the pressure, the expectations hanging over your head like a damn guillotine! You have everything on a silver platter whenever and however you want!” he say furiously.

His words are a punch to the gut. The simmering tension between you and your father explodes in your mind.

“You think I don't know the pressure? Do you have any idea what it's like living under my father's shadow? To be constantly judged, to have every decision questioned?” you say with a shaking voice.

Charles stares at you, his anger momentarily eclipsed by surprise.

“I may not be a driver, but I understand this world, Charles... I understand the pressure.” You say as tears form in your eyes.

Your vulnerability hangs heavy in the air. Shame washes over Charles, realizing the depth of his lashing out.

“Y/n, I...” he said with a soft voice.

He reaches out, but you flinches back, a wall of hurt suddenly separating the both of you.

You take a shaky breath. “I think I should go.” you sigh tiredly. “Nice talk.”

You turn towards the door, your heart heavy with a mixture of disappointment and a newfound understanding of the burdens that the both of you share. You run out there with tears running down your cheeks, nothing could have been worse after what happened with your father, but now you lost a person you cared about despite everything.

***

The Italian Grand Prix is in full swing after the summer break. Mechanics scurry around the gleaming red Ferrari, the air thick with pre-race tension. Charles, however, finds himself distracted. He steals constant glances towards the Red Bull garage across the pit lane, searching for a familiar face.

He spots you, standing by Christian, your interaction is tense, your father screams at you while you just only nod at his words while holding a few tears in your shy eyes. A pang of fury shoots through Charles, followed by a wave of regret. His outburst in Austria hangs heavy in the air, a barrier he needs to break. He, despite everything, is moderately informed about what happened between you and your father thanks to Max, and it hurts him not to have approached you much sooner.

The pit lane opens to finally start the grand prix, snapping Charles back to reality. He throws on his helmet, a steely resolve replacing his earlier anxiety.

***

Charles finishes a strong second, the podium it's a little bit bittersweet. He emerges from the car, the cheers of the tifosi a distant echo. All he can think about is you.

He finds you in the Red Bull hospitality, a hesitant knock on the door of your office, announcing his arrival. The room falls silent as he enters.

You stand by the window, your back towards him. Your posture is stiff, but Charles can sense the tremor in your shoulders.

“Y/n?” he say quietly.

You turn slowly, your eyes guarded. The hurt in your gaze is a mirror to his own regret.

“Charles...” you say softly.

There's an awkward silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Charles takes a deep breath.

“I can't apologize enough for Austria. I... I was a complete idiot.” he says.

“Words don't erase the hurt, Charles.” you say in a low voice.

He takes a step closer. “I know. But I wanted you to know... these past few weeks, all I could think about was your words. About the pressure, about being judged... You opened my eyes to a side of you I never knew existed.” He reaches out, hesitantly offering his hand. “And in doing so, I realized... how much I care about you.”

You stare at his hand, then back at his face. A flicker of vulnerability crosses your features before you speak.

“You can't just say things like that, Charles. Not after everything.”

“I know, but I have to try. Because the alternative... the alternative is losing you completely.” says sincerely. He sees a flicker of emotion in your eyes, a flicker that speaks of hope.

“This won't be easy, Charles. My father... Things haven't been so smooth lately between him and I.”

“I know. But maybe, just maybe, we can face it together... Like you said, we both understand this world, the pressure. Maybe we can be each other's support system, not just through wins and losses, but through everything else.” he say softly.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You look at him, a question in your eyes.

“So, what are you saying?” you asked him.

Charles takes a chance, the weight of his feelings pulling him forward. He steps closer, your faces inches apart.

“I'm saying that... give me another chance, please. A chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve.” he whispers. “Please, if you want, I beg you on my knees... I'll do anything, but please give me a chance.”

The air crackles with unspoken emotions. You lean in, closing the distance between the both of you. At first, the kiss is hesitant and at the same time soft and slow, then deepens, a promise unspoken but understood.

Pulling away, Charles searches your soft eyes.

“Is that a yes?” he smiled while blushing.

You smile softly, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes.

“Maybe... How about we can do something casual between us, not business related, just to get to know each other better?” you say shyly.

A grin spreads across Charles' face, relief washing over him like a victory lap. “It's a deal darling.” you giggled.

He leans in for another kiss, the roar of the engines and the crowd outside a distant echo of the race that's just begun – the race for your hearts.

***

The air crackles with a different kind of tension now. You and Charles break apart from your long awaited kiss, foreheads resting against each other. Relief, hope, and a spark of defiance dance in your eyes.

“We should probably get going before someone sees us, don't you think?” you whisper shyly.

Charles nods, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He reaches for the door, ready to usher you out, but it swings open before he can touch it.

Standing in the doorway is Christian, his face a thundercloud. The celebratory atmosphere in the room evaporates, replaced with a chilling silence.

“Y/n! My office. Now.” he says with a strong and demanding voice.

You flinch, your body tensing and shaking at your father's tone, but Charles steps forward, his stance protective.

“Actually, she's not going anywhere Horner.” Charles says calmly.

Christian's gaze snaps to him, fury replacing the icy anger. “And who are you to tell me what to do in my own hospitality suite, Leclerc?” he scoffs.

“Someone who cares about her, a concept you seem to have forgotten.” Charles says with a hard and firm voice.

The room collectively gasps. You reaches out a hand to touch Charles' arm, a silent plea for caution. But Charles shakes you off gently, his green eyes boring into Christian's.

“You judge her, belittle her, just because of your own insecurities. You push her away with every harsh word and raised eyebrow.” Charles says defending you, maybe you and him weren't that close, but probably Max told him about what happened between you and Christian.

Christian lunges forward, his hand raised in a threatening gesture. But Charles doesn't back down, he catches Christian's wrist mid-air, his grip surprisingly strong.

“Don't. Even. Think. About. Touching. Her.” Charles says in a low, dangerous voice. “And if you do, you'll deal with me, is that clear?”

Christian throws Charles a withering look before turning and storming out of the room. The silence that follows is deafening. No one had ever spoken to your father that way, not even Max or Jos, but the fact that Charles was the first to do it was something... Shocking, especially for you.

You let out a shaky breath, your gaze flickering between the slammed door and Charles. “I... Charles.” you say in a shaky whisper.

He whispers back. “Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong sweetie.” he takes your hand in his. “He's such a jerk.” He pulls you towards the door, a newfound determination in his eyes. “We're leaving, now. We can deal with your father later, together, okay?” he says.

You hesitate for a moment, then you nodded in agreement, as you walk out of the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn and whispers follow. But you don't care anymore, you have each other, and that's all that matters.

You two step out into the cool evening air, the roar of the Italian crowd a distant hum. Your hands are intertwined, a silent promise against the warm setting sun.

You two may have a long road ahead, filled with challenges and disapproval, but you'll face it together, a united front against the storm.

“Thank you... For what you did in there.” You say softly, he smiles and brings your hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of your hand.

“It's nothing ma belle, I know I may not know the whole story since the begging, but I'm willing to help you.” he says the same in a whisper.

“I just want to know... Who told you about it?” you asked softly.

“Max told me.” He says and you laugh.

“I thought so! It doesn't bother me that he did it anyway.” you say and let out a giggle while you shake your head. “I think it's something you deserved to know.”

He smiles at you tenderly. “How about we forget this mess with your father with a good pizza, huh?” he says softly.

“And where would we go?” you shyly asked him.

“We can go to my hotel room... Unless you don't want to, I know it would be awkward but... I don't know, ugh.” He said and started babbling, you smiled seeing him like that, it seemed like the cutest thing of all, seeing him nervous about doing something simple with you.

You smiled and placed a soft kiss on his jaw. “I would love to eat pizza with you in your hotel room Charlie.” you say softly. “So it's a date?”

“It's a date.” He says softly as he kisses the tip of your nose and you giggle. “A date between Ferrari's golden boy and the red bull girl.” he says in a whisper while letting out a giggle.

You smiled tenderly. “You couldn't have said it better.” You whispered back.

To think that a couple of months ago you had not imagined that situation, to see Charles against your father and defending you like a true gentleman, but here you two were. Maybe at the beginning not everything was rosy or he simply didn't tolerate you at all due to false "nepotism" status around you, but you both understand how difficult and complicated this world is, maybe with different perspectives, but you two are there to support each other in the ups and downs.

#f1 x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x horner!reader #formula one x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles x horner!reader #charles x reader #mariclerc fics #charles x you

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stargirl-writes · 14 days ago

Text

respite

pairing : f! reader x anakin skywalker

word count : 2.2k

masterlist

summary

Amid the war, a healer and a soldier find themselves entangled in a delicate dance between love and survival. When exhaustion and unspoken wounds threaten to drive them apart, they must confront the weight of their fears, jealousy, and vulnerability—knowing that healing isn’t always about fixing what’s broken, but learning to hold on through the storm.

tags : angst, angst with a happy ending (!)

warnings : blood, tending to a wound

notes : hello my loves <3, 1 yr writing for a.s. and long story short all my energy was used trying to survive my medical internship. healer! reader is my most self indulgent coping mechanism— here's another angsty catastrophizing passage i'd like to share wit y'all hehe

Anakin Skywalker was a knife personified.

Sharp, blunt, useful. A touch can draw blood.

But despite the danger, he was made of steel— unrelenting and unyielding. One would make an effort to not stare too much— at what his purpose of being reveals; that in the hands of someone cruel, he becomes something of a weapon.

They say that the healer has the bloodiest hands— a permanent imprint of those you've saved and those you've failed.

You try not to think about it too much— your losses cannot equate to the priviledge of a chance to keep someone alive. That was a gift. Only a God can define salvation—what you're doing is an attempt.

But what did your fingers ever do before they held him?

All of it seemed to pale in comparison.

Maybe the sun has set differently in Coruscant, a place always buzzing with neon and noise— maybe you just stopped noticing it the way you stopped noticing him. You don't know why there remained a part of you that was mistrusting, waiting for him to grow tired with you. Instead, the jagged streaks of electric blue and searing magenta faded into something soft, casting a warm golden light that lingers even after the sun slips behind the horizon, refusing to ever dim.

It's both comforting and heartbreaking that over time you could forget holding onto something so sharp long enough to feel it slip— can leave a trail of blood.

The door to your quarter hisses open— and the weight of Anakin fills the room before he utters a word. His boots are heavy on the floor, dragging with a kind of exhaustion that sinks deeper than muscle and bone. Even his shoulders, which assumes the posture of a Jedi slumps forward. He pauses— gaze wide and apprehending.

His robes are dark with dust and sweat, blood smeared across the cuffs of his bionic arms— not his, someone else's. Always someone else's. He stands there too long, unmoving, as if having already read what's on your mind.

"You're hurt," You speak across the room.

"I'm fine."

His voice is low, flat, like all the life has been scraped out of it. You've seen this before, the wounds he carries aren't the ones stitched into his skin.

He turns on his heel, taking off his clothes. You step closer, noticing the slight wince as he tries to reach for his robes. He held a pose of defiance, unflinching even as you slowly took off the fabric that clung to his flesh. You pressed your palm against the soft skin of his shoulders, coaxing him to sit by the edge of the bed.

He lets out a sigh as the robe slips off. You turn to grab the medkit sitting at your bedside table— its existence a harsh reminder that anytime he comes home— so will the hurt that resides deep within him.

His eyes are hooded and dark as he follows your fingers gently press over a gash lining his chest. He sat still— either too tired to care or too numbed to feel it.

"You can't keep doing this, Anakin,"

He tilts his chin upward, "Doing what?"

You paused, eyes locking in a silent challenge as he kept playing asinine.

"Coming back half-dead and pretending it doesn't matter" You pressed the cloth over his wound, he hisses, flinching away.

He takes your wrist, eyebrows furrowed at your accusation. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Barely."

You seal the wound with a sterile band, the scar tissue will build thick and uneven, just like all pain that he refuses to touch buried deep underneath.

It's hard not to get frustrated to watch Anakin undo all the work you've done— that he would resort to passively allowing it to hurt. His skill with a saber is unquestionable, a droid won't be able to even come near him to inflict pain. As the war dragged on— he'd come home late at night appearing more and more injured. Perhaps it's his way to alleviate some guilt. Because he needs it to believe a sort of redemption— that he is not reduced to what was required of him.

A weapon. Unyielding. Unrelenting.

You turn to pack your materials back to the medkit— no longer able to stomach the tensed silences. You can't quite remember when it felt as though you've become one. Someone who deals death and someone who restores life. Where you began and where he ended was the most beautiful thread in the fabric of fate. There had only been one night—just one— where he let himself sleep, slumped against you in a rare moment of peace. You remember the way his breathing evened, slow and steady, as if for a few precious hours, the war has loosened his grip on him. And the room is blanketed with a sort of promise, that he'll be here for you as you were for him. And that also meant working through the difficult days where loving simply won't suffice.

It seems that the difficult days are outnumbering the ones where you both were happy. Thinking back at it makes you feel as if those days had been another lifetime ago.

He slumps down the bed, arms folded holding his head. "I've handed the 501st' command to Ahsoka, the mission in Mandalore is dragging on, I need her with me,"

He's always carried more than he should. Always assumed the weight of a galaxy, even when it would break him. Having your back against him made it easier to deliberately slow down your words to an unassuming casualness. "Without Obi-Wan?"

You go to Obi-Wan to fill the gaps of the chasm forming between you and Anakin, the ones only Obi-Wan seems to understand.

You turn to sit down beside him. You didn't need to access the force to feel the shift in the atmosphere.

"I haven't seen him in a while," His eyes were staring ahead— up at the ceiling. "So… how is Obi-Wan?"

There was an unmistakable edge to his words—tinged with bitterness and accusation.

"What?"

He chuckles hollowly. "I figured you'd know by now. You always run to him."

His sarcasm drips with an underlying insecurity. Obi-Wan, a person he looks up to, being more trustworthy than he was. He's trying not to sound accusatory but it's obvious that he's struggling with jealousy.

You open your mouth to say something. To defend your actions. What else could you have resorted to? When anytime you try to bridge that gap between you, he turns away. Your heart lodges in your throat— any attempt to explain just sounded as if you and Obi-Wan had been conspiring to manage him.

He straightens, balancing his weight against his arms, gaze demanding an answer. "Why do you keep going to him?"

"I'm not—"

He stands to his feet, tension rippling through his body like a coiled spring. "Yes you are! Every time you think something's wrong you look for him like I'm in need of fixing."

You clasp your fingers together— begging them to steady. "I'm only worried about you— you keep coming home changed like…"

"You're disappearing.“ You answered, "How long can you go on like this without breaking?"

There was a beat of silence. He rubs his temples, pacing bad and forth like staying still is the hardest thing he's ever done.

"And so what, you're going to keep patching me up thinking I'll be someone else?" "No," "—Then stop pretending that I am."

“I keep losing everyone, I can't lose you too." You utter as the guilt verbalizes.

His expression softens recognizing the vulnerability of your words. Something in him falters— just for a moment, a breath—and the weight of his exhaustion settles to his shoulders. He kneels down in front of you.

"You're not losing me," He says, quiter this time, as if he's convincing himself as much as you.

"It feels like it…"

He clasps his fingers over your hands, unraveling them. He opens his mouth to say something back—but then he stops. His head dips, the fight draining out of him. In the quietness, you could hear him pace his breaths with yours.

"You're not going to go through this alone anymore," He shifts closer, his bare chest leaving imprints on the skin of your knees. "Ahsoka will be on Mandalore while Obi-Wan takes Utapau, I'll stay here."

Your fingers slip through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead, tracing the uneven skin lining his face. He leans into your touch, and for a little while, the storm settles, just enough to let you both breathe.

He'll always be someone else's arsenal. He is yours. In a way that you wear his touch as a shield, his promises as hope from all the battles left to fight. He plants soft kisses on the palm of your hand, and a light ignites. Something eternal. Something that tells you that there are things worth holding on to—even when it hurts. You're not going to find the resolution tonight. But this was the beginning. That would have to be enough.

"I'm staying," He says as he presses his lips to your palm again, as if sealing the promise neither of you fully understands yet.

You nod, a smallest curve at the corner of your lips, for a fleeting moment, you feel him smile too.

It feels as though love will suffice. You knew he'd weave the fabrics of fate until it only spells your name. That he will tire, and it will not be easy.

"You know for someone who's fine, you're really bad at hiding pain."

Anakin's lips curved to a faint tired smirk— barely there, but real enough to make your heart lighten. He snakes his long fingers against your waist, pulling you closer until his warmth anchors you.

"Guess you must be rubbing off on me." He murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion, but there's a softness in it—like something broken finding a way to heal.

For a moment the weight lifts. It's not gone, not really, but the edges have dulled enough that you can hold him and not wince at the contact of him being pressed against you. Neither of you speaks again, nor moves again. In the dim of night, with senses dulled, the ordinary becomes profound. And— all of the terror slips away, for now. He no longer is someone that breeds horror. He is love. Made solely to be felt by you.

#anakin #anakin fanfiction #star wars #anakin imagine #anakin x you #anakin angst #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin Skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #sw #star wars x reader #angst with a happy ending #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin star wars #anakin (ciella's ver)

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yoongihan · 9 months ago

Text

You Left A Mark - LYB - OneShot

pairing: felix x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

romantic trope: soulmates (inspiration from this reel)

word count: 10k

rating: M for smut, a little language

warnings: cursing, penetrative sex (unprotected), kissing, cuddling, so much touching but it's FELIX, an excessive amount of felix admiration, mc is a reporter and i make up all of that because i know nothing, ages are never mentioned but felix is a few years younger than mc, mc is shorter than felix, silly use of skz song titles for the names of venues. i can't think of anything else that might need a headsup, please let me know if i've missed something.

a/n: fic #2 in skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. the soulmate trope i use is one i encountered here (it's a great fic and i'd highly recommend it) and i have no idea if it originated anywhere else. don't click if you don't want to be spoiled, my fic explains how it works about half way through.

It was, in appearance, just another work day like any other.

In truth, just another work day tended to be not like any other work day as your job entailed reporting the news, which means you could be anywhere in the city in any kind of situation. Your job probably seems exciting to the regular person, but more often than not, it’s dealing with the news anchors’ larger than life egos and your producer not allowing you to cover much more than fluff pieces.

You like fluff pieces, you do. The world is a big hot mess of negativity and darkness and reporting on a child who saved a hamster is definitely a small bright light in that void. But you also care about the dark things, the horrors big and small that need to be announced so that maybe someone can do something about them.

But you aren’t there yet. According to your boss and her boss. You are still growing as a reporter, as a television personality (wtf?), and the latest showdown at the courthouse is to be covered by seasoned professionals.

Not little you and your four years of effort and hard work (not even counting the internship).

But you digress.

You’re in front of the newest coffeehouse in one of the smaller neighborhoods. Taste is the simple name and it looks more like a sleek, modern cocktail bar than a cozy coffee shop. Austere and intimidating if you aren’t someone who can look put together (which you often aren’t).

“So for those interested in a new type of caffeine experience,” You start to close your segment after speaking with the owner and manager. “This place is definitely for you. The coffee mocktails themselves would require multiple visits before you try them all. So come by and have a ‘Taste.’” You smile as brightly as you can despite the cringe-worthy pun, but before your cameraman (one of your favorite humans on the planet, Chan) can call cut, you are bowled into by someone running past.

Part of your professional attire sometimes includes heels and as it is a particularly nice day that doesn’t require too much traversing, you wear heels. Which give no stability when being bumped by someone careening down the street.

“Hey!” you hear Chan say but you can only concentrate on trying to keep upright (a losing battle) and you hold onto the microphone because compared to your body, the mic will cost more to replace.

But you don’t fall. You don’t feel the hard smack of the concrete against your skin.

Hands are wrapped around your upper arms, grip firm and steady.

“You okay?”

You try to regain your balance, find your footing in these insensible but pretty heels. “I’m okay, I'm fine.” You turn your head to see your would-be rescuer and have to blink a few times.

Okay, freckles.

He smiles. This guy of probably mid-twenties, warm russet eyes, with black hair is smiling at you once you’re standing on your own merit. He releases you, but not without a quick pat as though to say ‘there you go, you got it’.

“Thank you.”

His cheeks redden. “Oh, um, you’re welcome.” There’s an accent to his words, but you’re still rather gobsmacked by the entire exchange to place it.

“You alright?” Chan has moved to the both of you, eyes quickly inspecting you as though you might hide any injuries even though you didn’t fall. “It was some kid.”

There’s a deep sigh from your rescuer. “Yeah, he stole some of the chocolates we keep by the POS.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I…well, it’s just chocolate.” His smile is less brilliant and more sheepish. “He probably needed it.”

“Chocolate is not a necessity,” you reply immediately, but then pause and rethink your words.

“It might be.” He smiles again. “It’s pretty good chocolate.”

You shrug. “That’s fair…wait, we caught a crime on camera?” you ask Chan. “Amazing.” You brush yourself off even though you really aren’t covered in debris because again, you didn’t actually fall. But this guy’s attention is throwing you off just a bit.

“I caught you nearly falling on your face,” Chan says before laughing at your glare. “I’ll edit it out.”

“Whatever,” You aren’t really annoyed because it’s Chan and you did nearly fall on your face. “Thank you, again, Mr….”

“I’m Felix,” your rescuer says. “I work here.” He reaches out to move a wayward piece of your hair out of your eyes, his finger brushing along your cheekbone. It makes you pause in your attempt at gratitude because you’re not really bothered. Like he’s a stranger and is touching you and you don’t mind? Because he has a nice, sweet face? “Sorry, you had some hair…”

You can sense Chan moving away, packing up the camera, leaving you relatively alone with this person.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” You stutter a little because you’re off your game. “Felix. At some point, I owe you a drink.”

“Oh no, it’s not a–”

“I owe you a drink.” You smile, though it’s your television smile because you need to be professional even if you feel the least professional. “Even if it’s just a coffee.” You gesture to Taste. “If you want.”

The smile returns in full. “Yeah, okay. I’m here most days.” His lips part like he might say more, but he doesn’t. Nor do you.

It’s nice just looking at him. The sun-warmed skin that contrasts with the inky black of his hair and eyebrows. He’s taller than you, but there’s no intimidation factor in the difference. He feels like someone you could meet anywhere and approach without worry.

You bet he gets great tips as a barista. Imagine walking in to get a coffee and that luminescent smile.

You hear Chan call your name in an attempt to get you to head back to the studio. It shakes you out of the strange reverie this stunning, deep-voiced person has you in.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you.”

He waves as you walk away before tucking his hands into his back pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. It’s now that you notice that he wears the half-apron other employees were wearing, black pants and emerald shirt (a t-shirt, but like a really nice one). You glance back once you’re in the news van with Chan who chuckles.

“Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

You look back at the road and huff. “Aren’t you a little too interested?” You grab a granola bar out of your bag and take a bite, sighing happily.

“Not at all. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that though.”

“God, he’s cute, alright. And saved my job because I doubt I could keep reporting with a broken face.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too–”

“I can murder you, you know,” you interrupt. “No one would suspect because I know things. I’ve watched a lot of Criminal Minds.”

He presses his lips together, but is grinning. “Ooooo, scary.”

“Exactly.” You roll your eyes, your mind briefly leaving the cute barista and returning to all that is work.

–

When you get home that night, he pops into your brain again. The pretty, voice as deep as the ocean, Felix.

But not for the normal reasons one would ponder a good-looking acquaintance.

He pops into your brain when you undress in your bathroom in order to take a much desired shower. In the corner of your eye, you see your reflection when you remove your shirt. There, in marked contrast to your skin, is the beginnings of the darkest bruise you’ve ever seen.

“What the–” You turn to examine it better, spooked by it when you had no memory of bumping into anything that hard. Your other arm shows a similar discoloration, in a similar area.

In fact, it almost looks like something left by a tight hand grip.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection. It hadn’t felt like he’d held you that hard, but you could bruise pretty easily, so of course, Felix, the fae-looking barista, grabbing you to keep from planting into the sidewalk would leave a mark. No big deal.

You pull your hair back as it is not hair-washing day, and then quickly use make-up remover on your face. You are stopped again by your reflection.

On your cheek, not as dark or as prominent, there is the slight darkening of another bruise.

You push a piece of your hair out of the way as you move closer to the mirror to see it clearer. As you do, it sparks the memory of Felix moving your hair and how you’d felt the brush of his finger keenly.

“But…like, a bruise?” Talking to your reflection isn’t a thing you do, but today really has been a weird day. You press it and wince. It does pinch a bit. Nothing worse than the time you ran into the sliding glass doors at your family’s home as a child. Nothing topped that fiasco and subsequent pain.

Dismissing it as your body being more sensitive than usual, you hopped in the shower and soon went to bed after that. Your dreams are filled with a strange scenario of chasing after croissants and them being sucked into a hole in the sky.

–

It’s two days later when you find yourself at Taste again. You aren’t sure if it’s just Felix who’s stuck in your brain, or the fact that the bruises you see when you wipe off your makeup and undress at night makes you remember meeting him; therefore, he’s just there, hanging around in your memory which is distracting.

You tell yourself you just need some coffee that isn’t out of the ancient coffeemaker at the station.

You can’t really buy him a drink unless you have his number or something after all.

The list of excuses and rationalizations you’re coming up with is concerning.

You walk in and smile at the person behind the counter, trying to look for your rescuer without looking like you’re looking. The barista smiles at you as you place your order for a Fiery Redhead (salted caramel breve latte with a hint of cayenne) and you go to sit at an empty table by the window. You know you should ask if he’s working or coming in later, but you also just sort of want to not do much of anything for a few minutes. Work is very intense even on days you aren’t recording. News never stops whether it’s life-changing or just a cat stuck in a tree (life-changing for the cat), and you spend most of your off-work time catching up on stuff around your apartment or sleeping.

You’re staring out the window, watching the cars pass, people drift by, and you aren’t sure where you go, but when you hear a slight noise, you jump and see a mug topped with curlicues of latte art. You look up the arm attached to see Felix smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You feel your skin heat at his attention on you. You’ve thought about him quite a bit in the last forty-eight hours, assuming that maybe your fascination is due to that imagination of yours. But no…he’s really that lovely to look at.

The freckles are particularly still eye-catching.

“I just zoned out.”

He’s wearing the uniform, though no apron.

“Are you on break?”

“Haven’t quite clocked in yet,” he swallows. “Saw you…kinda thought you might be here because of me.”

On anyone else that could sound arrogant, but his voice is incredibly gentle and the lilt up at the end of his words frames it hopeful; a tiny question.

“I am. You thought right.” You gesture to the chair across from you. “Hard to buy you a drink when I don’t know how to get a hold of you, except show up creepily at your job.”

As he sits, he’s chuckling, tugging on the foodsafe opaque plastic gloves encasing his hands. You notice them and it triggers something in your brain, but before you can follow that path, he speaks:

“I figured with your connections being a reporter, you could find out everything about me in mere minutes.”

You smile. “I’m so flattered you think that I have really good connections.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m still kinda low in the newsroom hierarchy.” You rest your chin in your hand. “How long do you have before your shift?”

He glances up behind you, presumably at a clock. “Ten minutes.”

“Early.”

“I hate rushing if I can avoid it.” He looks back at you and you take a second to marvel at the rich brown of his eyes.

He is stupid pretty.

“So…” you begin, trying not to be too direct (hazards of the job). “Is barista-ing something you’ve done before here?”

He nods. “Yeah, though this is a lot fancier than where I was before.” He shrugs. “I'm in school, so it helps pay the bills. And I like serving people.”

“School? For what?” You thought he might be young, but how young?

“Culinary. Baking specifically.” He smiles, the warmth just lighting him up.

“That’s so cool.” You lean closer. “I am a passable cook, like enough to follow a basic recipe and feed myself, maybe buy cookie batter on days I need a sweet, but that’s the extent. If a recipe says to fold in something, I run away in fear.” His answering chuckle warms you more than the latte (though it is very good), all the way to your toes. “Do you love it? Even though it’s school?”

The skin between his freckles turns pink. “Yeah…I enjoy it. Both learning the traditional rules, and getting to experiment.”

“Do you get to experiment here?” You point toward the shelves of pastries. You’d been tempted by at least three. Maybe you’ll give in before you leave.

“A little. When he’s feeling generous and doesn’t think I’ll screw it up.”

That’s a story you want to hear, but you file it away for later. Maybe when you get him that drink.

“What about you?” he asks, derailing your thoughts. “Always wanted to do the news?”

You straighten up and gesticulate aimlessly. “Kinda. I think I wanted to do more print journalism in the beginning. But you have to do both in school and I was good at speaking clearly and on the fly, so I stuck with broadcasting.”

“What do you like about it?” Now he rests his chin in his hand, winces before then straightening. The pained expression makes you want to reach out and check on him. You aren’t uncompassionate or anything, but the immediate concern for this near-stranger is unusual.

Maybe it’s because he looks like taking care of him would be nice. Like to curl up with him on the couch someday and watch a movie together. You bet his hair is soft and playing with it would be so nice. Maybe he’d look up at you with those big eyes and ask you for a kiss, his voice all rumbly and–

Uhhhh, maybe you should not fantasize like that.

“It feels important. Even when perhaps it’s not. I get to meet people and learn things I wouldn’t in a ‘normal’ job or ‘normal’ life.”

“Makes sense.”

You watch him look back at the clock and then sigh.

“Work?”

“Work.” He opens his hand. “I’ll give you my number? If you still want to–”

“I do.” Maybe a little too eager. “I mean, you are under no obligation if you don’t want to.” You pull out your phone and unlock it before handing it over.

“I do.” He says it simply and you wonder if he’s mildly as fascinated by you as you are by him. “I do, too.” His nose scrunches up as he types in his number, and it’s adorable.

“Okay.”

He hands you your phone back and smiles at you. “Okay then.” He starts to stand, pressing his hands on the table to aid him and he grimaces. “Ow.”

“You okay?” The concern, again, you feel is bigger than it should be, but that’s another thing you file away for the time being. “Did you hit your knee?”

“No, I…” He is looking at his hands then at you, and you feel like he’s searching for something as he gazes at you. “It’s nothing.”

You must come up short.

“I better…” He jerks a thumb toward the coffee bar. “I’ll hear from you?”

“Yeah.” You are still intrigued and concerned and a whole lot of other things, so you just force a smile to your lips. “Have a good shift, Felix.”

“Thanks.” He walks over to the bar, grabbing an apron to tie around his hips (why does that emphasize his narrow frame so much and why does that affect you?) and greets the other barista. You look back out the window, taking another sip of your drink (it’s really very good, especially with the heat of the cayenne) and try not to look back at him.

But you do. You watch him as he greets each customer, that smile bright like stars. You watch as he moves around with the other barista in the small space, like a choreographed dance for two; opening a cabinet for something, closing it with his hip or foot as he moves to the espresso machine, spinning the knob to steam the milk.

He speaks with a customer as he makes their drink, laughing without slowing down his work. He sets the paper cup in front of them, showing off the latte art you think, before covering it with the plastic lid. The customer takes it, with a smile almost as brilliant as Felix’s. He waves goodbye before glancing over at you.

You smile, embarrassed at being caught staring, but his tiny grin is shy and cute, and he gets back to making the next drink.

There’s a quick rush in the thirty minutes that you spend there. A queue of ten people, several who are in a hurry and speak with sharp, short words.

One even berating the other barista for not inputting her order quickly enough.

Felix comes to the side of his coworker, speaking calmly to the customer; not smiling, but not frowning.

You wish you could hear what he says, but the lowness of his voice makes that difficult. The perturbed customer doesn’t look too pleased, but does seem to back off. Felix makes her drink and sends her on her way.

He walks back over to his colleague, eyes searching and you know, you just know that he’s checking in. Making sure.

Caring.

You glance at the dregs of your latte, surprised at how much you feel you know this person. You don’t. You know you don’t, but there are things about him that feel familiar. That feel safe, like maybe instead you could curl up in his arms, he could play with your hair, you could ask to kiss him, taste those curved, pink lips and–

You stand up rather abruptly, taking your mug and setting it on the marked table for dishes.

“Bye!”

You turn to see him looking bewildered but bidding you a farewell. You think you smile, but you just nod and hurry away.

Good thing there’s a bit of traffic on the way back to the station. You need a moment or ten to calm down.

–

It’s a few days before you actually message Felix and make plans. Work is relentless as the local election is days away and both candidates for commissioner seem to believe that character attacks on the other is the best way to convince people to vote for you.

There was almost a fist fight yesterday. You also forgot to eat, which you didn’t realize until breakfast the next day. Perhaps your stomach shrunk because you could only do a small yoghurt in wake of not eating for a day. Despite the printed expiration date, you think it might have been spoiling already. It tasted tangy.

As you get ready for your…you’re just gonna call it a date and not overthink about it…, you see the bruises and they seem darker which makes little sense to you. You’ve bumped them a few times and it hurt, but no more or less than a normal bruise.

The bruise on your face is darker too, but your foundation and concealer does a good job of lessening the contrast so most of the time it looks like an oddly placed shadow.

But you feel like it’s a thing. Something you can’t quite figure out. And you will, once the election and campaign stuff is over and perhaps you’ll have a bit more free time.

But tonight is a date. A something with Felix. Who you have texted a couple times beyond the mere matching of your schedules. His schooling is at night four times a week. You imagine working a shift then going to class must be exhausting. You spent your undergrad years in class and in the library for work study. Not on your feet for eight hours or more, serving person after person.

Wow, you are creating a traumatic story for him. He might really love both.

He is excessively positive in his messages. He diatribes one night about nailing baumkuchen (you have to google that to understand what it is and why it’s hard) finally in class.

He’s really proud of that grade. And though you had nothing to do with it, you’re really proud of him too.

Something about him is just inviting, the opening of a door and a wave to come in.

You arrive at Back Door, a relatively less popular bar than Up All Night, which is where you would normally grab a drink after work with your colleagues if you were feeling social (which is about 50% of the time post-work). You’ve not been to Back Door yet, but just walking in makes you smile. Everything looks like a hotel lobby with big couches and large tables to stand at. The art on the walls is a mixture of traditional and modern. The red and black color scheme is daring.

Not a place to get cozy, but a place to make an impression.

Do you want to make an impression on Felix? Maybe.

You walk to the bar, finding a spot in between well-dressed people. You wait your turn for one of the two bartenders to find you and as you often do, you watch people and imagine what their lives might be like.

“Hey.”

You jump at his voice (how do you forget how freakin’ deep it is every time?) and then you get his laugh.

“I keep scaring you. Sorry.” He squeezes in next to you and you get a new image of him. Dressed in ripped black jeans and a pale pink button-down shirt with black tie loosened.

He is…delectable.

You shake your head to his comment as well as the path your thoughts are going.

“I just zone out a lot.”

He moves closer, his ear toward you so he can hear better. You repeat yourself and he nods before turning back so his eyes can look into yours.

Damn, that’s powerful.

“Where do you go?” he asks. “When you zone out?”

Do you admit that you regularly think about people you don’t know and make up backstories for them? You think that maybe he won’t judge you too harshly.

“I–” You cut yourself off when he lifts his hand to try and get the bartender’s attention. He’d had on gloves the last time you saw him, but he doesn’t now.

And the insides of his hand is dark. Like a bruise covering the length of his index finger across the palm to his thumb.

As though he’d grabbed something (someone) and bruised himself.

You don’t think to check for consent, but grab his hand, peering at the marks then you take his other. It doesn’t register that he just lets you, not even saying a word about your impoliteness.

“Felix,” you say slowly. “You…” You look up and he’s looking at your arms which are covered by three-quarter length sleeves. You’ve been intentional about not highlighting that you look like you’ve gone through a round with a MMA fighter. You nod at the question in his eyes.

What’s the point of lying? And to lie to Felix feels beyond wrong.

“Let’s get that drink and talk, huh?” he offers, tugging away from your hold to wave down the bartender. Your brain feels like it’s frozen, like a computer that has glitched so badly no matter what key you press, it’s unresponsive.

“What do you like?” Felix asks you softly, which helps your brain function just a bit. The bartender is there as well, waiting.

“Whatever you’re having.”

He nods, seeming to know that you are processing intensely at the moment. A few seconds pass, you trying to logic why bruises on him and you mean something, but you’ve got nothing when he nudges you with his elbow and lifts his chin to indicate you both should find somewhere to sit.

You follow him, blindly, as he weaves through the weekend crowd, finding a small table in a far corner where the music and talk is muted. He sits, laying the two wine glasses on the table. You scoot in across from him, staring at the wine wine ripple in the glass before settling.

“Can I see?”

You meet his gaze and shrug a yes, knowing what he’s asking. You shove up one of your sleeves, inadvertently pressing the bruise which makes you inhale sharply. He leans forward, hand reaching out to hold your arm carefully.

“Fuck. That’s dark.” He lightly rubs his thumb over it, gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have thought much about it,” you begin, feeling content with him touching you, even though he’s the one who left bruises. He’s warm, not just in temperature, but it’s like he emits a toasty energy that flows into you. It’s odd, but you like it. “Because I bruise pretty easily, and you did keep me from busting my face. But…” You touch the bruise on your cheek. “You barely touched me here.”

He follows your motion and peers closer. You actually stare back into his eyes, sparkly as they are with the bar’s array of lights.

“Fuck.”

His second cursing makes you smile even if you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because his freckles and generally soft demeanor make him seem innocent; i.e. not someone going around using the f-word so easily.

You’re also really enjoying the skin to skin contact. You weren’t even cold, but his touch feels secure, sheltering. Like you’re in an oversized armchair with a cup of tea, reading on a thunderstorm night.

“Do you know what it is?” His demeanor makes you think that he knows more than you, and you have to admit, you’re bothered that you’re so clueless right now. You’re used to being the smarter person on a date.

Which explains why you don’t date much and have been single for nearly two years now.

“I…no. I didn’t realize you had them too.” You sigh, and trace the marks on his hand that isn’t holding you. You don’t question the intimacy as you’re pretty sure whatever is going on is not a normal interaction with a man you only barely know, even if he is pretty. “Work has been slammed…I was going to go to the doctor if they didn’t fade soon.”

“They won’t. I mean, not on their own.” He stares at the mark on your arm. “Not without me.”

It’s like he’s talking in riddles. “Felix. What do you know?”

He lets go and you shiver as though a cold front blew through the bar, at you specifically. He takes the wine glass and sips it, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring it.

He must like wine because it seems like minutes upon minutes that he keeps his eyes closed.

“Look…” He opens his eyes and you are floored by how much pain echoes there. The same eyes that sparkled seconds ago. “You have questions and I think, think, I know the answers, but…fuck…this means–” He breaks off, dropping his head.

Is he crying?

“Felix….” You reach out, burdened, and place your hand over his. He jolts at your touch, but doesn’t pull away. He slots his fingers in between yours. “Please tell me what’s wrong? Can I help?”

“I need to go. I knew what it was. I just wanted it not to be true.” His voice cracks and he looks up, eyes welling. There’s a quiver in his lips, like maybe he wants to smile or maybe he wants to cry, or maybe it’s both. “I just need some time?” He stands up, leaving his glass and leaving your touch.

“But…?” What the fuck is going on?

He’s next to you, leaning down so your faces are close. You catch your breath.

“Soulmates. Look up soulmates.” He presses his mouth to your cheek before tearing away and disappearing in the ever-growing crowd. You stand up, to do something; call him back, chase after him…something. But he’s gone and you sit down again, staring at the two wine glasses. You take a sip of yours and grimace.

It just doesn’t taste quite right.

–

You take a cab home because you drink your wine, his, and order two cocktails (they all taste odd, but honestly it doesn’t matter by the time you get the first cocktail, you are such a lightweight). It’s dumb but you spend two hours at a bar, using Google on your phone.

At a bar. On a Friday night.

You get approached at least three times by someone either intent on chatting you up, or getting your coveted spot at the table. You basically ignore these approaches because you are intent.

Soulmates.

That’s what he’d said and though normally you would laugh derisively at the mere use of that term in anything other than some cliched romantic film, you find that the moment he said it, your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a tight grip.

So you search ‘soulmates’ which yields more links and pieces of information than you are willing to wade through.

You type in ‘bruises soulmates’ and that narrows it way down.

When you touch the first time, it leaves a mark; something similar to a bruise, but far more distinct. This is your soulmate.

“I met mine, because we ran into each other on the train. Literally. My hip is black and blue. How do I find them?”

The marks take hours to show up, so you have to retrace your steps to find them. Chances are they’re looking for you too.

“I can’t eat any more. It tastes like licking the inside of a dumpster.”

Food and drink will lose its pleasurable taste. It’ll become disgusting, revolting.

“I’ve sent out messages on all SNS. It’s been a week. The hospital keeps pumping fluids, but it’s not working. Someone please help me!”

The only way to survive is to be with your soulmate. Skin to skin contact for hours if you are sick or hurting. Not as long if it’s just daily need. You will no longer need food or drink. Water will be the only thing palatable.

You stumble out of the bar, Uber app open on your phone. The air outside is heavy from late summer humidity and it’s like you can’t catch your breath.

If you don’t find your soulmate, you will starve to death.

You can starve to death. You’re not even thirty years old yet, and death is now something more likely than ever.

You look at your arm, the sleeve still pushed up from earlier.

He doesn’t have very big hands, you muse. The mark is actually lighter and you realize that the little amount of contact you had with him has already started to heal.

Holy fuck.

Your Uber shows up and you practically throw yourself into the backseat as though someone nefarious is chasing you.

“You alright?” the driver asks, glancing back. “You run here?”

You are panting, your breath short from the magnitude of what you’ve just found out. Part of your brain denies it all. Surely this is bullshit. Soulmates, touch, inevitable death for those who lose their person.

It can’t be true.

But what you thought was just hormones when he touched you tonight; the warmth, the comfort, the irresistible draw…

You’ve dated. You’ve fucked. You’ve had men who looked great and those who looked less so. No one affects you the way the quiet-eyed, deep-voiced barista has in three encounters.

You give the driver your address and force yourself to stop looking at your phone before you get more nauseated, and look out the window.

You need to sleep before you can tackle whatever the fuck this is.

–

It strikes you two days later. You go through the weekend researching everything you can, or pointedly turning off your phone and your laptop in order to clean your apartment and reorganize your kitchen.

You look at the set of pots that you got two years ago because you wanted nicer, matching ones and now, you aren’t going to need them.

You’d been able to stomach one egg this morning, the desire for food already waning. You wonder if going to get your favorite donuts would be good, if life-changing information warranted donuts.

It hits you then.

Felix wants to be a baker.

And he’s going to lose his sense of taste.

You sink down to the floor of your kitchen with the weight of that revelation. You lean back against the lower cabinets and let that take hold.

By meeting you, Felix can’t pursue his dream.

You barely know him, but you know enough to understand perhaps a tenth of the loss he must be feeling knowing that he’s going to lose what he wanted to do with his life.

You did this. By nearly falling over, you have changed the direction of his life.

You enjoy food, and the loss of it isn’t something you’re looking forward to, but it doesn’t change your job or your life.

You cover your face when you realize that you’re crying.

It’s your fault.

You cry for longer than one would for a near-stranger before you force yourself back to your feet. You trudge toward your bedroom, seeking your phone that you’ve put on silent and plugged in. There are notifications for work, for social platforms, from your mom.

You don’t check them, but you search out the chat between you and your…

Soulmate.

<<I am so sorry.

What else can you say? There is nothing you can do because unless every source you’ve found online about this phenomenon is wrong and lying, the ball is rolling and nothing can stop it.

You set your phone back down, sitting on the edge of your bed. There’s a window across from you and the view is simply the brick building next to your apartment complex. There is nothing to really look at, but the simplicity of the brick, the gradient of burgundies and reds with beige caulk between is a lot easier to make sense of than anything else right now.

Your phone vibrates.

>>It’s not your fault.

There’s hardly anything you can say. You can state that it is. It is your fault. Without touching you, he’d go on with his life, pursuing his dreams like everyone should get to.

<<Regardless. I am. Very very sorry.

You don’t expect to hear from him. You set your phone aside, noticing that your hands are shaking. You feel exhausted, like the crying you’ve indulged in has drained you. Maybe you’re coming down with something.

Or maybe it’s something else. Something soulmate.

>>Can I come by?

You type out yes before you think through it fully. You send him your address and close your phone before getting back up to go to the bathroom and look at yourself.

Maybe it’s silly to make sure you don’t look like someone who has fought dust bunnies and lost, but you think that showering wouldn’t be amiss.

It’s a half hour later when there's a knock on your door. You’ve already buzzed him in, so it’s not that you’re unprepared to see him, but really, how would anyone be able to prepare for the groveling you want to do when you see him.

He stands in your doorway, eyes wide and you chastise yourself for changing because he obviously had no qualms, dressed in sweatpants, and a creased t-shirt. He looks terribly soft with rumpled hair, light wrinkles on his cheek from sleeping.

There are dark smudges of weariness under his eyes.

“I’m so–” you begin because surely apologizing profusely will relieve a little of the guilt you feel. He doesn’t let you finish, but strides in and wraps his arms around you. He’s got several inches of height on you (lack of heels) and rests his chin on top of your head. He closes the door with his foot, falling back on it, his hold on you firm.

“You don’t need to say you’re sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

“Kind of is. If we’d never touched…” The heat of him warms you through, as though you were icy but didn’t know it until touching him.

It’s uncanny, how much better you feel just by being in his arms. Soulmate or not, you think that anyone would be better receiving a hug from him.

“I could have let you fall. So I’m just as responsible.”

You feel your eyes well up, your throat constrict with grief. “But you were just being nice. That’s all. And this is your reward.” You bury your face into his shoulder, noting how bony he is and how nice he smells, like cookies. “I’m so so fucking sorry.”

You’re crying into his shirt and it’s embarrassing, but you can’t seem to stop. You feel his hand stroke your back, soothing.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s a rumble against you, he’s chuckling. You lift your head to look up at him. He smiles sadly, releasing his hold to wipe under your eyes.

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re too nice. I would fix it, if I could. I would give you back–” He kisses you.

Oh. My. God.

If touching him casually or even being in his arms is comforting, kissing him is that feeling amped up to eleven. You actually feel light-headed and dizzy like you’re back at the bar drinking too much wine.

He presses one small kiss to the corner of your lips before drawing away. You whimper to lose that caress, but he keeps his arms around you like he knows you need it. He rests his head on the door, eyes fixed on you.

“Wow,” you breathe.

There’s a slight quirk of his lips, like he wants to laugh, but won’t at the moment.

You realize both of you are still standing in your little foyer so you draw away, but his hands tighten.

“I was just…just gonna invite you in.”

“That’s okay. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t let go?” You peer at him, seeing that the dark under his eyes has already lessened.

You nod, adjusting so your hand encloses around his. You lead him into your apartment, watch him as he looks around, eyes still wide, but seemingly less panicked now. You sit on your two person couch that is opposite your television. He sits next to you, looking at your bookshelves, covered in photo frames, books, knick-knacks from places you’ve gotten to go for work.

“I have to ask,” you say, making him look over at you. “What are you thinking? Right now?”

“I…I feel a little out of place,” he replies, glancing down at your clasped hands. “You have a real job and a nice place and I’m just a barista, trying to get a certificate.” The mention of his schooling makes you tighten your grip and he squeezes back, still not looking at you. “Makes me wonder if the universe screwed up.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

He looks up then.

“You are this beautiful, ridiculously kind human who smiles like the sun and because of me, lost your dream and you’re still here. You should hate me.”

He covers your mouth with his untethered hand. “I don’t. I couldn’t.” His hand drifts to cup your cheek. “I’m not mad at you.” He takes another deep breath. “I’m mad at the fallout. Like…it sucks.” He nods. “It really does. That’s why I just needed some time.”

“I’m sorry. I only gave you like two days.”

His thumb runs over your lower lip and you feel like you’re melting.

“I wanted to see you. I can already tell that I need to…” He blushes. “I need to touch you.”

“You look less drained.” You touched his heated cheek. “I felt out of it, too.”

“Me too.” He leans in, face close, watching you. “I didn’t ask. About kissing you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Weird circumstances.” You hope your smile does half of what his smile does for you. “You’re stuck with me unless you want to starve to death.”

He half-grins, his hand still on your face, tracing along your nose. “It’s pretty dramatic, right?”

“It really is.”

“You don’t mind?”

“What?”

“Being stuck with me?”

“No.” You’re louder than you meant to be. He blinks at the emphasis. “I mean, I don’t know you all that well, but what I do know…” You take his hand from your face, holding it as tight as the other hand. “I like.”

He nods. “Can we…” He takes a breath. “Can we touch more?”

It is weird and you both laugh at the awkward and latent innuendo.

“Like nothing…” He stops talking, expression helpless. You just nod.

He watches as you let go of his hand to get close. His dark eyes seem darker when you pause to figure out how exactly you plan to touch him.

“Here.” He pulls you in, aligning you to his chest, your back resting against him, his arms around you, his chin coming to sit on your shoulder. “The longer we touch, those bruises will fade.”

You lift his hands so you can see that his marks are lighter since you saw them Friday night. He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. It tickles, but you don’t shy away.

“I feel like we’ve gone from acquaintances to whatever this is really quick.” It’s an obvious statement, a pointless one, but things are progressing at an exponential speed that you need to voice it, if only to remind yourself and him that it’s real.

“It’s okay, though?” he asks softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but even beyond the need to touch you, I want to.” His chin rests on your shoulder again.

“You do?”

You can hear the smile in his voice, “I thought you were pretty when you came in for the interview. I think I would have tried to talk to you if you ever came back, even without the rest of it.”

You’re still playing with his hands, absorbing his words.

“This whole thing is weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know about soulmates before?”

You feel his chin as he nods. “My grandmother’s second husband and her. My grandfather died and at age sixty-three or something, my grandmother bumped into this man at her favorite bakery. Bruises and everything. She told me the story when I was about ten, when they decided to get married. No one believed her, but I did. It just made sense when you saw them together. But it’s rare. Like…there are accounts of it all over the world, but not a high percentage.” He noses your ear. “What did you find out? You researched, didn’t you?”

“If you call googling for too many hours, proper research.” Being in his arms is slowly making you feel less weary and calmer. You’re still sad and worried, but your body feels less like debilitated frozen tundra. “I guess we’re lucky that it wasn’t hard to know who it was. There are stories…of people…” You stop talking, overwhelmed by the fact that this could have gone so badly. “I’m glad I knew it was you immediately. Like I meet so many random people and I–”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

You’re both quiet for several minutes. You’ve stopped playing with his hands and he’s just wrapped around you even more snugly.

“How do we do this?”

“Well, I’m going to quit school tomorrow. The semester is nearly over and I haven’t paid for next semester yet, so that’s money saved.”

“It sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” His hand slips under your shirt and you tremble at the energy pulse that such a slight touch does to you. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” You ponder for a second. “Do we need to do this every day?”

“I think it’s encouraged, and necessary. Like to go too long not in contact is…well, I felt like a zombie until I held you.”

“I hope you don’t need alone time.”

He chuckles. “Not too much. You?”

“Some.” That’ll be an adjustment. Someone wanting to spend hours with you. More than just the occasional meet-up with a friend. “Do…you…god, this is gets more and more bizarre…should you move in with me?”

The gentle motion of his hand stills. “Would you…would that be okay?”

“I mean, we should probably find a place together, but I still have a few months left on my lease. You?”

He sits up and you move away, though you notice his hand stays on your skin, following as you adjust to face him.

“I’m rooming with some guys. Month to month.” His eyes are wide. “Really?”

“I mean…will it make it easier?”

He chuckles. “I have a twin bed.”

“Mine’s a queen.”

“You really are so much more of an adult than me.”

You bat at his arm. “Stop saying that. You aren’t any less. You work and go…went to school.”

“Yeah.” He stares at you for a few seconds. “You’re willing to just let me move in?”

“I mean, we can have sleepovers if that’s easier.”

He laughs, covering his face with his hands for a second before making sure he’s still touching you with a hand on your knee. “I don’t have a lot of stuff. My baking stuff…that I guess I need to sell.”

You lace your fingers with his. “I’m–”

“You don’t need to say it.” He shrugs. “It just is what it is. Anyway, clothes, not a lot. I have my computer and that’s kinda…” He looks around. “Do you have another bedroom?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a makeshift office/storage unit right now.” You make a face. “I should probably get rid of some of it. Do you have a big computer?”

He shrugs again. “I built it. I game and fiddle with computers in my free time.”

You move closer. “How are you that interesting? It’s not fair. You’re ridiculously pretty, you bake, and you do computery things?”

His ears, cheeks and neck all flush. “It’s not that interesting…”

“It is to me,” You point at him with your connected hands. “I just do the news stuff.”

“And zone out.”

You laugh. “And zone out. Regularly.”

He brings you back to rest against his chest, a deep sigh releasing. “So…I guess…we’re moving in together?”

You aren’t horribly impulsive usually. In big things you try to think logically and rationally. But that seems to have been tossed aside currently.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You feel his lips on your cheek.

–

It’s a month later, after you’ve emptied out the second bedroom with as much as you can let go off, Felix moves in with his stuff (the computer set-up reminds you of like the command bridge in Star Trek or something), and you’ve learned how to sleep in bed with a person you aren’t actually sleeping with (despite the touch thing, both of you seem to avoid talking about anything past necessary touch).

The progression the soulmate-ness has had is different for both of you. You lost your taste for food and drink well before he did. It’s nearly three weeks to the day you two met that he can’t eat one of his galettes because it tastes like the way wet dog smells.

He cries in your arms.

You handled working over eight hours a day as well as you always have, but if it moved to twelve hours, you found Felix at the apartment, on the couch or bed, looking more fragile and delicate than normal. The toll your separation took on his body was far worse than the toll on your body.

It took some adapting and adjusting; trial and error to see what worked for the both of you. If it was going to be a long day, Felix would leave work and come find you at the station, or you’d come to him just to sit and hold hands for a half hour before one of you had to go. It helped.

For the first time since being on your own, you have to worry about someone else and yes, at times, it can be frustrating; overall, it’s nice. It’s nice to come home to someone.

“I can’t do it,” Felix comes in late from the coffeehouse. You came home early and are spending your time trying to figure out what one does with a kitchen and all that cabinet space if one no longer eats.

“Can’t do it?”

He doesn’t stop in his path, dropping his bag on the ground as he toes off his shoes. You barely can say much else before he’s wrapped around you in what has become a regular habit of his. In your arms the moment you’re both home.

You can’t complain even if it thwarts your thought process about the kitchen.

“The coffee smell is awful,” he mutters into your hair. “Like, I thought not tasting it would be okay, but the smell is just as bad. All day, every day…” he sighs. “I almost quit.”

“Maybe you should. I make enough for you to take a break for a little bit.”

“I’m not…” He sighs again. “I don’t like that. It’s your money.”

“And therefore I can help you out.” You rub up and down his back, soothing him. “You haven’t had much time to figure out a new plan.”

He moves so his face is in the crook of your neck, nuzzling. Normally you giggle because it tickles, but lately when his lips are anywhere near you, it’s like every nerve you have is on high alert.

“I think I’m avoiding it.”

“That’s okay too.” You hurry to continue when you feel his body stiffen as though he wants to argue with you. “For now. It’s a lot.”

He lifts his head, but not before brushing a soft kiss on your neck which sends you down a path that you’ve tried to avoid thinking about with Felix in mind. A path that includes not only sleeping in your bed.

“I…” He watches you for a few seconds and you can feel your face heating with his scrutiny. “I’m gonna game for a bit.” He then sees that you have all the plates and cups and paraphernalia on the counters. “Unless you need a hand?”

“Go shoot something digitally. I’m good.”

He smiles that soft smile of his. The one that makes you want to cozy up with him on the couch, his head in your lap and mindlessly watch a movie.

“Sure?”

You nod, and start to move back to the kitchen problem when he drops another kiss, this time on your cheek. You should be getting used to this, and perhaps you are, but it still floors you. The feel of him, the subsequent burst of soulmate voltage that it emits.

He doesn’t seem to notice that every time he kisses you, your brain pauses like a video buffering. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe kissing you doesn’t do much more than just heal in the soulmate way.

He hasn’t kissed you on the lips since that first time. You want him too. You’ve thought about it way too much, even when you’re supposed to be working.

You should say something. You should kiss him, and often. But you hold back. You don’t know why.

He’s had so much of his life uprooted because of you, you don’t want to add the burden of your sexual wants onto his plate.

He shuffles off to the second bedroom and you eventually go back to working on the kitchen.

He calls your name about an hour later, after you have given up on the dusting because it’s too much, and have ended up on the couch, looking through your SNS feed to find that there isn’t much new in the world.

“Hmm?”

“I think…I think I had an idea.”

You get up and wander over to that room, more Felix’s than yours now. You stand in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the darkness because there’s only a lamp that he keeps on by his set-up.

He wheels around in his ergonomic chair.

“What’s your idea?”

“One of my friends,” He waves toward his screen, “Asked me a question about what to add to his computer to boost its…” He chuckles immediately when you furrow your brow. “You don’t care about that.”

“I will attempt to understand it?”

“Nevermind.” He reaches out his hands toward you and you walk in, suspicious. He latches on and pulls you into his lap, which just makes you freeze even more than the nightly cuddles. “I gave him about three different options and he asked if I’d do it for him. He’d pay me.” He cradles your face in his hands. “He’d pay me.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“I mean…maybe that’s it. I could fix or enhance, I guess, computers. I know too much about it for just fiddling with my own.” He trails his fingers down to your neck and you tremble. “Maybe this is what I should do.”

Even in the dim light, you can see how bright his eyes are. It reminds you of when you met him, before everything changed.

“If you want. I imagine you probably do know more than the average person. I’ve heard you ramble enough to your friends on that thing.” You smile even if the heat of his legs is burning you in the best way. “Will it make you happy?”

His infectious joy fades a little. “It might.” With his finger, he draws an amorphous shape on your skin. “I think it might.”

“Then you should do it.” You pat his shoulders, getting ready to remove yourself from him because being on his lap, facing him, being so close is making you want more than you think either of you are ready for.

His hands slip to your waist to keep you from leaving.

“Felix, what are you–?”

“You make me happy, you know that, right? Being here with you, coming home to you or vice versa makes me happy.” His gaze is zeroed in on you, and it’s a lot. Having his focus.

“You don’t have to say stuff like that.”

He adjusts you so you’re nearer, his hands clasped at the small of your back. “I’m not just saying that. I mean it.” His lips turn down in concern. “Aren’t you? Happy?”

“With you? God, yes.” Sometimes with him, you do this. You say things before thinking it through. “Even when you hog the covers.”

He looks a bit sheepish, but doesn’t apologize.

“But my life didn’t derail because you entered it.”

He touches his nose to yours. “Mine didn’t either. It just changed direction. Maybe a little more dramatically than yours.” He purses his lips in thought. “I only worry about the job stuff because well…I want to work in something I like.”

“Of course you do.” You comb back his hair, longer than when you met him; shaggy and probably needs a cut, but you really like it. “If you want to do this, I think you should.”

“It might take a while for me to make much.”

You point at yourself. “Do I look worried?”

He smiles, teeth flashing, eye crinkles, and your heart flutters.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper, tracing the curves of his smile and cheeks. His lips part at the compliment, and your finger slides to his teeth. “I…uh, sorry.”

He kisses the tip of your finger to reassure you. You swallow your more lustful feelings and smile.

“You better get back to your friends.” You try to stand up, but his arms tighten. “I should…go.”

“Why?” he asks softly. “Why can’t you stay right here? I want you to.”

“You do?”

He says your name in the same whisper and kisses you reverently. You dissolve into him, scooting closer so you can embrace him. There’s a soft groan, and it’s not from you.

“Am I too heavy?” you ask, breaking the kiss. He pouts at you and shakes his head.

“It’s…it’s not that.”

It takes you a second and your eyes widen before you look down.

“Oh.”

He chuckles. “You haven’t noticed?”

“Well, I mean, in the morning, but that’s like…all guys.” His cheeks turn pink as you continue. “I…I wasn’t assuming that it had to do with me.”

“You can assume.”

You stare breathlessly at him.

“If you want, I mean.” His eyes dart away from yours. “If I’m the only one turned on here, you can pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Just because it’s not as obvious doesn’t mean I’m not.”

You feel him raise his head and meet your gaze. If he can tell your face is hot in the shadowy room, he makes no mention of it.

“Yeah?”

You nod before hearing some tinny voices coming from his headset. “Your friends.” You nod again toward his computer screen. “Your game.” You don’t even try to move out of his hold, but his arm wraps around you so you’re nearly chest to chest.

“Don’t move.” He grabs his headset from around his neck and slips it on, pressing a button on the side. “Guys…something’s come up. Min…I’ll come by tomorrow with a better graphics card and install it for you.” He presses the same button amid all the protests you hear, and takes the headset off. He tosses it on his computer desk before returning to hold you, with one minor adjustment.

One hand slides up the back of your top, searing. He watches your face, intent. You tug at the collar of his shirt, and he stands up gingerly, letting you slide down until your feet touch the floor. He pulls off his shirt before taking your hands in his to bring them to his chest and arms.

“I didn’t know,” he says as you outline the planes and facets with your fingers.

“Didn’t know?”

He dips his head so you have to look up into his eyes, away from his beautiful skin. “Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“How could I not?” You let your hands trail up his sides to his neck and then to his face. “You are beautiful, both inside and out, Lee Felix.”

He doesn’t answer but kisses you with none of the former softness or gentleness. His hands are gripping your arms, directing you backwards out of the room and toward the bedroom. All of your kisses have been chaste, as though the crossing into using tongue would mean something else.

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it’s not just about a mutual need to live, a mutual admiration, though that’s all true. Perhaps being soulmates is just the beginning of having a partner. In everything.

You feel the bed at the back of your legs, unaware that you’ve traveled that much of the apartment because Felix might be good at gaming, but he’s exceptionally good at kissing. It’s all you can do to hold on as he consumes you, tongue stroking yours, teeth nibbling. You fall back on the bed, and he follows, climbing on top of you, mouth still seeking yours. His hands have slid under your top, mapping out your shape with fervor.

The calm and quiet of him has broken.

He draws away to look down at you, panting. “Okay?”

“Yes, so much,” you answer breathlessly. He smirks and peels off your shirt before sitting and undoing his pants. “Hey.”

He pauses and glances at you. You can see his hands trembling.

“We don’t have to rush.”

“I know. I know, but I…” He leans to kiss your jaw. “I want you so much.” He slips a finger under your bra strap and slides it down your shoulder. “Sleeping next to you is both wonderful and fuckin’ torture.”

His grin when you laugh only lasts a second before he pulls you close and on top of him. You work his pants off, trying not to get sidetracked by his undoing of your bra and ensuing caresses. It takes a few minutes, both of you distracting the other in the process, but eventually, gloriously, the clothing is gone and you’re both looking at each other in awe.

Beautiful. Inside and out.

“C’mere,” his voice drops to a decibel you aren’t sure anyone else can hear (you don’t want them too because he’s your soulmate and you are so damn grateful). He places soft kisses all over your face, making you giggle as he props up pillows at your back. “We’ve never talked about past relationships.”

“Oh. I mean…” You twist your lips thinking about your last date let alone last relationship. “I haven’t…work kinda replaced everything else, you know? I’m clean…it’s been at least a year.”

“Six months. Had to move away.” He eases in between your legs, hands rubbing your thighs almost carelessly. “Clean too.” He leans down, face inches away and those perfect freckles blurring together.

“Was it serious?”

“I think it could have been,” he says honestly. “You?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been serious about someone till you. Even before I saw the bruises,” You run your hands up his arms, his muscles taut from holding himself up. “You stuck in my mind. Chan teased me about it.”

He grins before slipping one hand down your chest, your stomach and farther down… “You weren’t kidding about being turned on, were you?”

You half-heartedly slap his shoulder because one, it’s more than obvious and two, his tender exploration of you is dizzying. The soulmate energy, with no clothing to bar skin to skin contact, feels like you’ve laid down in a meadow on a warm day; not too hot, no bugs, no pollen, nothing but heat and light and tranquility.

Then his fingers lightly touch your clit and the tranquility liquifies into heat and lust and want.

“There, huh?” The teasing, soft but dark, makes you want to say something snarky, but he’s kissing you, his fingers circling until you're gasping against his mouth.

“Lix, please,” you whine. His lips leave yours before he pushes in. “Oh god.”

As with everything, the soulmate need for touch just amplifies everything; how he feels sliding in, each thrust, the grazing of your g-spot. It’s a million times more and when you break, and feel him break; it’s not surprising that for a few seconds you aren’t sure where you are.

Then the puffs of his shortened breath on your skin, the length of his body covering yours, one hand trailing up and down your arm.

“You back?” he asks, voice gruff.

“I think so.”

He lifts his head, eyes at half-mast, smile sleepy and well-contented. “We should do that again…often.”

You roll your eyes, a grin twitching at the corner of your lips. He kisses you, open-mouthed, but delicate.

“I am really really glad you caught me that day.”

He stares down at you, eyes fond. “I’m glad you caught me too.”

a/n #2 - the coffee drink, fiery redhead, is not mine, but created by a coffeehouse in my parents' town. i love it, and make it at home now.

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

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catssluvr · 2 months ago

Note

holy cow that playlist one was perfect☹️☹️ seriously it was better than i imagined!! and i love all of the songs u used AND i loveeee stevie nicks ugh it was just perfect thank you sososo much!!!

also.. if you still want requests! i have too many ideas i fear, but i was thinking!! maybe like reader is an intern at the bau and emily meets her for the first time and its just fluff and pining perhaps?

thank u so much again!

-🐞

i’m sosososo glad you loved it 💌 your requests always make my day 🫶🏻 i’m always open for ur requests bug, show me all ur ideas 🤍 ILY

𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆, emily prentiss

emily prentiss x fem!reader

emily meets you and is immediately enchanted <3

warnings: none<3

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

Emily scribbles down on the papers in front of her, chin resting on the palm of her hand. It's a pretty normal day at work, no current case going on, just loads of files to fill and meetings to attend. The bullpen is almost entirely quiet, the only sounds being of pens scribbling and hushed voices.

Her gaze snaps up when she hears Aaron's office door opening and closing, expecting him to tell the team to meet in the conference room. To her surprise, he's walking side by side with a girl she doesn't remember seeing before. You.

You smile politely as Hotch introduces you to almost everyone who passes, she wonders how much more beautiful your actual smile is. It feels impossible for it to get even prettier.

You're visibly nervous, hands rubbing against your blazer before going in for a handshake. Your suit looks like it's been ironed hundreds of times as it doesn't have one single wrinkle - you made sure it didn't.

She finally notices the internship card on your blazer and it all clicks. You're obviously nervous with reason, she remembers how hard she wanted to impress and prove herself when she first started working at the bau. But she can't help but think that the way you look around the bullpen in wonder is absolutely adorable.

Hotch suddenly starts approaching her desk, you following right behind. He also has a polite smile on his face, Emily's not surprised you can even get the biggest grump she knows to smile.

"This is SSA Prentiss," He proceeds to introduce you to her, she swears her heart skips a beat at you smiling directly at her now.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Prentiss." You reach out to shake her hand, wide eyes starting at her in anticipation. Your skin feels even nicer than it looks, the gentle squeeze you give her before letting go making her knees go weak.

"The pleasure is all mine." She replies, feeling weirdly at a loss of words. It's not like she can say anything with Hotch standing right there, he'd notice her flustered behaviour way too quickly.

Before anything else can happen, he's pulling you to another table to introduce you to everyone else. You glance quickly over your shoulder to find her looking, a small smile escaping your lips before you can stop it.

Emily feels giddy just from the small interaction and she's not even sure why. She knows nothing more than your name yet it's like you've bewitched her in matter of seconds.

Later you find yourself grabbing a cup of coffee before leaving, not wanting to be half asleep while driving home. It was definitely a long day, a good one nevertheless. Hard work got you here and you feel proud of yourself.

Too lost in your own bubble, you turn around and head to the exit, not noticing the figure coming right in your direction. Your coffee spills all over the person's blazer, staining it in a way you know won't come off.

Lifting your eyes, you find hers already looking at you. Your cheeks feel hot in a heartbeat, embarrassment consuming you whole.

"Oh god- i'm so sorry, Agent Prentiss." You rush to get paper towels and start not very successfully cleaning her blazer.

"It's okay, it was an accident. And Emily is fine." She reassures, pulling your hands away gently and you shudder at her touch.

"I guess that wasn't a great first day impression." You scrunch your nose and signal to her blazer. You were very confident it had been a great first day moments before. Maybe you started celebrating way too soon.

"What? Just because you accidentally spilled your coffee?" Emily chuckles with raised eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm really sorry anyway. Is there anything i can do to make up for it?" You question hopefully, throwing the paper towels on the garbage.

"Well, there's this really nice new coffee shop in town. i wouldn't mind a free coffee. Promise i won't spill it on you as revenge." It doesn't sound like a bad idea, getting coffee with her.

"A free coffee it is." It's your turn to chuckle now, spilled coffee long forgotten. "And you better not, i don't have as many suits as you probably do."

Emily shakes her head with a smile, mentioning for you to follow as she walks to her table and grabs a paper with her number on it.

Not a bad first day at all.

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

love you,

cat 🤍

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #fluff #wlw

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justalildumpling · 2 years ago

Text

⇢ 3, 2, 1

synopsis: at this point of your pathetically unrequited crush on your popular friend, it didn’t faze you when you found out that he wasn’t going to be at the same NYE party as you. but when he suddenly turned up to come find you, did you start wondering that maybe you weren’t the only one with harboured feelings.

pairing: mark x reader genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff word count: 2.3k warnings: swearing, drunkenness/mentions of drinking and partying, the word sex was said once note: lmao the way i’ve literally had this idea in my wip documents since like last year… anyways, here’s a little soft boi mark to start off your year <33 happy new year everyone!!

It didn't really make much sense.

Well, according to the resident drunkards Haechan and Chenle that is, being sober on New Years Eve.

Or any house party for that matter.

"It's literally free alcohol Y/N, why not make the most of it?" Haechan protested, cracking open another can of Jack and Coke, letting out a satisfied hum after hearing the bubbles fizzing up to the rim of the lid.

"Cause some people want a functioning liver by the age of thirty Lee Donghyuck," You rolled your eyes at the tipsy boy, clicking your tongue in disapproval as he downed the alcoholic drink in his hand, "And actually be able to recall all the not stupid things I did the night before."

"What? Like accidentally telling our little Markie boy that you're head over heels for him?" Donghyuck fired back, shaking the last droplets of the drink into his mouth before chucking it in the kitchen bin, "He's not even with us tonight!"

Unfortunately for you, the little devil man dressed as your best friend was right. Mark Lee was nowhere to be found at the party, though you couldn't complain as you were already notified of his absence last Wednesday.

You and your group of friends sat basking in the sunlight outside on the picnic benches of the park, taking in the rare appearance of the sun within the rainy week.

"What do you mean you're not coming to Lele's?!" Donghyuck squabbled, letting his burger fall onto the wrapper with a thud.

Mark merely shrugged, guiltily scratching the nape of his neck, "Johnny had already invited me two weeks ago and I said I was gonna go, sorry guys."

You frowned at the boy's statement, swirling the fry that you had stolen from Jisung's tray into the ketchup tub.

Though Mark was an important member of your high school friend group, it was hard to align your meet ups with his hectic schedule. Sometimes you couldn't seem to understand your crush in question, how he managed to juggle his school work alongside the university basketball team, internship plus a somewhat abundant social life was a mystery in itself.

Mark Lee was a relatively popular figure at your school, good looks, a chill and caring personality and godly talented at everything he did. It was no surprise that his inbox was flooded with invitations all the time let alone the holiday break.

Despite this, he always made sure to keep in touch with you, checking in with you about how your day had been or if he's lucky to squeeze in an ice cream run by the beach with you, which you very much appreciated and made your heart swell just a little bit too much than the average person, not that he ever needed to know.

As if he sensed your disappointment within the group's chaotic wails and cries, Mark reached over to give your hand a little squeeze, sending you an apologetic glance.

It was things like this which made up your hopelessly harboured feelings for the Canadian, making you think that it wasn't just you that had pathetically pined over him but being the nice guy that he was, probably treated others the same way.

Jaemin and Renjun though seemed to argue otherwise, whining to tell the clueless boy about your feelings, saying that there's no way that he wouldn't like you back before you quickly shushed them, snapping to keep their delusions in their heads.

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?" A voice broke you from your thoughts, causing you to peer up from your seated position on the couch, eyes trailing up the body of a boy to meet an amused Jeno.

He held out your phone, his cheeky grin growing exponentially the more you stared at his hands in confusion.

"Lover boy texted," He finally explained, nonchalantly chucking the device onto your lap, "Figured you'd want to know."

You grumbled, throwing the nearest pillow at the boy in which he barely dodged as he chuckled at your embarrassment, slipping off to the kitchen, most likely reporting the incident to his best friend.

Rolling your eyes, you unlocked your phone to find a couple missed calls from Johnny, unsent message notifications from Yuta and Mark's little message.

markie: hey :)

you: hi!! how's johnny's?

markie: too loud, yuta kept tryinhg to kisss me and johnny keeps bullyibg me markie: so i left

You giggled at his poor attempts at coherent sentences, covering your mouth with your hand to avoid the potential teasing from your friends.

You've seen Mark drunk a couple times, mostly at Johnny's parties after finals week. He was a cute drunk, clinging onto your figure rambling on about things which you couldn't quite decipher, in turn making him an easy target for the playful teasing from his seniors.

Which now that you thought about it, explained the random notifications from Johnny and Yuta, the two culprits behind most if not all of Mark's misery.

you: mark, are you drunk?

markie: no, im repsinsible heh markie: you're still at lele's right?

As you started to type your response, a loud groan was made from the left of the couch, causing you to switch your attention from your phone screen to Donghyuck sitting cross legged on the timber floors with Renjun, who was holding the infamous vomit bucket in front of his mouth, disgust ridden over his face.

"How much did he have tonight?" Jisung asked, almost horrified by the older boy's pitiful state from across the room. His eyes quickly darted back to the array of party mix lollies and the lukewarm pizzas displayed on the dining table, as unidentifiable contents threatened to spill from Donghyuck's mouth.

"We've already lost count," Jaemin resonated from the kitchen, his voice slightly drowned out by the rushing water, "Lele's isn't doing much better either, he's currently occupying the toilet bowl instead of the bucket."

You shook your head, silently chuckling at your best friends' suffering.

you: i am you: lele and hyuck's drunk as fuck you: they're currently hurling their guts out you: one using the vomit bucket, one using the toilet bowl

markie: those idiots hahahah markie: btw could u come outisde for a sex markie: *sev markie: fuck markie: *sec

you: pfft and u said u weren't drunk you: also, ur outside?!?!?

markie: shut up im fine i djust cant type rn

you: lol whatever u say markie you: i'll be out in a sec

You sat up from the couch, quietly squeezing past the crowd formed around the unfortunate boy and up the stairs.

Slipping on Jaemin's drunkenly bought La Coste slides, you swung open the door. A shiver slivered up the small of your back as the cool breeze hit your bare arms, a contrast from the warm stuffy atmosphere from inside.

You spotted Mark standing by the gates of Chenle's house, the dim street light illuminating his facial features, making him look more ethereal than he already was. With a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you began making your way towards him.

The sound of gravel shuffling from underneath your feet caused Mark to whip his head around to face you, he was pretty certain that most of the alcohol in his system had disappeared on the walk from Johnny's house but why was it that as soon as he saw you happily skipping down the path, greeting him with the sweetest smile that made him feel so euphoric?

"I can't believe you came!" You exclaimed, bringing him into a warm embrace.

His reply came in the form of a shy laugh, tickling the back of your neck with his breath.

He held you in his arms for a few minutes, with only the occasional squawks from inside breaking the comforting silence.

"Can you believe it's already the new year?" You whispered in awe, pulling away from his body to face him.

"Yeah dude that's insane, it feels like this year went by so quickly," Mark replied, adding his favourite form of endearment to the start, "Do you think you're ready for it to be over?"

You pondered for a few seconds, reflecting back on all the events that occurred within the past year before shrugging your shoulders, "I'm not sure."

"Don't get me wrong, this years been great but I feel like due to school, work and whatever, I wasn't able to fulfil all the things I wanted to do."

Mark nodded his head at your words, resonating with every word.

You always seemed to have the right things to say to him, always so understanding about his hectic schedule but never failing to let him know that he was missed whenever he couldn't make his friend's gatherings. It was things like this which caused the gradual course of his feelings for you.

For a while, Mark believed that he had made his crush on you subtle, not overly flirting or showering you in gifts in front of your friends. But one friendly reminder from Jaemin about his drunk habit of becoming a koala and latching onto you as if his life depended on it, broke his oblivious bubble. He quickly realised that many people had caught on, with some making it more obvious than others.

"I'm telling you, she likes you back bro!" He remembered Johnny exclaiming a few hours back with Yuta nodding enthusiastically as he half hazardously sipped on his beer.

Mark, Johnny and Yuta were situated in the secluded areas of the host's bedroom, with the party hammering hard downstairs. He wasn't too sure how he had ended up on his bed getting lectured by his two teammates about love pestering him to confess his feelings.

"C'mon, just text her saying to meet up," Yuta encouraged, handing him his phone to unlock, "You saw what happens when Johnny and I have our phones."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the sheer panic he had felt when the older boys dialled your number on their phones a few moments back, threatening to spill his secret before he had lunged at their figures wrestling to press the red hang up button.

"You literally have the best excuse to kiss her tonight," Johnny huffed, flopping down on his bed with arms crossed, "It's New Year's Eve."

"No way dude," Mark flatly responded, slapping his phone against his forehead, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"As if a girl would ever reject you," Yuta snorted, nudging the sides of his arms with his elbow, "Now hurry up and text her you fool."

And here he was, standing in front of you in the middle of the gravel pathway, with his face flushed.

Though whether it was due to the alcohol or whether it was the thought of kissing you tonight, he wasn't too sure. But taking into account his palpitating heart in his chest as he waited anxiously for midnight, it seemed to lean towards the latter.

"Sorry for rambling on," You scratched the base of your neck, hoping you didn't talk his ear off.

Mark frantically waved his arms around, shaking his head.

A muffled shriek awfully similar to Chenle's interrupted your conversation, startling both you and Mark as you whipped your heads back to the house. It remained quiet for a few seconds before a range of shouts counting down from ten resonated shortly after.

You giggled, turning around to focus on Mark's smiling face once again as the both of you joined in.

"Three," Mark cleared his throat, wiping his clammy hands on the sides of his ripped jeans.

"Two," He grabbed onto your hand, taking in your sweet smile and the way you reciprocated his touch, clasping your fingers around his, your rings clinking with his.

"One, Happy New Ye-"

The moment his lips hit yours, it had felt like all the daze of the alcohol was wearing off. Regaining consciousness of the way his lips perfectly moulded against yours and how he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting the watermelon lollipop you loved so much. Gripping onto your waist and tugging you closer, his heart began to mirror fireworks, matching the way the real ones sparks crackled and thundered in the background.

Pulling away from your touch, the confidence he had going in had simmered down as he gingerly met your eyes once again.

"What was that about?" You whispered, your eyes carrying a sense of wonder.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that without your permission, but you just looked so beautiful and I've had a crush on you for god knows how long and I just couldn't help it. God what am I saying, you can slap me if you want-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his once again, jerking him forward by his hoodie strings.

"You kissed me," Mark's eyes widened, awestruck by the sudden gesture.

"I did." You replied, fidgeting with the hems of your shirt as you added, "You said that you liked me."

"I did," Mark confirmed with a shy smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Does that mean you like me too?"

You could feel your cheek heat up as you dipped your head in response, making him beam at the small motion as he brought you into his arms, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Happy New Year Y/N," Mark kissed your forehead, his hands resting on the top of your shoulders as he gazed into your eyes adoringly.

"Happy New Year Mark.”

permanent taglist: @polarisjisung @wooyoung-a @w3bqrl @xxxx-23nct @maeumiluv @produmads @shwizhies

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coco-loco-nut · 6 months ago

Text

Down Bad

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

summary: a heartbreak like no other

a/n: it’s super short, sorry

masterlist ttpd masterlist

________

You should've known better. Really. You aren't the kind of girl that a hot, 29-year-old, Spanish Formula One driver would like. Of course, you are beautiful, but apparently not enough for him. His attention was fleeting, leaving you just another one of his conquests in a long string of girls like you.

You met Carlos while interning in Madrid during the Winter. At the time you didn't realize he was love-bombing you, only to drop you cold once your internship ended a month later and you went home, practically shipped away by him. For a moment you knew, or thought you knew, extraordinary love, but it wasn't real. Was anything real anymore?

“Sweetheart, you need to stop moping,” your mom says from the doorway of your bedroom. “You know I love you, but if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you are a moody teenager,” you know your mom means well, but the last bit struck hard.

“Fine, I’m going for a run,” you groan, rolling out of bed. She leaves your room, seemingly appeased. It doesn’t take you long to get dressed, lace up your trainers, and play your angsty playlist through your headphones.

You take the path you know by heart, the one you take when you need to be away from people. When you are sufficiently alone, you let it all out.

Crying and running may not be the wisest idea, but it’s cathartic to you. You stop when you get to the meadow and lay down, staring at the cloudy sky. As the music plays, you yell the lines that hit too close to home. I might just die, it would make no difference. Fuck you if I can’t have us.

Fuck. You need to get over him. Everything just feels so hollow now, like you were stripped of everything you are and ever were. You just want to talk to your friends about it, but you know them. They will call you nuts, saying that it never really happened, that Carlos Sainz would never date you.

So instead, you lay in this field, thinking about when you were heaven struck. You might just not get up, stay down while you are down bad for someone who doesn’t even care about your existence anymore.

Maybe you were abducted by an alien to another, then returned back to this spot. That could explain it. Explain why you are feeling the angst of a scorned teenage girl, when you have more emotional maturity than that. You are 22 after all.

It’s how you imagine it feels like to lose the touch of a twin flame. I guess being love bombed then abandoned would do that to you.

The more you think about it, the more the alien analogy seems to fit. It’s like he beamed down from a ship, did a hostile takeover on your heart, the alien encounters closer and closed as each day passed. And you let them happen, willingly.

It started with a hello, then coffee, then a stroll, then a lunch, then a drive, then a dinner, then a night spent together, two, three, four, it spiraled. He did everything he could to worm his way into your heart, only for him to say it’s over.

Maybe you will take the ship, go to some planet and find an alien who can understand all of it. How dare he do everything he could to make you fall in love, only to leave you stranded. How is that romantic? You were in love, and fuck him if you can’t have him because of his actions.

You stare at the sky, music pumping through your headphones, willing the sky to part and reveal the alien spaceship that will beam you up to it in a cloud of dust and take you away.

Minutes pass until you realize your efforts are worthless, you mentally wave goodbye to the ship that carries him (and his pet names and his perfect dates) with it. Shedding a few tears on your run home, you start rebuilding yourself with each step. The hurt and pain slowly being chipped away.

No man with EVER make you feel this down bad again.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #the tourtured poets department

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thollandneedy · 2 months ago

Note

Hey girl! I'm literally SO OBSESSED with your writing

Can you make a little oneshot where Y/n pranks Peter that she's pregnant, and he just freaks out? Ty <3

April’s Fool- Peter Parker

A/n: Omg my first request aft my comeback! 🥲🤍. Btw i already done this prank with my bf, and he almost died do i got inspo from that situation😂

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, fake pregnancy

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

“Peter?” Y/n calls her boyfriend's name when she hears the door to her house open.

“Yes?” The boy answers from afar, and Y/n quickly gets up from the floor, arranging a positive pregnancy test and a pair of baby shoes on her bed, along with a letter congratulating the new dad.

For Peter and Y/n, the first day of April was a day when they planned increasingly absurd surprises, praying that they could pull off a prank on each other without the other finding out. This year, unlike every year since they were fourteen, Y/n had fallen for one of Peter's pranks, saying that she had failed the year because she had only gotten one bad grade. Parker, being the darling of the teachers and coordinators, managed to plan a fake riot in order to scare his girlfriend. After a crying fit and an intense existential crisis, Y/n decided to take revenge.

Her mother's best friend was a few months pregnant, and after finding some little shoes from when she was a baby lost in her parents' closet, Y/n decided to pull the best prank possible.

Pretending to be pregnant

And as generic as it might seem to some people, for Peter it would be a nightmare on earth. Parker, because he lived with his aunt, had always tried not to give her a hard time and to give her everything she had once given him. A few months ago, he had been offered a change of position at Stark Enterprises, and his duties as Spider-Man were increasing, as were his responsibilities at school because he was in his final year.

His focus was divided into two: studies and Spider-Man

In this world, monetary security was also a part, as it was a consequence of his studies. Of course, one day he would love to start a family, but that was a desire further down the line that, if realized now, could be detrimental to the life he had always hoped to have and provide for those he loved.

In addition to the hidden drama classes that Y/n took, she also decided to get her mother to act with her when Peter came to visit, as he did every day after his internship. Because he lived a few blocks from Y/n's apartment, his evening routine had a small part dedicated to his girlfriend. Parker took off his shoes, placing them next to a decorative plant that was positioned near the kitchen, where Y/n's mother was already ready to start the tense atmosphere. The woman stared at Peter with a closed face, while in her hands was a cup of chamomile tea, which spread its scent throughout the room.

“Hello, Mrs. L/N”

The woman continued to stare at him without reaction.

“I didn't know you liked tea. Y/n told me you hated it.” Parker gives a half-hearted smile, smoothing his brown hair with one of his free hands.

“I don't like it, but today I needed to calm my nerves. Maybe you should too.” The woman in the colorful overalls says in response, getting up from the island stool positioned in the center of the kitchen and walking into the living room without exchanging another word with the newcomer.

Peter looked at her in confusion, but headed towards the end of the corridor that led to his girlfriend's bedroom. Before entering, she asked him again if he could open the door, to which he replied:

“Get in here pronto, Peter.” His girlfriend complained in a low tone, causing the young man to rush inside.

The brunette closed the door behind him, keeping his brown eyes on his girlfriend, who was sitting on the end of the bed with her hands behind her and breathing irregularly. Peter approached slowly, feeling his heart beat faster every time he sensed his girlfriend's insecurity in her gaze. With trembling lips, the superhero asks:

“What happened?” Even though Peter already knew that something bad had happened, he still made a point of asking first, trying to soften the impact of a possible shocking revelation.

Y/n takes a deep breath, concentrating on her Hollywood moment. The girl slowly moves away from the present she was hiding behind her, revealing what she had assembled on her bed. Peter feels the floor catching his feet, and the words escape his mouth like the air in his lungs.

“ Dude.” Peter stares at his girlfriend, who cries silently. “Y/n for God's sake I'm going to have a heart attack.”

Parker, with hurried steps, looks directly at the test, which was positive. He looked around for a red pen that could possibly have been used to tamper with the test result, but there was none. The hero's hands began to shake, and his mouth couldn't say a word except:

“Holy shit”

Y/n was holding back the pain he was feeling with all his might, for his thirst for revenge was greater.

“I don't know what to do.” Y/n decided to speak in a drunken voice.

“ Your- your mother she-she.” Peter points to the door, feeling his feet getting weaker and weaker, trying to ask Y/n if her mother knew about the pregnancy.

The girl just agrees, hugging her body and lowering her head.

“Oh my God, I'm literally going to shit myself” Peter sits down on the floor, running his fingers violently through his hair. “OH MY GOD”

“Peter! Stop freaking out. We need to do something” Y/n asks her boyfriend for support.

“We didn't do it without! I'm sure of it. I remember. My God, I didn't even know I could get someone pregnant with me- OH MY GOD HE'S GOING TO BE A MUTANT!" Peter shouts, getting up suddenly.

“Peter!” Y/n gets up together.

“HE'S GOING TO EAT YOUR ORGANS Y/N. HE'S GOING TO EXPLODE IN THERE.”

“PETER PARKER!” Y/n catches her boyfriend's eye.

“My God, could it be that my cum is radioactive and the condom has melted?” Peter wonders for a second.

“What?” Y/n looks at him confused and teary-eyed.

“What if he's just like me? And he gets stuck in your womb and can't get out again? I only learned to stop getting things stuck in my hands after four months of being Spider-Man. IT GETS WORSE! WHAT IF HE'S NOT LIKE ME? Y/n, if you've fucked Marcus, I'll kill myself in front of you right here and now. I hate that guy.” Peter can't control the whirlwind of thoughts invading his head.

“Do you really think I'd cheat on you?” Y/n asks offended.

“No, fuck no! I don't think so, but... when did this happen? My God, I think I need to see a doctor. A DOCTOR! I CAN'T AFFORD THE BABY'S HEALTH INSURANCE”

His girlfriend just slams both arms into his legs, giving up talking and collapsing into heavy sobbing.

The brunette takes a deep breath, feeling his body drenched in nervous sweat. The boy, trembling, crawls in front of his girlfriend, who is collapsed at the foot of the bed, looking for support from her boyfriend, who is on the verge of crying too. The hero touches his girlfriend's knees, caressing them briefly in an attempt to calm her down. Peter looked once more at the shoes and the positive pregnancy test, and then his rational side shook him hard, bringing him back to the reality he would have to overcome at that moment. His girlfriend was coughing between loud cries and sobs, while Peter couldn't think of what to say to calm her down.

“I'm dropping out of MIT.” The brunette said after a second of silence.

The girl wiped away the tears that fell down her red face.

“What?” Y/n asks, feeling her heart stop.

“I'm going to study here in New York to be closer to you... well... you two.” Peter lays his head on his girlfriend's lap, who just listens to his declaration attentively. “I'm going to quit Stark's internship and get a home-office job so I can help you with him or her. How far along are you?”

Y/n feels her heart heavy, and answers while holding back a real cry.

“More than a month.” He replied, feeling like he was going to fall apart at any moment.

“ Damn it, love. Why didn't you tell me?” The girl just stares at him, trying to make him remember his brief outburst. “Oh... never mind.”

“I-I didn't want to end your dream.” Y/n cries, now a real cry as she realizes that she has chosen the right boyfriend to share her life with, even in difficult times. After so many disappointments in love, and men who she knew wouldn't give up even a night of drinking and gambling to be in her company, she had finally managed to choose the right one.

“Love.” Peter brings one of his hands to his girlfriend's cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “You're my dream”

The girl smiles through her tears and bends down so that her lips meet his.

“Peter?” The girl calls out.

“Huh?”

“It was a prank. APRIL FIRST, YOU MORON!” The girl stood up screaming and went to her dressing table, where a cell phone was hidden behind some make-up brushes. She took it out and finished recording the reaction of her boyfriend, who was static once again, realizing that he had been caught for revenge.

“I swear to God, one of these days you're going to kill me with your fucking crazy ass ideas." The brunette nodded, putting his hand on his heart and bursting into laughter after all the nerves he'd built up. “How did you get a positive test?”

“Marie, my mother's best friend is pregnant. I asked her to take the test and my mother gave it to me this afternoon. The shoes are mine. I found them in my parents' closet.” The girl wiped her crying eyes, sat down next to her boyfriend, and then hugged him, allowing the pain to wash over her.

“Did your mom get in on this too?” The brunette laughed louder, feeling his stomach ache, and then he collapsed into a sob of relief. “I hate you”

“You love me” The girl wipes away the older man's tears.

“I really do. But don't ever do that again in your life. I was about to have a freak-out”

#tom holland #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x fem!reader #mcu peter parker #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #tom!peter parker x reader #tom!peter parker

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daechwitatamic · 5 months ago

Text

Vice;Grip || chapter 5 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, depictions of depression and depressive episodes, mentions of doctors' offices and medication, angst, mentions of attending therapy, recreational drinking, kissing

wc: 6.9k

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now - Fall

Vernon’s watching his ceiling fan when his phone chimes - a noise he isn’t fond of: incoming email.

For the last few months, his emails have all been from recruiting directors and head-hunters - either thanking him for his interest but regretfully informing him they’ve gone in a different direction, or head-hunters pretending they found him a great opportunity when it was really an underpaid, short-term position where he’d spend more on his commute into the city than he’d ever earn.

It’s been real fun. He sucked it up and finished grad school, threw his diploma behind a cheap frame, added the degree to his resume. Quit going to classes (because there weren’t any), quit spending whole nights on assignments (none of those anymore either), and still - he finds himself no happier than he’d been before, even with all the free time in the world. So maybe, he considers, grad school wasn’t the problem, and he’d done the right thing to just push through and finish.

On top of this - on top of the fact that he was still bored with life, still unenthused to be here - the break-up has sucked, just to make things even bleaker for him.

Can he even call it a break-up? You were never together. But it’s been nine days since he made you cry in his car - not that he’s counting - and all nine of them have fucking sucked. He’s wrestled with indecision for all of them - did he make a mistake? Should he try to undo the damage? Wasn’t what he had with you still better than being alone?

But he knows this will be better for him in the end. He knows that what you two were doing together wasn’t real, wasn’t a relationship. It couldn’t grow with him - it was stagnant by nature. So, even though something in his bones screams at him to take it back, in the end he doesn’t regret the decision to try and do something better.

He does regret that he can’t do something better with you. He regrets that he lost his temper and yelled, regrets that he was cold in his last moments with you.

Regrets that he spent two years walking towards a dead end.

Still misses you, despite this.

He picks up his phone and scrolls to his email, already feeling the frown take over his face in anticipation of another rejection. As expected, the email is from a company he’d interviewed with last week - he’d even gotten to a second in-person round, which was rare. Still, he hadn’t wanted to get excited about it. He knows how unlikely it is that they’ll want him.

Dear Mr. Chwe,

Our team was delighted to meet with you last week. We found your background impressive, especially your internship experience with -

Vernon’s eyes skim the page, so fast the words are a blur.

…Would like to formally offer you the position of… annual salary of… additional opportunities within the company including traveling to… working with… reporting to… expected start date of… we are looking forward to having you on our team!

Vernon’s heart thuds and he turns the screen off and stares at his ceiling again. He’ll answer it later, accept it graciously, call his eomma, probably shop online for some button-downs and maybe some ties. Later, though. Later. For now, he reaches for his lighter.

He kind of wishes he could tell you - hey, I got a job offer. hey, guess who gets to wear a suit five days a week now? hey, all that bullshit paid off in the end.

Would he have texted you any of that if he hadn’t ended things? You’d never talked about this kind of thing - that had been part of the problem.

Still. As illogical as it is, you’re the one Vernon wants to tell first. It aches a little, like sore muscles but somewhere inside him, behind his brittle ribs.

He wonders if you’re doing okay. He wonders if you care at all, or if you’re fine. He turns his lighter over and over in his fingers, and then realizes he’s just read the words contingent on... drug test…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, then picks up his phone again. Maybe he’ll call his mother first, after all.

—

You were never a big fan of autumn. A lot of your friends are - the season shifts and everyone starts posting about sweater weather and PSLs, the aesthetics suddenly revolving around pumpkins and ghosts.

You have plenty of ghosts, but not the right kind.

Your phantoms haunt your phone, mostly. You feel it buzz in your pocket, hear it vibrate on the table from the other room. Sometimes you even wake up from a dead sleep, sure you’ve heard it going off, reaching for it frantically, only to turn on the screen and see nothing.

No missed calls, no new texts.

You dream about him, too. In some of them, you’re still fighting, yelling at the top of your lungs in a way you never had in real life. In some, he isn’t even present - you just know he’s missing. In some, you’re trying to get to him, but never can - stopped by nonsense laws of dream physics.

In one of them, you tell him you love him, and he staggers backwards, breaths starting to rasp the way they had when you’d talked him through a panic attack, like he was just as scared of the admission as you had been.

Maybe he had been just as scared about it, back when it had mattered. Maybe he was just better at handling it than you are.

You never see his whole face in your dreams - only glimpses, fragments. You don’t want to examine if that means anything.

You fucking hate your brain.

You’re starting to hate your phone, too.

—

You lose November to grey - the whole month, a wash. You miss three days of work, unable to do anything - unable to cook, unable to get dressed. You feed the cat because you have to, and it’s the only reason you leave your bed except to pee.

When the grey days break as December dawns, you follow an impulse and schedule an appointment with your primary physician through their app. As you click the button to confirm the appointment, you burst into tears, loud and embarrassing. You cry with abandon, pulling your hoodie up to cover your face, to muffle the noise that you can’t stop.

You should have gone to a doctor years ago, and you know it. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a potential mistake - like opening a can of worms and now you have to deal with them. It feels like admitting something is wrong when you’ve worked so hard to look like nothing is. It feels like a farce, like nothing that bad is wrong with you, and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

But you keep the appointment anyway. You make yourself small in the chair on the other side of your doctor’s little table, and you admit, eyes on your hands, “I want to talk about my mental health. I think I’ve been dealing with depressive episodes. For… a long time, now.”

It’s so damn scary. As scary as loving and losing someone - like, yes, Vernon - had seemed. And you’re somehow surviving both.

Something to think about.

You buy yourself good job you did the scary thing ice cream on the way home. You go inside, put it away, and then scoop Nana off the couch, burying your face in his belly and cooing, “How is my favorite boy today?” He tolerates your nonsense with aplomb, as always.

Chan has never forgiven you for naming a cat “Banana Bread”, and you think that’s why Nana has never warmed up to him.

Nana loved Vernon, but you don’t want to think about that.

You kind of want to text him. You think he’d be proud of you for what you did today. You think he’d tell you good job.

(Chan would tell you good job, too, and will, when you call him later. But it doesn’t feel the same.)

You wonder if he’d answer if you told him. You wonder if he wouldn’t answer, but be proud of you anyway.

You fill the prescription, you leave your contact info with a therapist as advised by your primary physician. You don’t text Vernon.

You take your pride and your sadness, your fear and your hope and you channel them into greens and yellows. As late autumn grips the leafless trees outside, you paint something that looks like spring.

Now - Winter

Winter howls through your life like you personally pissed it off. You and Nana huddle under thick blankets with your tablet night after night.

Sometimes you close your eyes and remember Vernon’s hands slipping underneath his own hoodie on your skin; it helps you feel warmer.

Sometimes you think about the way he’d said the word wasted about the time he’d spent with you; it makes you feel cold all over again.

You click through all the tabs you’ve had open for days - different universities with decent visual arts programs, all advertising admission for the spring semester.

None of them are big name schools, not like the one you’d turned down all those years ago. But they aren’t nothing.

You’d brought it up to your therapist last week and she’d encouraged the idea - accepting that you can’t unstitch the mistakes in your tapestry, but you can control what new patterns emerge.

This was the plan: start classes. Open social media accounts to showcase your work. Network through school, look for job opportunities at galleries or for collectors. Open commissions, maybe.

On your best days, this seems like a list of goals to shoot for. On your worst days, this seems like a list of things you’ve already failed at before you’ve even started.

You text options to Chan, ask him, which school colors can you see me in?

Your best friend sends back, all of them. any of them. look at you go!!

You sit in your living room and watch snow fall lazily outside the window. You daydream about what classes might be like, if you get in. You take pictures of the snow in the park, then try to paint something similar once you’re home again.

You wonder if Vernon’s doing okay. You worry that he’s going through his hard days alone. You worry that maybe he’s not - maybe he found someone who helps him better than you did, maybe he’s so happy with them that he doesn’t have hard days at all.

(You know life doesn’t work like that.)

You paint Nana, just for shits, and post it on instagram. It gets the most engagement you’ve had so far. Someone messages you asking if you do commissions for pet portraits. You frown, looking at the message.

Maybe I do, you think.

Your apartment is cold. You burrow under blankets, rub your legs together like a cricket to warm them up, and think maybe after I’m a cicada, I could be a cricket next.

There’s no one to share the joke with who’d get it. Just another of the thousand ways you feel Vernon’s absence in your life. You hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone.

—

Everywhere Vernon looks, all he sees are circles. The hands on his kitchen clock circle each other, align, move on again. They tell him he has two minutes to get out the door before he’s late.

He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror, straightens his tie, smooths back his hair, then grabs his crossbody bag and heads for the bus.

The hands of the clock in his office mark his passage through his schedule: one circle until his 10:00 meeting will end. Two more after that and he can take a lunch break. A circle and a half until his one-on-one with his boss, to discuss his first few months here.

On his lunch break, Vernon rides with two of the guys he works with to some nature trails nearby, as they usually do. They swap suits for joggers and zip-ups, pop in airpods, and head out. Vernon didn’t run before this job - didn’t exercise much at all, really. He’d gone along with the guys the first time there had been an unseasonably warm day, just to be out, and he’d found it felt good to get fresh air and some endorphins before returning to his desk.

It’s cold today, the air brittle as he inhales, but the rest of his body feels warm as he works to keep up with the other guys. It’s not as hard as it used to be, keeping up.

The trail is a circle, too, passing a small, man-made lake before looping around back to the changing facilities. On his wrist, a fitness app closes circles to quantify his steps, his speed, his progress.

At home again, he runs his thumb around the edge of the circular joystick as he waits for Seungkwan and Wonwoo to sign in and join him for a round or two before he figures out dinner.

“Some of us were going to the bar tonight, you in?”

“Shouldn’t,” Vernon says. “But maybe this weekend?” Unfortunately, his new nine-to-five forces him to make decisions like this - better decisions. He kind of likes his job. He kind of doesn’t want to feel like shit in the morning.

His mind, a circle - always coming around back to you when it gets too quiet.

He opens his messages.

how have you been? … are you doing okay? … hey, i’m - … I think I’m sorry … what if we did it differently …

Of course he doesn’t send any of them. Instead, he searches for your instagram. You’d never followed each other in the first place, and he considers it a win that you didn’t block him when it was over. But you haven't posted anything that he can see in the last eight months.

Except - one post. It looks like your cat.

He clicks it and realizes that it’s not a photograph, but a painting, and the caption links to another account. He clicks that, too, and finds himself on a page that seems dedicated to posting paintings only.

Yours, apparently. He scrolls through slowly, rolling to his stomach so he can look more closely. He never knew you painted, let alone that you were good - great, even, to his untrained and certainly unbiased eyes.

Part of the problem, his mind chimes in.

Somehow, despite understanding each other better than anyone else in your lives, at the end of the day you hadn’t known each other at all.

Now - Spring

happy hour after lecture???

plsss can we

bestie YES!!!

The sender of the original invite - a girl close to your age called Juri - eyes you from two rows up, expectantly. Normally, you’d go straight home after class. But you’d been talking to your therapist about almost this exact situation - the way you closed people out, squandered friendships to the point that only Chan managed to hang onto you for more than a year. (Vernon had made it about two years, a sick voice in your head says, and then answers itself with, but you weren’t friends, anyway.)

So, you send the group chat, sure!

(You’d also been talking to your therapist about that last fight with Vernon. I can’t get that conversation out of my head, you told her.

I’ve been caring about you way more than I should, he’d said.

You’d been talking to her about how your brain had skipped like a flat stone right over that detail and had sunk deep on I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What did you think he meant?” she’d asked you, watching you carefully. “When he said do this, what did you think this was?”

Me, you’d whispered. Anything with me - hook up, sleep, spend time together, talk, anything.

She’d helped you see the context of the fight - that maybe by “I don’t want to do this” he’d meant “be with you but not with you”.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” you’d joked. She hadn’t laughed. Negative ten points at Therapy.

You were still working on trying to believe it.

You still weren’t sure if it fucking mattered what he meant, because instead of asking him, “what do you want, then?” you’d gone defensive, had greedily grabbed at the excuse to push him away, hard and careless. He wouldn’t want you back now, even if that’s what he’d wanted at the time. You were sure of it.)

Happy that you’ve agreed to go out, Juri flashes you a grin and then turns around in her seat to watch the board again.

The bar Juri chooses is cute, not crowded or noisy yet this early in the evening. You sip at a beer and talk with the girls about upcoming projects, about the professor you all can’t stand, about the term paper you all feel you shouldn’t have to do.

It’s nice, and honestly when you glance at the time and decide you’d better get home to feed Nana, you regret that you have to. Still, you make your way to the bar to pay for your portion.

You don’t even notice the lean, handsome man who sidles up next to you while you wait for your check until he speaks.

“What’s your drink?”

You look over at him, surprised. “Oh,” you say, which isn’t really an answer. “I’m leaving, actually.”

He gives an exaggerated frown. “It’s so early!”

You shrug. “Sorry. Places to be.”

He’s cute, you consider, as you pay your bill and head for the door. Two years ago, you probably would have picked up what he was putting down.

At home, you feed Nana, then collapse on the couch, pulling a throw blanket all the way over your head. Your stomach churns with discomfort.

You open your phone, find Vernon in your contacts.

You sit on his contact page, thumbs hovering over his number, for so long that your screen goes black twice while you stay locked in indecision.

Don’t call him don’t call him don’t call him.

But you’re lonely, and you miss him, and going out made you think of him, and you wonder what would happen if you did it, if you called. Would he even answer?

Eventually, you let reason win this time, and get up from the couch, the blanket falling from you like you’d shed a skin.

In your spare room, you eye the last painting you’d finished - mostly black but with a fractured, fragmented view of a tabletop littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, all the liquids a toxic, piercing neon pink. You hadn’t posted that one; it felt too much like an admission.

You stare down the empty canvas, tapping your mouth with the wooden end of a brush, deciding how to begin. You close your eyes and see the beast that’s followed you these last few years - even before Vernon. The embodiment of your shame, your regrets, your failures. It’s never left your side for long.

When you finally begin to paint it, you start with the claws.

—

you up for a 1v1?

arent you on a date???

obviously not.

you didn’t go? bro.

i went. it was just. idk.

it was just what?

idk dude.

you didn’t like her?

she was fine?? she was funny, and hot, and it was fine

so why are you home alone at 8:30 asking me to come online

Vernon rubs at his face in irritation. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain to Seungkwan why the date had felt flat.

What could he say? It was fine. It just wasn’t… enough.

He could still remember how he’d felt the first night he met you. He wanted to feel that.

idk, he told Seungkwan. lack of chemistry, ig.

Now - Summer

You think you’ve learned a lot over the past few months - between starting classes again and beginning therapy, you’re just bursting with new knowledge.

Something you’re working on is appreciating the shadows.

In class, you work on shading, on adding darks even when you think an area should all be light. Sometimes, somehow, shadows are exactly what you need to make it right on the canvas.

You think about this concept for your whole drive home from therapy - how the shadows under trees change the way you see them, how the darks affect the lights, how the shadows in your own life are natural and maybe, in the end, not so catastrophic.

At home, you duck your head into the shadows under your bed and drag Nana out by the middle.

“Come be social,” you scold him, plopping him on the couch.

After dinner, you go back to work on what you were painting. You’d been stuck for a few days, not happy with any change you made, but today you have an idea.

You create a palette of black, grey, navy, and deep purple. For two hours, you work meticulously, adding the midnights, the bruises, the shadows. They belong here, too.

—

Chan tells you he’s proud of you, the next time he’s over, and it makes you cry even though you’re only one your second sip of wine.

“Stop it,” you scold, avoiding his gaze, burning up under the attention.

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I’m so happy that you’re painting again, I could throw up. And going back to school? And therapy? Damn. The glow-up.”

“Ew,” you frown at him, because this feels safer than acknowledging that you have been working hard on yourself, on your life. “What year is it, 2017?”

He gives you a look to make sure you know that he sees through your bullshit.

“It’s not all perfect,” you admit quietly. You feel like it should - like you’ve done the work, and now you should get the happy ending. But it hasn’t worked that way. You’re still working at a job that feels like a waste of time, painting on the side. You’re accumulating some debt for the classes you’re taking. The grey days still come and go, though admittedly their grip is less intense.

And you still think of Vernon, near daily.

Chan shrugs. “That’s normal. Perfect isn’t real. It’s unattainable. If your therapist hasn’t told you that, then you’re wasting your money.”

You laugh. She had told you that. Another thing that was easier to say than to put into practice.

You recork the bottle after a second glass, put it in your fridge for another day. Returning to your spot by Chan’s side, you tell him, “I keep thinking about him.”

Chan cocks his head, probably unsure if you’re talking about who he thinks you are.

“The guy I was hooking up with.”

“Ah.” He inclines his head knowingly.

You recount what he already knows - that you’d been whatever you were for about two years, that it had ended. That it was your fault.

“I think,” you say, taking a deep breath mid-sentence to steel yourself for the truth, “I think I could have loved him. I don’t know… maybe I did.”

“Either you did or you didn’t,” Chan points out, which is fair.

“It’s just…” you say, thinking about it. “We kept our boundaries so tight. We didn’t talk during the day, didn’t meet each others’ friends or families… barely got to know anything about each other. But it was like… even so, I think we just understood each other. It was like a lot of it just went without saying.”

Chan considers this, face serious. “Sounds like the potential was there, at least. If nothing else.”

“Yeah,” you said sadly, tracing the bottom of your wine glass with your finger. “Potential.”

Wasted potential. You’d heard that plenty before, just not usually about your love life.

Chan reaches out and shakes your knee playfully. “It’ll happen again,” he promises.

You don’t know what would be worse - if it never did, or it did, but it wasn’t Vernon. You’d never believed in there only being one right person for you - like soulmates or shit like that. But looking back at your time together, you’re not sure anyone will ever have a hold over you the way Vernon did. The grip he had on your life was unshakable.

Before he leaves for the night, Chan hesitates by the door.

“Hey,” he says, “this weekend? A bunch of the guys are driving down to the beach for the day. Wanna join?”

Something else you would have said no to, before. You’re trying to say yes more, plus you can’t deny that the sea air and sunshine sound like heaven.

“Sure,” you say, shifting to block Nana from slipping out the front door as Chan opens it. “Text me the details.”

Later, you ask what you should have asked first. who all is coming?

Chan sends back the list - six of his friends, ending with, seungcheol-hyung and his friend hansol. i think you’ve met him once or twice at the bars? he’s a good guy.

Something in you knew this was going to be the answer. You counted your breaths, tried to talk yourself down from immediately bailing on the plan.

Sleep on it, you told yourself. See how you feel in a few days.

You followed your own directions, but for days your mind spun around the question, buzzing and frantic.

Are you ready to see Vernon? To be around him, and act normal? Is it a good idea? Will you fight? Will you fall back into old habits? Will he bring out the worst in you?

Actually, you consider, that isn’t fair. Vernon never brought out your bad habits - he just coexisted peacefully with them, never tried to kick them out.

You’re scared that seeing him will undo the work of getting over him. But that isn’t true, either - because you don’t think you moved on from him at all.

In the end, you do slip into old habits - you let yourself make a potentially bad decision. You decide to go.

A twisted, quiet part of you is kind of excited.

The louder part is scared to death.

—

The day is perfect - blue sky, barely any clouds, hot and bright. Chan drives you and two of his friends; a second car with the others is somewhere en route, will meet your group once you’re there.

Chan’s car arrives first, and you help the guys unpack the trunk. Loaded down with beach bags, chairs, and coolers, you make your way unsteadily through the sand, pausing at one point to take off your flip-flops, tired of how they slow you down in the dry, loose sand.

You pick a spot and lay the towels out, unfold the chairs, get the umbrella anchored down in the sand so it doesn’t fly away.

The whole time, you can’t stop watching the parking lot, waiting for the other group to arrive - waiting for the moment of truth. What will happen when Vernon sees you?

Once everything is set up, you lay out, trying to enjoy what is admittedly beautiful weather. It’s so bright that when you lay on your back, you want to throw an arm over your eyes to block out the light, to really relax.

It feels like forever when you hear a distant shout and sit up, blinking against the glare of the sun, returning your sunglasses to your face as you get your bearings. A group of Chan’s friends approaches, one of them - Mingyu, you think - shouting hello and waving like a fool.

You stand to greet them, waving hi when they get close enough. You bite your lip nervously and glance at Vernon. He’s near the back of the group - their car had brought four people, just like yours - and his face is absolutely unreadable as he looks at you. It reminds you of the beginning, when you noticed how hard he works to keep his expression blank.

He’d stopped doing that with you, near the end. You’d almost forgotten.

Meeting and holding his gaze, you give him a solemn nod. I can be normal if you can, you try to promise, silently.

The moment is tense; you aren’t sure how he’ll react. Then, he gives you his own tiny nod back.

Relief melts through you like butter. Seeing him aches, but it isn’t unmanageable. You can do this - you’ll both be okay. You’ll both get through the day.

You help set up a second umbrella while a few of the guys move a few yards away to set up a volleyball net.

For a few hours they play volleyball. You sit on your towel with airpods in and watch, trying not to notice Vernon, trying to keep that part of your brain locked tight in its little box. But the sunlight streams down, not half as blinding as his smile as he jokes and laughs with Chan and Seungcheol, nowhere near as glittering as his laugh when he doubles over, elbows on his knees.

The sun is almost directly overhead when you get warm enough to brave the ocean.

“I’m gonna swim for a few,” you announce, standing and brushing some loose sand from your thighs.

Chan collapses on his towel, next to yours, pushing his hair back and heaving a deep breath, exhausted from volleyball.

“Maybe in a few,” he wheezes. “I need a minute.”

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung says, tossing his sunglasses onto his towel so he doesn’t lose them in the ocean.

You head down to where the waves are breaking onto the wet sand, foamy water dancing up to your ankles before retreating into the deep sea again. It’s cold, but under the midday sun the cold is welcome. You wade until you hit the awkward point where it’s hard to stand without being constantly battered by breaking waves, and then you duck underneath the surface and swim past the breaking point.

Treading water, you turn to see if Soonyoung made it out with you. He’s still back a bit, jumping each time a wave comes through. Beside him, Mingyu splutters, having taken a wave to his face. A few feet back, the water only at their knees, Vernon and Chan laugh maniacally.

You missed those goose honks.

The guys take their time catching up to you until all five of you are treading.

“Do you think there are jellyfish?” Soonyoung asks, peering into the water behind you.

“Probably,” Vernon deadpans, and you laugh, then immediately wonder if you shouldn’t. Luckily, he grins at you appreciatively as, behind him, Chan points out that there could be sharks, too.

“I’ll probably go back in soon,” Soonyoung says, trying to sound cavalier, but his unease shines through.

“We’re fine,” you promise. “You don’t have to out-swim the shark. You just have to out-swim Chan.”

Chan curses and splashes water at you as the others laugh.

You talk and float for a little longer until you consider the goosebumps on your limbs, the growl in your stomach.

“Anyone interested in lunch?” you ask.

Mingyu raises his arm and squints at his watch. “It is one,” he says. “I could eat. What did you guys bring?”

Chan starts rattling off what’s in your coolers as you start to make your way back to shore. You reach the point where your feet touch the sand, only to get slammed in the back by an incoming wave. You stumble a little, and someone holds your elbow steady, helping you stagger through it without completely tripping.

You give Vernon a grateful smile as he retracts his hand, but your stomach is swooping and your arm is burning where he’d held you.

Rejoining the others, you plop down on your towel, suddenly exhausted. The ocean water drying on your skin under the sun makes you shiver as you dig through the cooler. You pass out drinks to the guys closest to you, toss a bag of chips at Seungkwan when he asks for them, then settle back on your own towel to eat.

After, full and happy, you flop backwards and put airpods back in. Seungkwan and Soonyoung head back to the volleyball net. Mingyu and Chan seem content to bake in the sun, like you, and beyond them the others have circled up and are playing a card game, open cans of beer in the sand beside them.

You feel truly at peace, and you take a moment to ask the universe - can I hold onto this? Can I remember, when things go grey, that these moments exist?

Once you’re warm again, you pull your shorts back on and whack Chan on the arm. He startles awake, pushing his sunglasses up to glare at you.

“I’m going to walk up the beach for a little,” you tell him, pointing, just so somewhere will know where you are. He nods, his head sinking back down to his towel, eyes closing again.

You walk where the waves flood over your feet every few minutes, never getting higher than your ankles. You search for shells as you go, carrying one or two, but mostly stopping to take pictures of them and leaving them where they are, wanting to paint them later.

There are four shells in your hand when you hear someone call your name. You turn, surprised, and your stomach swoops again; Vernon approaches, hat twisted backwards and sunglasses perched over the top of it, one hand reaching out to show you a shell he’d found.

You hold still, you let him come to you. When he’s close enough, you hold open your hand and let him drop the shell there. It’s a mostly-white spiral top.

“Thanks,” you say, looking away from the shell to meet Vernon’s eyes.

He looks down at the other four in your hands. “You gonna paint them?”

You feel yourself physically take a step back in shock. “What?”

Embarrassment darkens his face just slightly. “I’ve been following your art page,” he admits, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets. “I didn’t know.” Then, “I feel bad that I didn’t know. You’re really good.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t painting when we… I used to. I stopped for a long time. Just started again, after…” You trail off. After you left me. After I pushed you away.

He nods, licks his lips. “Does it help?” he asks, and you know exactly what he’s asking - does it make the rocks weigh less, does it make the grey lighter?

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “In general. It’s been… kind of cathartic.”

You both stand there, the shells on your palms between you, a decision teetering between you.

You should be the one to mend it, you think, since you were the one who’d ruined it before.

“Do you want to walk with me?” you ask, a little tentatively. “You don’t have to - I’m fine on my own -”

“I’d like to,” he says, voice quiet, and something about it makes you want to well up - that he’s willing to give you his time, that he doesn’t hate you as much as you deserve.

You walk quietly together as the sun starts to sink a little, casting everything a bit orange.

“What’s new with you?” you ask, finally.

And he tells you - new job that he actually likes despite how stuffy the nine-to-five thing sounds in theory, new mile time on his daily run, new friends through work.

“And you?”

You fill him in, telling him about taking classes part-time around your job, the commissions that aren’t enough to sustain you but aren’t nothing - you even shyly admit that you’ve been seeing a therapist.

It was the most either of you had ever talked about your real lives, you thought. It struck you how normal it felt, like it wasn’t something new or novel.

“Sounds like things are coming together for you,” he says.

“You, too,” you return.

Everything between you sits heavy, weighing the moment down, pulling towards the ocean’s depths like an anchor.

Then, at the same time, you break.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Vernon, I’m really sorry.”

He stops walking, turns to face you, aglow as the golden hour inches closer. The sun is warm on your skin, the sand is warm beneath your feet, and you are dying to make it right with him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you whisper. You’re scared of this moment - scared it will burst, like a bubble, like waking up from a dream that you can’t get back.

“Don’t be sorry,” he counters. “We both screwed up.”

You shake your head, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “No,” you say emphatically. “You had every right to be mad. You were right that you were wasting time.”

He glances down, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry I said that to you. It wasn’t a waste.”

“Maybe not entirely,” you allow. “But you were right. I was never going to give you what you wanted - not back then, not with… how I was. That last fight we had… it would have been so easy for me to just let you in, and everything would have been fine. And I just… couldn’t.”

He listens seriously, watching your face carefully. You look at your feet in the sand, feeling the beginning trickles of shame down your spine. But you remember that the beast can’t get you - you’d locked him on a canvas. You don’t succumb to him in these moments anymore - you take a breath and remember that you’ve grown since then.

“And -” you swallow, take a breath, “- and I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes suddenly on the ocean. You watch his throat work, and your stomach clenches in regret. Then, he says, “I should have been clearer with you - way sooner than I was.”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything,” you admit sadly.

He nods again, agreeing. “Still,” he says.

Still.

“I really like your paintings,” he says, and then laughs at himself before you can respond. “Sorry, that sounded so lame. I don’t know the art terms or anything. I just… like them.”

You smile despite how serious the conversation had felt only seconds ago. “Thanks,” you say shyly.

“What’s the best thing you’ve learned in your classes?” he asks, stepping a little closer.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Shadows,” you say simply, looking up at him. “Even the brightest painting is nothing without the shadows.”

His smile grows slowly, and you know he gets it. Of course he does. He’s been in the trenches right alongside you.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits, and you realize how close you’re standing. Had you been standing this close the whole time?

“I did, too,” you murmur, heart hammering.

His fingers brush up your sun-warmed arm, and you shiver despite the heat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, a little unsure.

He’d never asked before.

You nod, unable to speak, lifting up to meet him halfway. He kisses you like he never had before - featherlight, gentle, like you’re the most fragile thing.

Neither of you say anything after, but as you start walking back towards the guys, you slip your hand into his, and he gives it a squeeze.

You’re still hand in hand when you reach the towels, and you watch Chan clock it out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t call you out, and you promise yourself that you’ll give him the conversation you owe him - later. When you’re alone.

You stay a few more hours; the guys play a little more volleyball, you sit on the towels and fill pages in your sketchbook. You draw Vernon - all angles, so sharp, so beautiful.

When the sun sinks low enough, the guys start packing things up, and you help haul everything back towards the cars.

As you slam the trunk of Chan’s car shut, you turn to find Vernon waiting.

“What about now?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

The question lands like a mine. “I don’t know,” you say, as honest as you can be. “Vernon, I don’t know. I’m scared - I’m scared I’ll hurt you again, mess it up again. I don’t know what I can promise you.”

He considers this. “Okay,” he says finally, in that easy way of his. “What if I don’t want a promise? What if I just want to know… what’re you doing next Saturday?”

You and him, you’d existed only at night. You’d never done this before - considered dating, considered giving him more than just the hours between midnight and three am. You’d never considered letting him be him and not just one of your many vices, one of your distractions, one of the things you used to hide from how broken you felt. But here, now, with the summer sun beating down on your shoulders, you take in his whole, unfragmented face and see how open it is, how willing he is to meet you where you are.

You’ve been missing out on so much, you think. It’s about time to stand in the light - with him. With him, you could try.

“Nothing,” you say, smiling up at him. “You got a suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he says, sending you a wink as he starts to back away, the car keys jingling in his hand. “I know a place.��

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thank you so much for reading my veyr first svt fic!! i hope to write many more in the future :)

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